Até Logo, Violeta
📚 Livro - Até Logo, Violeta
Sobre o livro
Violeta era uma jovem cheia de medos até reencontrar Liz, uma amiga de infância. Com ela, aprendeu que o amor pode ser sorrisos e lágrimas, e que perdê-lo é um arrependimento que nunca vai embora.
Cinquenta anos depois, quando Liz é apenas uma lembrança guardada no pingente de um medalhão, Violeta encontra uma viajante do tempo em seu quintal. Porque, às vezes, uma segunda chance chega quando a gente menos espera, e talvez o tempo abra exceções para algumas histórias de amor.
O livro tem:
Protagonismo não binário;
Romance sáfico;
Viagem no tempo;
Representatividade +30 anos;
Cenas de hot;
Carta esquecida.
Os gatilhos são:
Situações de LGBTfobia;
Relação familiar conturbada;
Luto;
Morte;
Depressão.
Descrição de:
Sexo;
Sangue.
Recomendação: +16 anos.
COMPRE AQUI O SEU EBOOK!
Para maiores informações e assistir AO TRAILER do livro, acesso a página do livro: ATÉ LOGO, VIOLETA.
Sobre quem escreveu
Olá, eu sou a Maria
Sou nerd, mineira do interior e fã de qualquer coisa que tenha música, ficção científica e muito drama. Também sou emo, não-binária, bi e demissexual.
Escrevi alguns livros LGBTQIAP+, como Emma, Cobra e a garota de outra dimensão, Cartas para Luísa, livro vencedor do prêmio Mix Literário em 2020, e a coleção de contos com protagonismo bissexual Clichês em rosa, roxo e azul.
Juntos, meus livros já foram baixados 200 mil vezes e acumulam mais 2,5 milhões de páginas lidas na Amazon.
Atualmente moro em São João do Manteninha com minha noiva e estou escrevendo sobre amores impossíveis, alienígenas, viajantes no tempo, robôs e cantores sertanejos.
4 notes
·
View notes
Help me prove my family wrong!
I don't know if this post will break containment, but will you like/reblog if you are or know a man who is asexual? All of the people in my life seem convinced that being Ace is a 'girl thing' and that Ace men don't exist!
5K notes
·
View notes
One for all the trans/nb homies that wish they looked more masculine
1 note
·
View note
something bad happened to you, and you died, and you came back wrong.
not wrong all the way. the little ways. you forget important dates, stopped going out with friends. it's harder to make you smile. you're apathetic towards things you used to love, afraid of places you used to go to cheer up. quieter. flinching. different.
you came back for love. you're still here for love. what pulled you back was a brightness so loud that even death couldn't outshout it. death heard the call and smiled at you and said okay. go home. somebody is waiting for you.
but you came back different. like lot's wife; you've turned into salt. you used to chirp through life in hops and skips; but now you lose skin just standing up. you have to move slower, skimming across this world without-touching-it. most things feel dull - until they're suddenly all-too-much. life, and being alive just rushes up and over you and you get hopelessly crushed.
you try to explain it to them: it is ugly, but this is what you are, now. the huge golden hoop of your halo now a little bronze ring. you are still watering your plants and wearing the same clothes. after all, you worked hard to come home. this life; so odd and off-color, now that you are wrong.
but they waited for you - it's just that they wanted the "you" that happened before this. the "you" that could sing in the show and hug people tight and look at a blade without breaking down to cry. the you with a smile in pictures. god, holyshit, it's like looking at a completely different person, isn't it. that other-you; the one they actually wanted.
you are the consolation prize. you are the body that forgot the ghost. you are the memory of the bad thing, and the death after; like you are wearing that memory as a banner. you are a fragment, an assembly. simulacrum. you don't make eye contact in mirrors, afraid the light will glance off and your true nature will flash back at you.
you hear them talk about it in their hushed, desperate whispers. sometimes they even admit it to your face; harsh and violent, acid thrown at christmas dinner. god, can you just fucking be normal again. you do not remember what normal is. you had to climb so far to get back here; you are far too exhausted. you want to open the glass door of your heart and show all the gears. can you help resolve whatever got messed up?
you try so, so hard. you came back for them. because you believed they would love you, even when you were so horribly broken. because you believed they would be patient. because you believed unconditional meant "without exception." you cannot do things the same way. you just get tired too quickly these days.
you want to put them on a couch and pour them the tea with hands that shake more than they remember. you want to line them up and draw them a map of where you have had to wander. you want to show every bruise in a backsplash; the little helpless ant of your soul carrying all that weight, over and over. you want to say: yes! it is different! but i did it for love!
you want to say: "i'm not the same, but i'm yours and i'm here. can that be enough?"
14K notes
·
View notes
role playing being a douche with another tguy would fix me
“Yeah you like sucking my dick f@ggot? What’s that can’t hear you with your mouth full ? Hey, how does my dick feel inside you, I bet you love this shit ? If you admit you’re a faggot then I’ll come inside you right here like I know you want, all you have to do is say it.”
1K notes
·
View notes
it's really funny that people think that lesbians of all people don't have weird genders and are only hyper feminine cis girls, like, have you met lesbians before.
8K notes
·
View notes