#like the withdrawals are bad baaaad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mermaidsirennikita · 12 days

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best kisses of all time iydm?? I think about the midnight library kiss in what I did for a duke at least once a week<3333

they are sensual enough i guess but nowadays I just don't see some good old, toe curling, actually romantic, a kiss for the sake of the kiss-kiss you know? the kind that racks a havoc in the very being of the mcs?? ahhh the good old days

Anyway thats the ask, thank you❤❤❤❤

For sure, yes! I will say, because I often say it... Lady Chatterley's Lover has one of the best onscreen kisses of all time.

Anyway:

Mafia Madman by Mila Finelli. I think of a kiss in this book a lot, because while these two have a lot of SEX, they don't have a lot of tender kissing or like, loooovemaking type sex. There's a scene where the hero has a panic attack, and the heroine helps him breathe through it, and they start having sex, and I think she calls him baby during or something (and it's also the first time they've had sex with her on top) and he like, grabs her and kisses her... it's so good.

Regarding the Duke by Grace Callaway. This is recent, but it's their first kiss in flashbacks, and he's all cold and calculating and trying to seduce her into marrying him for her connections, and she's sweet and gentle, and it's like... so good... When they kiss for the first time and it kinda goes out of control and he's like "SHIT".

Dreaming of You by Lisa Kleypas. There's a really passionate kiss around the line where Derek tells Sara that sometimes, he wants to punish her a little... And he's basically like "you need to stay the fuck away from me" but we all know he's falling in love with her, and he can't resist kissing her.

Heated Rivalry by Rachel Reid. The kiss during the scene where Ilya is like "oh let's like chill and have an snack after sex", which turns into a handjob lol, but it's like the first time they really start getting EMOTIONALLY intimate (and the first time they switch out of using last names only), and you see the horror of FEELINGS happen.

American Queen by Sierra Simone. I really love the angsty ferris wheel first kiss between Embry and Greer because it does feel kind of doomed? Like, you're very "oh nooooo this is baaaad" because of the setup you've already seen and what you as the reader know that they don't know, but you're also reading so fast because the tension has been building and it all feels so fated.

And though it's not from their perspective, in the same book the mistletoe kiss between Ash and Embry is. SO. GOOD.

Lothaire by Kresley Cole. The kiss when Ellie is all "fuck you dude I'll make you yell to the rafters" (she does) and during they get really out of hand and start making out and he bites her lower lip and it starts bleeding... and as she withdraws he's like "she is going to lose her shit and run away", kind of WANTING that to happen because he's an asshole and is losing the upper hand... But she basically smiles at him through the blood and kisses him HARD. It's the entire relationship in a kiss.

When the Duke Was Wicked by Lorraine Heath. The first kiss in this book is one of those "he has many emotions including jealousy and can't stand it so he grabs her and kisses her" moments... and he feels so bad about it... and she's so pissed at him... and it's incredible. Waking Up with the Duke also has an amazing first kiss, especially because after that Jayne demands that, though they'll be having sex, there CANNOT be any more kissing. Because the kissing is Too Much.

Thief of Shadows by Elizabeth Hoyt. The masked kiss, which very much gives HARD Sam Raimi Spider-Man vibes.

Devil in Winter by Lisa Kleypas. The kiss while their hands are still tied, obvi obvi lol. I also love the first kiss in Seduce Me at Sunrise so great, because Kev can't stop himself (common Kev skill issue) and it's so angsty and so passionate and Win just leaves the country right after because he won't just put it in her, basically.

Between the Devil and Desire by Lorraine Heath. Olivia goading Jack into kissing her by being like "and that's what I DON'T want you to do" because she knows he does the opposite of what she tells him to lol.

The Duke Gets Even by Joanna Shupe. The first kiss in the ocean when they're strangers and he tells her to pull his hair harder. It sets the tone in every way for the rest of the book.

#romance novel blogging #book recs #romance novels

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yellowdistress · 5 years

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I loved you addiction AU!!! Could you maybe continue it with Peter and his dad fighting through rehab or a BAAAAD relapse? Love you, btw XD

Here you go. Again, this deals with the serious topic of addiction, drug detox, etc. so be careful when reading. ❤

They had told Peter the detox would be bad and he hadn’t really given it much thought. It couldn’t have been as awful as sitting through those meetings with the doctor, and then doing the same with a therapist.

He was wrong.

It was bad.

It hurt, like a deep thing inside of him. Like a monster brewing. It reminded him of the times it would take him too long to get more pills. When everything would suddenly swell, like in his joints and deep within his skull. It was all textbook. They had a doctor on-call, but Peter had begged not to be admitted anywhere and his father had followed his requests, but he was suddenly regretting begging his father to let him stay home during the process, because he was slipping further and further into some sort of abyss that made him absolutely resent everything and everyone in his life. Specifically his father.

There were rational portions of himself still left, even after he vomited for the second time and flushed the toilet, falling back against the wall behind him. The rational portions told him he had willingly signed up to be in out-patient rehab. The rational part told him his father was only trying to help him. But then there was the drug-part that the Oxycodone was fueling. Where rational thoughts went to die, and Peter pressed his back into the wall, sitting on the bathroom floor. He pressed his hands over his ears, the world ringing, his senses were on fire. Spider-Man had disappeared with rehab. And Peter couldn’t even explain to his father why things sounded so much louder, why things felt so painful just from the softest of touches. His father was leaning against the door frame, and when Peter finished vomiting, he grabbed a glass of water from beside the sink and offered it, holding it out to the boy.

Peter shook his head, keeping his hands over his ears.

“Drink,” His dad ordered as if he hadn’t seen the denial, “C’mon, you’re gonna get dehydrated.”

Peter continued to shake his head petulantly, “I’ll throw it up.”

“Try.”

He shook his head, pressing harder on his ears. He had never felt so angry at his father; for making him do this. For making him go to the doctor, for confronting him. The rational part was slowly sinking with each sharp pain that ripped through his abdomen and Peter refused to take the water. His father said, harder this time, “Either you drink it or I call the doctor to come start an IV.”

“Don’t hold that over my head,” Peter snapped sharply, and before, when things were normal, he wouldn’t have been so rash or angry…But he was then, and he continued, “I’ll leave. I’ll leave if you do. Forever.”

He watched his father swallow at the threat, his face turning into something unreadable. Like a hard stone. Slowly he kneeled down, close to Peter and he had no where to go, with the wall behind him and the tub on the other side. The glass was held even closer, his father held his tongue, but the silent command was enough to make Peter’s stomach twist even harsher.

And so, Peter took the glass…His father didn’t have to say anything, he just had to stare.

He took several gulps, before finishing half and setting it aside. His father seemed satisfied with that, at least. Peter blinked several times, refusing to make eye contact as he felt defeated once more. Always defeated. Ever since his father had found the pill bottle under his pillow. His dad stood, grabbing a wash rag and he held it under the sink before returning to Peter’s side. Peter didn’t fight him as his father pulled his head forward and pressed the rag to the back of his neck.

“This would have been easier on you if you had let yourself be admitted.”

His father’s voice was steady, but there was bitterness behind it. Peter couldn’t be admitted. Not just because he didn’t want to, but because he was afraid…he was afraid of the medicine meant to alleviate the symptoms, if they would notice he needed more than the average person did. If his father would find out and that would be added on top of everything. He felt frustration corner him, drug-thoughts took hold, that same irrational anger. The one that blamed his father for the situation because he had been the one to take the pills and -

“I mean, it would have been easier if we had never done this.”

His dad didn’t reply for a moment, before he questioned, “Done what?”

“This,” Peter emphasized, “This…rehabilitation thing.”

“Would you have preferred I let you keep stuffing yourself with oxy?”

Peter flinched at the bluntness. He tugged away from the cold rag and his father’s hand, looking at him with a dark glare. His eyes burned, offense taking hold as he felt like just some drug addict to his dad. Not like his son, his dad wouldn’t let him keep taking the pills, even though everything hurt and he wished he understood, he wished the rational part, the one that wasn’t going through withdrawals was talking, not this Peter.

“It’s unfair,” Peter croaked, “It’s not fair. Dad please.”

“You have to want to get better,” His dad said, “Or else this isn’t going to work.”

Peter’s lip trembled, “I wanna get better.”

“Then why are you begging for more?”

The boy couldn’t help it. He slammed himself back into the wall in frustration, his head striking the sheet rock forcefully enough for it to give way under his skull. Pain spiked, but it might have been worse, had he not had his strength. But his father’s hand shot out nonetheless, putting a palm between his head and the wall and he snapped harshly between his teeth, “Peter, stop it!”

“I hate you,” Peter felt tears burning, and it wasn’t rational-Peter, and he knew he hated himself in that moment, not his father, but it came out the wrong way, “I hate you, this isn’t fair. You-you hate me. You want me to hurt.”

To his father’s credit, he took the verbal abuse with stride. Maybe he knew too, that this wasn’t Peter speaking, but the pills that he desired so much. Peter went to hit his head again, but his father pulled him forward, squeezing to sit behind him, between Peter’s back and the wall. Peter found himself stuck to his father’s chest from behind, an arm wrapping tightly around his chest. He sucked in a deep breath, only squirming a few moments before he was drowning back into the cold sweat of the withdrawals, unable to squirm anymore.

Peter’s chest heaved.

“I’m dying,” Peter murmured weakly, his hands forced in a crossed position over his chest by his father, and he really thought he was. His heart was racing, he could hardly breathe, Spider-Man’s strength was disappearing with the weakness in his limbs. He couldn’t even fight off his own father, “I-I feel like I’m dying.”

His father rested his chin on the top of his head.

“You’re not dying.”

“I am,” Peter’s chest quaked, “You gotta - you gotta - “

“No.”

Peter’s face crumbled, like a child being told no to a toy or some kind of sweet. He fell back into his father’s chest, letting the frustration swallow him whole in the form of a brief sob. Peter, once more coherent, would be mortified. But in that moment…he was more hurt, and betrayed, and he didn’t understand why his father wouldn’t help him. But the words backtracked, and even if in his feverish haze he couldn’t comprehend much, he still knew something had been wrong…

“I don’t hate you,” Peter whispered, a tear parting from him, “I just don’t understand.”

There was a sigh.

“I know.”

#what we are au #biological father au #addiction au

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farsiforeplayfuture · 7 years

Text

The New Barbarians: A Declaration of Poetic Disobedience from the New Border, by Guillermo Gómez-Peña

(2004-Ongoing)

1. To the Masterminds of Paranoid Nationalism

I say, we say:

‘We,’ the Other people

We, the migrants, exiles, nomads & wetbacks

in permanent process of voluntary deportation

We, the transient orphans of dying nation-states

la otra America; l’autre Europe

We, the citizens of the outer limits and crevasses

of ‘Western civilization’

We, who have no government;

no flag or national anthem

We, the New Barbarians

We, in constant flux,

from Patagonia to Alaska,

from Juarez to Ramalla,

todos somos mojados

We, the seventh generation, the fourth world, the third country

We millions abound,

defying your fraudulent polls & statistics

We continue to talk back & make art

[Shamanic tongues]

2. To those up there who make dangerous decisions for mankind

I say, we say:

We, the homeless, faceless vatos aquellos

in the great American metropolis

little Mexico, little Cambodia, little purgatory

We, the West Bank & Gaza strip of Gringolandia

We, the unemployed & subemployed who work so pinche hard

so you don’t have to work that much

We, whose taxes send your CEOs & armies

on vacation to the South

We, evicted from your gardens & beaches

We, fingerprinted, imprisoned, under surveillance

We, within your system, without your mercy

We, without health or car insurance,

without bank accounts & credit cards,

We, scared shitless at ground level,

but only at ground level

like a pack of hungry wolves

exploring the ruins of an empty mall

we continue to be… together

[Shamanic tongues]

3. To the lords of fear and intolerance

I say, we say:

We, mud people, snake people, tar people

We, bohemians walking on millennial thin ice

Our bodies pierced, tattooed, martyred, scarred

Our skin covered with hieroglyphs & flaming questions

We, the witches who transform trash into wearable art

We, Living Museum of Modern Oddities & Sacred Monsters

We, vatos cromados y chucas neo-barrocas

We, indomitable drag queens, transcendental putas

waiting for love and better conditions in the shade

We, bad boy & bad girls over 50

We, lusting for otherness

We, todos somos putos

We, ‘subject matter’ of fringe documentaries

We, the Hollywood refuseniks,

the greaser bandits & holy outlaws

of advanced Capitalism

We, without guns, without Bibles

We, who never pray to the police or to the army

We, who never kissed the hand of a bishop or a curator

We, who barter and exchange favors & talismans

We, who still believe in community, another community,

a much stranger and wider community

We, community of illness, madness & dissent

community of horny angels & tender demons

We, scotch, mescal and bleeding saliva

We, frail and defiant; permanently outraged but always tender

We shape your desire while you contract our services

to postpone the real discussion

We are waiting, still waiting for you to go to sleep

so, we can continue the party

[Shamanic tongues]

4. To the Lords of Censorship

I say, we say:

We, the artists & intellectuals who still don’t wish to comply

We, who talk back in rarefied symbols & metaphors

against the corruption of formalized religion & art

We, critical brain mass

spoken word profética, sintética

We, bastard children of two humongous nuns:

‘Heterodoxia’ e ‘Iconoclastia’

We, the urban monks who pray in tongues & rap in Esperanto

We, who put on masks, penachos & wigs to shout

‘you just can’t take my art away’

We, who dance against the rhythms of the times

We, who suddenly freeze!

[pause]

Standing still in our underwear

right in the center of the stage

with the words carved on our chests:

‘Performance artist: will bleed for food’

‘Obsessive artist: will die for one idea’

We, critical brain mass

fuga inminente de cerebros y hormonas

spoken word profética, sintética

We continue to talk back… talk back… talk back…

[Shamanic tongues]

5. To those who are as afraid of us as we are of them

I say, we say:

We, who have no name whatsoever in the news

We, edited out, pixelated, censored, postponed

We, beyond the video frame, behind the caution tape

We, tabloid subject matter par excellence

We, involuntary actors of ‘The Best of Cops’

eternally stalking mythical blonds in the parking lot,

We, mistaken identities in your computer memory

We, generic brown & black males who fit all

taxonomic descriptions

We, black & brown nude bodies in the morgue,

taxidermied bodies in the Museum of Mankind

We, prime targets of ethnic profiling & capital punishment

We, one strike & we’re out

We, prisoners of consciousness without a trial

We, of the turban, burka, sombrero, bandana, leather pants

We surround your neon architecture

While you call the Office of ‘Homeland Security’

[pause]

Yes, we are equally scared of one another

[Shamanic tongues]

6. To the share-holders of mono-culture

I say, we say:

We, Americans with foreign accents & purple tongues

We, bilingual, polylingual, cunnilingual,

We, los otros del mas allá

del otro lado de la línea y el puente

We, lingua poluta et disoluta,

rapeando border mystery; a broader history

We, mistranslated señorita, eternally mispronounced

We, lost and found in the translation

lost & found between the layers of my words

We, interracial lovers,

children of interracial lovers, ad infinitum

We, Americans in the largest sense of the term

(from the many other Americas)

We, from Patagonia to Alaska

From Sao Paolo to New York

We, in cahoots with the original Americans

who speak hundreds of beautiful languages

incomprehensible to you

We [Shamanic tongues]

We, in cahoots with dozens of millions of displaced

Latinos, Arabs, blacks & Asians

who live so far away from their land

We, trapped between ICE and organized crime

[Shamanic tongues]

We all speak in unison therefore you cease to be

even if only for a moment

behind the curtain of language

I am, US, you sir, no ser

Nosotros seremos

Nosotros, we stand

not united

We, matriots not patriots

& when we talk back,

you become tongue-tied pendejos

[Shamanic tongues]

the people you call ‘aliens’

are the original inhabitants of this earth

7. To the masters and apologists of war

I say, we say:

We, matriots not patriots again

We, rebels, not mercenaries like you

We, labeled ‘extremists’ for merely disagreeing with you

We, caught in the crossfire,

between Christian fear & Muslim rage,

We, a thinking majority against unilateral stupidity

against preemptive strikes & premature ejaculation

We reject your arms sales & oil deals

We distrust your orange alert & your white privilege

We oppose the Patriot Act patrioticamente hablando

the largest surveillance system ever,

the biggest prison complex to date

We, whose opinions are never on the front page

of your morning paper

We, who are never polled by Fox News

who never get to debate those TV pundits

We did not vote for you,

do not support your wars,

do not believe in your violent gods

do not respect your immigration laws

Standing scared but firm

We demand your total, TOTAL withdrawal

from our minds and bodies ipso facto

[Shamanic tongues]

And when we speak in tongues, you disappear

8. Finale:

[Finally facing/addressing the audience]

We, baaaad poetry, baaad art!

We, techno-pirates, Region 4

We, the shamans exorcising Enron

los brujos against Microsoft

poetas solitarios contra Wal-Mart

We, dervishes under the arches of McDonalds

radical clowns confronting the global police

immigrant teens torching the cars of the wealthy

We, los indignados y desterrados

El Movimiento Sin Tierra

Paracaidistas en Wall Street

The Other ‘99%’

We, the ghosts of the past

in cahoots with the future warriors

in cahoots with all innocent civilians killed

on both sides of the useless War on Terror

We, nosotros, going crazy to remain sane

literally dying for new ideas

performing against all odds

dancing on the edge of a crater

We, witnesses & willing victims of the End of Empire

We, Western World imploding disfunctionalia

history’s final chapter… colapso total!

Tabula Rasa; take 2:

We, mapping,

mapping the immediate future

so you and I can walk on it

without falling inside the great faults of history.

You & I,

verbally walking together;

you & I,

ephemeral community;

you & I,

a tiny little nation-state;

you & I,

a one-hour-long utopia

titled ‘You & I,’

alone on stage,

fighting together

the World Bank, the WTO & the G-8;

fighting avant-garde desire & the Patriot Act;

tu y yo, juntitos, bien abrazados,

fucking suavecito

fighting isolation & isolationism….

And art is our battlefield,

que otra?

And if we fall

we are caught in mid-air by a total stranger.

copied from: https://migrare.wordpress.com/2012/03/26/the-new-barbarians-a-declaration-of-poetic-disobedience-from-the-new-border-by-guillermo-gomez-pena/

video sample: http://www.vdb.org/titles/declaration-poetic-disobediance

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