The Vibes I Bring to the Function (And by Function, I Mean a Bookstore)

Sometimes I think the most honest thing I could ever say about myself is that I feel things too deeply and read like it’s a survival mechanism.

People think being a book lover is a hobby. Something casual. A fun thing to talk about at parties. But if you’re anything like me, you know it’s so much more than that. Reading isn’t just something I do—it’s the lens I see life through. It’s how I process, how I cope, how I reconnect to myself when the world feels like too much. It’s how I remember that I’m not alone, even when I feel like it.

So when I say “these are the vibes I bring to the function,” I mean that if you ever invite me anywhere, I’ll probably show up with a half-read book in my bag, a phone full of annotated screenshots, music queued up to a Gracie Abrams song that’s already made me cry twice that morning, and a strong urge to talk about fictional people like they’re real.

This post is for the other brutally soft people who live loudly in their heads and quietly in real life. The ones who get emotionally wrecked by a book and still reread it for fun. The ones who never really come back from their favorite stories—and wouldn’t want to.

Let me introduce myself properly.

I’m Brittany, and Here’s My Literary Origin Story

You might know me from this blog BrittsLits, where I review the books that break me, make me, and everything in between. But behind the reviews and rec lists is just a girl who’s been crying over fictional men for entirely too long.

I don’t really remember a time when I didn’t love stories. But there was definitely a shift—the kind of shift where reading stopped being just a fun escape and became something more like a mirror. The first time I read a book and saw myself in the mess of it—in the tension, the heartbreak, the flaws—I realized fiction could do more than distract me. It could see me.

And that’s kind of what I’m always chasing now: books that see me, even when I don’t quite see myself.

My Comfort Books? Yeah, They’re Kind of a Lot.

Let me just get this out of the way: if a book doesn’t emotionally gut me at least once, I probably won’t remember it.

My comfort reads are Vipers and Virtuosos by Sav R. Miller and Punk 57 by Penelope Douglas. And I know that says a lot about me already. These aren’t books you turn to when you want something light and fluffy. They’re the books you reach for when you want to feel everything all at once. When you want pain, obsession, fire, and softness tangled up so tightly that you can’t separate them.

They're both intense, dark, unrelenting. The characters are messy, complicated, often borderline toxic—but real in a way that hits too close to home. I go back to them when I need to feel understood in the chaos. When I need a story that doesn’t flinch. That leans in. That hurts me a little—but in a way I’m grateful for.

Those are the books that feel like home to me.

Genre? It’s Called Hardcore Enemies-to-Lovers, and Yes, I’m Screaming.

If there’s one thing about me that is consistent—it’s this: I live and breathe hardcore enemies-to-lovers.

I’m not talking about mild tension or petty banter. I want hatred. I want them to despise each other. I want grudges and tension so thick it’s practically its own character. I want the “I hate you” to feel like a declaration of war—until suddenly, it’s not hate anymore. It’s need. It’s desperation. It’s “I’d burn the world down for you” energy.

Because here’s the thing: love born from hate? That kind of love is earned. It’s raw. It’s messy and complicated and painful and real. And I love watching characters fall into it kicking and screaming. I love the reluctant softness that sneaks in. I love the denial, the tension, the moment where one of them breaks.

That’s where I live as a reader.

Give me the pain. Give me the emotional whiplash. Give me the explosion, the slow unraveling, the moment where they realize they never actually hated each other—they were just terrified of how deeply they cared.

Who I Am in a Bookstore

So picture this: I’m in the romance aisle, head tilted, scanning spines with practiced precision. I’ve already read 70% of the shelf, and I’m looking for that one book that might ruin me a little more than the last one did.

I’ve probably got a half-drunk iced coffee in one hand, my phone in the other—scrolling through Goodreads, checking if any of my mutuals have five-starred something new. If I see a quote in the first few pages that makes my chest ache? I’m buying it. No questions asked.

And yes, I will be emotionally destroyed by it within 48 hours.

That’s the vibe I bring to the function.

Quiet. Observant. A little emotionally unwell. But deeply, irrevocably in love with words.

I’m Soft, But It’s the Kind That’s Earned

One of my favorite lines ever is: “I am a brutally soft woman.” It’s in the collage I made, and it sums up who I am better than anything else.

Because I am soft—but it’s not an easy kind of softness. It’s the kind that’s been through things. That’s been hardened a bit, guarded, bruised. But still shows up with an open heart.

That’s what I love in books, too. Characters who’ve been through hell and still choose love. Still choose vulnerability. Still risk their hearts, even when it’s terrifying.

It’s the softness after the storm that gets me. Every time.

Favorite Quotes That Live Rent-Free in My Brain

I’m a quote girl. I collect them like little pieces of myself.

There are two that I come back to constantly:

“Fear made us feel alive.” – Kill Switch, Penelope Douglas

“People aren’t so bad really. It’s what the world does to them.” – The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, Suzanne Collins

The first one? It reminds me why I gravitate toward dark romance and complicated characters. There’s something about confronting fear, about choosing to feel even when it’s messy and painful, that resonates so deeply with me.

The second? It’s the heart of my empathy—for fictional characters, sure, but also for people in real life. I believe everyone’s got their story, their hurt, their reasons. And I think that’s why I read—to understand those stories. To hold space for them.

Even the ones that destroy me.

Especially those.

Authors Who Shaped Me (a.k.a. The Reason I’m Like This)

There are a handful of authors who’ve completely rewired the way I read and talk about books:

• Sav R. Miller: Her books cut deep. She writes pain so intimately, so beautifully. Vipers and Virtuosos was a revelation.

• Penelope Douglas: An icon. A legend. The blueprint. Every book feels like a descent into obsession and chaos, and I’m always here for it.

• Emily McIntire: Her villains make me question everything I thought I wanted in a book boyfriend. Her prose? Lethal in the best way.

• Jennifer Hartmann: She writes emotional trauma and healing in a way that hits on such a personal level. Her books wreck me.

• Chloe Walsh: Underrated queen of emotional complexity. The Boys of Tommen series lives rent-free in my head and soul.

These are the women who remind me that love can be violent and beautiful all at once. That healing isn’t linear. That characters (and people) are allowed to be complicated.

What I Hope You Feel When You Read This Blog

If you’ve made it this far, thank you.

This blog isn’t just a space for reviews and recs. It’s a soft landing spot for anyone who’s ever felt too much, loved too hard, or been ruined by a fictional character at 3AM and had no one to talk to about it.

Here, you’re allowed to be dramatic about books. You’re allowed to cry over a highlight. You’re allowed to fall in love with toxic fictional men and not apologize for it.

You’re allowed to feel it all.

Because that’s what I bring to the function.

The vibes. The softness. The emotional chaos. The willingness to feel—deeply, unapologetically, and always through the lens of a good book.