Can anyone help me with self publishing a book? Don’t know what is the best way to go about it. I’ve been looking at so much stuff I don’t know what to do anymore. Is Amazon good? I need some help. Please and thank you.
It keeps on coming but I’m okay right now. On top of the research paper for Goethe due tomorrow (15 pages, must have a literary critic who agrees with your analysis and one who disagrees) which was only assigned a little over a week ago, my Shakespeare professor added a four-page assignment today which is due Thursday, my Native American lit professor added 35 pages of reading to the syllabus for this week, and three self-evaluations were added today.
My goal is to finish it all tonight so that I can sleep all day after class tomorrow. Thursday is my last day of classes before Spring Break. Thursday night is going to involve a lot of a wine and Thievery Corporation while sitting on my porch with the dogs. And then sleep. Blissful, serene, sleep.
summary: you fall for someone who isn’t meant to be yours.
*i don’t own any gifs, all cred goes to the owner*
pairing: jj maybank x reader
warnings: idk this is sad, swearing and shit, angst i guess
a/n: this song gives me huge jj vibes for some reason. i saw an potential in this song and ran with it lol. i really enjoyed writing this; song fics are always really nice to read, in my opinion. listening to the song before you read definitely helps make sense of things. im not very good with summaries and warnings btw. someone give me some lessons. i hope you all enjoy! :)
feedback is the foundation of my blog.
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Everyone knows of the (un)spoken rule.
The rule that pogues and kooks can’t be friends. They’re supposed to hate each other because they’re at polar opposite ends of the the spectrum — because their social classes are so different. They not only have different lifestyles, but also to act differently.
It’s just how things work in the Outer Banks; pogues and kooks are notdestined to be friends. No one really ever questions that, and before, you probably wouldn’t have either.
Now, however, is a different story. It’s not like you, a kook, intendedon forming a friendship with a pogue.
You officially met JJ Maybank at the pogue’s party at the Boneyard. Sure, you’d seen him around a few times before — Outer Banks really isn’t that big of an island. The Boneyeard is a common place for parties and you’re both almost always there.
When JJ approached you, you fully expected him to be his typical snotty self. You were unexpectedly wrong, nonetheless. He offered you a drink, and you more than gladly accepted it, a bit confused as to why he was being so nice. If there’s one thing you knew, it’s that JJ Maybank wasn’t someone who liked kooks. At all.
You quickly understood why he oh so kindly offered you a drink, though. With one sip, you tasted the muddy/salty/gritty sand combined with your alcohol, immediately spitting it out instinctively.
Much to your humor, you just happened to have spit it directly onto JJ’s face.
He didn’t seem to find it quite as funny.
Ironically, that’s how your friendship, or whatever you want to call it, blossomed. The two of you kept your friendship secret, neither wanting to start drama on either sides of the social class. So, you hung out behind closed doors. In abandoned places on the island. At your house when your parents went out of town and old hotels no one knew about so you two wouldn’t get caught.
You never in a million years thought you’d be one to fall for a pogue. They were supposed to be lazy, rude, and terrible people like your parents made them seem. They’re supposed to be dirty, useless excuses of humans. They’re not supposed to give you butterflies when they smirk at you. They shouldn’t make your eyes light up when you seen them. They shouldn’t feel like home.
Yet here you were, head over heels for JJ Mayfield, a goddamn pogue.
He was dancing in his tube socks in our hotel room.
You’d spontaneously booked a room at the Avon Motel, your usual spot for nights like these. You told your parents you were spending the night at Jaysie Johnson’s house, and JJ told the group he had some things to settle with his dad.
As the rain peppered down, and the thunder rolled, you giggled at the sight in front of you. JJ was dancing to Buffalo Solder by Bob Marley; his famous red hat placed backwards on his head and tube socks pulled up to mid-shin.
He shuffled his way over to you, placing his left hand out for you, inviting you to dance with him.
Without a thought, you grabbed it. He pulled you up from your spot on the floral patterned sheets and into his arms. The two of you swayed to the music, your hand in his and head against his chest. The song just happened to be upbeat, but you managed to still “slow dance” to it. He would spin you around once in a while and you guys just moved with the music.
Light one up and hand it over, rest your head upon my shoulder.
It’s no secret that JJ likes to smoke. He’ll pretty much light one up anywhere. It shocked him whenever he found out that you pretty much are a stoner too.
His reaction was absolutely priceless when you pulled up one night with your own pipe.
He stared back and forth at you and the colorful glass pipe, his mouth slightly open, and eyes wide in shock.
“You— Why didn’t you tell me you smoke?” he finally said when after snapping out of his trance.
“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. You think kooks don’t smoke? It’s stoner city on the other side, my guy,” you gently patted his cheek.
After that, you guys started to smoke every time you were together. You had to admit, you really liked getting high with JJ. Not only is he super funny sober, but he’s ten times funnier when he’s high. On top of that, you two tend to have really deep and intellectual conversations while high.
Positioned by the open motel window, you two prepare for a late-night smoke sesh. He licked the rolling paper, sealing it before lighting it, flames illuminating the tip, before deeply inhaling.
You have to admit, another reason why you liked smoking with JJ was because he looked so effortlessly sexy while doing it. The way his eyes become a bit heavier and slightly red. The way the smoke rolled from his lips. The way he almost always chuckles after his 3rd or 4th hit. It was almost too much for you to handle.
He passed you the joint, inviting you to inhale the intoxicating substance. You take a large puff of it, holding it in for a second before letting it go. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes as you instantly feel stress leaving your body. You extend out your arm, passing the weed back to JJ.
After a few more times going back and forth, he has the heavy, red eyes you know and love. When you finish the single joint, he gently rests his head on your bare shoulder.
You smile down at him, his eyes closed, arms wrapped around your stomach.
“You know you’re mykook, right?” he whispers.
“Yeah, JJ. I know I’m your kook.”
And I promised myself I wouldn’t let you complete me.
It’s not like you intentionally let it happen.
At first you thought your feelings were just excitement from breaking the rules. You thought the feeling was adrenaline from the rush of sneaking around, like you two were a dirty little secret.
When you realized it wasn’t a thrill high, you thought maybe you’d developed a small crush. Of course you thought that, because crushes are normal. People develop feelings for their friends all the time. It doesn’t mean they have to act on it. It doesn’t mean anything most of the time.
When you couldn’t shake the feeling, however, you knew you had fucked up. Big time.
You honestly can’t recall the first time you thought about JJ like that. You do remember, however, the first time the two of you did something like that.
Sitting on opposite sides of each other in the reading nook by the window in your room, you two stared out the window, just talking about life. It was the first time he had really opened up about his dad, and it was the first time you’d even mentioned what yours does to you.
It was truly a special moment between you and JJ. It was the first time you really, truly felt connected to him— you two weren’t as different as everyone thought. You can be in two opposite groups and have the same secrets.
You tried to blame his soft lips crashing into yours on the moment; a moment where the both of you were vulnerable and craving intimacy. You tried to tell yourself that it wouldn’t happen again, yet it did.
It happened again and again and again.
You were falling for JJ, yet you refused to accept that you were.
You look down at his head rested on your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but feel the familiar airy butterflies flutter through your stomach. You notice everything; the way his hair flows a certain way; the way the moment his eyes close he shoots them back open. You wondered what his breath would feel like against your lips at that particular moment, and if he’d rest his hand on your cheek or waist if you were to kiss him right now.
Sometimes you feel like you rely on JJ a little too much; being around him is honestly the only time you truly feel like yourself— he doesn’t pressure you act a certain way. He doesn’t want you to be the perfect little girl like everyone else does. When you caught yourself counting down the days until you got to see him next, however, you decided to draw a line; you couldn’t let yourself get thatattached.
You never found yourself in so deep with any of your previous boyfriends that you felt the need to count down the next time you’d see them. You never craved someone’s presence more than JJ’s, and that was a problem. You knewyou were in too deep, and that’s something you couldn’t allow.
Of the many “moments” you had with JJ, not once had he addressed it. To be fair, you hadn’t either, but that’s besides the point. You assumed that if he had actual feelings for you, he’d tell you. It’s not like JJ isn’t a bold and straightforward person; actually, JJ tends to say what’s on his mind before actually thinking about it first. So, if he was into you, he’d tell you, right? With that, you just denied and brushed aside your feelings because that’s really all you could do. After all, he said it himself, “Kooks and pogues don’t mack on each other.”
You told yourself you wouldn’t let him complete you. Not that you wanted to, but you hadto.
And all I do is cry and complain, because second’s not the same.
You hadn’t realized you were crying until you instinctively sniffled, instantly becoming aware of the tears rapidly falling down your face like the rain falling down the outside.
Your sniffle must have caught JJ’s attention, because the spot where his head previously rested no longer is warm from his cheek.
Trying to cover the the fact that you were crying, you quickly wipe under your eyes and cheeks. It doesn’t do much good, however. Not only had JJ seen your tear stained cheeks, but he also saw you wipe your tears away. He knew you were trying to hide it from him.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he looks at you staring at the ground, eyes glassy, threatening to spill more tears.
He uses his finger to tilt your head up, forcing you to look at him before wrapping an arm around you in hopes to comfort you.
The dam in your eyes break, and more tears flow down your cheeks.
“Don’t cry, pretty girl,” he attempts to wipe them off, still oblivious to what’s going on.
You push his hand off your face and move from his embrace, turning around so your back is facing him, “Don’t call me that,” you sob out, burying your face in your hands.
“I don’t understand, I call you that all the time. Can you just tell me what’s going on?” he stands up with you, still facing your back.
You can feel him staring holes into you. You imagined his eyebrows were knitted together, the way they do when he’s mad or confused. His arms were probably flailed out in confusion.
You whip around, finally facing JJ, “I…I don’t think we should be friends anymore,” you say hesitantly, yet without any thought.
You don’t actually want to end your friendship with JJ, but for your own sake, right now, it seems like the best option. You were suffocating. Suffocating because you’re trapped in a false reality. Nothing you have with JJ is truly real; you sneak around everyone and hang out privately because of what? Because the two of you don’t want anyone to find out you’re hanging out?
A relationship with someone isn’t real when you constantly have to hide everything from the outside world. A relationship isn’t real when you’re worried about what everyone around is going to think.
JJ’s face visibly drops, and his eyes are no longer in the dreamy, tired, hazed state you’re used to.
At a loss for words, he stutters, “W-what?”
His face scans yours for an answer— an explanation, anything. His eyes dance over your face rapidly, searching for a “sike” or “I’m just kidding”, yet he finds nothing.
You’re quick to respond, all of your thoughts coming out at once; and for the first time in your goddamn life, you don’t think before you speak.
“I don’t like being a secret, JJ,” you start off, crossing your arms over your chest, a sob leaving your lips followed by a few tears. “It is fucking exhausting sneaking around all the time. Don’t get me wrong, you are my best fucking friend, but I can’t keep doing whatever the fuck this is,” you gasp for air, hands motioning between him and yourself.
Your cries seem to be getting heavier and heavier. You don’t even bother to wipe your tears anymore, as they’re coming out faster than you can dry them. You try to look at JJ through your cloudy eyes, but can’t make out much.
You see him rubs his face from the stress of the confrontation, and he places his hands behind his head, interlocking his fingers.
“We don’t have to sneak around anymore, it’s not a big deal, not to me anyway,” he bargains, “I promise I’ll tell the pogues about you,” he reaches out for you hand, but you take a step back, avoiding it.
You shake your head, wiping away the tears collected at the bottom of your chin while doing so, scoffing at JJ.
He really thinks it’ll be that simple? That his friends would just accept her like that? That Kiara wouldn’t be mad about another kook or girl is joining the group? Even if they do, someone’s bound to find out about your little crush on the blonde hair, blue eyed individual.
“No, I just can’t do it anymore. I can’t pretendanymore.”
“We can work this out,” he throws his hands up in frustration, tears forming in his blue orbs, “Jus–just please tell me we can work this out,” he voice cracks and he smiles slightly, trying to hide his pain.
JJ’s head tilts to the ground, the smile fading as quickly as it appeared. He allows his tears to finally drop.
You’re silent for a moment, taking in the scene before you. You’d never meant to hurt JJ, that’s the last thing you wanted. Sometimes people have to make stupid decisions and do selfish things to save themselves.
“Second’s not the same, JJ. I can’t keep pretending. I can’t keep pretending that what we have isn’t something more than a friendship to me. I can’t pretend that I don’t want you to show me off. I’m sorry, JJ. I really don’t want to hurt you; I really don’t want to. But I can’t keep acting like I’m not in love with you, not when I know you don’t fucking love me back.”
And with that, you turned your back once again. You grabbed your bag from the desk in the corner of the room, and you left. You walked out into the night air, and again, much like the your tears, the rain was still pouring down. As you felt your heart break, however, you didn’t apt turn back around.
You simply left with you broken heart, and didn’t look back.
I didn’t mean to fall in love tonight. Can we pretend that we’re in love?
Jesus, applying for literary/publishing internships is terrifying. I spend half the time writing, half the time staring at the e-mail making sure a comma isn’t out of place.
*Note to self. Maybe don’t do this while watching the Friends episode where Joey has a hernia. It produces too much lols, and not enough concentration.
So almost a year ago, I got into a relationship with this guy named ‘Luke’. At first, everything seemed to be going okay until a month into the relationship when I noticed a few changes with him. He’d uplift other women and compare me to them while telling me that ‘fat girls need love too’ and that I couldn’t wear makeup because ‘I don’t need to look good for anybody else’. Soon, my self esteem started to decrease and I felt as though he was the best I could get. He knew my insecurities and knew exactly how to keep me around and that’s exactly what he did. Months later, I met another guy named ‘John’ and at the time, he made me feel beautiful again. He helped me gain my self esteem back and eventually asked me on a date. The only problem is that I was still in a relationship with ‘Luke’. I knew that going on a date with ‘John’ would’ve been wrong, even talking to ‘John’ on an intimate level was wrong. In January of this year, I finally decided that I wasn’t happy anymore and broke it off with ‘Luke’, giving him the excuse that I had too much going on right now to be in a relationship. He wouldn’t take that as a reason and ever since then, he’d constantly message me to say he’d commit suicide unless I got back with him. I never fell into his empty threats and it caused him to become more aggressive. A month later, ‘John’ and I decided it’d be better if we stayed friends and broke it off. Ever since then, every guy I’d attempt to date would suddenly cut me off. I wondered what could’ve been the problem with me until I realized ‘Luke’ was making fake social media accounts to follow & monitor me. No matter how many times I begged him to stop, he wouldn’t. Cue approximately 5 months ago, I met my fiancée and since ‘Luke’ has found out about the engagement, the harassment has gotten worse. I got this message on Instagram from him yesterday and I’ve called the police on multiple occasions. Every time they’d come to my house, they’d say until he physically touches me, there’s nothing they can do. I honestly just want this to end. This has gone on long enough and I need peace. Is there nothing I can do?
Aziraphale stood in the center of Berwick Street on a chilly night in 1967 and watched the Bentley’s tail lights bleed into the dark, blinking out like a pair of dying dwarf stars at the end of the road before turning down a path he couldn’t follow. The flickering neon of the shop windows that boxed in the bookshop illuminated his visage, a lonely guardian of humanity, but his eyes remained dim. The blue once bright with unshed tears turned as dull and grey as the stone wall of Eden.
If only his heart was as impenetrable, but Crowley found his cracks. He always did. He knew where the fault lines carved through the core of any defense, knew how to weaken it with little more than a tremor from a precise tap of his pointer finger, providing that he chose to have appendages at all.
Anywhere you want to go.
Oh, yes. Crowley knew how to break him. They both knew very well Aziraphale was not free to go about anywhere, let alone where he wanted. Nor was Crowley free to make such an offer, or he wouldn’t need his death sentence packaged so prettily, complete destruction a simple twist of the wrist away.
Promises, promises. Placating him at best. A paltry peace offering in exchange for what just might have been the biggest regret of Aziraphale’s entire existence. Greater even than the Garden itself. A poisoned chalice. A silver dagger. A pool with which to drown oneself. Would there be anything left of his love to drift face down among the flowers?
He didn’t know.
He supposed it didn’t matter, in the end.
Here he stood in the center of Soho, the hilt of a sword firm in hand as he waited for the day Crowley would deign to draw near enough to him to feel the blade’s point against his abdomen just before he willingly walked closer, while Aziraphale did nothing more than turn his head away. Did that make him Crowley’s truest friend, a Strato to his Brutus? Or the worst, for not instead extending a hand to pull him out of the dark. What sort of angel did that make him, that he could more easily hold out a sword to him than his own hand?
What sort of demon did that make Crowley that he turned to an angel to seek salvation? What did Crowley see in him that made him think he could place his everlasting destruction in his hands? When golden eyes settled on his holy light, watched him through dark-tinted lenses rather than rose, did he see him at his worst?
Well, Aziraphale couldn’t rightly blame him. If there were ever anyone who he let see the worst parts of him, it had been Crowley, because surely it was safe to let a demon know his flaws. Surely a demon had done worse things than Aziraphale, and yet…
And yet it was the very goodness in Crowley that drew Aziraphale to him anyway, the warmth he exuded, the safety, the promise that he could tell him anything and no judgment would strike him down.
The worst of angels and the best of demons… what a pair they might’ve made.
The neon buzzed above Aziraphale’s head, then died. Cast in shadow, Aziraphale went unnoticed until all the windows were dark and the sky lightened. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, there in the middle of a street in Soho, but whatever it was, it did not happen.
