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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

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PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 3

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Peter always unapologetically stealing all the uwus. It’s the MCU law, sorry, didn’t make it. Tony Stark can ✨rail me✨. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves THE WORLD! I’m not kidding. Please visit her and show her some love, my homegirl is stressed 💖✨

I didn’t see Bruce nor Tony for a week. The doctor was away on some science conference (he sent me one dorky selfie next to a whiteboard full of barely intelligible equations as proof), Tony was in California, having some sort of a board meeting. How do I know? Peter, out of lack of better things to do, constantly texted me updates on his science patron’s whereabouts and what-abouts.

In times like these, it took me for a loop - I was on a first name basis with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. In the beginning, I was intimidated - I avoided them both like the plague and tinkered in the lab with headphones on whenever I could, until Tony made a comment so snarky I couldn’t resist joking back. That’s not to say Bruce was a social butterfly, but even he gave into my tomfoolery after seeing me stand calmly throughout several of Tony’s hissy fits.

What amazed me even more so was that despite Tony being literally an insufferable little brat, I still longed after him. Sure, the man was hot as hell - but his physical traits were much less significant when it came to my feelings towards him than the amount of sheer drive and willpower he possessed. He was stubborn - that’s another trait we shared - and unapologetically himself in every damn situation.

I could write poetry about the million expressions in his face, about the shine in his eyes.

But I won’t. He’s a technical guru. Ever since I started hanging around the tower, I became much more conscious about what I posted online. Not to say I had a Stark fan blog or anything, but I’d stopped scrolling through the tag, even if I didn’t actually click on any articles. I dutifully reblogged pictures of Tom Ellis instead - while he was a very fine, distinguished man, he wasn’t Tony Stark. I enjoyed looking at the first and enjoyed being around the other. And even though my feed still had the occasional “I love arm” shitpost, I focused on aesthetic pictures and quotes instead - things I had an active internet presence for.

My personal life wasn’t very interesting. I didn’t have any close friends and any and all sex I’ve had was just a bunch of one night stands, fueled by alcohol, selfish lust and the occasional joint. Despite having a fair share of kind, generous lovers, the morning after left me feeling a little bit emptier every time. I thought about getting a boyfriend or something… But quickly became totally clueless as to where I could find one. Men under twenty-five could barely hold my interest long enough to have a casual chat and I wasn’t naive enough to think there were a lot of honest, well-intentioned thirty-somethings that wanted to date my high school ass.

Peter had a crush on me, I knew that. The boy developed one or another kind of feelings for anybody who showed him the tiniest bit of kindness and it alarmed me. In any other case I would have bailed on him, gently, of course, to spare him the disappointment but my selfishness got in the way. I regretted it every day. A wave of desperation rose in me every time I thought about moving on without seeing Tony or Bruce, without Peter shyly smiling at me as he explained how the things he created worked. A faint hope that one day, his schoolboy puppy love will grow into a brotherly kind of regard was the only thing that kept me afloat in my sea of guilt.

As the Fall rolled around, so did my gloomy mood. It was hard to be sad when the sun was shining and the birds were chirping outside, but with clouds hanging over the city like a lead curtain, the bottled up negativity rose to the surface uninvited. Mother had returned from her business trip, adding an uncomfortable, hollow sort of chill to the house wherever she stood. I don’t know what was worse - the hours we spent in one room ignoring each other or the immaculately structured questions she asked me about my studies and extra-curriculars. Mother didn’t ask me about my friends, or my feelings or any of the other things a mother was supposed to give a damn about.

I was an asset to her company and that was that. If you would have asked her, she would tell you I’m old enough for her to mind her own business - which was technically true. Yet according to her, I’ve been old enough since seventh grade. My dad answered his messages sporadically, sometimes with a two-word answer and sometimes with a cocaine and booze fueled rant eleven texts long. I felt sorry for him. I really did.

My phone was blowing up. Party invitations, likes from people I saw once or twice (“oh my god, you’re, like, so hot, what’s your Insta”), DMs from guys looking to score an easy piece of ass. I never answered. If I wanted to party, I just sort of showed up and everybody went along with it. I took care of my appearance and it showed - never once was I turned away from a party. Everyone wanted to dance, to share their drinks, to light up and get faded together and fade into the city, into the cold air and grey sky.

Skirt swaying and top clinging to my chest, I danced. The sweaty, heated bodies around me did the same. Not one of us cared, it was a Tuesday night and the place packed way too many people. An arm snaked around my waist, startling me. I had to begrudgingly crack open an eye to see the bastard in the dimly lit room.

“I saw you at the bar, you looked bored. Maybe you need something to cheer you up?”

So not a creepy rapist. Just your friendly neighborhood drug dealer. At house parties like these, there was always The Guy. He never danced, he sipped on the same drink all night yet always looked like he was having the time of his life. I was no stranger to the occasional joint, or even something more stimulating…

“I got the good stuff, sweetums, you’ll be fine and dandy in no time.”

Eh, what the hell. I inconspicuously danced with the guy to the middle of the crowd, exchanging a few crumpled dollar notes for a baggie of two pills. In no time, I chased one down with a hastily poured Jack.

The world did become better, as the drug dealer promised. People were nicer, friendlier and I almost didn’t believe mother was a useless, stone cold bitch. I almost didn’t care that I was deeply, madly in love with a man as unreachable as Olympus. If I squinted, the guy sitting at the bar looked kind of like Tony, tan, dark hair, worn jeans and a band tee.

So I danced. I danced and I stared right at him and then we danced some more. I closed my eyes, letting his arms grab me and pull me, I let his beard scratch my neck where he sucked a mark on me, I let his rough palms choke me against a wall in one of the bedrooms on the second floor of the house. It felt good to be wanted. It felt great to be needed as he rutted inside of me, hitting that sweet spot with every twitch of his hips.

It felt lonely when he left, pressing a kiss to my forehead and saying something dumb like “Be good, kid.”. I don’t remember what exactly it was, only that I had to turn my face away from his breath that reeked like weed and vodka.

To shake off the void that made home inside of my chest, I went to the roof to get some fresh air. The house had a nice patio on it - I actually knew the owner - that hosted more plants than I’d care to count. There was an ashtray and an abandoned pack of cigarettes. I greeted the faintly blooming sunrise surrounded by a cloud of smoke, shivering in the autumn mist.

Sounds of the party became less prominent with every passing minute as people geared up to go home and get a few winks of sleep before going to work. New Yorkers weren’t really thoughtful partying on a Tuesday, but then again, neither was I. The city always was busy - even then, at the crack of dawn, the dull throb of a bassline was rudely interrupted by a blaring car alarm followed by dogs barking in aggravation.

The more I sat there, the bleaker everything became. I had enough common sense to know I was just coming off the drug but for once, I had been happy and content for several hours without a care in the world. It had been too long since I felt that way and what’s a little low after a good high?

Mother left for her early conference at five AM sharp, I entered my house at five-thirty, making a beeline in the shower and immediately dumping my alcohol and cigarette soaked clothes into the wash with the smelliest detergent I could find. I gave similar treatment to my body and my hair, using the chemically-smelling products on my body and on my hair, brushing my teeth multiple times.

By the time I was leaving for school, only a faint smell lingered in the air where I’d previously entered, so I set the air freshener to automatically spray the obnoxious mist every ten minutes. Mother gets home at twelve for lunch, that should be more than enough time for any remnants of my partying to disappear into the lilac and lavender fumes.

The Valium I’d popped to deal with the aftermath of Molly made my brain sluggish. One look in the mirror and I hastily put my sunglasses on - the ashen colour of my face and the slightly crazed look wasn’t very complimentary to my complexion. The teacher didn’t give a damn. I stared blankly ahead of me for most part of first period.

“What happened to you? You look like hell!” Peter’s exclamation, while usually would’ve alarmed me, barely made a dent in my stupor.

“I feel like shit, too,” Admit what you can’t deny. Deny what you can’t admit. “I didn’t get any sleep. Like, at all.”

Peter frowned, the crease between his eyebrows growing deeper with every passing second. I flinched when his hand tentatively touched my forehead - the pounding in my temples slowed to a dull throbbing but it was still unpleasant when someone was all up in my space.

“Jesus, you’re as cold as a corpse. Maybe you should go see the nurse,” His worry bled into me too. Like hell I was going to the school nurse! They were specifically trained to recognize the signs of substance abuse.

“I’ll head home straight after school, I think we’ll have to skip our sciencing,” No way also I’d be letting Tony and Bruce see me like this. Oh my God, I was a mess. “Mother’s home.” I added. Even the emotional frostbite I’d get from being around her was more tolerable than being a downer for Peter and Tony.

Peter’s face immediately softened in sympathy. He knew almost everything about my relationship with my family, including him actually seeing my mother that one time. He told me she gave him the creeps and I don’t blame him at all. The stoicism that was required for her work made my mother an unbearable person to exist around outside of her fancy office on the top floor of a glass high-rise building.

“Okay, but promise to text me if it gets worse. You might have caught the autumn bug that’s been going around,” He obviously said the last part to calm himself down. Sweet little Peter, naïve child. I solemnly nodded nonetheless.

When I got home, I went straight to bed. Tony was being Tony, as usual, but in a strangely kind way. I suppose it should’ve made me feel better and it kind of did, but then it went downhill from there. I couldn’t explain why I started crying. I bawled my eyes out at how unfair this god-damned world was and when the doorbell rang… Let’s say, the delivery boy hightailed it out of there once the bag of takeout was deposited into my arms. I looked and felt ghastly.

I ate as much as I could and dropped into a restless nap, drifting in and out of sleep with exhausted exasperation. There had not been a time where I felt so low after popping a pill and I was equal parts alarmed and satisfied. For one, the drug dealer didn’t lie like they usually do - the stuff was good and I still had the other pill hidden away in a bottle of painkillers, inconspicuously mixed with other white pills but shape distinctive enough for me to recognize should I have need in taking it again.

The thought of well, taking it again, was fleeting. I had school tomorrow and a missed science bender to make up for. A few buzzes of my phone later, I felt happier. Better. Not so down anymore. I meant every word that I said - Bruce was very precious, kind and gentle. And so, warm and soft. And totally kissable.

Well, fuck. What do I do now?

#bun writes #party favours #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n #I've already got a room in Hell y'all welcome to book one nearby

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teamsarawatshusband · 3 years

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Word Of Honor - 1st watch insta thoughts - Episode 4

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

In case you haven't read my previous episode summaries, you should know that I now refer to alcoholic tanned tragic hero lord guy as Baby Xu (because he gave the name Zhou Xu), Wen Ke Xing is Smirky Xing, Ke Xing's female travelling companion is referred to as purple love of my life (because she rocks).

Alright let’s get started with Episode 4:

:O WHAT? Smirky Xing is qi-gong-balling nuts? Is he the red masked nut guy??? WTF? Is that why he said he's terrifying? Is that why he wasn't there at first during the fight in the dusty place? Waaaahhhh

Aww, he stilll wants Baby Xu and himself to be on first name basis. Giving horses as gifts. He's so determined.

Oooh the beggars caught up. And they openly state they're with 5 Lakes and want to bring the kid back to... some guy, I already forgot. Hmmm. The kid is instantly scared and hides behind Baby Xu. Baby Xu looks worried too. Nobody trusts 5 Lakes. Smirky Xing also doesn't trust them.

Wow, that's a lot of beggars.

Oh no, Smirky Xing insulted the talky beggar guy. And now they wanna fight.

Woahooooo, Baby Xu is pissy at Smirky Xing, but he trusts him to take care of the kid while he throws himself into the fight. Nice.

Less than 6 minutes in and we already have a million times more action than in the last episode. Thank you.

I see what smirky Xing meant when he called Baby Xu elegant. He is a VERY elegant fighter.

Offering nuts again, lol. Doesn't he know that the kid never wants to eat?

But jokes aside, the way Xing and the kid don't even go far but stay close enough to watch shows really well that smirky Xing is super confident in Baby Xu's fighting skills...

Oh no, they broke the alcohol jars, Baby Xu is gonna be so pissed.

And Smirky Xing is kind of an ass, teasing Baby Xu about his promise to keep an eye on the kid, while the beggar is chasing the kid around and Baby Xu is doing all the work.

Ahhh, it's cause he wants Baby Xu to admit that he needs him. Hehe, smart. Evil but clever.

:O The beggars got swords in their sticks! Cheaty little fuckers.

Baby Xu is fighting a bazillion beggars at once, no problem while the kid is almost caught.

Oh no, Baby Xu is mouthbleeding. That's never a good sign.

Oooooh, Smirky Xing notices and instantly steps in. No more teasing.

Oh how the turntables. Baby Xu and the kid flee, while Smirky Xing takes on the beggars. Nice. Sharing the workload. Like good husbands. Smirklord ftw!

Oh no, Baby Xu is worried about being a loser. And now he's doing the smelly meditation thing again. Awww :(

Meanwhile Smirky Xing has killed all the beggars, and it's not even shown on camera. Like... he probably did it with a determined look, some nut throwing and a snap of a finger or something. Impressive.

LOL, the purple love of my life comes on screen, looks around and has this, "Aww, dangit, he's on a killing spree again" look on her face. So this happens a lot, I gather.

She's concerned about the cleanup and the aesthetics, lol. My queen.

Whoa, what's that? Two tied up girls on a boat. And a jerk. I don't even know him but I know that much. Character introduction 101.

Oh wait, my purple love stops him. She knows him. He's one of the mountain ghost guys? And she knows him? There's a connection. That probably means that Smirky Xing really is nut guy. :O :O :O

She's striking a deal. And I didn't catch what she asked jerk guy to do in return for keeping him tying up girls a secret. But he leaves to do it.

Wow, Baby Xu knows how to cook. And offers the fish to the kid. And the kid ACTUALLY TAKES it. Impressive. I thought he hates food.

Ah, no, he spit it out. Okay. My worldview has been restored. And Baby Xu is not a good cook after all, lol.

My purple queen shows up and explains how to cook fish, lol. Yeah, they wish they had her cooking skills.

Oh, and baby Xu actually asks about Smirky Xing's whereabouts and looks longingly towards the boat where my queen points to.

Very lovely scenery, with Smirky Xing plaing the flute on the boat, and the two girls (who were previously tied up, I think, I still suck at recognizing faces) are enjoying his company, preparing drinks and listening.

Clearly Smirky Xing is playing just for Baby Xu. And then jumps off the boat with a flute twirl (clearly a Wei Wuxian fan, and who isn't?!) and then fly-jumps over the water to the beach and Baby Xu.

Heh, tempting Baby Xu with alcohol and good food, Smirky Xing is really trying everything.

LOL, you can't sit with the cool kids Smirky Xing.

But he never gives up and recites poetry again. Okay, now some story about historic white cloth. And a sword. Wait, is the "white cloth" the sword? Oh, and Smirky Xing is hinting that Baby Xu's sword is so bendy that it might be the legendary sword.

Always digging for info. Always noticing everything.

Oooh, Baby Xing compares their relationship to the fish he threw away, calls it "raw/unrequited". Nice pun. BUT, the fish wasn't raw, you literally discussed with the kid that is was cooked through, you little liar. I see what's going on there. Unrequited my ass. Smirklord setting sails.

Baby Xu explains that he doesn't know himself and couldn't care less about knowing Smirky Xing.

Smirky Xing is such a sweet talker. This whole "I hurt when you hurt" spiel... blergh.

He called him "My A-Xu" awww, cute. Also super invasive.

Some dark figure is playing headach inducing music. Huh? What is going on?

My purple queen and the kid are affected and Smirky Xing, stops them from running off by placing his hands on their backs. How? What?

Wait, Baby Xu plays the flute as well???

Everybody's a musician.

Oh, it's a music fight. The acoustic waves are hitting each other.

And the girls on the boats are jumping off, because they don't have Smirky Xing's hands holding them back.

Whooooooo, Baby Xu's flute sound lawnmowers the grass and the other musician down. Nice skills.

Oh, it's an assassination skill. The one that the dark figure used. :O A music assassin!!!

LOL, Baby Xu apologizes for getting Smirky Xing's flute dirty. Honey, he 100% won't mind your spit.

Why is the kid puking? He hasn't even eaten anything. Oh, he's lacking martial arts skills to defend against the attack, got it, got it.

Awwww, the one who dislikes you is the one who is really good to you. Of course you would live by that motto Smirky Xing, you lovesick boy.

Okay, the kid wants to learn martial arts now. Wants to be Baby Xu's disciple. And he's kind of agreeing, even though reluctantly, because he... doesn't wanna look good in front of Ke Xing?

Oh a camp of assassins. Pretty girl assassins. One of them is getting a leg massage. Nice. Being an assassin has perks, it seems. Ooh, and she gets touchy with some victim guy.

Did that guy just kill the several-times-stabbed victim by throwing a bone at his head? lol

Oh, the music assassin is one of this group, k, got it.

What? Smirky Ke Xing playing this special meditation song means he has a pure mind? I'm with Baby Xu, I would never have thought so. So, he's not nuts guy? WHAT IS GOING ON?

Dude, he does NOT look like of pure mind while playing that flute at all. It looks very... not pure. This looks like a mating ritual to me.

Wait, is he telling my purple queen to kill the two girls she saved? I'm so confused.

Aww, he LIKES Baby Xu. Not that it's a surprise. But he admitted it. Heh. And, once again, my purple queen gets it.

Aww, Smirky Xing plays for his boy all night long. And Baby Xu finally gets some rest. Nice.

And Smirky Xing finally gets to sit next to his crush after all.

But he doesn't get to hold his hand yet. I see how it is.

LOL, tough women can't resist clingy men, what? Is Smirky Xing ever talking about anybody other than himself and Baby Xu?

Ahaha, Smirky Xing is such a bad liar. But really good at making Baby Xu feel guilty. Yes, yes, you poor man driven off the boat, aching from all the flute playing, riiiight.

LOL, he ends up the coachman. Nice.

Oh no, the grandparents are fighting nice undies tree master guy and the mini Wangjis. Why can't they be friends?

Why are they all after that stupid glazed armor, this is so annoying.

Oh no, now pleated skirt soldier boss guy is joining in as well. Which side is he picking?

Okay he's fighting the grandparents, but is he on friendly terms with undies tree guy? Because I don't think so. But the mini Wangjis knew him and seemed to trust him. So confusing all of this...

Okay and there's another new guy. In green and gold with a tiny mustache. Is he the one they were supposed to bring the kid to? Ah yes, okay. Uncle Zhao.

Wait, the leader of the something something sect is chased. Who was that? Undies tree master? I need a name chart mind map or something. I should make one and add on to it as I go along.

Anyway, end of episode.

Okay this was interesting, what have I learned? Baby Xu can't get rid of Smirky Xing, no matter what. The kid wants to be his disciple. My purple queen is 100% a smirklord shipper. There's a bunch of assassins out there to hurt... I don't know, everybody, possibly. Everybody seems to want the glazed armor. Except for Baby Xu who just wants to be left alone, and Smirky Xing who just wants Baby Xu. I feel like I'm getting the hang of this. Except I STILL don't know how everybody is truly connected. And Smirky Xing might be nuts guy but also maybe not because he's pure, but I mean, who are you kidding?

Goals for future episodes: I should really actually make that character name chart mind map thing.

Also, we have officially reached the moment, where I wanna continue watching, even though I'm tired and have other stuff to do. I bet the point of no return strikes during the next episode. I can feel it coming.

#word of honor #1st watch insta thoughts #word of honor ep 04 #smirklord

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xdandelionxbloomx · 4 years

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Modern AU Idea continued

(part 1)

Jaskier returned to social media slowly -

He started trickling in posts, snippets of song ideas, some random thoughts mostly on Instagram and his Insta stories--

And then came pictures--

The sunset over the mountains behind Kaer Morhen Ranch was first - gold, orange, burgundy, and indigo shades blending into something he told Geralt that Bob Ross would’ve liked to paint--

Geralt had snorted at that comment, but Jaskier could tell that he was secretly pleased - was happy that Jaskier enjoyed being with him on the ranch--

Another picture - blurry, with a caption--

Geralt took this photo and it’s kind of blurry, but nicely artsy, wouldn’t you say?

It was Jaskier, from his nose down, hands plucking at the acoustic guitar, unfocused and grainy in what little evening light crept through their dining room windows--

Jaskier didn’t tell Geralt that he planned to use it for his new single cover.

Another--

Geralt crouched in front of a little girl whose face was obscured by the man himself as he helped her adjust her riding helmet, his cowboy hat tipped a little crooked - the kids never wanted to wear their helmets if Geralt didn’t wear one and he, too, hated them so he’d taken to the hat which in the past had only cemented his nickname--

What are the kids calling it these days? Cowboycore?

All hell broke loose over that photo - from people observing how good Geralt looked in his worn jeans (which Jaskier could appreciate as well because it was true) to people hounding Jaskier about cowboycore and--

Doesn’t cowboycore have gay connotations?

Jaskier replied - That one Ariana Grande gif. And what about it?

The internet promptly lost their collective mind--

Wait, wait, is that who Honey Gold was about? Someone tweeted him.

That song was five years old and so he didn’t reply--

He wasn’t sure he was ready to share just how long it had been yet.

Jaskier had a plan brewing, but Geralt would have to be willing to be on camera for a significant chunk of it, be willing to really be a part of Jaskier’s art--

He wasn’t sure Geralt was ready and so he didn’t propose it for a while yet, working instead on the single that had taken up a significant part of his brain - an ear worm he couldn’t get rid of that made him tap his fingers on whatever surface was closest if he didn’t have his guitar around.

He shared a photo of a sunset, Geralt leaned up against the fence of the solitary paddock where Roach was housed for the moment while he worked with her--

That horse might have the spirit of a devil, but at least she loves Geralt. As she should.

He couldn’t count the number of comments demanding a name for the little chestnut mare and so the next day he ended up out at the paddock as Geralt lunged the horse without a rope, sending her in circles around the paddock as he stood in the center of it--

Jaskier takes a short video as she passes by--

In the midday sun, her scars were more visible and he hesitated to post it before he settled on captioning the video--

This is Roach. Geralt adopted her through a rescue. Her last owners called her a cockroach from what I’ve heard, but the rescue called her Roachie. Geralt insists that Roach has more dignity.

Jaskier ended up showing Geralt the comments because they were just so--

Sweet.

A few people shared their own stories about their rescue horses and Geralt had been annoyed by the phone being shoved in his face every few minutes at first, but by the end of the day Jaskier knew he was secretly pleased because even though he’d roll his eyes when Jaskier pushed the phone towards him over dinner, Geralt would read the comment he pointed out--

And his lips would twitch up at the corners--

Half of Jaskier’s Instagram became dedicated to Geralt and Roach, just random pictures that he snapped--

The other half tended to be short videos of him messing around on the guitar, or voice updates, or photos of hands--

Then suddenly a couple of weeks where he wasn’t very active--

Those couple of weeks had been hard because he’d finished writing the single entirely, but he’d started on that other project and kept working himself up to ask Geralt about it, but how did one even do that?

How could he possibly--

And then one night Jaskier got out of the shower to find Geralt reading a book on the couch. It wasn’t necessarily unusual - Geralt preferred books to television, but there was something so warm about it that night, something that made his chest ache.

With damp hair he’d made his way over to the couch where he climbed up onto it, curling up against Geralt’s side, nuzzling against him. The other man grunted at the feeling of his wet hair, but didn’t complain, shifting his hold--

He kept the book open with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Jaskier, turning his head briefly to press a kiss to the crown of his head.

“What are you reading?” Jaskier had asked, voice small in the space between them. It didn’t have to be big here. There wasn’t an audience. Just Geralt.

“Poetry.” Geralt answered and Jaskier hummed a soft note.

“Read some?” He rasped, softly, and closed his eyes, settling in.

Geralt did, of course, because despite all his eye rolling he was kind and soft and always had been--

And the words he read gripped Jaskier, cemented the whole swirling picture into something linear, and he fell asleep against Geralt thinking about it, listening to his gruff voice--

Four days later he posted a picture of his notebook with a simply smiley as a caption--

They didn’t need to know that he and Geralt had discussed in length what the project would mean, what it would entail - didn’t need to know that Geralt asked for time to think, that Jaskier had taken it as a no at first and instead turned his attention to perfecting the mixing on the single he planned to release very soon - didn’t need to know that Geralt came to him on the fourth morning and told Jaskier that he’d do it, only if Jaskier promised he didn’t have to fly to New York or wear makeup--

Jaskier had kissed him, had taken him to bed, had told him in the proper words, told Geralt he was going to hear it on the project anyways--

Geralt hadn’t said it back yet, but the look on his face told Jaskier all he needed to know--

The picture of his notebook had far too many comments to even begin to reply to - excitement over new music, people telling him to make sure he felt well before returning, people trying to decipher his handwriting, and then there was the tiny section of people who had started a hashtag.

#Roachupdate -

Please can we get a picture of Roach?

How is Roach doing?

Has Roach let you pet her yet?

So Jaskier caved and posted another photo of Roach - it was significantly closer than all his other photos as Jaskier could stand at the fence now without the devil mare losing her mind.

She’s doing good. She loves Geralt to death, but doesn’t let anyone else touch her. Still can’t be lose with other horses but we’ve been able to have them separated by the fence without her trying to snap at them through it. #Roachupdate

And thus Saturdays became designated Roach Update days, though if someone caught him at a good time on Twitter, he might just tweet a photo of her because he could.

About the time his new single - his ballad about a cowboy who went grey early, who liked his coffee with milk and sugar on good mornings, who had warm hands - came out, he posted a photo of his hand on Roach’s muzzle.

She may be a devil, but she’s our devil. #Roachupdate

His single picked up steam in a way he hadn’t expected it to and suddenly there were eyes on him again and--

It was a lot. He’d forgotten how life could be in the spotlight--

And he worried, he worried about his voice, about--

But the night Geralt read him that poem, voice low, would come back to him and he’d take a deep breath and smile--

Because he could do this again.

He wanted to do this again. Wanted to share with the world his story.

Most of all, he supposed, he wanted to share their story, with Geralt beside him, tell the world about it, about him, about the amazing man--

And so on a rainy Saturday morning, Jaskier posted a photo--

Roach had a simple brown halter on, rope hooked to it, and Jaskier held the rope, smiling just a little as he looked at her--

The photo was Geralt’s phone background because of course Geralt would do that, would make Jaskier’s chest feel too tight in the best way every time he opened his phone up to find something--

But he captioned the photo--

Roach might actually like me now. Geralt rode her the other day with a bareback pad so I’d say that it’s significant progress. Oh, and I started working on my new visual album. #Roachupdate

Safe to say that his fans erupted into chaos.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #modern au #my posts #am I going to write his visual album out??#yes.

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ginnyzero · 4 years

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8 Reasons “Insta-Love” Doesn’t Work

A reader’s perspective.

I’ve taken up doing a review booktube for indie SFF books, and have decided only to do 4 or 5 star reviews due to some social pressures being an indie author and also being a reviewer. This means I’ve been SLUSH reading. (You can get lots of indie books free if you trawl twitter and start an amazon wishlist and wait.)

I’m coming up against some trends. A major one is what I call “Insta-Love.” You know, girl/boy meets girl/boy and they are attracted to them for some reason they can’t explain and the next page or chapter they are in love.

Except, the story isn’t about this romance at all. And in the end, the romance doesn’t work for me as a reader, so here are 8 reasons why in author terms b/c I also happen to be an author.

1) It’s Creepy.

Speaking from personal experience and having been on the receiving side of someone who met me and then claimed they loved me less than 24 hours later, this is seriously creepy. You don’t really know this person. They don’t know you. Yet, they’re claiming after to have knowing you for 12 hours, you are the one for them. If asked, they probably can’t tell you why. And if pressed, it’s probably because they have an idealized fantasy of you in your head and aren’t in love with the “real” you at all. They can’t be. They don’t know you. Instead, they are crossing lots of reasonable boundaries and trying to plan a rosy future, or giving you love poetry, or making hyperbolic claims to your mutual friend group.

It becomes downright disconcerting very quickly. So, if all your characters know about each other is that the other is attractive and then they are claiming they are in love. I’m going to be highly disturbed and not believe it for a moment.

2) There is something else important going on and honestly, there’s no time for a romance.

Unless your book is specifically in the romance genre, usually, there is something else going on in the book taking more words and the character’s urgent time and attention. Therefore, regulating your romance to the designation of a subplot. The thing about subplots is they need to be as structured and given attention to as much as your main plot.

And usually in a science fiction or fantasy setting, the main plot is something with pretty high stakes, so much, your main character isn’t going to have time or emotional energy to do more than go “oh pretty person” and move on. If your character is under stress, not getting enough sleep, is preoccupied with saving the world, they are simply not going to have a sex or romantic drive. Stress/Lack of Sleep/Big Projects put the brakes on the hormones causing sexual/romantic attraction.

So, really, your “insta-love” romance subplot becomes little more than a distraction from the main plot when your character isn’t even going to have the energy to do more than go “oh cute person.”

3) It feels contrived or shoe horned into the plot.

Carrying on from above, making the entire romance feel contrived or even forced into your main plot usually for no reason.

If you can take out your romance subplot and it doesn’t actually change the overall story of your book, then I have to question why you feel the need to have a romance subplot in the first place!

Writing in a romance for the sake of having a romance, and your authorial belief that these two people should be together are not great reasons for having a romance. Because…

4) There’s no valid reason for them to be together.

With an insta-love romance plotline, we are given no good reason why these two people even like each other, would be friends, much less fall in love. “Oh, they’re hot,” is a nice valid reason for casual sex, not for an involved and committed relationship. Usually, the reasons given for them being in love are superficial and shallow and the characters’ basic personality sheet.

“She’s smart.” “He’s warm.”

When it comes to a romance, there needs to be more than that. Why should this character trust this new character they just met with their emotions?

99.99% of the time they shouldn’t because…

5) In fact, there’s usually a valid reason for them to be apart.

The biggest question a romance plotline needs to answer is “why can’t they be together now?” And the most common answer I’ve found to it in a science fiction/fantasy setting tends to be ‘power imbalances.’ Power imbalances are things like age differences, and commander/boss and subordinate relationships. Sometimes power imbalances include class, education, and money.

If the power such as age, authority, education or class, is weighed too far in the direction of one character over the other, we are back to point number one. It is creepy. In fact, it is downright toxic. The worst is when they combine age and authority. It is enough to make my skin crawl. Relationships when one character has power over the other are unhealthy. They can lead to abuse and assault.

Only a relationship where the characters are on equal footing with each other and trust and respect each other are going to be healthy.

6) It’s not earned.

With insta-love plotlines, I, the reader, are told over and over and over again that these two characters are in love. I’m not shown this due to the fact it’s a subplot most of the time and the author doesn’t take the words to have the characters interact with each other on a regular basis as real people do and if they are shown together it’s probably in the capacity of ‘this is why they can’t be together.’ So, if they are getting together at the end of the book it doesn’t feel satisfying because I’ve been told they’re good for each other instead of having them interacting together and showing they work well together and they have chemistry.

This, also, by the way goes for friendships.

In order for a romance plot to feel satisfying and to feel like it actually matters and can’t just be ripped out of the book, you have to take the words and take the time to throw these characters together consistently so the reader can see, instead of being told, they are good together. If your book has to fall within a certain word count and you don’t think you have those words. Take out the romance subplot and see how much it changes the book.

It probably won’t. Your book, in fact, might be better off without it.

I challenge you to go through your book and take out anything that says “they are the best friend, lover,” followed by any summary, give it to a beta reader and ask them questions about the relationships in the book. If your beta reader can go “oh, and the best friend is awesome as a best friend” without much prompting, then your relationships have come across without having to actually say they’re the best friend.

Show. Show. Show. Any time you’re tempted to tell us a relationship and summarize, show it instead. Then the relationship will feel earned by the end of the book.

7) It usually makes smart, competent characters look anything but smart and competent.

There are two versions of this really. One version is the main character really is smart and competent, so having her be distracted from their job or the mission at hand by a hot guy just makes her come off as a ditz whose brain has fallen out her ear at a time when she really can’t afford to have her brains fall out her ears. You’re telling me one thing, this character is smart and competent, and showing me another, this character is easily distracted by ‘oh shiny.’

Version two is the main character doesn’t think they are smart and competent, but a hot guy shows up to ‘save the day’ and she’s going to refuse him at first due to ‘oh my independence’ until she really can’t save the day herself or learn anything and ends up relying on the hot guy anyways. And they fall in love despite his boundary crossing and stalking and insistence he has her best interests at heart when he’s a stranger. See point one of creepy!

I am not really sure which leaves more of a bad taste in my mouth to be honest.

It doesn’t help that sometimes the character in the book seems little more than a list of traits off a personality sheet being told to us than a well-rounded fleshy character with wants, needs, fears, likes, conflicts, and personal stakes in the matter at hand. Whether or not flat character is remotely likeable is debatable.

Dumping a romance onto a character who is paper thin doesn’t actually make the character more rounded. It just adds more pressure to that paper thin character to try to uphold any semblance of character consistency and the plot without tearing in half. And many, many times, the hot character shows up to solve the problems in the first chapter of the book before we even have a chance to know the main character at all!

When you tell the reader one thing, and show them another, it creates dissonance. The character isn’t being consistent. Inconsistent characters leave the reader frustrated. And they won’t want to read more of your books.

8) Psychopaths are warm and charming too. AKA If your character is opening up to a stranger after less than a real time day of knowing them, that is a cry for help and they need therapy not a romantic relationship.

“There’s just something about them,” the character says. “I can tell them anything even things I won’t tell my best friends/parents.”

And I go, “he’s going to kill you, run!”

In order for people to really connect to each other, they have to show or experience vulnerability together. It establishes this thing we call trust. Having the ‘deep conversation’ about past trauma is a short cut authors use to try and establish trust between two strangers to try and show that this person isn’t like other people and is worthy of said trust.

-makes grand gestures at Frozen’s Hans-

It doesn’t work. Why? Because honestly, if you’re opening up about your trauma to a sympathetic stranger, you need help. Like, therapy style help. Being vulnerable, and pouring out your trauma to a sympathetic stranger who is now going to cheerfully take advantage of you because yes, psychopaths can be warm and charming, aren’t the same things. For a balanced healthy person, having a complete stranger tell them about their traumatic past is really downright terrifying and intimidating. You’re just trying to have coffee and find out if you like the same weather patterns and they’re talking about their dead parents.

Check please!

Relationships are fragile and they take hard work. You need to build them up over time to create a strong foundation before dumping past trauma on them. Or, you know, go to therapy and learn coping mechanisms, how to move on, before you toss a bunch of emotional weight/stress onto your romantic partner. The same is true for a character in a book. See six. Make them earn it!

This has gotten a little long because I have opinions. Obviously. In conclusion, in my opinion as a reader, if you aren’t willing to spend as many words on your romance plot as you are your main plot, then you don’t have the words or the tools or a good reason to be including a romance into your story. And here are 8 reasons, I don’t think insta-romances work out for the reader. Take your time and use your words wisely!

#writing tumblr #writing advice #writrblr #writing romance #romance #writing tips

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peeterparkr · 5 years

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limits of desire⤳t.h.||7

chapter 7: hire vendors

story summary: you met Tom a night he was trying to sleep with you, it didn’t work and you became best of friends. Wedding bells might be ringing for when you both realize what you really feel.

summary:the one when someone gets on one knee

pairing: fuckboy!tom holland x best friend!reader

warnings: swearing,alcohol mention, didn’t proof read, poetry, miguel, lizzie

word count: 5.9k

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When Tom, at last, knew the answer, y/n had a different question. Maybe it had taken him too long. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t hinted it. But they belonged together. Didn’t they?

But 6 months was a long time, and time knew no mercy. But it didn’t make any sense. All was lost. He had lost the battles, the war. It had been his mistake, he didn’t choose whom he was supposed to choose. She was, after all, the one who chose him before anything and everything.

And who was this y/n? He had changed her. She was there reciting poetry, not like she had never recited poetry. But it was different. Talking about Borges, Cortazar and Neruda. Like she could only speak in poetry to Miguel.

“Surprise!” The people yelled as soon as Tom, Y/N, and Miguel had stepped into Tom and Harrison’s place. The ride hadn’t been pleasant either. She had driven, claiming Tom had drunk a little too much. Miguel was copilot, and had been kissing her hand and pointing everywhere. With that silly accent of his.

Just to add more to Tom’s hell of a night, he had forgotten about the surprise welcome party he had planned for y/n. Of course, this wasn’t how he had pictured arriving. If it were for him, he’d already had his arm around her, placing kisses on her cheek and neck, just finally enjoying her presence. Probably triumphantly, maybe even announcing they were finally a couple.

However that dream wasn’t even near happening, instead, he was watching Miguel’s perfect hand posing on y/n’s shoulder, delicately as she hugged him with fake surprise, as their friends were running over to her.

Her hand was on Miguel’s chest, showing off the big engagement ring embracing her finger and her smile was the brightest. Her nose was slightly red, and even freckled. And the cold from London was accentuating her blushing cheeks. She looked perfect. How dare she even look that way. Now that Tom couldn’t have her.

Harrison widened his eyes and frowned as he looked at her and Miguel, he raised an eyebrow at Tom, who was tipsy enough already but just gave him a shrug. Harry, Sam, and Tuwaine were as confused. Tom wanted to hit his head against the wall, repeatedly.

Lizzie, Hannah, and Jess jumped over to y/n and screamed. Some other friends approached her to meet with her, while she introduced them to Miguel. Miguel was incredibly and annoyingly handsome and nice with everyone.

So y/n continued to say hello to her friends and to enjoy the party. Between her and Miguel they were stealing all the spotlight, making everyone laugh with their adventures.

Tom left the party to go to his room, he needed to process it. From one day to another she was engaged. Y/N was engaged. The woman he was deeply in love with was engaged with another man. He went straight to his bathroom to wash his face. He just couldn’t believe it. He stared at his reflection as if trying to come up with an answer, trying to wake up; he pinched himself trying to get out of this terrible nightmare. He then dug his pocket and took out the small blue box.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, as he sat down. He didn’t even want to open it. Why had he bought it?

A knock was heard on the door, Tom quickly shoved the blue box into his drawer. The door opened to reveal a very confused Harrison.

“Who the hell is that?” Asked Harrison, with a frown.7

Tom didn’t answer.

“Man! I thought that you were supposed to arrive with her bridal style or whatever, what the hell happened?”

“Miguel happened.” Tom pinched the bridge of his nose as he was getting a very unpleasant headache.

“Who the hell is he?” Harrison asked.

“A jerk.”

Harrison rolled his eyes. “Is he her boyfriend?”

“Worse,” Tom answered as he walked past his friend making his way back to the party, to which his surprise hadn’t yet finished, and was perfectly real. No nightmare was gone. That idiot was still there. So, of course, that Miguel guy was still there.

Harrison followed him.

“Is he the guy from her Instagram?” Haz asked him.

“Uh-huh,” Tom said as he picked up a beer. He stared at y/n, her laugh was filling the room, music to Tom’s ears. He wanted to kiss her. Miguel was doing that for him.

Tom rolled his eyes and turned around.

“Weren’t they supposed to break up?” Haz asked.

Tom turned to his friend, took a sip of his beer and then flipped him off.

“Tom!” Haz rolled his eyes. “I’m not the enemy here.”

Tom frowned as they both watched Miguel. He was talking with Tom’s brothers.

The twins were looking up at the handsome tanned man with them, he was speaking excitedly, and trying to make the best impression. But the twins were more focused on trying to understand the situation. Tom just shrugged at them,

y/n suddenly stopped the music. “Hey, everyone, may I have your attention please?” She grinned as everyone stopped and glanced over at her. “I thank everyone for coming, seriously, I missed all you so much, and Tom, thanks for organizing this,” she smiled at him.

Tom smiled back but then watched as Miguel walked over to y/n, wrapping his arm around her waist. Miguel smiled at Tom as well. Tom’s smile was erased and exchanged for a frown.

“Anyway, well, I’ve got some news,” y/n continued. “Well, and since I have all of you here, I might as well take the chance…. So, you all met Miguel, right here, you’ve probably seen him on my insta, too,” Y/N grinned at him and kissed his cheek. “Miguel and I met back in Mexico.”

“We sure did,” Miguel added kissing the top of her head. Tom rolled his eyes.

“Well, and long story short,” y/n said and lifted her hand to show her ring. “We’re engaged! We’re getting married next month in Mexico! And you are all invited!”

Harrison, Tuwaine and the twins all stopped looking at y/n and turned their attention to Tom, who seemed to be emotionless.

Tom was feeling the worst he had ever felt. The world was spinning around him, and all the voices were clear. Her words were echoing through his head, and he just stared at them as she kept rambling and as her friends approached to congratulate her.

Lizzie approached Tom, and Tom tried to escape but Lizzie laughed.

“Tommy!” She chirped.

Tom rolled his eyes as he kept walking. She followed after.

“Oh, you’re not hitting on me, huh? I’m sorry am I breaking any rule?” Lizzie chirped, crossing her arms above her chest.

“The rule of basic social human interaction, yes,” Tom snapped, rolling his eyes.

Lizzie grinned. “Seems like I don’t have to be her shield tonight.”

“I’m sorry?” Tom questioned.

“I’m glad Y/N got to her senses,” Lizzie commented.

Tom scowled. “To her senses?”

Lizzie laughed. “Please, she won’t be mourning any more, y/n was blinded before she left.”

Tom scowled. “What do you mean?”

“You won’t play with her anymore, Tom, she deserves better,” Lizzie said. “We both know that.”

“I never played with her,” Tom defended herself.

“Not the same way as you played with me, no, but you gave her hope, like just before she left,” Lizzie accused. “Yeah, I know what happened, perks of being her female best friend.”

“And what exactly did she tell you?” Tom inquired as Y/N and Miguel shared a kiss. Tom rolled his eyes.

“Ah, nothing just that you shared a moment and you backed away,” Lizzie shrugged, Hannah and Jess joined them. “But hey! Now you don’t have to worry about her trying to make a move! Look at the hunk she got.”

“He’s not that good looking,” Tom faked a laugh.

“Are you kidding?” Hannah giggled. “He’s my definition of Prince Charming!”

“I got damned lost in his eyes,” Jess sighed with a smile. “He’s got the whole deal. It’s like Chris Hemsworth and Zac Efron had a baby!”

The three friends started to adore him as if he was an actual god. Tom couldn’t stay there so eventually he walked out, to enjoy his beer all on his own. He couldn’t stand seeing her closely because Miguel was around her. So he stared at her from the outside sitting down on that old table he had outside, seeing her oh so radiant and so happy. With that jerk.

Harry, Sam, Tuwaine, and Harrison joined him.

“Hey man,” Harry greeted him.

Tom looked up. “Don’t even dare to say I told you so, I know it was too late.”

Harry sighed as he sat in front of him. “How are you feeling?”

“I want to punch him in his perfect teeth,” Tom admitted, drinking from his beer. “He is an asshole.”

Sam shook his head. “He is actually quite nice.”

Tom scowled.

“He made me feel bad about myself,” Sam explained. “Dude’s a fucking greek god.”

“He’s not-”

“Woah,” Harrison laughed. “I guess he’s not saying-look, I know we don’t like him, but he doesn’t seem like a bad guy, and okay, yes, gotta admit it took me by surprise.”

“How are you feeling?” Tuwaine asked.

Tom scowled. “I…How am I supposed to know it? How the fuck am I supposed to react? Engaged!” Tom said with disgust. “Want to know what’s the worst?”

“What?” Asked Tuwaine.

“She asked me to be her maid of honour.”

The four of them burst out in laughter. Tom growled and rolled his eyes.

“You��re the-no!” Harrison was red from laughing, he was holding his stomach and throwing his head back.

“You’ll look so pretty in a pink dress!” Sam joked laughing.

“Guys! Cmon, cmon,” Tuwaine tried to stop them in between fainted giggles. “We all know Tom’s colour isn’t pink!”

Tom crossed his arms. “Ha-ha.” He kept watching y/n, while his brothers and friends kept laughing. “You done now?” Asked Tom. “I need to solve this.”

“Tom, it took you a lot to realize your feelings,” Harry said wiping a tear off. “Okay, no, no, don’t make that face Tommy boy,” Harry kept teasing. “Look, okay, I just… wow, karma is a bitch, ain’t it Tom?”

“Well, did you say yes?” Asked Tuwaine.

“I said I would… think about it, because honestly? I can’t be able to see her marry that idiot, look at him! He is awful! And she looks at him as if he can shit unicorns.”

They turned to face him, and just on cue, he was smiling with his bright white teeth, staring at her. His brown, slightly curled hair as his beard made him look extremely handsome. And just as the latino was laughing, the four friends realized, the guy was just perfect. Made by hand, even.

“Uh, okay, okay,” Haz tried to calm down Tom. “Look, uh, she is not... that in Love…” and then again, just in time, they watched y/n look at Miguel, her gaze was completely lost in his eyes, she was mesmerized by her fiancé. “Hey, uh, why don’t you… try to make a move on her? We can get rid of him, you make your moves…”

“Yeah, try and seduce her, as you do with everyone else!” Tuwaine tried to encourage Tom.

“That didn’t work four years ago,” Sam commented.

“Buuuut she basically told him she had feelings for him when she left!” Harry pointed out.

“Okay, let's make it this way, you can just flirt with her a little, make your magic and boom, you’ll have her tonight.” Sam agreed.

“It’s not like that, I want to prove to her I’ve changed,” Tom defended himself.

“Then you will have to say yes,” Harrison answered.

“You’re saying he needs to be a maid of honour? Pink dress and everything?” Sam laughed, joined by the perky giggles of his twin brother and friend. Haz rolled his eyes.

“I’m saying this would give you the perfect excuse to be all around her, all day, help her with everything, and make her realize it’s not him who she wants,” Haz explained.

“Yes! Be her confidant!” Harry added. “And point out to her that she’s doing some crazy shit.”

“I don’t even wanna help her plan this wedding, it just… no,” Tom frowned. “I can’t be able to plan her wedding unless she was marrying me.”

“Okay, if she’s marrying in a month, in Mexico that means she is leaving man,” Tuwaine pointed out. “Might be easier to stop a wedding from the inside than from another continent.”

“You need to do whatever it takes,” Sam added.

“All is fair in love and war,” Harry sang.

“Now shush, she’s coming,” Haz said.

Y/N walked out. “What are you all doing here?” She asked them, she ruffled Tom’s hair. “Why aren’t you hitting with one of my friends?”

Tom stayed quiet. “Because…I’ve changed.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow and then laughed. “Sure, Tom,” she rolled her eyes. “So, what are you doing here? It’s cold…”

“We wanted some fresh air,” Harrison said. “So, you’re gonna get hitched, Y/L/N?”

“I sure am, Osterfield,” y/n answered.

“Where is Mr Perfect from again?” Tuwaine asked.

“He’s Mexican,” y/n nodded. “And about that, I have to settle some things tomorrow, and I was wondering if you guys could hang out with him.”

Tom shook his head. “No way.”

Harrison kicked him. “Sure.”

Tom glared at Haz.

“Tommy?”

He glanced over at her, she was confused.

“You’re mad cause I didn’t tell you I was seeing someone, huh,” she said.

“Uh, Sam, Harry, T, hey, join me inside… there’s yes,” Haz said as the boys followed after.

Y/N chuckled as she sat across Tom. He looked away from her gaze.

“Tom.”

Tom couldn’t look at her.

“Tom,” she repeated.

Tom looked at her. “Y/N.”

“You’re mad,” she said, reaching over for his hand.

He blushed and coughed. “How couldn’t you tell me?” Tom asked her. “I’m…”

“It was unexpected Tom,” Y/N said.

Tom sighed. “He seems nice,” Tom commented with poison, but a part of him meant it and that was the worst part. “So, are you staying tonight?”

Y/N chuckled. “No, told you I have a room at the hotel, with him.”

Tom took a sip of his beer. “Right.”

“Tommy I really want you to be my maid of honour.”

“How would that even work?” Tom asked her. “I mean, I don’t even know what they do.”

Y/N reached over for his hand again, Tom’s heart jolted. “I know it sounds silly, but usually the maid of honour helps the bride by planning the bridal shower, and they help the bride all along the way because they can calm her, look you don’t have to be called my maid of honour, it can be… like my sidekick.”

Tom scoffed as he looked away.

“There’s no one in this world who knows me like you do,” y/n explained. “I just want someone to help me get my dream wedding.”

“What about your future?” Tom asked her.

“What about it? For the first time in my life, I’m… spontaneous! Just like you are.”

Tom shook his head. “You see y/n I didn’t mean to marry a stranger.”

“He is a stranger to you, but when I met him it was as if we had known each other since we were kids,” y/n defended herself. “And he makes me happy, I just… know we are meant to be, he is just perfect for me.”

Tom felt his heartbreaking apart, shattered into tiny pieces as he was hearing.

“So the wedding… next month?” Tom Asked.

“Yes… so I’m… just buying my dress here and then I’m off to Mexico to see the rest.”

Tom bit his lip as he took a deep breath. “When?”

“In two weeks,” Y/N answered.

“So you’re gonna spend Christmas there?” Tom frowned as he started to peel off the paper from his beer.

“You can come, I mean if you’re my sidekick...” she offered. Tom looked up at her. “Please?” begged Y/N.

“y/n, I don’t know…” Tom gulped.

“Oh, so you’re gonna make me do this?” She chuckled and got on one knee. “Thomas, will you be my maid of honour?”

Tom sighed as he rolled his eyes. “Alright.”

She chirped and jumped over to hug him.

Oh, what was Tom getting into?

—

Y/N had dropped Miguel at Tom and Haz’ place early in the morning, of course leaving him after having a small makeout session in her car. Tom had clenched his jaw trying to ignore it.

“Hey!” Miguel greeted them. “No puedo (I can’t), I can’t believe it, Man, I’m hanging out with Spider-Man.”

Tom felt his pride pushing him up, as he smirked, coming up with an idea to make the man regret he was trying to compete with Tom. Of course, Miguel didn’t even know it was a competition because it certainly wasn’t, but Tom wanted him to regret it. Tom was going to win.

“Sure,” Tom laughed as he made him walk in. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“So how did you meet y/n?” Miguel Asked. “She told me it was at a Halloween party.”

Tom nodded, as Harrison joined them. They both had a plan to know what exactly we’re his flaws and where and how they would take him down.

“Yes,” Tom agreed. “I was trynna sleep with her.”

“Tom Holland, the Spider-Man,” Harrison added getting to Tom’s game.

“And she rejected you,” Miguel added. Tom and Haz paused and stared at each other.

“Yeah, but I’m glad, we are the best of friends,” Tom said after he cleared his throat. “So, uh, Miguel, we usually go to the gym and train a little, hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, need to go to the gym, too,” Miguel answered.

Sooner or later the three of them were at the gym, Tom and Harrison realized that Mr Perfect was even more than perfect. He was boxing as well, and he trained at the gym as well.

Tom had borrowed him a shirt, and he didn’t know why or how but it looked better on Miguel. As if Miguel was made for that shirt.

But Tom and Haz had another plan to destroy him while gathering information about him.

He was 27 and had studied at Harvard. Mr. Perfect had plans to continue studying and they included y/n. He was a singer and had graduated with honours. He also spoke 4 languages fluently. He played the piano and the guitar. Of course, Tom only thought the only thing he didn’t know how to do, Tom guessed, was how to fly.

He was perfect. And Tom and Harrison were watching him as he was boxing, sure, he wasn’t as skilled at Tom, but hell, he looked good while doing it. Quick learner he was.

“This is gonna be tough,” Harrison commented, as they walked to the locker room. “He’s gonna be more competition than you thought.”

Tom glared at his friend. “I know her better than him.” Miguel was taking off his shirt, and walking to the shower just to reveal just a perfectly tanned and sweaty body. Tom scoffed. “And… I mean, I’m pretty ripped too.”

Tom leaned against his locker, as his coach approached them.

“Hey, Tom, who’s that guy?” Patrick asked. “Man’s got skills.”

Tom bumped his head against his locker rolling his eyes, before turning to Pat. “He’s y/N’s fiancé.”

“Oh, y/n as in… y/n? but weren’t you….?” He pointed at Tom confused.

“Yep, y/n as in the woman who has Tom drooling,” Haz laughed. Patrick blew his cheeks and shook his head.

“You’ve got it bad, then, that boys got mad cows disease,” Patrick commented. Tom lost it.

“What?”Tom Asked.

“You know what I mean,Y/N is having fun” Patrick shrugged, Tom bumped his head into the locker repeatedly. “I mean, sorry, sorry.”

“Guy’s a damn Greek god,” Harrison admitted.

“Look, I’ll… just,” Tom rolled his eyes. “I mean, I know her. I’ll just.”

“He must have some dirt on him,” Patrick pointed out. “Hire a P.I., I know a guy, everybody's got skeletons in the closet. Nobody is skweeky-clean, he can find something on him.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “That sounds cheap.”

“I’ll charge you double,” Patrick laughed.

Tom faked laugh. “I meant it’s a cheap thing to do.”

“He play's cheep, you gotta match that,” Patrick pointed out.

Tom laughed. “How does he play cheap?”

Haz nodded. “That whole thing with y/n, being latino. Making her fall in love with him in Mexico.”

“That "monster thing" of his,” Pointed out Patrick.

Tom frowned. “Fine. Get the dirt.”

Miguel had walked back in, towel around his waist. Tom was slightly jealous of the tan the guy carried. Big sculptured body.

“Hey,” he greeted them, showing his ad-material smile. Tom coughed. “Hey, oh, y/n told me, you’re having lunch with her, right? And with the rest of the bridesmaids.”

“Shoot,” Tom cursed and nodded. “Right, So… you’ll be stuck with Harrison.”

“He’ll be stuck with who?” Asked Haz. Miguel laughed. “Right, guess I’ll show you around London…”

Y/N was waiting for her friends anxiously at Lantana Cafe Shoreditch, she was drinking from her hot coffee as she tapped her foot. Her life was about to change in just a month, and she needed them to give her all the strength she needed. The last six months had been the best for her, it had helped her get her mind off Tom. She was over him, of course.

Or that’s what she had thought, at least. The moment she had seen him with flowers at the airport, her world had slapped her back into reality. But said feelings had been completely erased the moment she had seen Miguel. Miguel was everything she wanted, and Miguel was everything she needed.

He was a good guy, perfect in every way. And she had said yes.

She stared down at the ring, Tiffany’s. It was funny since he had proposed without one. But when she had said yes, he had called his mother and gotten her a ring. It was beautiful. Miguel was her dream come true. Or she tried to convince herself. Her mother had first questioned her, but when she had met Miguel the day before, every question was forgotten. Everybody had congratulated y/n, especially her girlfriends who described him as the perfect catch. He was handsome, intelligent, and he had money. Not that that mattered, but her friends had been kind to point it out.

But she still knew that she was still stuck somewhere else. But she had convinced herself that she couldn’t think about it anymore. Being in love with Tom had been so hard, all those years. They belonged to different worlds, and sometimes it was too present. And y/n knew how hard it would be to be around him if they were to ever date. As if they would’ve dated. He didn’t love her.

y/n needed to sort everything out before leaving to Mexico, because of course, she hadn’t told anybody, but these were her last weeks in London. She was going to move, say goodbye to her precious life.

To everyone. Because otherwise she’d be attached to hope.Hope which, had arrived first.

Tom arrived first, all washed up with that black leather jacket he liked to wear. He had a flower again, a single sunflower, and he was taking off his helmet, making y/n warm up. She stood up and hugged him while he kissed her cheek.

“Oh my god, thanks for coming,” she said, as Tom chuckled and handed her the flower. “Thanks, Tommy, you’re an angel….Oh, where is Miguel-?”

“Stayed with Haz, he was going to show him around,” Tom answered coldly.

“So. thoughts?” Y/N asked as the waitress walked over. “Ah, he’ll have tea with cream.”

Tom chuckled as he shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll have that,” he smiled at the waitress who bashfully winked at him. Tom ignored the wink and turned back to y/n, who frowned.

“Wow, you really did change,” she pointed out, and Tom shrugged.

“So, Mr. Perfect, huh?” Tom said, changing the subject. “Is there anything he can’t do?”

Y/N stayed quiet, rolling her eyes. “Well, he is indeed perfect,” she gave in. “No, but really, what did you think? Be honest, Tom, that’s what you do best.”

“Does it matter? I mean, I’ve always talked about your boyfriends, but now you’re getting married, what’s the point?-”Tom gulped.

“Tommy,” y/n laughed.

“Don’t get married,” Tom said seriously looking into her eyes.

Y/N felt her heart sink and blinked watching him. He meant it, he was serious.

“What?” Y/N asked, and stared deep into his eyes, he reached over for her hands.

“Don’t get married.” He repeated.

“Why?” Y/N stared down at his lips, and at their holding hands.

“You don’t even know the guy!” Tom insisted.

“I need a real reason,” y/n cleared, frowning. “I’m in love with him.”

“You just met the guy!” Tom reminded her.

“So? Time knowing someone doesn’t mean a thing, I mean, I’ve known Lizzie for 15 years now, yet she is not my best friend, you are! Love is timeless,” Y/N defended herself. “That’s no reason, I will marry him.”

“You’re asking me for reasons and I’m giving them, you’re just giving comebacks,” Tom snapped.

“If I can have a comeback then it isn’t a good reason,” Y/N declared. “Give me a real reason, one which I can’t give an excuse for. Is he a bad guy?”Tom stayed quiet staring into her eyes as if he was trying to say something but words wouldn't come out. Y/N leaned over. “I need a reason, be honest Tom.”

Tom gulped and closed his eyes as he looked down, avoiding her gaze. He couldn’t speak.

There were 3 words, they could be transformed into 6 even, that could stop the wedding. Y/N was perfectly aware that if Tom dared to say those words, if he felt them, she would stop the wedding.

“I know you don’t believe in weddings Tom,” she murmured.

“Maybe I do,” Tom said.

She looked at him. “Then, I ask you again, why shouldn’t I marry him?”

“I…” Tom murmured, and he looked up at her. “Does he make you happy?”

“Very much so,” y/n confirmed but stared into him, begging him to say those words.

“Then I’m happy if you’re happy,” Tom finally conceited.

Y/N sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, not believing what was happening, really disappointed. But Tom was honest, so y/n knew that this whole thing was stupid. She was marrying Miguel, Miguel loved her and she loved him.

“How did you fall for him?” Tom asked. “How does he make you feel?”

“I don’t quite understand it, I wouldn’t know how to explain it, seems like I knew more about love when I didn’t have it,” y/n said. “It was an accident.”

“Two souls don’t find each other by accident,” Tom said.

“That’s from Borges,” y/n pointed out. She blinked.

“Yeah, I read his works, I also read Pablo Neruda,” Tom commented. “Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me, I shall stop loving you, little by little, if suddenly you forget me, do not look for me…”

“For I shall already have forgotten you,” y/n finished. “That’s actually the poem that got me into him.”

Tom grinned. “Really? Funny, that’s the first one I read last night, I read it and ended up all night reading his works.”

“I…” Y/N had to clear her throat. “Yeah, I shielded myself in poetry.”

“I guess I have to, as well,” Tom gulped. “ I want you to know, one thing,” he started reciting again. “You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you.”

y/n just stared at him, mesmerized. Feeling her skin warming up but cold at the same time. As if he knew how she had felt when she had found that poem. Because that particular poem was for him. Because she had found poetry that was speaking to her broken heart.

Poetry that had healed her and made her fall in love with Miguel. But now the same poetry that had healed her, was ripping her apart. She had to stop.

She cleared her throat. “That’s cheating you probably heard Madonna’s version.”

Tom shook his head. “No, I figured that if you’re into poetry now I might as well be into it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Really? What for?”

“Because it’s you,” Tom said. “We’ve been apart 6 months and 6 months we’ve grown apart, and I really don’t want that, I still want to be the one who knows your thoughts before you can even think of them.”

Y/N blinked, watching him. She was broken again.

The door opened to greet her friends, Lizzie, Hannah and Jess had arrived. “And there are my bridesmaids,” Y/N grinned standing up. “Please behave, Tom, with Lizzie, now she’s even madder at you because she wanted to be my maid of honour since we met.”

“Great.”

Tom sighed as he stood up to give them a smile.

They all hugged her and Hannah and Jess said hello to Tom.

“The bride to be!” Hannah sang. Y/N blushed as she nodded.

Lizzie basically screamed as she hugged y/n, then ignored Tom completely, Tom rolled his eyes.

“Hannah, Jess, Liz,” Tom said with a smile. “How are you guys?”

Liz ignored his question as she sat down, ordering a coffee.

“Well, this isn’t awkward,” Tom mentioned as the five of them were all sat down now. They started to gossip about something about dresses or shoes, y/n wasn’t really listening, she was just smiling, her eyes glued on Tom.

“Oh gosh, now, you were with Miguel, weren’t you Tom?” Hannah asked and Tom nodded as the waiter brought them all their coffees. “He’s the dreamiest.”

Y/N chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“Hey, pass me the Splenda, please,” Liz asked, and Tom passed it over. “Can anyone else pass me the Splenda?” Liz asked again and Hannah quickly gave it to her. “Oh wait no, did you just break a rule, Tom?”

Tom sighed as he looked down at his own tea. Y/N rolled her eyes, as she was going to speak trying to defend him, but her phone vibrated. She smiled and got out to show a text from Miguel.

He had sent her a picture with Harrison. “Wish it was you, love you, amor mío.”

Y/N got back to her senses, Miguel was the love of her life. Yes, it was him. The poetry that had healed her. She smiled and showed it to her friends. “Isn’t he adorable?”

“Lovely,” Tom said as he looked away. Clearly, there was something bothering him.

“So, okay,” Y/N said. “We have three weeks and there’s a lot we have to do before I leave.”

“Do you have a venue?” Asked Lizzie, taking out a notebook. “I’m prepared,” she glared at Tom.

“So what do we need?” Tom asked, taking out his phone.

“So I have a checklist,” Lizzie continued.

Y/N sighed as she looked down. “Okay, so it’s… This is too much.”

“No, look, we’ll start with this… So there are 5 important things, we have to set the budget.”

“Right, uh, Miguel is taking care of that, and he gave me this number,” y/n wrote it down on a paper.

“Holy shit,” Jess commented. “Damn.”

“Now, wow, okay… date?” Hannah asked.

“New years,” Y/N answered.

“Who gets married in New Years?” Jess laughed. “But hey, it’s nice! New year, new you?”

“Now, we have to book the venue,” Lizzie continued.

“Ah, his mom is taking care of that, we’ll get married in Bacalar, Quintana Roo,” y/n explained excited, taking out her phone to show them pictures of the beautiful place, it was a garden in a lagoon, it was beautiful. It was amazing, just a paradise. “It’s this place called Paraiso Bacalar which means… Well, paradise We’ll arrive in a boat and everything, it’s amazing… The most romantic place and Miguel proposed to me in that town, and that venue is just perfect..”

The three girls let out a sigh and smiled, letting out an ‘aww’. Tom stared at the place. “It has a lagoon?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’d get married in the lagoon,” Y/N smiled.

Tom looked down. “All fairytale-like,” he commented.

“Now, the guest list!” Lizzie smirked. “Who are you inviting?”

“Uh, I have the list already, and besides it’ll be around 300 people, I mean most of them Miguel’s family, apparently Mexican families are big and they invite everyone to their wedding,” y/n laughed. The three friends stared at each other, and Tom kept quiet.

“Oooh,” Hannah smirked and wiggled her eyebrows. “What about the honeymoon?”

Y/N smiled. “Ah, apparently we will take a cruise.”

“Uh, the florist…” Lizzie continued.

“Okay, Liz, thanks for all of that, but I’ll plan that when I’m in Mexico, I already have a wedding planner helping me with all of that, I need the things I can solve here-” y/n explained.

“Right, look, I’ve been MOH 6 times now so I know everything that needs to get done, I’ll help you, even if I’m not the official one,”

“Mo?” Tom asked confused.

“Made of Honour,” Liz rolled her eyes. “Honestly, y/n he doesn’t… Okay… So it’s… So, we've got the bridal shower, the bachelorette, dress fittings,” Lizzie explained. “Shopping for your trousseau.”

“What’s a trousseau?” Tom asked again even more confused, as the girls laughed.

“Lingerie, darling, for the wedding night” y/n answered. “Oh, you’ll be a good help with that, you’ve seen more lingerie so you’ll know what’s up.”

“I’ll… be what?” Tom’s eyes widened as he blushed.

“Now, for our dresses,” Lizzie continued. “What colour?”

“I was thinking turquoise? To go with the lagoon…” Y/N felt overwhelmed. This was really happening and she couldn’t back away. Or, she could, but it wouldn’t feel right. But this whole information was too much.

“Great, what’s your dress size, Maid of Honour?” Lizzie asked with poison as a smirk was placed on her face, Tom frowned.

“What’s your jock size, Liz?” Tom snapped.

“Guys, please, behave,” y/n rolled her eyes. “Okay, so… I need my wedding dress, I already have my appointment tomorrow so.”

“When is Miguel leaving to Mexico?” Asked Jessica.

“Tomorrow, as well,” y/n sighed. “He needs to get everything arranged.”

“And your bridal shower will be this Friday,” Lizzie was speaking mostly to herself as she was looking down at her calendar. “Tom you need to plan that one, at your place.”

“You’re getting married, y/n,” Tom murmured, staring down at his tea.

“I’m getting married, Tom.”

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4pz · 4 years

Text

((personal update))

most won’t read till the end and i don’t blame you. you’ve been programmed not to. summary, i’ve been taking a dopamine detox. here’s why.

before i put this out there, i’d like to say i am human just like you. these thoughts stem from observing majority but not everyone. i’ve been guilty of all these doings at a point in time and most likely will be in the future. no human is perfect. this is just my way of adding some perspective to our imperfections..

so i know i’ve been publicly quiet for a few years now. this is because of personal events as well as gradually becoming more uncomfortable with the behavior we’re allowing as a society.

in my opinion, we are subconsciously controlling each other. we are addicted to short term dopamine infused feedback loops.. as humans its in our nature to want people to like us. gratification from others is the strongest drug there is. but think about how dangerous it can get when there’s several platforms with millions of constantly active users that could instantly feed you with a like, love or thumbs up etc. not just one person in front of you saying they like you but potentially millions of people saying they like you. i imagine that would leave your subconscious thinking, what do i need to do next for more people to like me? that thought is the first sign of you being controlled.

not only are we competing with each other for validation, but the demand for content vs appreciation scale is far out of balance. what happens when you take an impatient market combined with a fixation of dopamine infused approval, you get more product with less substance.. in a world where all media and information is available at a touch of a button/screen, this naturally makes us more and more impatient. therefore, when it comes to “content”, we’re empowering quantity over quality. gradually decreasing what humans accept daily while over saturating all markets. this can be dangerous.

i thought deeper into why we allow this. what i call the more of less theory. simply put, there’s only so many ways of doing something, while there are countless amounts of people trying to do the same things. that’s why nothing is truly original. everything is a newer rendition (hopefully improvement) of an already existing idea. this literally applies to everything.

as innovation is dying and copying is thriving, i’ve become even more lost in my search for “truth”. i started to realize that there honestly is no truth when it comes to the correct way to live. it really comes down to all power remaining in the eye of the beholder.. to get more honest, most are just chasing quick gains rather then long term change. this goes back to blaming our vastly growing impatience. not to mention the easier route will always appear more appealing then the harder route. which now brings me to my concerns with social media.

insta(nt gratification from strangers) isn’t entirely healthy, for me at least. read that both ways.. not only do we value outside opinions more then we should, we start to lose who we really are at the expense of others approval. the longer we spend scrolling the easier we are influenced. the more we see how “influential” beings are living, the more we naturally become envious of that lifestyle. slowly we start attempting to become more and more like the figures we look up to until we don’t even know who we really are.. now a’days it seems like most don’t even know how to form an opinion without first checking what everyone else thinks.

social media is one out of many forms of dopamine that we rely on to get through the day. we create false realities to distract us further and longer from our actual realities. we share the best and hide the rest. we thrive off of the approval from others to reassure us from our own insecurities. we tear each other down at times to feel some sense of control. we watch self improvement videos rather then actually implementing them in our lives. we distort our perception of others based on their online identity. we base our own worth on our social identity, status, and class rather then our actual character and values. we constantly spread biased misinformation, since everyone has the ability to voice any opinion they please, which leads to mass propaganda and solidifies the expiration of truth. we justify unproductive behavior and lie to ourselves over and over until we are eventually fine with it..

now i’m not saying all dopamine is bad all the time. we need some form of reward when we do something good. i’m just saying it seems most need a significant amount of dopamine in a short timespan to feel okay. this can be dangerous.

in my short 22 years, i’ve spent countless nights overthinking and analyzing the complex world i was put in. very confused on determining what’s actually right from wrong since we’re all born the same way but live drastically different lifestyles. one person could be completely supportive of something while another being completely against it. so far the 2 best overall attributes i’ve found to guide my compass is perspective and balance.

so, why update us after so long of silence just to be more silent? well because i felt the need. a personal update seemed appropriate in this interesting time we’re all experiencing. if i help give one person just a little perspective and awareness leading to a little more balance n possibly some happiness, then i feel i’ve done my part.. please may we all unify and do our part to promote love and equality! we have the power, we are the future and i will forever remain obediently yours.

coming full circle, i would have never made any social accounts had i not pursued a career as an artist. i have a lot of unreleased music, ideas and poetry created. still currently creating.. making impactful art that no one else understands fills me with joy and purpose. wether thousands of people experience it or i continue to keep it to myself, either way it has always been therapeutic to create and revise. i may release content again to the public if i feel compelled to. could be in a few months, could be a few years or could be never. whatever it is, i’d like to thank anyone who’s ever given me any time of day, in any sort of way. i love you, all of you..

i’d also like to apologize to the ones i didn’t treat properly in the past while growing up and losing myself as a person. with how complex life can be, at times you may find yourself caught up in things that don’t really matter. i have spent a good amount of time recognizing my mistakes, accepting them and learning from them to better myself everyday going forward. i hope you understand and one day grow to forgive me if possible.

lastly, i value your time and hope you do as well. that’s kind of why i wrote all of this. if you’ve made it this far, you’re special. you’re interested in programming your life to be a little different. a little better. after this, will you continue scrolling or start a new journey? most people say just do what makes you happy. if scrolling makes you happy, who am i to stop you? i’m just another human on my pursuit of happiness. X staY up -Z

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barryslightningrod · 4 years

Note

Hey!🤗 How ‘bout 27, 28 & 39! Thank you!✌️

27. best review you ever got

I love every review I’ve ever gotten ❤️ Including the gif responses on Tumblr 😂 But these are some I’ve saved to read when I’m having a bad day that make me laugh or make me tear up. I couldn't pick one and they remind me how much fun this is:

“My word! This fic is amazing! What I loved most about it was that it's quite poetic and artistic in creating its own canvas of Barry and Iris, how colourless both of them felt after the breakup and how full of life they are together. I genuinely enjoyed the art commentary at the beginning and the seriously hawt sex. Hot damn. The paintbrush should have grossed me out but it was seriously hot af.”

“Where does one even start with this precious story you've given us? You paint such a beautiful setting with the ice cream parlour and Noah's feelings of having to work on such a busy summer day and of course, the sweet West-Allen family. I love the idea that Barry and Iris's love creates this little bubble around them that protects them and that they unintentionally get lost in their own little world with just the two of them. It only makes sense that this little world would expand to include their two sweet children. So much loves abounds between them, so much so that even Noah can see it in such a short amount of time. This story captures all that Barry has ever wanted: building a life with Iris and making their own traditions with their children while also keeping the memory of his parents alive as best as he can. Goodness. This is truly such a special little story.”

“Whew, chile....this had my blood pumping first thing in the morning. LOL. OOC or not this was SUPER HOT so thank you for sharing.”

“Once again, love the character reveal, specifically, Iris's determination, self-reliance and work ethic, even while masturbating! But like you say in one of the comments, I can only imagine that she does feel like this regularly. While there are many, many benefits of being with a speedster, there are a ton of drawbacks and regular loneliness is one of them.But check out how neither of them is surprised when Barry returns. She's relieved and not embarrassed and he just comes in and finishes the job without hesitation. sigh.”

The stories I've read from you so far are perfect in rendering the sheer emotion that's generated between these two. You can really feel the palpable force or love and pain, joy and sorrow between them. It makes reading that much more enjoyable”

“OMG *CRIES* THIS WAS SO TENDER AND SO FLUFFY CUTE I DIE!!!!!This cuteness is TO MUCH FOR MY POOR HEART *AHH*I DONT THINK THERE ARE WORDS ENOUGH TO EXPRESS MY LOVE FOR THIS OMG (Hence all the caps)“What’s your treasure, Daddy?” Don poses.“You guys are my treasure,” Barry answers with soft reverence, the glimmer in his eyes as he looks upon hischildren visible even from where Iris stands, and her heart swells so tremendously that she feels it might burst."*flows of tears* OH MY GOSH!!! BARRY ALLEN IS THE BEST FATHER EVER SERIOUSLY..I MELTED WITH EACH WORDHE WOULD SAY TO HIS KIDS AND HOW LOVING AND CARING HE IS OF THEM WHILE IRIS IS AWAY GAH MY HEART“You’re my treasure, you know that?” she murmurs, clutching him more tightly.His beaming in response is instant as he recognizes that she’s been home all along, and he slides an arm down her back to tug her close to him while they head to their bedroom together.Yup, Iris thinks to herself as she leans her head against her husband's shoulder, upholding what she always believed. I wouldn't change a thing."*DEAD WITH FEELS* AHHH IF THE INTERACTION WITH THE TWINS WASNT ENOUGH, THIS WITH IRIS WAS THE CHERRY ON TOP!!!! GAH SHE LOVES HIM SO MUCH!!! SHE WAS TOTALY IN AWWS OF HIM AND I CAN'TI HOPE WE GET SOMETHING LIKE THIS IN THE SHOW BECAUSE IF NOT IMA RE READ THIS A MILLION TIMES OVER.. IM LIKE DROWNING WITH FEELS RIGHT NOW ITS NO JOKE LOL THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!!!!*Goes to a corner to cry some more happy tears*”

“Gorgeous! Iris's love for Barry is so tangible here, and I love how you managed to draw out how Barry says things to Iris and waits for her to interpret them for them both! Such a great piece, and one of my favorite moments! Thanks for writing and sharing!”

“You write sexual sensuality so well. It's so beautiful. It's like you really understand their characters and how they would approach their relationship. Well done, as always!”

“So much perfection. I can practically feel the smut that is to follow. The sizzle is REAL. And how wonderful that Grant's tweet inspired this! Just another wonderful after-effect to CP&GG's flirty twitter convo. hehe.This is my favorite:"His reply is instant. Right now? Your legs, he admits."Lmao. It's just so...like a knee-jerk response. He doesn't think much of it, just answers the question honestly & immediately, and just so casual. That stops immediately with HER VERY SUGGESTIVE response. haha. Oh goodness. But all of this was so lovely & steamy, in only a way yours can be. It's sexting for crying out loud & yet the UST is just...I mean..."Goddammit, Iris."XD So fabulous. Can't wait for your next piece!(Oh & also! - Even for The Flash? Especially for The Flash. lol)”

“Thank yo so much for this amazing fic. I wanted a fic like this for so long, even though about writing it myself but with lack of time it's hard. This is everything I wanted, because ever since she said she couldn't stop thinking about him and really wanted a fic where that was the case and you did it perfectly. Thank you. This is magnificent.”

“This is beautifully written. I wouldn't class it as smut per se but it is most definitely erotic and the pacing was perfect for a short story. I couldn't believe it was only 600+ words because you managed to get so much in there: Iris' regret, Barry's longing which turned into his conviction when they did get it right. Thank you so much for sharing and I hope to see more from you.”

“I couldn't get through a sentence without crying and trembling (you fuck me up). Wow! you took my breath away. It took me forever to finish reading because I had to stop and wipe my eyes several time. Excellent execution! Thank you”

“You did them justice with this short piece. A blow job has no business sounding this romantic, but it is, because you channeled the WestAllen into your words with your amazing talent. Thank you for sharing!”

“Beautiful story. Perfectly in character. I could definitely see them having "private" vows and "public" vows and that Barry would be the one to suggest it....he's such a romantic. Loved this so much and thanks for writing.”

“Ok for real, you are soo sooooo talented and I always look forward to reading your fanfics, those writers should reaaaaally hire you one of these days. Am supposed to be prepping for an exam but am literally glued to my phone right now reading and re-reading your fics, but what can I say.... TOTALLY WORTH IT:-P!!!”

“Inksmudge does westallen better than the tv show does westallen”

“AND PLEASE BE RESPONSIBLE THAT THIS FIC MADE ME SOOOOO TURNED ON AND SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED THINKING ABT WESTALLEN GET ON AFTER SEEING CANDICE AND GRANT GORGEOUS HIATUS FACES ON THEIR RESPECTIVE INSTA TODAY KNOWING DAMN WELL ILL NEVER GET OT ON THE SHOW”

“Whenever I see you posted a story, it's like fanfic christmas or easter. You know, because you don't do it a lot so whenever you do post it's special. It's like when you open your ask on tumblr. I'm just like "Ohh Ink is Back, YAY!" No matter what the story is about. Cheers!”

“I don't know how you do it--how you manage to integrate love, lust, grief and sadness into one beautiful thing. This particular chapter feels like a combination of the ones that came before in terms of themes. Iris trying to maintain on her own, the struggle to have and give up control, her beef with the Speedforce, etc. But I would also like to point out just the DAMN GOOD WRITING. Your writing is so fluid and your vocabulary so rich that you kind of make it look easy, to be honest. But sentences like these are just real gems://She cries his name loudly, moans in euphoria like she needs the Speed Force, God, whoever took him to hear her as a vengeance, to know that she had him back and was never letting him go.//That line just won't let me go.”

28. worst review you ever got

I can't remember if it was my brief story about Barry and Cisco getting haircuts together or the little story I wrote about drunk Iris after Cecile’s baby shower, but someone on Fanfiction.net reviewed it as just “Stupid.” I deleted the comment 😂

39. do you want to be published someday?

I would yes, but I think I would want to be published for poetry or a personal narrative essay as of now. I don’t have many ideas for original fiction at this time, but I would be thrilled to be published for that one day. A girl can dream 😔

#ladykendiceismoi #asks #fic talks #ask games

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stormofblue-blog · 5 years

Text

submit | storm of blue press

We want every unsent text you wish you were brave enough to send. Consider this an open phone plan.

Below is a snippet from our editor-in-chief; it includes a list of things we're always interested in reading more about, primarily feelings and ideas that excite & break us like waves against the shore.

GIRLS, electric loss, pink + blue + neon colors, unsent text messages + sent ones that blink back as read, vodka, dancing in the street at night, sloppy mouths, the day after, regret, plastic flamingo lights, 4:17 am, ruined cuticles, murmuring both ends of a conversation because I find myself talking to you through every orgasm, bathroom sinks, whole foods green hair, rewriting texts 6 different times bc I can’t bear to mess this up, pink drinks, glow in the dark stars, taking hours to fall asleep because it’s so easy to picture you sprawled out against this warm body, crying over “Someone Great” on Netflix, blaming everything on astrology, or timing, or me over you, sunsets, drinking just for an excuse to spill my guts, when a heart breaks does it echo, Boston accents, smiling into a kiss, New York, the state almost touching it just as much as I’m never touching you, empty spaces that make me choke, bright, half hideous stuffed animals won from claw machines, that moment when someone smiles + they put their hand over the camera lens, wishing I could make out with my phone and somehow transfer it like a Venmo, throwing dumb shit across my room to feel in control, eating Cheetos and nothing else all day, more alcohol, not remembering anything about that dream except knowing you were in it, pining, standing in the pool for hours and not moving, music videos in my head spilling out onto pavement, colored smoke, hazy boundaries, lines that slip like Crayola chalk in the rain, touching myself and wishing it was you instead, screaming sounds instead of words bc what do I even say, begging for a release bc this body can’t hold it all in, every single “I love you” + “I’m sorry” + “do you think we will ever be able to work” + all the in-betweens, a compilation of snapchat messages + insta DMs + texts + Spotify songs played right when you log on just in case you’re still watching me + the day we first met, digitalized 4ever, heartbeats sent through iMessage, voice memos recorded at 3 am & never sent to you but sometimes played back to myself years later to remind these fangs that there was a time I still fucking cared about something [anything], fisticuffs, friends to enemies to lovers to emotional tag as an Olympic sport, concentrated want like orange juice but it hurts more when I swallow, unobtainable vulnerability, balloons after a party when they fall really slowly and it’s like watching you leave all over again but in slow motion [funny bc you’re always running], birthday cake, 6 years of cards, candles which remind me of fire, remind me of your hands, remind me of that Buffy episode where she & Spike fuck & the whole goddamn house falls to the ground, absence, missing flights, missing chances, + missing you

Multimedia, nontraditional, and experimental collections are encouraged but not required.

Storm of Blue Press is by & for lgbtq women & nonbinary people. In your cover letter, please highlight the connection you personally have with the lgbtq community and with being a woman or nonbinary. We discourage third person bios with a string of publications and no personal connection. At Blue, it doesn't matter where you've been previously published (although it's really cool to meet those familiar with our friends of course). Bios can instead be built around unique aspects of your presence, and even include non-writing related attributes. Who do you fight for? What makes you angry, mad, or passionate? Who do you love and why? What's the saddest thing that's ever happened to you? Favorite food, dogs or cats, tiny, microscopic details you don't think anyone cares about... [spoiler alert: we care a lot]. Choose some of the above prompts or create your own, but please remain original, authentic, and unapologetically yourself.

We accept simultaneous submissions, but please notify us immediately if your work finds home elsewhere.

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Storm of Blue Press requires a $15 reading fee for zines and micro chapbooks (25 pages and less), a $20 reading fee for chapbooks (50 pages and less) and a $25 reading fee for full length poetry collections. We are not currently accepting young adult manuscripts unless they are lgbtq centered and absolutely amazing ($25 reading fee as well because we value both your time and ours).

We waive our reading fees for ALL lgbtq women & nonbinary people who ask, to help bridge the elitist divide in creative spaces. If you need a fee waived, email [email protected]

Blue Literary Magazine and Storm of Blue Press are by & for lgbtq women & nonbinary people. All male submissions will be automatically declined.

As an author, you are considered a collaborator not only regarding royalties, but also in relation to artistic liberty. If accepted, our team will edit, guide, and format your manuscript while respectfully considering your vision. Because our team values your partnership, we share 50% of all manuscript profits with our creators and will pay to commission your book cover. Blue is composed of poets, writers, and artists with strong social media presence and dedicated readers/viewers. If accepted, said team will foster and promote your work via social media, help generate engagement, and potentially arrange for public readings. Blue remains a small, independent publisher, so we are able to give personalized attention to all of our authors, while guiding them through the literary world.

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#press #small press #literary press #literary magazine #magazine #zine #chapbook #microchap #collection #poetry collection #lgbtq poetry #confessional poetry #sapphic #sapphic poetry #lgbtq #lgbt #writers #paid content #call for submissions

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antigoneblue · 5 years

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Are there any lit magazines you recommend to submit to?

hey anon! took me a few days to get to this because 5th sem’s getting over right now (this is the last week before our end sem exams) and there was too much going on & i wanted to like… sit down with a clear head and get this right.

ok, i’m gonna list out some lit mags i trust. i’m also going to tell you how i choose where to submit, so that you can choose where to send your work in based on what works best for you. this got a little long so i’m putting it under a read more.

2 things to keep in mind when submitting is the kind of work they feature (genre, quality, whatever) & the masthead. when looking at the work they feature, ask yourself: is my work suitable for this mag? do the already published works here compliment what my work has & are they works i would like my piece to be featured alongside? a lot of mags may seem lucrative because they have a huge readership, but if the work they’re looking to publish doesn’t align with the work you’re bringing out, that’s not the right choice for you. also: check the masthead, always. sometimes, magazines might feature good work, but the masthead might be problematic. look up the editors! check out their twitter/facebook/insta whatever, check that they seem to be decent people that u trust. generally just research the magazine a bit before you send in any work.

ok! that said, here, from my experience, are some magazines that i like/ that i trust. these are based on what i know of them right now, and is in no way a Fact or whatever.

off the top of my head, i can think of

jellyfish review (their twitter account is really lovely, like, they’re super interactive and fun and give the energy of really caring abt their contributors. also when the whole pro life thing was blowing up they did a special feature on abortion and pro-choice related stories. i love that they did that.)

honey & lime lit (not to be That person but im friends with the editor of this mag and she’s a really lovely person, your work will be in safe hands, if you’re nervous)

homology lit (the masthead seems pretty cool, and some amazing poetry’s featured in past issues, and i have a poem in their upcoming issue and i am so excited! haha)

moonchild magazine (their EIC is an actual angel, like, i kid you not. she’s so supportive and sweet and always speaks out against abuse and bigotry and supports survivors and whatnot, i just. she makes me feel safe, ok.)

half mystic (they were the first mag i EVER submitted to, so the rejection i got really stung, lol. but after sending work out to more places and whatnot, i realised that the rejection letter they’d sent me was actually really sweet…. much more than is the norm.)

brave voices magazine (they tweeted a few days ago asking for more submissions! so they might be open for subs RIGHT NOW, go check. i love the kind of work they feature, it’s usually identity-centric or deeply personal, from what i’ve read, and like. it’s Good. i’ve never submitted to them but i plan to soon. bonus: their editor is a lovely person)

flypaper lit (i have a monthly column up here!!! as someone who’s working with them, like, with that kind of frequency - it’s really a delight. their editor is super chill and amazing and i love them, haha.)

glass poetry (never actually published here or submitted so i can’t really say much but they do feature things i love.)

ghost city press (i remember a friend from a poetry network i was in recommending them much before i actually started sending out work. everyone seems to have a good opinion of them!)

adroit journal (again, i don’t know much abt this, but one of my mutuals suggested it and was excited about them.)

pigeonholes (this one’s on my lit mags to consider submitting to list, but i actually haven’t researched them very much. i remember one of my friends had a poem in here and she was pretty happy abt the experience!)

damaged goods (again, havent done anything much with this press, but heard mostly good things abt them. i think they focus on trans people specifically.)

empty mirror (heard good things about them, and i love the vibes they give off!)

the nasiona (if you’re into writing nonfiction, they’re a good place to consider imo)

coffin bell magazine! (esp since it’s spooky season! idk i read ONE story off this website and it changed my life lmao)

barren magazine (i had a poem in issue 6 i think it was??? and like. the whole experience of working with them was amazing, they consulted me over edits, we discussed things out, they were very patient with me when i messed something up, etc etc etc)

blanket sea magazine (i love the fact that this magazine exists! they focus on disability, if i remember right)

so!! im not sure when the submissions for these magazines are open (if theyre open now, or opening later.) nor am i 100% sure abt the criteria of them - some of them, i think, are for specific groups like poc only or trans people only or, you know, things like that. there are definitely more that i’m forgetting!!!

im too tired to add links right now, sorry.

there are also a few lit mags that i would advise against submitting to.

not sure of the details but there was a whole thing with anti-heroin chic defending a racist editor and when one of my mutuals drew attention to the fact that the editor was racist, they were really rude to her. i don’t know what went on exactly and it’s not my place to ask, but i wouldnt ever submit there personally.

i had a really shitty experience with storm of blue press in which they policed my identity and intentionally misunderstood me when i said “nonbinary is a spectrum of genders, not a single monolith gender identity” and got offended by the fact that i used the word ‘woman-aligned’ to refer to my friends……..who aren’t women……….but are woman-aligned…………like………..that’s the phrase they use for themselves?? there was other stuff too (biphobia) and they harassed one of my friends + tweeted about how her manuscript was “lazy work” and not good enough or something, so. steer clear

apparently rust + moth published a terf once and when someone brought this to their notice, they made fun of the person who spoke out about it and refused to take down the work, so…..

arkay artists was defending a racist author who said something about blackface not being too racist / implied it was forgiveable…… she’s white so. she isn’t an authority on this. then, the mag proceeded to call one of my nonbinary friends a b*tch off their official account, which is gross & unprofessional and an act of misgendering, to top that off.

this is all i’ve got!!! i’m in no way a pro - if you’re really interested in submitting to lit mags, twitter’s a great platform to network. i follow a lot of lit mag accounts, and that’s how i keep in the loop of what’s happening, where to submit, etc etc.

take this with as many pinches of salt as you want -im not an authority, i might be biased, but these r just observations based off what i’ve seen, what i’ve experienced and what my friends have told me! DO UR OWN RESEARCH TOO!

#anon #long post #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #ugh i forgot so many mags!!!!!!!!!#im sorry #it's something tho #a place to start?

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wroteclassicaly · 6 years

Text

Fiercely Vigilant

Michael Langdon / Reader

A/N : Requested by an anon was a jealous Michael. I made him jealous of the emotional friendship the reader has with Mr. Gallant. Hope you all like this! Feedback is welcomed! Let me know how my writing of Michael is, cause’ I’m quite nervous about it. Hope you enjoy, Anon! Keep the requests coming, folks! ;) - Kristen

Warnings : Smut, nasty language, some violence, Michael being a cruel asshole Anti-Christ. I think that about covers it.

You have to laugh at yourself for seeking out a dictionary, of all things to read. Another reason hand in hand with your status of sizzling gray to be ridiculed for. But really, you need to extend your vocabulary on describing this place that stretched beyond basic "This is bullshit. I'm bored. I'm hungry. I'm horny." pleas of exasperation. You were all starting to get on your own nerves. Even the purples were drained on energy most evenings.

Except Coco. That woman never shuts the fuck up. Whatever is in her cube must be a higher dosage. Perhaps Meade is sneaking in tranquilizers? Sleep deprived, wiping your blurry eyes you find yourself laughing at images containing everyone in the compound combusting into trunks and tails, humps and Dumbo ears.

Jocular. This is the word you're currently stuck on, fingernail pressed tightly into worn paper.

"And then she cut my credit card off like it was my dick, which, by the way, she wanted to suck. I'm like, honey, you're not a Hemsworth brother." A deep voice butters into your absurdly caught giggles. He raises a manicured chocolate brown brow, peering first at the thesaurus in your lap, then you. "Should've known that's what you were laughing about. You're such a fucking weirdo." Gallant pouts.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You snort with a mildly affectionate pat to his strong hand, that is resting across your ankle.

"You know I could ask you to wipe my ass instead of talking to you, right?"

Though his tone is meant to be more dignified, you know he's not serious, just being sour. You understand him though, oddly enough. Which is something most people don't here. He's not purple through and through. Coco might be Barney though, jury still has its vote out on that one. If there was a jury alive.

"I'd rather manscape you," You say tiredly, closing your words up, holding tightly to your new nightly read.

Relaxing, a sigh to accompany, Gallant's posture goes slack beneath his velvet smoking jacket, his fingers back to caressing the overworked heels of your stocking clad feet. It's rare. So fucking rare for this deep of a companionship to have formed between two more opposite people. The grays work for elites and leaders here, they do nothing but serve and take what little they are permitted. They don't have night long conversations, sneak down into the library after the fires are put out to search the library together for soft core porn or even poetry, and they don't share secrets they'd never dare tell anyone else, and they sure as hell wouldn't be caught together so casually, a gray looking as if she's an elite's queen, feet in his lap, being pampered to, when she is supposed to be kissing the radiation soaked ground for the chance to serve here, to live what life she can.

Yet here you both are, closer than Gallant's friendship with Coco, closest thing you've ever felt for another human being since years before the bombs fell. It's an unexplainable thing, you feel compelled towards Gallant's company and he to yours. Beneath all his shallow and hyper - vibrant exterior is someone in pain, angry. So you soothe him, you listen. You two be. You two are.

"Ugh, I can't believe you touch her more than a straight man would. If you wanted to touch a woman then you know you have me. This is so idiotic." Comes a slouchy whine to your left on the couch across from you two. Her dress fans around her the moment that she hits the cushions and your eyes roll, feet tensing in Gallant's lap with a tight flex as they also slide out.

His exterior is changing, fighting a gapped bridge where he's more settled, to his stuck up and snotty attitude that comes so natural to him that he breathes insults over air. You don't give him the chance to decide which persona he's taking on, for you've got your book tucked away, all too aware as you stand, knowing how much time it has taken to get you relaxed enough that your chores are way behind. A plummet frolics inside your muscles, all melted things hardening like ice, shocking, spilling sharp through your veins in spreads. Tucking away your yellow treasure into your apron, you go about fluffing pillows in chairs, checking candles, making sure things are in perfect order. Doesn't matter how clean things are, they can always be knuckle raw, fingernail bed bleeding - cleaner.

They're talking now, a secret smile cracking into the corners of your mouth at Gallant still directing his part from the conversation your way. "Wish I at least had Fifty Shades in these hands. With the right lighting and a little Christian Grey, it makes one happy man."

"Nora Roberts sounds pretty good. What I wouldn't give for a solid insta feed though, holy shit in Louboutin heels. " Coco agrees, sighing into a melancholy trail off.

"You know what I think?" Gallant has you both looking his way again. When he sees in special delight that he's got your attention, he edges on his seat before continuing, fingers tightly clasped together, licking his lips in thought. "I think Langdon has some kinky shit he brought with him around here somewhere."

"Like what?" Coco is damn near exploding now, bunching her knuckles white against the rustling fabric of her dress.

And you, your feet forget what the floor is and they sink as they still to hold you up. The mention of the man that's been combing your subconscious, your consciousness, your dreams, your fucking nightmares and your nerves, automatically hatches a slash through any calm serenity you've previously picked up. Everyone here has been obsessed or occupied with thoughts of and about this cooperative man. He claims salvation by test, paradise promised by sanctuary. While others are starved for stars, your last hopes are seeing their final hours.

There's no way someone is just going to come here, make this much of an impact, promise such things, then use hideous humiliation to gain a dangerous upper-hand without a flaming hellfire catch. It doesn't help you that in your previous life you were too scared to start drama when McDonalds messed up your order. Forget keeping your calm around Langdon, especially in your interviews. You feel stupid, guilty you even let yourself ease off knowing he's still very much present. Gallant has these looks he shares with Langdon, ones that baffle you, irritate you, worry you.

Guess he's handsome's favorite. Like you have a chance no matter what orientation Langdon is.

"Chains, leather, lots of fucking leather." Gallant damn near moans himself into the floor, snapping your reverie, your ears rearing back zone impact into their conversation.

In this moment you want to simply blend in with these people for the sake of solitude. Despite your weariness to whisper Langdon's name, let alone what you're about to say, you can't help a hot excitement prickling your flesh. "Like maybe a sex swing he hangs from like Tarzan?"

Coco looks more intrigued than you've ever seen her, Gallant is sliding his tongue over his lips more than necessary. Yep, you've succeeded in getting your naughty point across.

"Gray girl has a nasty ass mind. Gotta say that I'm impressed I wasn't the only one besides Gallant, looking at his dick. What you can see of it through that designer coat. I bet he has a studio of things back at the sanctuary. I can't wait for him to take me there." She babbles on, back resting into the plush couch, coasting on her own fantasy.

~*~

You didn't say goodnight to either elite after your little sexy pillow talk and wishes session. Gallant escorted Coco off to her room, the two of them gossiping about sex swings and fresh air, as you tried to lug your large mop bucket up the winding staircase. The heat from the candles is dizzying, your vision blotching out around your thirsting lips. You'd kill Venable for a drink of water right now but you're already behind. Thanking your newly acquired upper arm strength, you heave the heavy tin onto the landing, safely tucked away for you to start your last night time task.

By the time you've scrambled back down to pick up your propped mop, an electricity seems to charge the air, candles swaying without breeze. You know he's here before you actually know. Your body bows in his direction like a violent tornadic spin-up, your dingy boot paused cautiously on the final top step, your fingernails biting into the wood of the mop handle. Langdon is doing what he does best : observing you like a wild beast, something even predators are afraid to speak of. You don't tell yourself to calm down, you know it's ill advised and won't work with him.

"Working late tonight?" He pesters, Cheshire smirk pressing his beautiful features, though his eyes this playful mood does not reach.

You shut off your brain that's screaming alarms at you head on fractured, blurting out whatever you come up with.

"I am, Sir. Which is my fault. I got caught up, I was -"

"Talking to Billy Idol?" He cuts you off, your jaw snapping shut.

"Billy Idol?...." You give yourself a second to leap the reference, shaking your head. So Langdon is pop cultured.

"I was talking to him, yes. And trying to finish my work. I didn't know if he or Miss Coco would require my services, so I stayed around the area."

You think you're coming out strong, halfway truthful but you believe in your words, your grip loosening slightly. That strength is shattered within moments. It's as if you can taste fire on the air, its nasty breath singing your neck. You rear back to see Langdon's polished boot kick your tin bucket to the front of the stairs and over, sending it crashing to its side, soapy water drenching your skirts and flooding the stairwell. There's a red hot heat to match your fearful shock, French kissing your disgusting embarrassment, rolling right into the sheets with your unbalanced temper.

You catch your upper lip wobbling, much to Langdon's unguarded pleasure. He sloshes his shoe to splash some water up at you, laughing, like he got what he wanted in some sick form of vengeance. You didn't think he noticed, nor cared enough to try to upset you this way. Guess that's not how things truly work with him. Your silence halts his laughter, forcing your curiosity to face him.

He's watching you watch him, but this time it's as if you're on equal footing. You're seeing through one another. He tilts his head, his hair casting brief shadows across his sharp face. He's fucking undeniably breath taking. You're trembling, he's recharging, no, he's surging on your emotions.

"Maybe you'd like to have Mr. Gallant assist you? Somehow though, I don't think he'd be pleased with this line of work, nor your presence in this state. Which is why it's difficult to understand why he puts himself in your pathway when he's walking on marble and you're the mud stained earth."

"I-" You suddenly fight for the air Langdon is invisibly holding vice, hostage max.

"Though if you promised to fill his hole with Venable's cane, then hold him after, maybe he'd indulge you."

There's a spark he recognizes with astonishment, not blocking, not surprised to get you, but for the first time powerless to bewilderment. You aren't thinking, you're feeling. Feeling your way through every damned patch of thorns, of bullshit, using your hands to battle your way. Your palm connects with a warm, muscular-bone shaped flesh, fingertips brushing slight into plump, soft lips. The echo your hit on Langdon causes is haunting, an eerie flush dusting across your skin.

You would swear on everyone's lives here that you saw nothing human in his eyes moments after he gets his bearings. Your pride is short lived, arm suddenly branded by his painful grip, hot like an iron, banishing your bones to dust, muscles twisting in being drug to his room, his office, whatever it is. Your body is seemingly everywhere at once, the room flying violently past your vision. Your legs crumble at the same time your back collides-tailbone first into the heavy double doors, locks sounding, making you itch. Langdon is tossing you by your wrist into his desk, your hip jutting into its sharp edge.

Scrambling back you decide it's fight or flight. He's already circling you, unyielding, so you need to do this. Propelling backwards behind his chair you reach for something glass, a stupid paper weight, holding it tightly. "I'll smash your fucking skull into your brains, Langdon, and I don't care what will happen to me after. It'll be worth it to see you die if you fucking touch me!"

You don't want him to meet death's door, though, you are startling to realize you've felt this way since you laid eyes on him, and that sets off a powerful lurch in your step, paperweight slipping, forgotten, rolling around his approaching feet. You let him grab you, let him seal your fate, permission all granted. If someone is going to die then it will be you, you just can't hurt him. He grips your apron strap, your book clattering in a thump, and then you're one with the cold floor below you, inches from the confines of the area rug. When he straddles you, you forget how to breathe, choking.

Bowing up, then down again, your arms fold to your sides, body holding. Langdon descends above you like an angel forged out of dark, enriching blood, whispering things like wings to his shadow, his coat black feathers you hunger to stroke. His leather clad legs have you caged in, his chest eases atop yours, his hair cascading a private curtain to enclose you in fate. His nose nudges yours, not giving in, changed, in synch with this newly slow dance tempo. You're gliding, gliding somewhere where only you two can walk on the dance floor, where the music exists solely for your ears.

This is more terrifying than you had felt before with him. Suddenly you're unsure of anything you've ever done in your entire life, questioning every waking decision. Hitting him is all you can be proud of, because it led to this. And this.... this scares you, being moved by violence towards a dangerous soul, it binds you. Langdon's ring clad finger strokes down your chin, across your jaw, up to your cheekbone to smear around dried tears of humiliation that you never knew you had cried.

He's got a red patch wound across his mouth from your imprint, an urge to lick at the skin, taste your hot hit on him tempting enough you feel your pelvis jolt off the floor, directly colliding with his.

You shiver into motions you can't control, gasping on cans of air that reach Langdon's lips. He tastes them, drawing his fingers back down the path they came, working to cup your breast through your apron and your overshirt. If you thought his presence fucked your nervous system up, then you know you're going to hell in a handbasket now. But you don't have time to question it, no. Langdon easily brings you up onto your shaky footing, holding you around your waist, fingertips skimming your breast, whilst he lets his other hand grip your tightly worn and issued twist at the top of your head, pulling until it releases your hair.

You sigh into a pregnant tremble, your head lighter, everything spinning, spinning to stillness. For an unusual amount of moments Langdon is quiet, observant in concern, defeating his voices to silence. He won't hurt you, not really. He can't.

The fact that that wasn't what actually upset him stirred his demon, spoke to his soul. You were guarded around him, shielding yourself by sheer emotion. No magics, no seduction, no wit. You didn't want him to see, but you let that idiot Gallant inside. The one that was so desperate for love Langdon was honest to Satan scared he'd try to find something with you.

Physical or not, he couldn't bare it.

"Why did you do this? I don't understand what happened," You whisper gently, seeking.

"You're an obstacle I did not expect to find here, nor do I want you. Gallant is a fucking problem. I should end you both, drive a fucking stake through your hearts as you're embracing. What a sweet little death for two insatiable romantics." And he's mocking you again, only this is tipping over into the bottom of the ocean cruel.

You scoot from his grip, appalled at what he's implying. Is the male ego that thick? Even now?

"Then you're not who you claim to be, because if you were, you'd know that Mr. Gallant would carry you over this buildings' threshold, ride off in your god forsaken carriage with you and leave us here to fry feed the cannibals." You finish, ignoring the sting in your eyes at him stating clearly what you already know.

He doesn't want you. But you shouldn't care beyond lust and competing for affections, having him when no one else does, that should be all you want. Not hurt that runs so damn deep you want to carve your heart out and demand he step on it, finish you. What's this otherworldly reason for wanting someone you don't even know, a sociopathic egomaniac - to love you? If love were to catch you, wrap itself around you like poison-why is it running so ahead of you that an abyss can't even capture its rapture, with a.... a man like this?

Langdon can read you so well again, continuing his monologue, spoken tongue to mouth, yours.

"Given the right environment, deprivation of human contact until the body cries out for something, any-fucking-thing, emotional stimulation, anyone can become more than they should, or ever knew that they could be together, Y/N." His voice is speaking to you, not down on you. And he's moving closer again, forward.

You don't know anything but this man on this earth. Who is everyone? Who the fuck are you? You just want to be in him, he in you. Together. No separation. You don't fight Langdon's touch, his forehead softly propping against yours. "I want every single part of you that you cling to, so I can shatter you, then put you back together. I want you to let me in the way you let him in."

Fucking breathe, don't forget that. No, you can't use Langdon's air. Not yet.

"I may not want you, but I need you. I shouldn't, but I ache for you. And I've eaten, but I could ravish you until there is nothing left but what I desire to be." He's crowning your chin in a gentle touch, feather-like, almost as if you can share the drumming pulse right from his fingertips through you. He too is a little more shaky, something you are too slack-jawed to comprehend.

It settles like snowfall, quiet enough for live clouds to form above your heads. Langdon guides your cold and sweaty palm to wipe off on his shirt, taking note to your nerves, not entirely objecting. He still likes you squirming. You're swung by a force so inhuman, you believe it has prayed over you in hisses, forever winding into your skin. There's no turning back, but you knew that from the moment he got here.

You're moving, like ghosts, fast paced, not quick enough. There's orange and yellow blurs pattering across your vision in fuzzy shapes, candlelight. This place is leaving you flabbergasted. It's like any other room but it's his. His sanctuary.

Your body is laid back across some sheets, stretched out like an art exhibit on the mend, striving for greatness. Langdon's coat is off, his scarf following, drifting into the chair you were unaware is here. You don't know exactly what you should do, your animalistic instincts trying to snap their violent jaws through leashes of your thinly held self-control. There's a wisp that snaps an air so warm you bite into your cheek, fisting the covers beside you, head lolling to the side, a moan vibrating throughout your entire body. You arch to it like a willing prisoner on the verge of her freedom.

What are you doing to me? You don't voice it, all stomping surround sound guides it. You sense cosmic connection, fucking space extended, mother nature pumping your blood. You wither around like a fish on dry land, thirsting for a stream of whatever Langdon offers you. Maybe you can hear music, anything you wish.

Are you dreaming? Did you fall on those stairs? What is this?

"Don't restrain it, don't hold back, don't let the human reservations consume what your body wants. I can smell you," Langdon breathes, giving you his supply, knees pressing into his bed. "How openly ripe your heart is, how I want it bared to me, unguarded, the way Mr. Gallant takes you to try and make his pathetic existence matter."

"I'm not, I'm just," Fuck, it's like he's controlling the weather in here, executing your every attempt at a clear breath. " We talk, that is it, Sir. I'm just here to be whatever it is they deem me-"

"Bullshit!" Langdon roars, arms wildly flailing out, posture still staying perched nearer to your knees. "You're spouting a previously written verse. How dare you think you can lie to me, even now? Even after you struck me and I never slit your weak, little throat?"

His temper doesn't level quickly, not like you're used to seeing if he's irritated. The changing movement coaxes you to be bold once more, tears nearing your lash line, shame dripping past your slick thighs. "If you know I'm so weak then why are you getting off on trying to keep proving I am, Langdon? That seems below you, doesn't it? Like me, like I am to Gallant outside these walls. Hell, in them if he could have a shot at something more, a shot at you."

His brow raises, chest shapes his ribs visible beneath his black undershirt at your usage of his last name. He notices your acidic hiss as you spit out the last part of your sentence, zeroing in on him. It's clear. So you dislike your friend's adoration, yearning for him? So many complicated layers between human beings.

He wasn't aware he clouds his own knowledge. This further proves that you're unhinging him to a sway he can't fathom. A sturdy hand filters above, up, to lay beside your knee, your body still locked in place. "You envy one another in ways, then you act as if you care for each other, despite everyone here thinking you belong outside, or that you should be licking the very floors they fantasize were built for them."

"It's not that way all the time. Better than nothing, knowing him more than they do," You softly respond.

"And this is why you continue to let him in? Because his presence feels good enough to make you forget the loneliness?" Langdon questions, seemingly so very interesting now he's tilting his head, making his hair fall over his eyes. You want to object to those beautiful things being covered, but you remain mum. He's got it and he lets it click.

"We share the most degrading human emotion," says Langdon, this time dropping a knee to your right, lifting himself above you slowly.

"Is that the answer to why you're interested in me and Gallant, Sir?" You rasp, wanting to scoot away, brain warning you, everything else unraveling fast.

"Michael." Another knee that presses, bringing him atop you like your dark angel. For a moment you think he knows Gallant's first name, then it sweeps you into a magnetic design, your thighs hitting his kneecaps.

"Use my name however you see fit, Y/N. Let me break this lonesome disposition inside you. Give it all to me, not to a worthless attention seeking man. I don't care what he wants, I don't care if he doesn't pine for what's between your legs. He'll overtake you before either of you know it."

"He's doesn't want me like that," You stutter. "You're mad because I won't fold into you like the rest?"

"You won't let anyone in but him, when I should be already inside you." Michael confirms, as if this is so obvious a rat could figure it out.

"So just your ego. To conquer. Okay then, I'm out." Your body does start to move this time, salty tears spilling, bypassing your wishes, before Michael completely wipes himself from your space. You have to blink a few times to make sure you can still see him, far away, like he can move without even walking. He's not close enough, you want to hit him, take him, taste him, give all he wants even if you're terrified. How can he mess with you like this? It must be in this air, polluting, veiling.

"We share jealousy, you and I. But together we can cure it, rid ourselves of unsatisfaction." His back is firm against the heavy wooden door, candlelight curving out every space you can see from your placing. "If you let me in, let me be the one to break those walls down and build mine around you."

"Michael, please.... Just." You choke on your stretching gasp, a fist to your throat, arm holding across your lungs. What more can you say? He wants you to stop being guarded, stop letting what little you let out with someone that isn't him. Some man that reeks power, god-like, is chewing on his lip, wetting it, unbuttoning his shirt to smooth his fingers across his glowing flesh, what he lets you see of it.

"Open your fucking legs." Michael barks out, striding quickly, meeting in front of you.

A searing heat releases your leashes, uncaring. You sink your teeth into your lip, trying to draw blood, needing to taste something soon. You throb even more than you have been, tumbling, spinning, stumbling into Michael Langdon. Doubt is trying to wave itself in there, more warnings. Michael cuts them away, peeling back his shirt without eye contact faltering, muscles in his neck moving.

"You could have anyone here. This is too easy. There's better people for you." You try one more time. Denying yourself, this is insanity at its finest.

"I don't want anyone else this way, I never really have had the use for it beyond release. These morons here, they don't count for that kind of time. I want this endeavor to be...worth it." The fabric of his shirt drops at his booted feet, his entire chest expanded to your line of sight. He's taut, not overly so. Skin slightly tanned, creamy to blend. His muscles are strong, but they're not overpowering, no, that is elsewhere.

He radiates everything your mother warned you wasn't good, but you can't let this be wrong when it feels so fucking right. You attempt for your final-failed try.

"I can't please you, you're judging me as if I'm some key you've finally gotten. I'll disappoint you, Michael, I will." You berate yourself in shameful truth, already petrified of shedding your clothing, your skin, warped against his hard body, all the while you're pussy is growing more damp, threatening more tears if it's not attended to.

He gives a sigh so loud it could be a beasts' rumble. It lets him give his body to you, pressing over you, so hot you're sharing his heartbeat, breasts straining to be freed, to feel his delicious skin that houses whatever he is. He dips, rolls his hips like a snake dancing for its helpless prey, knees working against you, pelvis thrusting in tilting circles. Your apron, your skirt goes up your body, over your knees, his leather covered legs nudging it, commanding it around your hipbones. His knuckle moves so fast that it's not until you hear fabric rip, a shining glint off his ring that vanishes between your thighs, its sharp body slicing the fabric of your stockings apart down the middle, leaving a gateway to your panties, closer to you.

He's not talking, he's performing. His ringed finger circles your navel, brushes back and forth across your abdomen, spelling, shaping, mapping the elastic of your underwear, causing you to shake away, not getting anywhere. It goes on like this for what feels like an eternity. Just him testing you, stroking, getting your body slick with perspiration that sparkles like jewels in the rooms' lighting. And when you think he's done talking for tonight, planning to take, he startles your glazed over gaze at his working fingers - that pause on you.

"I'm not judging you by your cunt," Michael unravels on a long brush with a deep breath, inhaling you at the same instance he cups you warm, firm, fingers slipping between your sticky folds, kept covered by your sopping cotton panties. "Although, if I were.... yours would be filled with my cock, womb drowning in my seed. And that's something I'm not willing to give to just anyone, Y/N."

This time you do get closer to him on your own accord, hands finding purchase by nails biting painfully into your palms, pumping to push against his chest. He hums, a genuine grin pleasuring his features. Easing, you're sharing a way into you, he's finding you, you're coming together. He's denying you now that he sees you want it, teasing you, however. You bite off painful insults, he's chuckling, swiping a finger in circles, pushing down so hard you cry out.

Michael is saying something that you try to wake up for in your swollen state. He's showing you his damp finger, commenting how your juices coated him through a layer of fabric. You're halted, stamped to his watchful eye, the pop of his finger sucking your taste off. "You want to touch me more than you want my fingers to spread you apart, don't you?"

You're whimpering, nodding yes, trying to keep a hold of being here, but you're slipping, losing yourself in him, damn near begging.

"Don't hold back. Tell me what you want and then we'll take it, Y/N, together."

"Break me down and be with me, Michael." You find yourself answering immediately, right away, throwing yourself off this precipice.

Hefty arms draw around you and they drag you close, hands working to free you of your apron, buttons ripping, scraps, meaningless clothing everywhere. You need to get back to what Adam and Eve were. Bared, nature covering them barely, concealing enough to birth their story. You and Michael. You want nothing to stand between you two.

Concept of time isn't meaning anything anymore, it's rare and stops for you. Your clothing piles beside the bed, Michael's boots thump to hardwood, your hearing swerving in and out, sensitive to each sound you hear past your roaring heartbeat churning blood through your ears. You engulf tightly, parting your legs further like he called for, heels of your feet pressing into the backs of his strongly moving knees. Your hands are shoving themselves to the button on his pants, impatient, maniacal. He can't stop to assist you, too caught in pressing his lips to your collar bone, leveling a reward to your breasts in stride.

Firm planes of muscular structure drag across your nipples that harden with temperature, the promise of temptation full-filled. You have his zipper down by the time he's taking a neglected peak into his mouth, a gasp thrust into the air from you. His hair trickles across your chest, soft and sweeping. You maneuver a scoop into each side of his leather, noting he's simply wearing thin boxer briefs that cling to him like a wet t-shirt would. It lights you like no other.

Desperation doesn't cover what possesses you in this instance, so close to having this, taking this with him. Exerting yourself to extract this specimen form his too tight for any one person - bottoms, causes you to grit your teeth to challenge. Michael sucks, kisses, prods his tongue at your nipple, paddling the pumping throb your cunt is beating into you. A willing dance partner you sway in his steps, swallowed by his shadow, his solid golden fresh skin glued to your heaving body. You want to cry wantonly that you're coming, yet Michael hasn't touched you enough for it to peak.

Then again.... he doesn't need to, he.... he just. Can. You can't explain how the wheels in your head are turning as your bodies meet over and repeat. You're spinning in suspense, hung out to float, cunt clenching around nothing, recognizing him already, as if its been made to house him. Patting yourself on the back is what you want to do, a giggle tossing over your bare shoulder, Michael's pearly whites grinning into your skin.

You've gotten his leather pants down below his ass, eager fingers measuring bravely. It's there, it's thick, silk with slick, straining deliciously that you're salivating, not shy like you'd pictured you be in all your fantasies. Drawing your nails like claws protruded, your rake them down his shoulder blades which work to hold him up, streaming his back, resting purchase on his ass, then you give it your all, both of you swirled into a gusting gasp. Your sense of smell is stronger, alive, heady to the copper you know you've set free tearing into Michael's skin. It pleases you.

This King reigns in his self-control, eyes damn near black, blowing out all that icy blue. His lips red and wet, inviting you to taste your own salty sweat off his mouth. A kiss, an offering. You launch at it, granting yourself permission to tangle your fingers into his air, wrapping around your wrists, yanking in your fist. Each movement you make glides his heavy cock through your slit, rudely scattering what is overflowing from your pussy.

He's getting huffy, you're abruptly impatient. Michael finally frees back, lingering his look on you, fighting for his own oxygen. He's flushed, soaked, needing. And it's you whose to give it to him. You're to surrender.

It's what this whole thing was about. Letting him in.

Dropping your legs from around his lower waist, you watch him, unsteady breaths trampling your chest cavity into pathetic particles, then you slosh two fingers in voyage all across your dripping sex. Your thighs shake, knees struggle to frame this. His eyes are nearly growing impossibly black, almost hollowing him out. If it hurts then oh well, but you can't keep going on like this. You have to have him before the next second passes.

"Come here," You whisper, using your hands to separate your folds for him.

Alight, mischievous with a given gift, Michael takes his cock through your lips and gives no formal warning. Only foul, filthy, fitting, and desirable.

"You're going to let me push my cock into you now, aren't you? Fuck you until I'm emptying myself inside you, hiding." He dribbles to his knees, holding you by your thighs, keeping you shown. "Do you want me to hurt you? I can make it hurt, oh how I can make it hurt." He's dropping by your ear in a bend, lips letting you in on this choice.

"Michael just take it all, you can have it all. It's yours, it's been waiting for you," You belt out, whimpering like a frightened animal, spooking Michael into a fast thrust.

It's brutal, it stretches you beyond your means, bouncing your body up the bed. Those razor claws sink to Michael's wrists, your ass trying to meet his experimental rhythm, fast and punishing. You can hear everything full blast again, like a roaring train louder than the bombs were, the destruction, the night noises, the loneliness. Michael walks his fingers down your ankle and drags your leg over his shoulder.

You turn to press your face into the bedsheets beside you, a searing pain locking your muscles around him so hard you can feel your sticky wetness seep out from around where you're joined. He strikes a hand out and forcefully cups your chin in his hand, moving up and down in front of you, like he's gliding. Your mouth is shaped to form an O, not able to look away, pinpoint.

"I want you to look down and watch me fuck your selfish, greedy cunt." Is Michael's demand, wrought out iron to steal and every other damned thing you can think of that holds structure.

Who are you to refuse? Intrigued, ride hitched, you hang onto him, dash into his painful thrusts and moan loud enough to wake whatever is left of the world's population. You're swollen around him, your thick and creamy arousal pooling all over the sheets, noisily mashing at his cock, against his balls with each slam they make against your ass.

"That's it, Y/N. Let me in, let me deep inside. I'll never leave you."

"Michael, fuck, more, let me kiss you."

He surprises you both by answering without pause, biting into your plump lip, licking his tongue into your mouth, letting his lips workout the breaths he tries to inhale -into your shared airspace. You release his wrists, moon marks a bracelet of markings to him. He nuzzles your breast, hips slamming into the bed just as you grab his neck's nape, cradling. And then it happens faster than either of you knew you needed it to. He gives a little more into you, focused, discovering.

Piles of debris could've fallen on you both, unbeknownst to you. Michael barely grazes your clit on an upstroke that hits a slick spot you didn't know exists, sending your cunt to sheathe him tightly, your warmth milking his cock, raining down on him that he curls into you, crying out. You're overheated all too much, shivering, panting, an explosive shake clasping your pussy, pulling until you're boneless, Michael's body lax to keep atop you. You feel like your ears are hearing static. Only white noise and Michael Langdon.

It's a deep-set fascination watching his cum spill back down your thighs, white and hot. You lick your lips, already starving for so much more. It's there, it has to be. Michael doesn't put himself away yet, instead hums looking over you, settling in front of you on his knees. He's gotten the key and this door is sealed behind you both.

#ahs fanfiction #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #ahs apocalypse #anon request

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ireadyabooks · 5 years

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New Year, New Books!

Happy 2019, book nerds! Now that we’ve cleaned up the confetti from New Year’s Eve, it’s time to get serious about some resolutions: reading as many books as we possibly can in 2019!

If your TBR pile needs some love, we’ve got you covered. Here are some of our faves coming your way in early 2019!

The Love and Lies of Rukhsana Ali

Available January 29th

Seventeen-year-old Rukhsana Ali has always been fascinated by the universe around her and the laws of physics that keep everything in order. But her life at home isn't so absolute. Unable to come out to her conservative Muslim parents, she keeps that part of her identity hidden. And that means keeping her girlfriend, Ariana, a secret from them too. Luckily, only a few more months stand between her carefully monitored life at home and a fresh start at Caltech in the fall. But when Rukhsana's mom catches her and Ariana together, her future begins to collapse around her. Devastated and confused, Rukhsana's parents whisk her off to stay with their extended family in Bangladesh where, along with the loving arms of her grandmother and cousins, she is met with a world of arranged marriages, religious tradition, and intolerance. Fortunately, Rukhsana finds allies along the way and, through reading her grandmother's old diary, finds the courage to take control of her future and fight for her love.

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Spin

Available January 29th

Even in murder, the music lives on. When rising star Paris Secord (aka DJ ParSec) is found dead on her turntables, it sends the local music scene reeling. No one is feeling that grief more than her shunned pre-fame best friend, Kya, and ParSec's chief groupie, Fuse -- two sworn enemies who happened to be the ones who discovered her body. The police have few leads, and when the trail quickly turns cold, the authorities don't seem to be pushing too hard to investigate further. But nobody counted on Paris's deeply loyal fans, ParSec Nation, or the outrage that would drive Fuse and Kya to work together. As ParSec Nation takes to social media and the streets in their crusade for justice, Fuse and Kya start digging into Paris's past, stumbling across a deadly secret. With new info comes new motives. New suspects. And a fandom that will stop at nothing in their obsessive quest for answers, not even murder...

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The Deceiver’s Heart

Available February 26th

In this sequel to the instant New York Times bestseller The Traitor's Game, Kestra Dallisor has finally gained possession of the Olden Blade. With the dagger in her control, she attempts to destroy the tyrannical Lord Endrick. But when Kestra fails, the king strips her of her memory, and leaves her weak and uncertain, bound to obey him. Heartbroken, Simon is desperate to return Kestra to the rebel she was, but refuses to use magic to heal her. With untrusting Coracks and Halderians threatening to capture and kill her, and war looming on the horizon, Kestra and Simon will have to learn to trust each other again if they have any hope of surviving. But can a heart once broken ever be healed?

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The Music of What Happens

Available February 26th

Max: Chill. Sports. Video games. Gay and not a big deal, not to him, not to his mom, not to his buddies. And a secret: An encounter with an older kid that makes it hard to breathe, one that he doesn't want to think about, ever. Jordan: The opposite of chill. Poetry. His "wives" and the Chandler Mall. Never been kissed and searching for Mr. Right, who probably won't like him anyway. And a secret: A spiraling out of control mother, and the knowledge that he's the only one who can keep the family from falling apart. Throw in a rickety, 1980s-era food truck called Coq Au Vinny. Add in prickly pears, cloud eggs, and a murky idea of what's considered locally sourced and organic. Place it all in Mesa, Arizona, in June, where the temp regularly hits 114. And top it off with a touch of undeniable chemistry between utter opposites. Over the course of one summer, two boys will have to face their biggest fears and decide what they're willing to risk -- to get the thing they want the most.

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Pretend She’s Here

Available February 26th

Emily Lonergan's best friend died last year. And Emily hasn't stopped grieving. Lizzie Porter was lively, loud, and fun -- Emily's better half. Emily can't accept that she's gone. When Lizzie's parents and her sister come back to town to visit, Emily's heartened to see them. The Porters understand her pain. They miss Lizzie desperately, too. Desperately enough to do something crazy. Something unthinkable. Suddenly, Emily's life is hurtling toward a very dark place -- and she's not sure she'll ever be able to return to what she once knew was real.

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Last of Her Name

Available February 26th

Sixteen years ago, rebellion swept the galaxy known as the Belt of Jewels. Every member of the Leonov royal family was murdered--down to their youngest child, Princess Anya--making way for the Union government to seize power. But Stacia doesn't think much about politics. She spends her days half-wild, rambling her father's vineyard with her friends, Clio and Pol. That all changes when a Union ship appears burning through the sky, bearing the leader of the Union, the Direktor Eminent himself, who declares that Stacia's sleepy village is a den of empire loyalists. Even more shocking, the Direktor claims that Princess Anya Leonova is alive--and Stacia is the lost princess As their home explodes into chaos, Pol smuggles Stacia to a hidden escape ship, leaving Clio in the hands of the Union. With everything she knows threading away into the stars, Stacia sets her heart on a single mission: She will find and rescue Clio, even with the whole galaxy on her trail.

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That’s Not What I Heard

Available February 26th

What did you hear? Kimberly Landis-Lilley and Teddy Lin are over. Yes, the Kim and Teddy broke up. At least that's what Phil Spooner thinks he overheard and then told Jess Howard, Kim's best friend. Something about Teddy not liking Kim's Instas? Or was it that Teddy is moving to Italy and didn't want to do long distance? Or that Kim slid into someone else's DMs? Jess told her boyfriend, Elvis, that he needs to be on Kim's side. Especially if he wants to keep her as his girlfriend. But Elvis is also Teddy's best friend. Now, Kim's run out of school for the day. Jess is furious. Elvis is confused. And half the lunch period won't talk to Teddy. Even the teachers have taken sides. William Henry Harrison High will never be the same again!

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Tell Me Everything

Available February 26th

Your secret's safe...until it's not. Ivy's always preferred to lay low, unlike her best friend Harold, who has taken up a hundred activities as sophomore year begins. But Ivy has her own distraction: the new anonymous art-sharing app, VEIL. Being on the sidelines has made Ivy a skilled observer, and soon she discovers that some of the anonymous posters are actually her classmates. While she's still too scared to put her own creations on the app, Ivy realizes that she can contribute in an even better way -- by making gifts for the artists she's discovered. The acts of kindness give her such a rush that, when Ivy suspects Harold is keeping a secret, she decides to go all in. Forget gifts -- Harold needs a major party. But when her good intentions thrust her into the spotlight, Ivy's carefully curated world is thrown into chaos. Now she has to find the courage to stand out... or risk losing everything and everyone she loves most.

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Mike

Available February 26th

Mike is the imaginary friend and projection of a repressed wish that won’t go away until Floyd confronts both his greatest fear and greatest desire: to succeed. MEET FLOYD. He's a tennis star. Possibly good enough to win Wimbledon one day. MEET MIKE. He's... different. Apart from anything else, Floyd seems to be the only one who can see him. But Mike must have appeared for a reason. And finding out why is perhaps the most important thing Floyd will ever do...

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Sorry Not Sorry

Available February 26th

Janelle and Alyssa used to be friends. Best friends. They knew each other's deepest secrets and went through the hardest times together. But that was then. Now? Their status is somewhere between frenemies and full-on rivals. Janelle is all about making a difference in her community, while Alyssa reigns over the shallowest girls in school. Until the day Alyssa collapses and is rushed to the hospital. Suddenly, everyone knows about her declining health and race against time. And, in a stunning twist of fate, the only person who might be able to save Alyssa's life -- is Janelle. But will the girls' bitter past get in the way of their futures?

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Brawler

Available March 26th

Eddie MacIntyre--Mac to a handful of friends--is Pennsylvania's most promising wrestler. His future is bright with scholarship offers and the dream of helping his struggling mom. But then comes a fateful match at the state championship, when his famous rage consumes him and he assaults a referee. In an instant, Mac loses all he and his mom have worked to build since his abusive father was locked up years ago. Facing arrest, Mac runs away to another town, where he is taken in by a shady promoter who has followed his career. He recruits Mac into Brawlers, an illegal underground fighting ring run by a gangland boss. This is a bloodsport that has no rules . . . but offers plenty of reward. Mac teams up with Khajee, a girl with the fighting skills he'll need to learn to survive . . . and her own dark past tying her to the head of the ring. Together the two must figure out their place in a world that hasn't been kind to them . . . and forge a future that could be.

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Quarantine: A Love Story

Available March 26th

Oliver wants a girlfriend, and there's a girl back home who might be interested in him. The problem is, he has to spend his spring break on a volunteer trip in the Dominican Republic. Flora, on the other hand, isn't really looking for a boyfriend. She just wants to end a miserable spring break visiting her dad and her new stepmom in the D.R. The solution to both their problems? Get back home to New York ASAP. Sadly, they won't be getting there anytime soon. Their hopes are dashed when Flora's impulsiveness lands them in quarantine -- just the two of them. Now, the two teens must come together in order to survive life in a bubble for 30 days. In that time, love will bloom. But is it the real thing, or just a placebo effect?

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I Don’t Want To Be Crazy

Available March 26th

This is a true story of growing up, breaking down, and coming to grips with a psychological disorder. When Samantha Schutz first left home for college, she was excited by the possibilities -- freedom from parents, freedom from a boyfriend who was reckless with her affections, freedom from the person she was supposed to be. At first, she reveled in the independence . . . but as pressures increased, she began to suffer anxiety attacks that would leave her mentally shaken and physically incapacitated. Thus began a hard road of discovery and coping, powerfully rendered in this poetry memoir.

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Dear Ally, How Do You Write a Book?

Available March 26th

Have you always wanted to write a book, but don't know where to start? Or maybe you're really great at writing the first few chapters . . . but you never quite make it to the end? Or do you finally have a finished manuscript, but you're not sure what to do next? Fear not -- if you have writing-related questions, this book has answers! Whether you're writing for fun or to build a career, bestselling author Ally Carter is ready to help you make your work shine. With honesty, encouragement, and humor, Ally's ready here to answer the questions that writers struggle with the most. Filled with practical tips and helpful advice, Dear Ally is a treasure for aspiring writers at any stage of their careers. It offers a behind-the-scenes look at how books get made, from idea to publication, and gives you insight into the writing processes of some of the biggest and most talented YA authors writing today.

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#I read YA #booklr #book love #young adult lit #diverse reads #books #bookworm #bookish #book nerd #new books #reading

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