I really want to meet you but it seems impossible. People always tell me if it’s meant to be we will meet. What people don’t know is that I almost met you a lot of times, but I have the worst luck. All I wish is for one day to have my head on your shoulder and your arms around my body. All I want is to be in your warm embrace.
We laid on the bed together as he ran his fingers through my hair, sitting in silence for what felt like hours. I had a million thoughts racing through my head and when I turned to face Pony only one thing came to mind. The two of us stared into each other’s eyes and I couldn’t help myself much longer. I made the first move and leaned in, pressing my lips against his, it was the best feeling in the world. A rush of adrenaline went through my body as Pony pulled me on top of him, slipping his hand up my thigh and under my dress. What am I doing? This needs to stop. “STOP,” I yelled a little too loudly as I pushed myself off the bed. “What doll,” Pone asked sitting up “did I do something wrong?” “I-I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Don’t you dare apologize,” Pony stood up off the bed and moved closer to my noticeably shaking body. “I can’t Pony, I can’t do that. Not yet.” “Baby, it’s alright. I’m not in a rush, just lay with me. I promise nothing you don’t want.” He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a tight hug. I nodded slowly against his chest as we moved closer to the bed. He sat on the old mattress and patted the bed softly, I smirked at the boy and wondered how I got so lucky. To be with a Curtis boy was a dream for a greaser girl and my dream had come true. Time slipped by and soon we had both fallen asleep without realizing it. That’s where Darry found us two hours later, asleep. He woke us up as gently as he could for dinner, making no comment other than “you two are on dish duty.” Ponyboy stared at me smiling, “what?” I questioned starting to feel uncomfortable. “I love you, darling.” “I love you too Ponyboy Michael Curtis.”
The first time Jamie and Claire held their daughter, they knew she would be their last. Not because the delivery was difficult, which it was, or because they opposed larger families, which they didn’t, but because they couldn’t imagine needing anything more than this seven-pound bundle of themselves. Who could contend with the spot on the top of her skull, the feeling of its putty-like softness beneath their fingertips? Or the sprout of lash, red-gold wings taking flight from the left side of her left eye? No. There was no room for a second child, or a third—barely enough to contain Brianna herself. (It was true, they soon realized, that it was possible to feel too much. That the physical ache of loving was not a lie fabricated by romance novelists.)
What shocked them more than their immediate certainty were these minute details, these things that were singularly, extraordinarily her. Despite their initial impressions, Brianna was not just a combination of Jamie and Claire’s genes (an uneven distribution; she favored her father), but was a tiny self with her own hungers and thirsts, which she expressed through Neanderthal grunts or spectacularly vibrant shits. It was a foreign language Jamie and Claire were forced to learn quickly, interpreting their successes and failures in the perceived tone of her gurgles, the way she would yank Claire’s curls in glee or in irritation. The correct translations were scribbled down for future reference, for posterity. (For the simple pleasure of recording something they knew to be finite.)
But Jamie and Claire’s awe has taken other forms in the 15 months since Bree was born. They’ve become the sort of people whose voices rise in the presence of the small, as if their love—so much grander than everything else—has filled them like two helium balloons. Toys of all shapes, sizes, and noises colonize the spaces left untouched by their adulthood chaos. A plush rabbit maintains a stony vigil over Jamie’s desk, where, after a year of writing more blurbs than books, he is finally working on his third novel. Fatherhood has come like a strike of lightning, an electricity that has set fire to his mind. Nowadays, he cannot put thought to paper fast enough. (Unlike its predecessors, A Rare Woman will receive middling praise, though a flaying review from Jack Randall, a Times critic, will cripple Jamie for weeks.)
Right now it is December, and Jamie’s family—Jenny, her husband, and their two children—is visiting for the holidays. They have offered to watch Bree for the evening, and so a Presidential Suite has been rented, Cinemax has been briefly considered, and Scotch has been spilt on Claire’s negligee. It is the first time they’ve been away from their daughter, and what had once seemed an occasion for exotic luxury—No baby! Hours of sleep!—has become a pity-party fueled by separation anxiety and booze. They have spoken of nothing, except Bree.
“Girl Guides,” Claire blurts suddenly, voice slurred and a passionate fist raised.
“I think it’s Girl Scouts here, Sassenach.”
“Girl Scouts, then. She should know how to build a fire! Make things with her hands, like—like building a stove from a Folgers tin!”
“Is that what they teach them?” Jamie asks. “To make household appliances from cheap coffee?”
“I think so. I mean, they should. What else is Folgers coffee good for?”
‘I don’t know man, my head just been a mess ever since New York.“ Harry explained to his friend of 7 years, Louis.
“I- I just don’t understand what went wrong, I thought everything was going well?”
“It was! That’s the thing. We just…left it, like it was nothing.” Harry takes his fingers through his matted hair, trying to tame it.
His legs had been dressed in the same pair of grey joggers for the past few weeks, washing them every few days just to scramble right back into them. He was a mess, a wallowing mess.
Harry had met Arabella in New York when he was visiting for his aunts anniversary with her 4th husband. He almost didn’t go, tired of the same big celebration for a wedding that probably wasn’t going to last. But oh god he was so glad he did go.
“That sucks, I’m sorry Haz.”
“I mean, it was never going to last anyway. Our lives were just… so different. She lives in New York and I live in Boston, it’s just too much.”
“Yeah… listen, just call me if you ever need anything, okay?” Louis consoled the slightly broken Harry. He was never the one to show his emotions, but you could see the pain in his eyes, hear it in his voice and even in the way he moves. No matter how hard the poor boy tried he just couldn’t escape his emotions.
“Thank you Louis, it means a lot-” Harry was cut off by a knock at the flimsy motel door, making him sit up, a little bit confused and annoyed by the unannounced guest.
“I gotta go, someone’s here.” He quickly stammered, hanging up the phone and giving Louis no time to utter another word.
He stood up and slowly headed towards the door, ruffling his hair in attempts to make himself look the least bit presentable. He smoothed out his clothes and placed his shaky hand on the cold metal handle.
Harry hadn’t had real human contact apart from over the phone for the past 3 weeks, he was nervous to come face to face with a real person.
Assuming it was probably just a maid or something, he flung open the door, careful to not make eye contact.
“I don’t need my room cleaned today, thank you” he quickly spoke, quick to close the door. That was until he heard the voice that he had become so accustomed too over the past few months.
“Harry-” her small voice spoke, barely a whisper. She was like a ghost, her presence barely there but there all at once. Struggling like a fish out of water.
He shook his head, not believing the sight before his eyes. He must be dreaming. He misses her so much and now he’s seeing her. He’s going mad!
“You’re not really here.” He laughed, feeling the tears on his waterline but not daring to let them fall, desperate to hold on to his sanity.
p>Arabella watched as the boy crumbled before her. She could see how his eyes were bloodshot and puffy. How his hair was matted and greasy like he hadn’t washed ever since he left. How his hands were shaking and his knees were wobbling. She felt awful, the sadness burning from deep within her like an untameable fire. She closed her eyes, took a breath that seemed almost as deep enough to last her a lifetime before reopening her grey eyes, that once held the colour of the deepest part of the ocean.
“I’m here, Harry.” Her small voice wobbled. She watched as his eyes scanned over her. Twice. Just to make sure she was really there, that he wasn’t in fact going crazy.
“You’re here.” He spoke a little breathless. He could feel his heart hammering against his rib cage ready to break free and completely give itself to her completely. But he controlled himself, he knew that if he let his heart out so vulnerable again that it would crack and shatter, and Harry doesn’t think he’d be able to cope with another fracture in his already battered heart.
“I’m here.” She repeated, but not daring herself to look into his eyes again, afraid that she would break if she saw the pain once more. Arabella’s hands were shaking uncontrollably, unable to process the fact that she was indeed standing in front of Harry. The first boy who she fully gave herself to. The first boy that she let in and showed him every inch of herself, all her fears and secrets and the bits in between. The boy that had seen her bad days, the days when she couldn’t force herself to get out of bed as she let the sadness consume her like a tidal wave. The boy who also seen her good days where she’d dance around her apartment singing deafeningly to whatever vinyl was playing on her record player. The boy who she also let go, just like that.
“I- I couldn’t-” her words fumbled, unable articulate themselves because she didn’t really know what to say.
“You couldn’t what?” He questioned the stumbling girl, watching as she rambled her words.
“I couldn’t do it without you… it- it hurts.” She chocked, feeling the tears well up in her eyes, glossing over but never falling.
“It’s hurts?” He laughed, feeling a random burst of exasperation inside him, bubbling up and ready to burst.
Harry was angry- no, livid at the fact that she was the one to be upset when she called it quits! Even though he walked away first it was Arabella’s idea all along. He remembered the conversation like it was yesterday.
“Y-yes, I couldn-”
“You ripped my fucking heart out!” He finally burst, letting his anger get the best of him.
“I know! I know I did but it hurt me too Harry!” She desperately tried to explain to the extremely angry looking Harry.
“You were the one to call it off! You were the one who fucking let me walk away and you didn’t even think twice. You may as well have fucking ripped my heart out and threw it to the ground Arabella.” Harry said, a strong feeling of disappointment overthrowing the rage.
“You think I wanted that? Is that what you think Harry?”
He could hear the crack in her voice, like she was about to cry. It broke his heart that he knew she was going to cry because all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and tell her he loved her.
He had never let Arabella hear those 3 words though, afraid that she might not love him back. He wasn’t ready to fully give his heart to hers, even though the majority already belonged.
“Of course I do! What was I supposed to think?”
“I let you go because I thought it was best for you! You…you want big things, bigger things than me. And your life belongs here, with your family, not with someone who has an unstable life.” She explained, desperate for Harry to understand.
“Then why are you here? What’s changed?”
“Because I… i-”
“What? You what?” He watched her struggle with her words, unable to accumulate a proper sentence. He knew she was nervous but he wanted to clearly understand the situation, he wanted to know if he could move on with closure instead of wondering what he could have done to make things better.
“Spit it out God damnit!” Harry shouted, not caring if the people in other rooms could hear.
“I love you!” She screamed, tears finally falling like a floodgate had been opened.
Conversation quickly fell silent after the outburst. Arabella let the tears fall as she felt her heart tear into a million pieces, sure Harry doesn’t feel the same was as she did.
Harry heard the three words that he had always wanted to hear from her honeyed voice. His mind was everywhere apart from where it should be, he was happy that Arabella loved him back, he had been living for this moment. The confession was rushed and desperate and he wouldn’t have it any other way, all that mattered was that his Bella loved him, and he loved her.
He quickly took ahold of her small wrist and pulled her inside the room, pushing her against the back of the door and immediately attaching his lips against her soft, velvety ones.
The kiss was messy and chaste, but it was full of unspoken words and feelings that they hadn’t had the nerve to let out. The kiss said everything they didn’t, It was all heat and gasps.
Harry’s lips brushed against hers, not innocently like a tease but hot, fiery, passionate and demanding. Harry wanted to pull away before he lost himself but he could t seem to. In this moment it was as if his senses had been seduced and he could no longer think straight.
“Arabella.” Harry whispered slowly, prolonging each letter as if to savour them.
She smiled, her heart fluttering at his voice as she clasped her hands on either side of his face. She was sure her name had never sounded so wonderful coming from someone else’s lips.
“I love you too.”
Harry rests his forehead against Arabella’s. They close their eyes, both breathes shaking.
When Arabella kisses Harry he feels like his brain lights on fire and the warmth spreads through his entire body. After that he’s addicted, not baring to be without. The kisses was his salvation and his torment. He lived for them and would die with the memory staining his lips. He knew that if he lost her, he would lose himself. She was the half that made him a whole.
Fingers laced, legs intertwined
making it hard to distinguish where one ends and the other begins.
Sincere words, thoughts revealed
during late night talks the shadows creeping out, the monsters residing within coming out to play.
Soft touches, gentle caresses
fingers tracing circles upon backs leading to further exploration.
Two completely separate beings
brought to equilibrium.
There’s some logic behind not being able to let go. You know we spend a good portion of our lives building ourselves around this person that if they were to walk away, you feel like your world just might fall apart. You give them space and who knows what might happen, who knows what they’ll realize. The truth is that letting go isn’t the hard part - it’s the void, the aftermath, the emptiness that you have to fill once they’re gone. I think that’s what most people are afraid of, not being able to carry on once that person leaves. But eventually people feel trapped, they need to breathe, they need change and that means leaving some people behind. I think that sometimes we don’t want to let go in fear that our worst nightmare might just become our reality.
The way her words strike the air in a savage manner shock those who look down upon her once weak figure. The way she walked through the flames of the growing wildfire only made their respect grow for her. She held her head high, as if she was royalty, as if she was a queen (much to their despair, she is stronger than any queen they had ever seen). The once afraid damsel in distress that hid behind tall, strong men seemed to have disappeared and was replaced by a knight searching for her sword. This woman is a force to be reckoned with, may god have mercy on those who challenge her.
The Pulitzer Prize-winning Maus tells the story of Vladek Spiegelman, a Jewish survivor of Hitler’s Europe, and his son, a cartoonist coming to terms with his father’s story. Maus approaches the unspeakable through the diminutive. Its form, the cartoon (the Nazis are cats, the Jews mice), shocks us out of any lingering sense of familiarity and succeeds in ‘drawing us closer to the bleak heart of the Holocaust’ (The New York Times).
Maus is a haunting tale within a tale. Vladek’s harrowing story of survival is woven into the author’s account of his tortured relationship with his aging father. Against the backdrop of guilt brought by survival, they stage a normal life of small arguments and unhappy visits. This astonishing retelling of our century’s grisliest news is a story of survival, not only of Vladek but of the children who survive even the survivors. Maus studies the bloody pawprints of history and tracks its meaning for all of us.
“The mistake you make, don’t you see, is in thinking one can live in a corrupt society without being corrupt oneself. After all, what do you achieve by refusing to make money ? You’re trying to behave as though one could stand right outside our economic system. But one can’t. One’s got to change the system, or one changes nothing.”
We (Camille, Carly, and Emma) cordially invite you to our little corner of the community: Sublurbia.
Let’s give you the tour. Sublurbia is currently home to three main attractions: Blurbs +READ THIS BOOK!, a sorting hat tag game, and TBR Bingo.
What are those??
Blurbs are pretty straightforward. We ask that you tell us title, author, genre, publisher, and year of publication for our own sorting purposes, and we have a bullet blurb option formatted for you, but really you can sell us on whatever book you feel needs the push in whatever way suits you.
↳ READ THIS BOOK! is Blurbing: Extreme Edition™. The hard sell. It’s your chance to really convince us we need to read! that! book! Note: this runs on submissions, not reblogs.
Sorting Hat is a tag game (optional, but much more fun that way!) that celebrates underrated characters by arguing which Hogwarts House they belong in. You’re as free to tie it into the monthly theme (August 2017: secondhand) as you are not to!
TBR Bingo is a noncompetitive, personal challenge. You submit a request, we provide a bingo card. You receive bingo card, you blurb as you go for bingo. The simplest way to bingo is a vertical, horizontal, or diagonal line, which means the shortest way to get bingo is to read five books. You can play toward any pattern that would require you read at least, but not limited to five books. You read five books and write a blurb for each within a preset three month window, you are entered* to win a book!
Bingo breaks with our underrated books rule, so feel free to submit anything from bestsellers to hidden gems.
(*raffle rules provided in bingo link)
And that’s Sublurbia.
Thanks for reading, we hope to see you playing, and stop by anytime!
Two of the youngest pilots in the force, with a natural proclivity for getting into danger. Mowgli and Shanti pilot the fearsome jaeger Bear Necessities and specialize in finding the exact weak points of each new kaijuu and exploiting them resourcefully.
I was just watching the episode of 'Friends' where Joey finds Rachel's dirty book under her pillow. Would you write a Niall blurb like that? Funny AND smutty?! I trust you lol! ❌⭕️
When I walked into my house one evening to see Niall standing in the kitchen with a shit eating grin on his face, I knew something was up. He’d been texting me odd things all day about fantasizing and something about edging but I was so busy at work I didn’t have a chance to really think about what he meant. It was clear I was going to get that explanation now.
He lifted a mug of tea to his lips and took a sip,
“How was work?”
I narrowed my eyes at him,
I peeled my jacket off as I set my bag and keys on the counter,
He nodded, his face set in a tight line that sure made it seem like he was trying to hide a smile,
“Fixed the computer.”
I went to grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, I was suspicious because Niall was usually never this evasive,
“Good, what was wrong with it?”
“Can’t be sure but…probably has somethin’ t’do with whatcha been lookin’ at.”
i know there’s a bunch of these out there but I thought i could add some so pick a number and send it off
1. What book deserves a fancy illustrated edition in the style of the illustrated Harry Potter?
2. What book should be made into a high-end broadway musical in the style of Hamilton?
3. What book should be made into a show in the style of A Very Potter Musical?
4. What book should have been written Starwars au style? (i.e. in space)
5. What book character could you replace in their story without dramatically changing the plot? (as in, you would make the same decisions)
6. Pick a character from a fantasy book and describe what they would study in real life college and what job they’d want (college au, basically)
7. What book would be vastly improved if all the characters had to speak in ‘80s slang?
8. Answer this question in the voice (narrative style?) of your favorite character: “Who do you think you are? How did you get in my house? What are you doing with your life anyway?”
9. If you were the publisher in charge of releasing your favorite series with new covers, what cover artist or fan artist would you hire to make the new cover art?
10. You are now the person in charge of writing the blurbs that go on books. Pick a book and get to work! How do you sum up the story and make it sound appealing without spoiling it?
11. What two authors would write the most amazing book if they teamed up? What would that book be like?
12. You have one sentence to convince me to read your favorite book. Make it count.
13. Pick a series and guess the title of the next book to come out. Doesn’t matter if the series is technically complete, you can still make one up! (Consider the author’s usual choice of titles and any patterns in the rest of the series’ titles)
14. Pick a book or series that does not already have an accompanying book of short stories. Now pretend you are the author, and you are writing one. What stories, what characters, what viewpoints will you use? Prequel stories, epilogue stories? What do you want to give the fans?
15. You have gotten your hands on a time machine and you’re going to use it to go back in time and stop an author from writing one thing in their story. What do you stop them from writing?
16. Consider a fantasy book or series as a historical event in that fantasy universe. 200 years after the events of the book, what artifacts from the story are kept in history museums and studied by historians?
17. What book character would run a super popular tumblr? What would they post?
18. What book would be great as/should be adapted as a graphic novel?
19. If you had to come up with a queue tag based on the last book you finished, what would it be?
20. You know those series where the spines of the books put together make a bigger picture? What series deserves those kind of spines, and what picture would the books make?
21. What kind of book do you most want to read right now? What kind of plot, characters, genre, etc are you dying for?
22. What book would you recommend your favorite author to read?
23. What is one spoiler for a book that you never would have believed if someone told you it before you read the book?
24. Pick a book on your TBR pile/list and explain what made you want to read it.
25. What book premise would you take from the author who wrote it, on the grounds that they didn’t write it well enough, and what author would you give it to to write instead?
26. What’s one book that disappointed you, and what are a few things you would have changed to make it better?