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readingabookmostofthetimes · 4 months

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Happy 2024

In 2023 I read the following books:

Monterosso mon amour, by Ilja Leonard Pfeijfer

The Langauge of Thorns, by Leigh Bardugo

Renegades, by Marissa Meyer

Heartstopper, by Alice Oseman

The Lives of Saints, by Leigh Bardugo

Archenemies, by Marissa Meyer

Heartstopper volume 2, by Alice Oseman

Heartstopper volume 3, by Alice Oseman

Heartstopper volume 4, by Alice Oseman

An Italian Girl in Brooklynn, by Santa Montefiore

Volwassen worden is optioneel, by Marloes de Vries

De woestijndief, by Emmelie Arents

The Mitford Vanishing, by Jessica Fellowes

Wat gebeurde er met David, by Henk Hardeman

Queen of Shadows, by Sarah J Maas

Supernova, by Marissa Meyer

Wees Lucie, by Astrid Boonstoppel

Grijs, by Carlie van Tongeren

Zwaar verguld, by Chantal van Gastel

Over straatfiguren en wegpiraten, by Mijke Pelgrim

Anna K Away, by Jenny Lee

Zorro. The Curse of Capistrano, by Johnston Mcculley

De tweede stem, by Elin Meijnen

Mortal Engines, by Philip Reeve

De meesterdief, by Emmelie Arents

Nick and Charlie, by Alice Oseman

Stewardess Hannah in Parijs, by Petra Kruijt

Stewardess Hannah in Rome, by Petra Kruijt

Sintel en As, by Mara Li

Stewardess Hannah op Ibiza, by Petra Kruijt

The Golden Enclaves, by Naomi Novik

Welkom in Smartpark, by Mirjam Mous

Stewardess Hannah in Reykjavik, by Petra Kruijt

The Iron Sword, by Julie Kagawa

Gilded, by Marissa Meyer

The Syndicate, by Shelena Shorts

Stewardess Hannah in Barcelona, by Petra Kruijt

Stewardess Hannah in Amsterdam, by Petra Kruijt

The Pace, by Shelena Shorts

Stewardess Hannah in New York, by Petra Kruijt

One of us is Lying, by Karen M Mcmanus

Predator's Gold, by Philip Reeve

Stewardess Hannah in Praag, by Petra Kruijt

The Broken Lake, by Shelena Shorts

Stewardess Hannah op Curaçao, by Petra Kruijt

One of Us is Next, by Karen M Mcmanus

Stewardess Hannah in Lissabon, by Petra Kruijt

Wind, by Esther Walraven

The Iron Quill, by Shelena Shorts

The Hour of Dreams, by Shelena Shorts

Penthouse, Lotte Boot

Denken wat je wilt, doe wat je droomt, Gijs Jansen

Empire of Storms, by Sarah J Maas

One of Us is Back, by Karen M Mcmanus

Confessions of a Shopaholic, by Sophie Kinsella

To All the Boys I've Loved Before, by Jenny Han

Ivelle, by Laura Diane

PS. I Still Love You, by Jenny Han

Always and Forever, Lara Jean, by Jenny Han

Anders, beter, by Lisa van Campenhout

The Iron Vow, by Julie Kagawa

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builder051 · 7 months

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Whumptober 2023 days 4, 23, 26, and 30: you in there?/shadows/you look awful/borrowed clothing

Nat + Barton fam

*Beware* there is a tiny reference to eating disorders. There’s also a lot of talk about consent, and it’s meant to be taken lightly. Of course it’s an important topic, but it’s not meant to read as if Nat and Clint are especially uncomfortable with each other. They’re established as friends (with benefits? You decide as the reader).

—————————

It’s not so much a knock, but rather an awkward thump on the front door that interrupts their post-bedtime routine.

Laura mutes the TV and gives Clint a quizzical look. “Is that another raccoon, do you think?”

“Nah.” Clint rises from the sofa. “A different kind of vermin.”

“Oh.” Laura nods, and they share a knowing smile. “Should I get the med kit?”

“Probably,” Clint says. “But I’ll get a visual on her first.” He crosses the entryway and unlocks the door.

He starts to ease it open, but immediately flings it back when Nat all but topples in on top of him.

“Whoa.” Clint grabs her around the waist and pulls her across the threshold. He squints into the shadows beyond the porch light, looking for a possible car or an attacker lying in wait.

“How’d you get here?” He asks Nat. “You’re not being pursued, are you?”

“Hm.” Nat buries her head in Clint’s chest. “Sorry,” she murmurs.

“Sorry for what?”

Clint barely gets the words out before a quivering jerk wracks Nat’s body, and vomit floods between them.

Clint loosens his embrace. Nat doubles over and retches again. She’s wildly unsteady on her feet, and he quickly regains his supportive grip. “Ok,” he says. “It’s fine. Don’t be sorry.” The mess down the front of Clint’s shirt smells pungently of alcohol mixed with something syrupy sweet. “Get all of it out of you.”

Laura comes running with a couple of kitchen towels. She hands one to Clint, then sees to the puddle on the floor with the other.

Clint dabs around Nat’s nose and mouth, then holds the towel under her chin to catch her next gag. It’s fairly unproductive, though. Nat spits out a few strings of spit and bile. The sickly mucous stands out with streaks of yellow and red against the white fabric.

“Is that blood?” Clint asks. He really doesn’t want to know the answer, but he also doesn’t want to overlook the possibility of internal bleeding.

“No,” Nat chokes. “Just—um. Stuff.”

“Helpful,” Clint comments. He runs through a mental list of possible culprits. Strawberry daiquiri pre-mix? The dissolution of Robatussin liqui-gels? He can’t seem to find an option that isn’t also fatal. He tries teasing out a little more information. “Did you drink something? Take something?”

Nat doesn’t answer. She coughs a few rimes, then lifts her head and straightens up. “It’s, I’m… I’m fine.”

“Right.” Clint shakes his head. “You look awful, you know.”

“Don’t be rude.” Laura finishes with the floor and offers her own opinion. “But, sweetheart. You’re still so pale.”

Nat blinks. Her eyes look dark and wet. Oversized pupils swallow her irises, and her lash line appears pink and a little puffy. She glances toward Clint, squinting as if she can’t quite make him out. Then her eyelids flicker and fall shut.

“Alright.” Clint wraps one arm around Nat’s shoulders and slips the other under her knees. “The next best thing, right.”

“Here.” Laura rushes to straighten up the couch. She has a throw pillow and blanket ready by the time Clint crosses the room to lay Nat down. He props her head to the side so she won’t choke if she throws up again.

“She doesn’t feel feverish,” Clint reports. He kneels at Nat’s shoulder and prods her in the upper arm. Her fine body hairs stand raised and her skin is bumpy with gooseflesh. “Hey,” he says softly. “You in there?”

“Give her a minute.” Laura gives Clint a poke of his own. “You have to practice your bedside manner.”

“What?” Clint gives her a brief scowl. “I’m great at this.”

Laura puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head. “I’ll get some hot water and washcloths.” She takes a step toward the bathroom. “Or should I run the tub?”

“Whatever you think.” Though his wife continues to ask his opinion in tough situations, he’s well aware that she already knows what’s best.

“Sure.” Laura disappears down the hall.

Clint presses his lips together and digs in his eye socket with the heel of his hand. “Oh, bless it…” he mumbles.

“Since when…” her voice is weak and gruff, but Nat manages to force out the rest of her question. “Since when are you religious?”

“Huh?” Clint drops his hands and rests them on the edge of the couch. He can’t help but smile when he sees her eyes open to tiny slits. She’s still far from alright, but her quick return to consciousness is a step in the right direction.

“You don’t bless people…”

Clint shrugs. “I would’ve said ‘fuck it,’ but I didn’t think you’d be up to that.”

“So you’re objectifying me now?” Nat has no problem throwing curse words of her own. “Fucking pervert.” She coughs and swallows heavily. “You-you shouldn’t…how does it go? Don’t force unconscious people to drink tea?”

Clint laughs. “You remember that training?”

“Do you? I think the handout is somewhere in my desk drawer. If you want to borrow it.” Nat puts on a shaky grin.

“I might take you up on that.” Clint lets the levity leach out of his tone. “I know you’re not ok. But, like, how’re you doing?”

Nat considers for a moment. “Gross,” she finally answers. She swallows again and makes a face.

“Tell me if you’re going to puke.” Clint puts up his hands as if pushing her away. “But I think you’re probably out if gas.”

“Probably.”

A moment of silence ensues. Then Clint hazards, “What, uh… What happened?”

“Eh.” Nat clears her throat.

Clint isn’t sure if she’s still congested or if she’s letting him know that whatever comes next will be a lie.

“Just had a bad night.” Nat leaves it at that.

“Ok.” It could mean any number of things. A solo mission. A blind date. Partying under a bridge. An alcohol binge to treat the wounds her fingernails make in the thin skin of her throat. Clint knows he isn’t allowed to press further. He chooses a different direction. “How’d you get here?”

Nat coughs, then whispers, “Grand theft auto.”

“Are you being serious?”

“Left it on the shoulder a couple exits back.” Nat takes a breath. “Keys are in the ignition. They won’t be able to tie it back to me.”

It still sounds too good to be true. “You sure?” He asks, tilting his head sideways. “What about fingerprints?”

“Gloves. Duh.”

“And you ditched those too?” Nat didn’t arrive with them, Clint is positive. She came empty handed. Clint doesn’t know if she even has a phone on her. He’d felt no pocket bulges when he’d been holding her around the waist.

“Yeah.” The word distorts as she looses a yawn.

“You can go to sleep soon,” Clint says. “I’ll probably wake you up every half hour, just in case you’re concussed.”

“‘M not concussed…” Nat pushes with her elbows and sits up. “Maybe you’re the one conked in the head. You’re asking really stupid questions.”

“Hey, you passed out on me.” Clint attempts to set the record straight. He glances down at the mess spread over his chest and abdomen. “And I used to really like this shirt.”

“It’ll wash,” Nat says dismissively. “You have a wife.”

Clint raises his eyebrows. “That’s some pretty serious stereotyping.” But it’s not like he’s going to hold her to a standard. Nat’s had a hell of a night already.

“What’s she doing now?” Nat asks knowingly.

“Pouring you a bath and getting hot towels,” Clint replies. It’s the truth, no matter how he slices it.

“Mm.” Nat shrugs, then tucks her chin close to her shoulder. “I didn’t ask you guys to go all out of your way.”

“Oh, I know you didn’t,” Clint says quickly. “What is it you want? What do you need?”

“Place to sleep.” Nat nods to the couch. “Here’s fine.”

“Ok,” Clint agrees. “Good.”

“And something different to wear. Wet clothes are weird without a bra.”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?” Clint gives an embarrassed chuckle. “Not that you’re covered in yuck?”

“You are too.”

She’s right, Clint has to admit. “I’ll tell Laura to cancel the bath and get you some spare pajamas.” Clint gets to his feet. “Don’t move. And I won’t come back until you’ve changed.”

“Hm.” Nat seems to consider it. “Since when are you chivalrous?”

Clint knows it’s a joke, but it still feels awkward, especially when she’s clearly in the weaker position.

“We have an electric kettle,” Clint says slowly, unsure if the humor will still land. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

“Thanks for offering.” Nat tries to smile, but ends up choking on her words. “Ugh. How about ice water?”

“I can do that.”

“And a rush on that clean shirt.” Nat looks hard into Clint’s eyes. “I actually don’t care if you see me topless.”

“Ok. I get it.” Clint keeps the eye contact. “But I’ll give you some privacy.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Maybe I don’t want you to see me topless.” Clint lifts one shoulder to his ear. “I need some new clothes too.”

“Yeah.” Nat looks down at her hands. “I didn’t really mean it, though. They’re not stupid questions.”

“Fair enough. I’ll grab Laura and we can both clean up.”

Nat nods. She pulls her mouth sideways, but her lips twitch up at the corners. “And, uh. If you want to join me for an ice water afterward, I wouldn’t say no. Especially if you’re still set on being a head injury alarm clock.”

Clint does intend to keep watch overnight. “So that’s a yes? You consent?”

“Yes.” Nat rolls her eyes, but winces hard. “I’ll consent to some painkillers, too. Do you have morphine in your medicine cabinet?”

“No, unfortunately,” Clint tells her. “But there’s Percocet.”

“I’ll take it. Ice water and the big pills,” Nat says eagerly. “And don’t forget a fresh fucking shirt.”

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