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masieofthevalley · 3 years

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All I Really Want is You (Spideypool) - Chapter Thirteen

Find the Masterlist for this fic here! Read this fic on AO3! Check out my Ko-Fi if you would like a commission!

Summary: “Who are you, the big bad wolf?” She snarked. She mentally congratulated herself that her voice hadn’t betrayed the fluttering in her gut.

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?”

Peter Parker is an exhausted and overworked student in her senior year of college. Sleep-deprived and running on coffee and fumes, Peter really just wants to get through this semester. On a rare coffee run to ensure that she doesn't fall asleep on patrol or in her textbooks again, she quite literally stumbles upon Deadpool. Try as she might, she just can't stay away from him, and along the way, she finds herself in the middle of a nefarious plot between HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D.

A/N: Hello, everyone! Today’s chapter is Chapter Thirteen: Accidentally in Love. This chapter is named after the song Accidentally in Love by Counting Crows.

I tried to look up a page of phrases you should say to order in Italian, but it didn’t go very well, so I’m very sorry about that. I used Google Translate when Wade was speaking with Italian, so please forgive me for that!

As always, there is a playlist for this fic, and you can find it on YouTube and Spotify. Spotify won’t play in order unless you have Spotify Premium. You don’t need to listen to it in order, but each chapter has a specific song associated with it. There is also a song associated with the entire fic, which is She Looks So Perfect by 5 Seconds of Summer.

This chapter does include NSFW content, and it’s toward the end of the chapter!

If you liked this chapter, like, share, and reblog, and please leave comments! They make my day, and I will gladly respond. You can also head over to my AO3 and comment there, and I will also respond there! Enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen: Accidentally in Love

Chapter Summary: Peter and Wade’s date ends in a surprise visit to a skatepark, and Peter makes a startling revelation.

“Right this way, Bambi. Best seats in the house,” Wade proclaimed with a sweep of his arm, indicating that Peter should climb into the booth. They were at a tiny, hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant; Peter wasn’t sure how far away they were from Sister Margaret’s because she had been distracted during their walk by the chatter coming out of Wade’s mouth, but it couldn’t have been that far from the bar. There were two tiny windows on either side of the restaurant’s door, but they were blacked out, creating a suspicious-looking building, at least from the outside. Until the moment they had walked in the door, Peter was worried that Wade had taken them to the wrong place. But, no, they were in the smallest restaurant that Peter had ever been in, and it was very warm and smelled like garlic and parmesan cheese.

Peter climbed into the booth and put her coat down beside her. Compared to the frigid temperatures outside, the restaurant was a tropical paradise. Wade showed no sign of discomfort from the heat, however, as he sat down opposite her on the other side of the table. Peter noted that not only had he chosen the only table in a corner, but he had also sat on the side of the table that would grant him the view of the entire restaurant. She wondered if that was leftover ingrained training from his time in the Special Forces, or maybe it was a part of his mercenary training instead? Knowing the layout of a room seemed like an essential skill for someone with Wade’s job. Bad Peter, focus on Wade, not his job.

And like that, she was zeroing in on Wade, who was squirming around in his seat while looking at a handwritten menu made out of cardstock. Peter picked hers up, and after realizing that she couldn’t read any of it but the names of a few types of noodles since it was written in Italian, she quickly set it back down. Wade perked his head up, and his mask raised an eyebrow.

“Need some help there, Bambi?” Peter shook her head and played with one of the napkins that were on the table. Her cheeks still had yet to recover from their almost kiss back at Sister Margaret’s, and the heat in the restaurant was doing nothing to calm the redness in her face.

“Order anything you want, Baby Girl. Tonight’s on me,” Wade cheerfully announced, setting his menu down too.

“I have money, Wade. I can pay for me if not both of us,” Peter argued, frowning at him. Irritatingly, Wade just laughed in response.

“No can do, Baby Girl. If I let you pay, you’d be bankrupt into next year. You don’t know how much pasta I can put away yet, but you will pretty soon,” Wade chuckled, mimicking wiping a tear away from his eye lenses. Peter scowled; it seemed that Wade didn’t know exactly how much pasta she could put away either.

“I mean it, I just got paid. I’m good!” Peter promised, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Wade stopped laughing and tilted his head. Not for the first time, Peter wondered what he was thinking.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Honey, or offend you,” Wade said softly, one hand coming up and across the table to cup Peter’s cheek. She desperately wanted to lean into it, to feel his fingers tangle in her hair, but she also wanted to stand her ground.

“I’ve just got a lot of money laying around that I never spend, and I’d rather you spend your paycheck on things you actually need like groceries or something. And I eat a lot, Sweetheart, I’m afraid I’d put you out on the street,” Wade continued, his thumb running back and forth over Peter’s cheek. It was so close to her bottom lip, she could almost taste the leather.

“I know you make a lot of money, it’s just, I can take care of myself too,” Peter muttered, wholly distracted by Wade’s hand. He pulled it away, setting it down on the table between them, and Peter had to restrain herself from letting loose the most desperate whimper known to man. However, she must have done a horrible job at disguising her desires because Wade barked out a laugh.

“Fine, you brat, here, take it back,” Wade conceded quietly, settling his hand back on Peter’s cheek. Peter allowed herself one sigh, and she held onto Wade’s hand for a few seconds with her own before she put both of them down on the table. Sheepishly, she looked back up at Wade. The smile stretching his mask was blinding.

“I’m not denying you can take care of yourself, Peter,” Wade finally said, rapping the knuckles of his free hand on the table. “But I did pick the restaurant after all, and I’d just like to spoil you a little. Let me? Next time, you can pay, cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye!”

“M’not sure that’s how that goes,” Peter shook her head with a small smile before straightening as she realized what Wade had said. “Next time?”

“Well, if tonight goes well, which so far, it is,” Wade smirks with a pointed look at their clasped hands. Peter’s blush burned brighter. “I’d like there to be a ‘next time,’ Bambi.”

“Me too,” Peter confessed, her voice barely audible. Their quiet moment was interrupted by a waitress coming up to their table. They had been talking while they waited for at least half an hour, but the restaurant was completely full.

“Cosa vorrebbe ordinare?” she asked, leaning her hip against the table. Peter, now feeling self-conscious, hastily tried to let go of Wade’s hand, but his grip was steel tight, and he refused to let her go.

“Una grande ciotola di spaghetti per favore,” Wade said confidently, and Peter was pretty sure he butchered every word of that sentence. It sounded like Wade had just spoken directly from Google Translate. Like she agreed with Peter’s thoughts, the waitress rolled her eyes and turned to Peter, raising an eyebrow as she waited for him to speak.

“Grande lasagna,” Peter said with a straight face, knowing good, damn, and well that she sounded like an American tourist. It looked like the waitress was fighting a grin, but she just nodded with another roll of her eyes and left. She came back almost immediately with two cups of water and plopped those on the table.

“Where’d you learn Italian?” Peter asked Wade as she drained half of her glass, suddenly nervous that she was left alone with him again. What the fuck was wrong with her?

“Google Translate,” Wade deadpanned, and Peter nearly choked on her drink. She coughed a few times and took one more sip before putting her cup down.

“No wonder it sounded so bad,” Peter snarked. “I never said Italian was my specialty, you brat,” Wade squawked, “I took Spanish in high school, if you must know.”

“Oh, so what can you say in Spanish?” Peter played along, eyebrows raised in questioning.

“¿Donde esta la biblioteca?” Deadpool asked with a shit-eating grin on his mask. Peter burst into laughter, snatching her hand back so she could clutch at her stomach with both hands. Her face hurt from the smile stretched across her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed this much.

“Holy shit, Petey-Pie, keep on smiling. Baby Girl, it’s gotta be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Wade marveled, his own smile gentle and warm. Peter continued to giggle softly until her amusement was gone, leaving her with a pleasant and tender feeling in her chest.

“Oh, please teach me your ways, Professor Wilson,” Peter teased, batting her eyelashes coquettishly. Even though she wasn’t looking at Wade, Peter could feel that the air between them was stretched thin with tension.

“Oh, Baby Girl,” Wade growled, and Peter immediately felt her insides twist together in a knot. “There are so many things I’ll teach you, just you wait.”

Peter swallowed, and against her wishes, the smallest of whines left her throat. Wade closed his eyes in what looked like restraint and groaned quietly, shifting in his seat. Before either one of them could say another word, their waitress was back, sliding large pasta bowls in front of each of them. The smell of fresh tomato sauce and mozzarella broke through the fog covering Peter’s brain, and her stomach gurgled.

“Grazie!” Wade chirped, tucking a napkin into the neck of his suit. The waitress rolled her eyes with a laugh and a smile in Peter’s direction before walking off again.

Peter grabbed her fork and dug into her plate. She moaned at the first bite; it was the first proper meal that she’d had in weeks. Her paychecks had been small the last few months; Triple J hadn’t been giving her nearly as many assignments as usual, and that meant ramen noodles for every meal except breakfast. Breakfast was always one cup of - usually, instant - scalding hot coffee with entirely too much sugar. God, she hadn’t even had Starbucks since that first week after she met Wade. What she wouldn’t give for another cappuccino.

Peter looked up, trying to distance herself from her longing thoughts of Starbucks, and noticed that Wade hadn’t started eating yet. His mask still covered his entire face, and he appeared to be making no effort to remove it.

“Wade? Aren’t you hungry?” Peter asked, wiping away the sauce that was probably all over her mouth. She tilted her head to the side as the expression on Wade’s mask remained the same.

“No, you go ahead, Baby Girl, I’m fine,” Wade said, his voice almost sounding authentic, but Peter knew better. She could hear the false notes in his tone, and his posture was too stiff to be relaxed.

“Look, if it’s the mask, it’s no big deal, it’s fine, really!” Peter promised, her hands gripping onto the edge of the table. Wade shook his head.

“No, Honey, honest, just go ahead and eat-”

“Look, I’ll put on my beanie.” Peter stuck her hand in her coat pocket, grateful that she had brought her hat after all. “And I’ll just keep my eyes down, and you can just eat like normal, it’ll be fine!”

“God, I do not deserve any of this, don’t deserve you,” Wade whispered, and if Peter hadn’t had gotten enhanced hearing from the Spider Bite™, she never would have heard it.

“Keep your hat off, Sweetheart. You shouldn’t have to cover up your lovely face just so my ugly mug can eat. Just don’t want you to lose your appetite is all,” Wade insisted, putting a hand over Peter’s. She cautiously dropped it onto the table with a raised eyebrow and looked down at her food anyway when Wade started to roll up his mask.

“You can look. Just make sure you lean over when you blow chunks,” Wade muttered, and he picked up his fork and started to poke around at his spaghetti. Peter looked up in a cursory glance, and her next bite of lasagna never made it into her mouth. Instead, her hand stopped dead in its tracks and just kind of dangled there in front of her face.

Wade had only rolled his mask up to the bridge of his nose, but Peter could still tell that he was gorgeous. His jawline was sharper than it looked through his mask, and Peter wanted to cut herself on it and watch the blood drip down his neck. Wade’s skin was pale pink and covered and crisscrossed with scars that were just slightly darker in color, and each of them appeared to be different. There wasn’t any pattern or rhythm in them that Peter could make out. Wade’s nose was slim, and Peter’s eyes were finally drawn to his lips. They were full and flesh-colored, covered in the same scars that made up the rest of Wade’s skin, but Peter didn’t care. Peter’s mind went blank with want, the urge to kiss Wade so strong and present, and she had to restrain herself from crawling across the table and plopping herself down in his lap.

“Well, you don’t look like you’re going to projective vomit everywhere,” Wade commented, shoving another bite of spaghetti in his mouth. He was eating at a pace that rivaled Peter’s, and the only thing that made Peter even slightly squeamish was the fact that he had talked with his mouth full.

“Huh?” Peter asked, still looking at Wade’s lips.

“Earth to Petey-Pie, I”m up here,” Wade said, chuckling a little at the end. He waved his hand a few times in front of Peter’s face, and she shook her head as she broke herself from her trance.

“M’sorry, didn’t mean to stare,” Peter muttered as she picked up her fork again. When had she dropped it? She managed to eat two more bites before the thoughts floating around in her head left her mouth.

“Just really pretty,” Peter whispered, cheeks burning hot. “Your lips are like wow, and your jaw is like woah, and your chin is really pretty and your dimples, s’nice.” God, she wished she could stop talking. Why couldn’t she stop talking? She used to do this shit with Gwen too, and she would just laugh and kiss Peter to shut her up. Would Wade do that? She wanted him to do that.

“You are just a dream come true, Baby Girl. Never gonna let you go,” Wade murmured, a soft look coming over his face. His face was so much more expressive - how was that even possible? - without his mask, and Peter nearly swooned. She bit back her response, hiding it under her tongue. Even though his comment had been a little extreme, especially for a first date, Peter had a feeling that “Yes, please,” wasn’t the right response. At least, not yet.

They made idle chit-chat through the rest of their meal, and Peter was extremely pleased that Wade didn’t roll his mask back down when they finished. While getting ready to leave, Wade asked what was wrong, and Peter was forced to own up to the grumpy expression on her face.

“Don’t wanna go home yet,” Peter confessed, tugging on the ends of her coat. A big smile coated with mischief crossed Wade’s face.

“I know just the place, Sweetheart,” he said, scooping up her skateboard from the floor. He offered it to her, and she carried it out of the restaurant in her freehand.

Full and content, Peter left the restaurant, happy to let Wade guide them to wherever he had decided they needed to go. They walked for about fifteen minutes, going up one street, across another, and then making a left onto one final street. Their destination appeared to be a skatepark, and at almost 11 PM at the end of October, it was entirely empty.

“Figured you could skate off dinner if you wanted,” Wade said with a shrug, nodding his head to Peter’s board. “Y’know, ‘he was a skater boy, she said see you later boy,’ and all that shit.”

Peter laughed and shook her head. “Yeah, that’s cool with me. You want me to show you a few tricks?”

“If you want,” Wade agreed, leading them into the abandoned skatepark. Once inside, he fell back, so Peter took the reigns to guide them further into the park. She’d been here once or twice before, so she took him over to one of the half-pipes and gestured that he should sit. Peter shrugged out of her coat, much to Wade’s protests, and she threw it at him with a grin over her shoulder.

“Keep it warm for me!” She shouted as she took off down the half-pipe. The coat was too thick to skate with comfortably, and she’d get too hot too quickly to have any kind of fun. When she looked back at Wade, he was snuggled up beneath the fabric, and she laughed. It looked like doll clothes spread out over his lap like that.

“Yeah, keep laughing, Short-Stuff! I’ve got the best view in the house right here lookin’ at you, Honey-Buns!” She was wondering when Wade was going to make his first ass comment of the night.

Peter spent a few moments getting her momentum, just going up and down on the half-pipe. She hadn’t been to a skatepark in a while, and she was a little rusty as far as tricks went. She did a few basic ones for Wade, pausing between each one to smile at his clapping and cheering before moving on to some of the more complicated ones. She skated around the park a few times before making her way back to Wade. She set her board down gently in front of her.

“How’d I do?” she asked, shaking her fringe out of her face. Wade stood up with a leer, and Peter gulped. Wade moved toward her, and she backed up, matching him step for step. He moved gracefully, like a predator, and Peter’s blood started to race as she realized that this was the first time since she became Spider-Woman that she was the hunted instead of the hunter. She liked it, liked feeling like prey when it was Wade who was the predator.

“It’s a 10 from me, Sweetheart,” Wade crooned, stepping even closer. Peter looked from side to side, trying to figure out if there was somewhere for her to go. She took a few steps to the right, and Wade matched her pace, pushing himself even closer. She had a thought of making a break for it, Wade chasing after her, his hot breath panting down her neck. That made her insides warm even further. She’d save that for another day.

“Did you like performing for me, Bambi?” Wade asked, pressing himself flush against Peter. Her back was pushed up against the chain-link fence, and Peter tangled her fingers in the links on either side of her, trying to resist from reaching out and touching Wade.

“Asked you a question,” he reminded, gently, his voice firm but still warm. Peter opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. She just nodded, her body on fire from Wade’s touch.

“Saw you looking to the side, looking around like you were gonna run, Petey-Pie,” Wade continued, running his nose down the side of Peter’s face. She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed at the feeling of his skin just barely brushing against hers.

“You wanna run, Baby? Want me to chase after you?” Wade’s lips were at Peter’s ear, and she shivered, the metal from the fence digging into her fingers. One of Wade’s hands reached out and gently grasped onto her hands one at a time, freeing them from the cold fence. He gathered them both in his hand and held them against his chest, letting go when Peter tangled her fingers in the straps of his suit.

“You’d like it, running around with nowhere to go,” Wade whispered, licking a wet, hot stripe up Peter’s neck. It contrasted with the biting cold of the wind, and the whimper that left Peter’s throat was strangled and torn apart. She couldn’t remember ever making a noise that sounded like that.

“You might be fast, Bunny, but I’m faster,” Wade suddenly growled, biting down at the junction between Peter’s neck and shoulder. She cried out, head falling back against the fence. It bent beneath her weight, but she didn’t care.

“Please, Wade, please, please,” she begged, but she didn’t know what she was begging for. She wanted to kiss him, she wanted to bite him, she wanted to touch him.

“M’here, Sweetheart, I have you,” Wade assured her, his lips caressing her jaw. She whined. His mouth was so close and yet so far from where she wanted it.

“Mm, please? Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Peter gasped when Wade’s kisses turned sharp and biting on her neck, sucking so hard it was bound to bruise. Good, she wanted the marks, wanted the reminder when she looked in the mirror.

“Gotcha, Honey, I gotcha, don’t worry,” Wade murmured, bringing his lips up to Peter’s. Much to her displeasure, he didn’t immediately kiss her. Peter whined as he brushed their lips together. He was tall, Wade was so tall, so when Peter tried to rise up on her toes to chase after him, he easily broke apart from her. He waited until she settled back against the fence, and then he was on her again, body pressed against hers as close as possible. Peter arched her back and whimpered, trying to press closer, trying to get his mouth back on hers.

“Spoiled, spoiled, little Petey-Pie,” Wade chuckled, taking his lips away again. Peter growled in irritation; he was just being mean now, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re being mean!” she snarled, pulling down on the straps of his suit so that he was leaning over her again. Wade smirked and held himself just a few inches out of reach, and Peter stretched up on the balls of her feet while simultaneously pulling Wade toward her. Finally, he was within reach, and she bit down on the free, beautiful skin of his neck. It wasn’t gentle.

“Fuck! That hurt, you brat!” Wade growled playfully, caging Peter in against the fence. She bared her teeth at him right back, and even though she couldn’t see something in his eyes, she swore she could see something change in them. Before she could try to think about what that something could be, Wade finally kissed her.

Peter had only kissed approximately three people in her entire life: Mary Jane, Harry Osbon, and Gwen. She and Mary Jane had ended long ago, as had her and Harry, so her last experiences with anyone had been with Gwen. Gwen had been sweet and gentle, and the furthest they had gone was the furthest Peter had ever gone with anyone: exploring each other’s tonsils and playing footsie under the table. Gwen was sweet and warm and gentle, and Peter would never, ever forget her.

But this, Wade, was hot and harsh and unyielding. It was everything that Peter had ever wanted but had never been able to have. Wade’s mouth was rough, skin uneven from the scars that she had longed to taste, but he tasted of marinara sauce and home. He tasted like hope and electricity.

Peter didn’t have a good track record with relationships, with keeping people, but her heart whispered Wade’s name over and over again as they kissed, and she thought maybe this time, maybe she could keep this one, this time.

Peter wrenched her head back with a gasp, unhappy to part from Wade but needing to breathe. He seemed inclined to agree as his mouth just moved to her jaw, sucking what she was sure was going to be another bruise in a few hours. Peter fell into a fit of soft whimpers, trying to get him to suck, bite, harder. Any marks that Wade made would just disappear before tomorrow, and she wanted them to remain as long as possible, so she could remind herself tomorrow that this was real, that Wade was real.

“Have you ever done this kind of thing before, Baby Girl?” Wade murmured against her skin, lips moving back up to her own. She caught his hand before it could tangle in her hair, and she tapped on his glove in a questioning manner, hoping he would get the memo and take them off. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin, needed the relief that skin-to-skin contact would bring.

“N-not really, no,” Peter whispered, surging upwards to kiss Wade again. “Want this, want you.”

“Are you sure, Sweetheart? You tell me to stop, we stop. Push me away now, tell me red, tell me anything but yes, and I’ll stop right now. We can just go home, and it’ll be fine,” Wade said firmly, lips gently resting against hers. Peter nodded and whined.

“Yes, I want you, Wade. Yes, please, yes-” Peter’s cries were cut off as Wade took her lips in another kiss. She didn’t think she was a very good kisser, and she didn’t really know what she was doing, but she mostly just tried to copy what Wade was doing. Tentatively, she slid her tongue along his, darting back into the safety of her own mouth when he chased after her. Peter whimpered at the taste of Wade, sharp, salty, almost metallic, and Wade growled in response, pressing her back against the fence. It bent further, but neither of them seemed to care.

“Gonna take care of you, Sweetheart, don’t you worry,” Wade promised, sliding one hand up her stomach and under her shirt toward her breasts. Peter groaned as he reached her bra, hand slipping underneath to stroke and gently pinch her nipples. Her body was on fire, and she was on edge, suddenly rocking forward against Wade’s thigh. He moaned, his voice muffled from where his head was pressed against her shoulder, and shoved his thick leg between hers, tensing as she squeezed her thighs on either side of his leg. Wade was so much, shoulders so wide and muscles so big, that Peter felt dainty and small in his arms even though she knew that they probably weighed around the same amount. Her legs would dwarf a normal person’s, but Wade’s, full of thick, corded muscle, gave her a run for her money. She arched her back again and ground against Wade’s thigh, letting him know just how much she appreciated his size.

“So big,” Peter gasped out, head falling back as Wade continued to toy with her nipples. It was like he knew exactly where to touch her, exactly where to pull and push. He pinched one of nipples and flicked the other one, earning himself a high-pitched whine of his name. His other hand tangled in Peter’s hair, pulling her toward him, and Peter bit his lip when he kissed her again. That earned her a growl.

“S’good, fuck, right there, Wade! So right, want you, more, please?” Peter begged. Wade obliged her, and Peter lost all of the air in her lungs when his hand slipped in her pants. Peter cried out as Wade’s fingers swiped against her, warm, thick fingers moving quickly over her underwear.

“Christ, you’re fucking soaking wet, Baby Girl,” Wade groaned, nosing at her temple. Peter cried out as his fingers moved faster, circling her clit. “This all for me, Honey?”

“Just you, Wade.” Peter could barely breathe. “More, more, please, fuck, right there.”

“The mouth on you, little Bunny,” Wade growled, his voice sounding more animalistic than before. His body was tense and firm against hers, and Peter couldn’t help humping against his leg and fingers. It felt good, too good, she never wanted this to stop, oh why hadn’t they done this sooner, it was so good.

“Almost there, Petey-Pie? Gonna be a good girl and come for me, hmm?” Wade’s voice was feral, and Peter could feel his interest, hot and hard against her hip. He ground his hips against her, moving his fingers across her clit and nipples in a rhythm that Peter couldn’t follow.

“Please, please, can I, Wade, more, please,” Peter begged, catching Wade’s lips. “Please, let me, c’mon, wanna come, wanna come on your fingers, please, please.”

“Be good and come for me, Sweetheart, c’mon, c’mon, Baby Girl. Come for me,” Wade urged, fingers moving at the same pace, and Peter had no choice but to obey.

Peter’s body shivered and locked up as she fell over the edge. As she came and collapsed against Wade’s chest, she felt like she was laying outside on the grass on a summer day. She could feel the warm, comforting rays of the sun on her skin, and her whole body tingled from the pleasure coursing through her veins. She vaguely realized that Wade’s fingers hadn’t stopped moving on her body, and she shivered as the direct stimulation on her clit became too much. Usually, when she used either her hands or the toys in her bedside drawer, she stopped touching herself almost immediately after her orgasm. She was almost always too sensitive for another orgasm immediately, and her hands would fly away from herself as she fell over the peak. Wade, however, continued to touch her until she squirmed and whined and begged him not to.

“Too much, too much, Wade,” Peter panted, even as she continued to rock her hips against him. Wade, she realized, was panting too, and he slowly stopped moving his hands over her body, slipping them from beneath her clothes. Peter tried to straighten up, but her knees were weak, so she continued to slump against Wade as she righted her clothing. Wade chuckled and kissed her, lips moving almost lazily against hers now.

“So good, Baby Girl, so sweet, absolutely perfect,” Wade said, his voice almost a purr from how low it was.

“Was it good for you? It was, oh my god, it was absolutely perfect for me, but, you, was it good for you?” she asked, suddenly worried because she hadn’t touched him at all. God, she still wanted to touch him. “Did you, ya know.” God, the gesture she was making toward his dick was so stupid. “Oh, did I,” Wade laughed, pulling Peter against him with a soft groan. “I came when you did, Sweetheart. That look on your face when you came will haunt all of my wet dreams for eternity. It’s enough spank bank material to last me until I’m old and gray.”

“Wade!” Peter laughed, hitting his chest playfully. Wade joined in her laughter, and they rested against each other and the fence, a soft smile on Peter’s lips as she waited for her heart rate to calm back down.

And right there in a vacant skatepark, just a few minutes past midnight, Peter realized she was in love. Oh, fuck.

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zackcollins · 4 years

Text

with a note that said i’ll love him till i die || b. boeser/e. pettersson

masterlist

Author’s Note: I was just struck by the idea to write this after hearing this come on Brock's Spotify (country) playlist. And who am I to deny myself the chance to write something? I'm really sorry about how much of an angsty trainwreck this is. The tone of the song itself is an angsty trainwreck so I was only trying to match it as best as I could. GIF credit to burkysky!!

Warnings: Where do I begin...? Let’s see. I feel like the main one would be suicide and references to that. There’s also references/talk of alcoholism/excessive drinking as a coping mechanism. There is also mention of relapse. Ergo, someone was sober of their alcohol problem and fell off the wagon. If any of this triggers you, please do not read this. If any of this is a struggle in you daily life, please consider reaching out to someone. There is help available. Here is a link to a post about crisis lines in various countries around the world. Please stay safe out there and my ask box and direct messages are always open if you need to talk! LINK

Word Count: 6.2k+

Based On: Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley and Alison Krauss

Additional: If you found this by Googling yourself, are in this yourself, or know someone in this, please click back. no harm was meant in the creation of this fic. It's fictional and created to go along with a song I listened to. I hope you enjoy this as best as you can! Anyone that knows why I chose the name I did for Thatcher and Jake's daughter gets 5 virtual cookies.

BROCK BOESER

“Brock, I’m getting married!”

Words that should be innocent; words that should bring joy. For anyone else that’s exactly what they would do. That’s not what they did for Brock.

They brought him every negative emotion he could describe. This was because the person in question, Brock’s best friend, Elias, wasn’t marrying Brock. Brock was deeply in love with Elias and now he would never be able to do anything about it. Elias had broken his heart.

Brock spent the next two years trying to forget. The next two years drowning himself in a bottle whenever he got the chance. He wanted his mind thinking of anything but himself being the one standing beside Elias at the altar.

No matter how much Brock drank, no matter how much he tried to forget, he never could get drunk enough to get rid of the pain. It always sat there, nibbling away at him, festering like a nasty infection.

When the wedding day finally came, Brock had managed to not start drinking until the reception. He was three drinks in when he stumbled into Elias in the bathroom.

Elias smiled and grabbed onto Brock’s waist to steady him. Brock would certainly blame what he did next on the alcohol in his veins. He surged forward and pressed his lips to Elias’. Elias didn’t pull back, instead, he pulled Brock closer to him and deepened the kiss. Brock panicked and stumbled backward into a bathroom stall.

Brock briefly glanced at Elias as he hurried out of the bathroom; Elias’ calls of Brock’s name went unanswered.

Brock stumbled his way out of the reception hall and onto the street. When he flagged down a cab and gave the driver his address, he slouched in the backseat. The driver glanced at Brock but remained quiet.

The entire ride back to his apartment, Brock cried into one of his fists. He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid. He couldn’t believe he had let himself have what he promised himself he would never indulge in. He knew he would crave more and more; this one kiss would never be enough.

Brock gave the cab driver a rather substantial tip before he stumbled his way to his apartment. He slumped back against his door as soon as it closed behind him. He sat and sobbed until his body couldn’t sob anymore.

He was exhausted when he stood and walked to the bedroom and opened his nightstand drawer. Brock hesitated when he reached into the drawer. He took a breath before he grabbed the gun and slammed the drawer shut.

Brock sat on the edge of the bed and ran the gun along his thigh. He took a moment to breathe before he stood and walked across the room to his desk. He opened one of his notebooks and wrote a simple note on one of the pages before he ripped the page out and took it with him back to the bed.

Brock sat back on the bed and placed the piece of paper onto the nightstand. He made sure it was in plain view before he laid back on the bed. He pressed the gun to his temple, closed his eyes, took a breath, said a prayer, and pulled the trigger.

Elias was finally off of his mind.

——~•~——

CHRIS TANEV

Chris watched as Elias melted into the kiss and pulled Brock closer to him. Chris knew that Elias had wanted this to happen for years. Now that it finally was, Chris knew Elias would savour it.

Chris saw Elias jolt a little when Brock stumbled backward into a bathroom stall. Chris held his breath because Brock had stumbled into the stall he was in. He didn’t want to be caught and be seen as a creep.

Chris barely caught the look of sheer terror on Brock’s face when he glanced at Elias and hurried out of the bathroom.

Elias called after Brock but no answer came nor did Brock return. Elias sighed and slumped back against the sink. Chris chose that moment to exit the stall. Elias jumped but softened when he saw that it was Chris. Chris walked over to Elias and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Elias smiled and ran a hand through his hair. When his hair caught on something, he tugged a little until his hand came free.

Elias stared at his hand and blinked. Chris gave Elias a look but all Elias did was point at the ring on his finger. That’s when Chris remembered where he was. He was at a wedding. Elias’ wedding. Elias had just kissed someone that wasn’t Astrid on his wedding day.

The worst part was that Chris didn’t see any guilt in Elias’ expression or body language. When Chris asked, all Elias said was that he was happy he finally got to kiss the love of his life. Chris wasn’t surprised by those words. He had known for a long time that Elias wasn’t as in love with Astrid as he was with Brock. Everyone knew that. Everyone except Brock and Astrid.

Chris sighed and made his way out into the reception hall. By some stroke of misfortune, the first person he ran into was Astrid. She noticed the fretful look on Chris’ face and squeezed his hand. Chris relaxed somewhat and squeezed her hand in return. She hummed and directed Chris to the dance floor to dance with everyone else.

As Chris danced to a slow song with Quinn, he scanned the room. His heart fell sharply and his stomach gurgled with dread when he didn’t see Brock anywhere. Chris felt queasy the longer he danced and didn’t see Brock. Something felt wrong about all of this. Chris couldn’t put his finger on it but he felt like something bad had happened.

Quinn noticed the unease in Chris and tried to reassure his boyfriend that everything was alright. He told Chris that Brock was probably hiding from his feelings on the balcony like had been at Bo’s wedding. Chris relaxed at that, pressing a kiss to Quinn’s cheek. He was grateful for the fact that Quinn knew how to ground him when he became a stressed mess.

When he and Quinn finished dancing, Brandon rushed over to them. He frantically shoved Chris’ phone into his chest and waved his hand against his ear.

“Listen, Christopher. Please…”

Chris swallowed thickly and looked between his boyfriend and his brother. Brandon never used his full name and all three of them knew it.

Chris placed the phone to his ear and felt his heart stop as he listened to the person on the other end of the line. It was Brock’s neighbour and she said she heard what sounded like a gunshot come from Brock’s apartment. Chris dropped his phone to the ground, mumbled something to Brandon, and ran out the door with Quinn following closely behind.

Chris was sure he had broken some land speed records on his drive to Brock’s apartment because of how worried he was. He was so worried that he didn’t bother knocking on Brock’s door. Quinn used the key Brock had given him and opened the door for himself and Chris.

Chris and Quinn frantically looked around the apartment, hoping that the gunshot was from a movie or television show. When they saw nothing on the television and Brock’s laptop nowhere in sight, they looked at each other with dread.

As they got closer to the bedroom, Chris’ nostrils were overpowered with the stench of blood. Chris said as much to Quinn and felt his stomach sink when Quinn affirmed that he smelled it too. They held each other’s hands as they burst into the bedroom. They froze when they saw what was on the bed.

Brock was laying stock-still, eyes and mouth closed. Chris would’ve assumed that Brock was sleeping if it hadn’t been for the bullet hole in his temple and the gun in his hand.

Quinn rushed over to the bed; he rushed so fast that he nearly tripped over his feet in his haste. He shook Brock and said Brock’s name. When Quinn got no response, he did it again with more insistence. When there was no response for a second time, Quinn placed two fingers on the pulse point on Brock’s neck. All Quinn said he felt was lukewarm skin that felt like it was beginning to stiffen. No heartbeat.

Quinn stumbled backward, pain evident on his face. In his haste, he knocked into Brock’s nightstand. The lamp that had been on it fell to the floor and shattered. The broken pieces scattered all across the floor near the bed. When Chris bent down to gather them up, he mentioned to Quinn that he saw a piece of paper between the nightstand and the bed.

As Chris cleaned up the broken lamp pieces, Quinn wedged his hand between the opening beside the bed to grab the paper. By the time Quinn had managed to finagle the paper out, Chris had finished his cleanup job.

Chris stood beside Quinn as Quinn scanned what the paper said. After a moment of silence, Quinn let out a broken gasp before he crumpled the paper and threw it at Brock, rushing out of the room while reciting a prayer from the Torah.

Chris had turned to chase after Quinn. He made it halfway to the door before he stopped. He realized he didn’t see what the note had said. Part of him didn’t care because he knew he could get Quinn to tell him once he had calmed down. The other part of him, the morbid part of him, needed to see for himself. He sighed and made his way back to the bed.

He grabbed the piece of paper, swallowing thickly when he realized it had come into contact with Brock’s blood. Chris knew right then and there he should leave the paper alone and walk out of the room. It shouldn’t matter what it said anymore now that it was covered in blood. Chris ignored himself as he uncrumpled the paper.

He felt himself brokenly gasp in much the same way Quinn had as he saw what was on the paper. He quickly crumpled the paper back up, not caring that he got his hand bloody. He threw the paper at Brock and hurried out of the room after his boyfriend, grateful that he and Quinn had been able to read the signs they had given each other.

Tell Petey I’ll love him till I die.

——~•~——

JAKE VIRTANEN

At the funeral, Jake gave the eulogy because Elias was too distraught. Jake did his best to read all of it because Elias had written it and had included a Swedish remembrance prayer. None of the Swedes in attendance seemed upset or annoyed with Jake’s attempt at the pronunciations. Jake wasn’t sure if that was because he had improved with the language in the time he had been friends with the Swedes on the team or the fact that he was at a funeral.

When the service was over and everyone had said their goodbyes to Brock, Elias came up to Jake. He clung to his wife as if his life depended on it. Astrid seemed not to mind because Jake noticed that she was rubbing small circles into Elias’ back and mumbling soft Swedish to him.

Elias hugged Jake, thanked him for the eulogy, and cried into Jake’s shoulder. All Jake could do was hold his friend as he cried and rub his back much the same way Astrid had done. Jake mumbled soft encouragements to Elias in both English and his butchered attempt at Swedish. Elias relaxed a little when he pulled back from Jake’s embrace. He gave Jake a soft smile as he grabbed ahold of his wife’s hand and disappeared into the crowd of Brock’s friends, family, and teammates.

Jake felt awful for Brock, Elias and, Astrid. Jake knew that Elias and Brock had more than friendly feelings for each other and had for years. Everyone in the locker room knew it. Everyone except them. They seemed too caught up in their feelings that they couldn’t see what was right in front of them. Jake had wanted to intervene on so many occasions and tell the two of them the truth but neither would allow him to tell the other. Neither believed that the other had feelings for them. Elias was so in denial that he went and got himself a girlfriend that he ended up marrying. Which is why Jake felt bad for Astrid. Maybe Elias did love her. Maybe he married her for the right reasons. Jake would never know that. All Jake knew was that Astrid wasn’t the person Elias wanted and she never would be. The person Elias wanted had shot himself in the head because he couldn’t handle the fact that Elias had married someone else.

Bo came up to Jake after a few minutes and informed Jake that it was time to carry the casket to the hearse. Jake ran a hand down his face and nodded. He felt tears streak down his face as he lined up in his position to grab the handle. Bo, Elias, Quinn, Jacob, and Troy lined up with him. They all seemed to be in tears about having to do this. Elias was hyperventilating so horribly that Thatcher had to ask if they needed to switch out. Elias assured Thatcher, and the other five pallbearers, that he would be okay.

Jake glanced at Elias as they walked to the hearse. Elias was mumbling Swedish to no one in particular as he focused his attention forward. Jake smiled weakly as everyone walked down the steps of the church.

When the casket was in the hearse, Jake received another hug from Elias. He murmured his thanks to Jake and cried softly into Jake’s shoulder for the second time that day. Jake held Elias again and rubbed soothing circles into his back. Elias murmured another thanks before he hurried off to find Astrid. Jake smiled when Thatcher walked up to him and placed a kiss to his cheek.

It was at that moment that Jake felt guilty. He felt guilty because he had the relationship Brock and Elias had always wanted. Brock and Elias wanted to date each other because they had fallen in love with their teammate. They never got that chance because they were so far in denial that they couldn’t see what was right in front of them. Jake and Thatcher wanted to date each other because they had fallen in love with their teammate. They had gotten the chance because they could see what was right in front of them.

A moment later, Jake’s mother walked over with a baby in her arms. She handed her to Jake and gave her son a sympathetic smile as she squeezed his shoulder. She smiled at Thatcher and kissed the baby on the forehead before she walked away.

As Jake looked at Carmen, he felt even more guilty. He and Thatcher not only got to have the relationship with the teammate that Brock and Elias had desperately wanted, but they also got the child that Brock had always wanted.

Thatcher noticed Jake’s guilt and reassured him Brock and Elias had been incredibly happy for them. Jake softened at that. Brock had been the first one to offer help when Carmen was being fussy after first coming home from the hospital. Brock had been the one to teach Thatcher and Jake some tips for caring for a baby. Brock had given them some of his sister’s old baby clothes after acquiring permission from his parents. Brock had done so much for them when it came to Carmen.

Jake didn’t feel guilty anymore. He felt destroyed. He leaned into Thatcher and cried as he held onto Carmen. Carmen would never know the person that had helped her dads so much with learning how to care for her. Never know the stupid jokes Brock told to brighten someone’s day. Never know his infectious smile. Never know his dorky laugh. Never know anything because he was gone.

Thatcher held Jake and let his husband cry on him. Jake cried long and hard as he felt Thatcher rub his hands soothingly along his back. He relaxed a little at that but the reality of the situation was still hitting him like a Shea Weber slapshot to gut. It left him in pain and struggling to breathe. His brain was swimming with emotions and he couldn’t sort any of them out; they were drowning him.

By the time Jake stepped back from Thatcher, everyone was getting into their cars to drive to Brock’s final resting place. Jake pressed a kiss to Thatcher’s forehead and mumbled something about Thatcher driving. Thatcher nodded and followed Jake to the car.

Jake buckled Carmen into her car seat before he got into the front. He grabbed Thatcher’s hand over the centre console and squeezed. Thatcher brought Jake’s hand up and kissed it. Jake relaxed and fell back against the seat.

The entire ride, Jake kept thinking about what might’ve been if Brock and Elias had told each other how they felt. What kind of life they would’ve had. How many kids Brock would’ve convinced Elias to have. How many dogs they would’ve had. Whether they would’ve lived in Canada, Minnesota, or Sweden once they retired from hockey.

Jake and Thatcher had already agreed to live in Canada because they spent most of their time there as it was. Now that they had a daughter, it made even more sense to stay in Canada. Carmen would spend most of her time growing up there; Jake and Thatcher didn’t want to rip her away from the only thing she had ever known (if they could help it).

On their first wedding anniversary, Thatcher surprised Jake by showing him his passport. His Canadian passport. Jake hadn’t been aware that Thatcher was going for Canadian citizenship. Neither of them had brought it up because Jake was perfectly content with Thatcher remaining an American citizen with permanent residency status when he decided to retire to Canada. Seeing Thatcher’s Canadian passport made Jake burst into tears because he had never felt more loved by anyone than he had by his husband at that moment.

Jake burst into tears as he thought about the fact that Brock couldn’t surprise Elias with a Swedish passport. He cried harder at the fact that Elias couldn’t surprise Brock with an American passport. He was borderline hyperventilating at the fact that they couldn’t surprise each other with Canadian passports.

Thatcher drove into the parking lot of their destination and brought Jake’s hand up and kissed it a few times, whispering against it once the car was parked. Jake squeezed his eyes shut and willed them to stop leaking. He had no right to be this upset. He was happy with his life. He was happy with Thatcher and Carmen. He just wished things had been different. Wished Brock and Elias had got to have what he and Thatcher had. The marriage, the baby, the dogs; everything. He just wanted his friends to be happy. Not for one to be dead and one to be miserable because they couldn’t admit to each other that they were in love.

Jake had somewhat collected himself by the time everyone had gathered around the burial plot. It was underneath a giant willow tree at Brock’s favourite lake in Minnesota. His parents had pulled some strings to acquire permission to bury Brock here but they had ultimately received the approval of the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources as long as the headstone was nondescript.

Once everyone was in their seats, the minister gave a little sermon before she allowed everyone to drop a rose on Brock’s casket. Jake noticed that Elias looked ready to jump onto the casket when he placed his rose. That broke Jake’s heart and he whispered as much to Brock when he placed his rose.

When everyone was done, the casket was slowly lowered into the ground. Jake clung to Thatcher. Thatcher held onto Jake as best he could because he had Carmen in his arms. Jake kissed Carmen’s forehead and whispered to her that she would’ve loved her Uncle Brock if she ever got the chance to meet him. Carmen cooed at that; Thatcher and Jake looked at each other, both starting to cry as they dropped their foreheads together.

Just then, a loud crack of thunder rumbled through the air. There was a brief moment of silence before another crack of thunder came followed by a downpouring of rain. Thatcher and Jake quickly ran to their car to keep Carmen dry.

They didn’t bother to put Carmen in her car seat, deciding to wait until the rain let up. Thatcher held her on his lap in the front seat instead. Carmen gently sucked her thumb as she slept.

Jake turned to Thatcher, a sorrowful expression on his face. He had a weak smile as he grabbed Thatcher’s shoulder. Thatcher looked up from Carmen and tilted his head at Jake.

Jake sighed and motioned his head out the window.

“Seems fitting, no?”

——~•~——

ELIAS PETTERSSON

Elias knew rumours were floating around the league. He had heard them from everyone on the team. They had told him that other players thought Brock was in love with Elias’ wife and couldn’t stand to see her with another man. They had said that other players said Brock was in love with Elias and couldn’t stand to see him with a woman. Hearing that one always made Elias’ stomach sink to his feet.

Elias always believed that Brock never felt the same way. He always believed that he was alone in his all-encompassing feeling for his best friend. He believed that until his wedding night. Believed that until Brock kissed him in the bathroom. Believed it until Quinn and Chris told him about the note they had found next to Brock’s body.

Now, Elias realized how stupid he had been for all of those years. What he wanted was right under his nose. He had just been too blind—and in denial—to see it.

He loved his wife, he did. She was an amazing person and an even better mother to Tequila, Milo, and Coolie. When Elias agreed to take on the care of Brock’s dogs after his death, he had been somewhat afraid that they wouldn’t like Astrid. Astrid’s personality was starkly different from either Brock’s or Elias’. Brock was rambunctious, often flamboyant. Elias was more reserved, though he was known to be uninhibited around Brock; Brock brought out the best in Elias. Astrid was quiet, often scarily so. She sometimes didn’t say anything for an entire day, instead choosing to indulge her time in video games or books. Elias found no qualms about that. He often played video games with her when he needed to escape from intrusive thoughts about Brock. It helped for the most part but some of the video games that Astrid liked to play were games that Brock would play with Elias. Video games that Brock would demolish Elias at. Those games were the ones he tried to avoid but he always found himself drawn into playing them. It always felt like Brock was with him when he did.

The dogs loved Astrid to death and Elias was grateful that he had her to watch them while he was away for hockey games. He was grateful that she took to be their mother so well. She did everything he could ever hope she would do for them—and then some. She just wasn’t the love of his life. The love of his life had shot himself because he was just as far in denial about his feelings as Elias had been.

That fact sat like a boulder in Elias’ stomach. It made him nauseous to the point of wanting to vomit every day. He blamed himself well beyond the point that he should for Brock’s death. No one close to him, not even Astrid, knew how much he blamed himself. He did a spectacular job of hiding his feelings. He had to because he felt like it was his job to stay strong and show that he could handle the death of his best friend and (not so) secret love of his life.

As the years progressed, Elias found himself turning to the bottle for comfort. It was the only way to keep his mind away from Brock. It was the only thing that kept the pain away. The only thing that numbed him enough to help him sleep at night.

Astrid stayed with him through everything, even going so far as to get Elias into a rehab program. Elias reluctantly went along with it. The last thing he wanted was to give up the only way that worked to fix his pain. When he came out the other side sober, and without the urge to drink anymore Elias was proud of himself. He had accomplished something that he didn’t think was possible.

He kept away from the alcohol for a few more years. Proud of himself the entire time because he had found healthier ways to cope with his feelings about Brock. His favourite of which being painting.

He had painted along to a few Bob Ross tutorials, finding that they helped him release some of his negative energy. They became his pre-game ritual. Right before his nap, he would paint along to whichever painting tutorial looked the most relaxing for that day. He would often give the paintings to his teammates as a show of his sobriety. They knew that if they got a painting, it meant that Elias was staying away from the bottle.

Then the Canucks won the Stanley Cup. The team sprayed soda and sparkling water around the locker room. They drenched each other in chocolate sauce and maple syrup instead of beer and champagne. Elias was extremely grateful for that. He loved his team for being supportive of him.

The first thing Elias did when he left the arena for the night was stop by the liquor store and buy a case of Brock’s favourite beer. Elias wasn’t normally one to drink beer (his drink of choice had been Swedish punsch) but he would make an exception. He had just won the Stanley Cup and Brock hadn’t been there to win it with him like they had promised each other they would. He needed something to feel close to Brock. Drinking Brock’s favourite beer was the first thing he could think of to accomplish that, his sobriety be damned.

When he got home, he was thankful that Astrid had taken the dogs to visit Brock’s parents in Minnesota. They all knew Elias was about to win the Stanley Cup but they all knew Milo and Coolie needed to see their grandparents more. It had been far too long since their last visit and Duke was getting worse with his Parkinson’s. He needed to see the dogs before it was too late.

The first thing Elias did when he got home was call Astrid. She answered the phone in tears. She was congratulating him and telling him how proud of him she was. A brief moment of silence passed before Duke was on the phone. His words were garbled because of how advanced his Parkinson’s had become but Elias managed to understand most of what he had been told. Laurie was quickly put on the line and she gave just as many congratulations and tears that Astrid had. Elias felt tears fall down his face as the dogs were put on the line. All three yipped and barked their excitement before Astrid came back.

“Brock would be so proud, älskling.”

Elias couldn’t form any words. He only replied with a broken sob and disconnected the call. He dropped the phone onto the kitchen counter before he walked into the bedroom with the beer.

He ripped into the case and opened a can, chugging it as fast as he could. The taste of it burned his throat; it had been far too long since he had consumed any form of alcohol. It felt both refreshing and heartbreaking to be doing it again. He had ripped open a fully healed scar and he knew there was no turning back now, no matter how much he wanted to stop. He knew once he started drinking, he wouldn’t stop until he deemed himself to be drunk.

He repeated the action with three more cans before he started to feel woozy. He reached for another can but stopped himself. He decided that four cans were enough. Four cans were enough to give him the courage to do what he wanted to do.

Elias put the case aside and wobbled to the dresser. Sitting on top was a picture of him and Brock from the first time Elias went to Minnesota during the summer. They were under that infamous willow tree, holding fishing rods and wearing stupid bucket hats.

Elias grabbed the picture before opening his sock drawer and fishing around inside of it. It took a minute before his hand came out with a gun. He wobbled back to the bed and laid down.

He clutched the picture to his chest and pressed the gun to his temple. He closed his eyes and said a prayer in Swedish before he pulled the trigger.

He finally got to be with the love of his life.

——~•~——

BO HORVAT

Bo had gone over to Elias’ house the next morning to invite Elias out for a celebratory team breakfast. He was awash with excitement as he knocked on the door. Bo was surprised when it opened against his touch. He poked his head in and called Elias’ name. When he got no response, he stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.

He walked around the house and found Elias’ phone in the kitchen. It was nearly dead but it was full of unanswered texts from friends and family. Most of them were congratulations for winning the Cup. Bo found that odd. Elias never left messages unanswered if he could help it. He hated having a million message notifications on his phone and would always reply to them as fast as he could to get rid of them.

Bo continued walking around the house before he noticed that Elias’ bedroom door was open. He found that odd as well. He knew that Elias always slept with the door closed. It was some sort of superstitious habit Elias had from when he was younger.

Bo exhaled nervously as he walked into the bedroom.

The first thing Bo saw was the case of beer on the floor. The case of Brock’s favourite beer. He cursed as he walked over to it. It had four cans missing. He looked around the room and saw the cans scattered about the floor, empty. He shook his head. He had suspected that winning the Cup would be too much for Elias to handle. Bo should’ve sent someone home with Elias.

When Bo looked at Elias’ bed, he froze. He saw Elias laying in the middle of it. Elias was clutching a picture frame. The frame had a picture of Brock and Elias in it. A picture from Elias’ first trip to visit Brock’s parents during the summer. Bo felt his heart sink into his feet. Bo then saw a bullet hole in Elias’ temple and a gun in his other hand.

Bo rushed to the bed and shook Elias as hard as he could. When he got no response, he did it again. He knew it was futile but he kept shaking Elias and screaming.

“Goddammit, Petey! Wake up!”

After what felt like an eternity, Bo stopped because his arms had become sore. He punched Elias in the chest and dropped to the floor. He sat there and cried as he thought about what had happened.

He had lost not only one, but both of his star forwards because they were so in denial about the other having feelings for them that they wouldn’t admit their feelings. Bo wanted to scream into the void and ask why this had happened to Brock and Elias. They were both good kids with good hearts. They were just misguided with their perception of the other’s affection for them.

As Bo stood and walked out of the room to call for help, he realized something important.

Bad things happen to good people.

——~•~——

TROY STECHER

Troy lined up along the casket to help carry it to the hearse. Jacob, Bo, Quinn, Thatcher, and Jake lined up alongside him. All of them were distraught as they carried it through the church, out the door, and down the stairs.

When it was in the back of the hearse, Troy noticed that Jake clung to Thatcher as if his life depended on it. Troy felt his heart shatter at that. Troy knew how guilty Jake felt over Brock’s death. He could only imagine how guilty he felt about Elias’.

A flash of blonde pigtails ran by Troy a moment later, dragging a grumbling mess of red curls in a tiny suit behind her. Troy paused as he watched them run up to Thatcher and Jake. Thatcher picked up Carmen and Jake scooped Brock into his arms. Troy felt at peace with the fact that Thatcher and Jake chose to honour Brock by naming their son after him.

As Troy made his way to his car, he saw Alex leaning into Jacob’s chest and sobbing. Jacob was cradling Alex and carding his finger through Alex’s hair. Troy had always suspected that they were together but had never pushed it because it wasn’t his place to pry.

Jacob caught Troy’s eye and hesitantly smiled. Troy nodded and smiled back. Troy noticed that Jacob’s shoulders relaxed as he pressed a kiss to the top of Alex’s head. Troy felt his heart stammer as he finished walking to his car.

Troy let all of his emotions out as he sat in the driver’s seat. Everything he had been feeling since the death of Brock came tumbling out. He missed Brock. He missed his stupid bucket hats. He missed his stupid country music. He missed his stupid laugh. He missed his stupid smile. He missed everything about Brock.

Even though it had only been a week, he missed Elias. He missed his stupid resemblance to an alien. He missed his wicked-stupid fashion sense. He missed his stupid jokes. He missed his stupid Swedish music. He missed everything about Elias.

Troy missed his friends and he wasn’t ever getting them back. All because they had been too stupid to see what had been right in front of them.

Troy gathered his feelings just in time to drive to Elias’ final resting place. He managed to stay collected the entire drive. Managed to stay collected as he pulled into the parking lot. Managed to stay collected as he walked up to the willow tree. He only lost it again when he saw Astrid sitting with Brock’s family. When he saw how heartbroken they all looked, Troy couldn’t stop himself from bursting into tears and slumping against the back of the willow tree, away from the gathering of people.

He vaguely tuned into the minister giving her sermon. Vaguely tuned into her telling everyone to grab a flower and place it on Elias’ casket. Troy made his way back around to the front of the tree and grabbed a rose and stood in the line of people.

As he got closer to the front, he noticed that Astrid didn’t look as distraught as Elias did during Brock’s funeral. She didn’t look ready to jump onto the casket. She looked peaceful, almost happy. Troy didn’t find that odd. He had suspected for a long time that Astrid knew that Brock was the love of Elias’ life. He suspected that Astrid was at peace with the fact that Elias could finally be with the one that mattered most to him. He could finally be happy. Even if it meant he had to do it in Heaven.

After Troy placed his rose on the casket, he went over to Astrid. She smiled sympathetically at Troy’s condolences, hugging him as thanks. Troy hugged back before he went to sit in one of the folding chairs by the lake.

Just as he sat down, a loud crack of thunder echoed through the air. Troy smiled faintly as Jake tapped him on the shoulder. Troy looked over and saw Jake and Thatcher looking at him sympathetically; Carmen was in Thatcher’s lap and Brock was in Jake’s.

Another loud crack of thunder echoed through the air followed by a downpour of rain.

Carmen and Brock smiled and giggled, throwing the rain back and forth at each other. Thatcher politely told them to stop with the reason that a funeral wasn’t the place to do that. They both apologized and stopped what they were doing. Troy smiled weakly at how well-behaved the children were as Jake tapped his shoulder again.

As the rain continued to fall in thick sheets, Jake smiled faintly at Troy and motioned to where Elias’ casket was being lowered into the ground next to Brock.

“Seems fitting, no?”

4 notes · View notes

brokepiecrumbs · 3 years

Text

i run out of skips on spotify and am stuck listening to the one song i detest. the final option. only preferable to silence. an ugly body is better than an empty bed, i suppose.

the funny thing is that i didn't want to forget you at first. even though you're a fucker i wanted to preserve you like a polaroid. maybe i missed you, maybe i missed writing about you. mysteries.

so when i lay staring at the ceiling at night my head filled with your nonchalance. the way your gaze sweeps over bad scenery before glancing at me. i'm in my sunday best, you know. i make a not-funny joke and you barely smile. i buy one fruit tea and like the manipulative slut i am, i say we have to share. i pretend discreetly sucking your saliva off a used straw is intimate. mmm, your lips taste like passion... fruit.

you read a book series that i haven't had the chance to purchase. i found it on sale that day and as i'm skimming the pages, all i can think of is how your eyes read the same lines. the author makes a joke out of boat shoes on trust fund brats and i imagine quoting that at you. i bought those books.

but you're still so far away. it started taking more and more effort to remember you, you're an old favorite song, an obscure tumblr poet, a forgotten indie game. i ran my hands over my thighs like you did, but i just couldn't remember how your fingers moved.

but be relieved. i still try to remember you. i remember you when she glares at me as i pull her ponytail. i remember you when she tells me about beethoven creating a whole new era of music. i remember you when she makes a cute face at me. i remember you when she holds me tight and i breathe in her smell of soap. i remember you when i braid her hair. i remember you when i share fruit tea with her.

i'm remembering you through better people, and you know what, i think i'm remembering something else: you never loved me enough to let me do any of those things. what the hell am i remembering here? you, or what i wished you were?

i'm now forgetting.

bye, bitch.

the desire to remember, lowfunctioningpsychopath

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wyrmsandrocs · 7 years

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You know what you dared (anyone really) me personally to send all the writer asks so FUCKIBG ALL OF THEM BETCH

1. Favorite place to write. - I really like taking my laptop with me and writing at parks or in hotel lobbies when my fam travels, but its comfortable and familiar to write at my desk in my room2. Favorite part of writing. - letting characters be sassy and snarky. also letting characters heal.3. Least favorite part of writing. - actually putting words on the page lmfao4. Do you have writing habits or rituals? - i put on my writing playlist and if i can grab a diet coke bc it helps me feel like im ready to be productive5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most. - ooh, for writing style Caroline Lawrence’s books influenced me a lot when i was younger and more recently @lbardugo and six of crows6. Favorite character you ever created. - ahhh probably Linde, a shapeshifter who rejects all human concepts including gender7. Favorite author. - again, Leigh Bardugo. also @canipetyourdragon but like technically shes not published yet 8. Favorite trope to write. - enemies to lovers lmfao9. Least favorite trope to write. - ahh idek 10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about. - @canipetyourdragon and we’d probs write abt some wacky adventure11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish. - 1) have an idea and daydream abt it for a month 2) worldbuilding/character building for a g e s 3) finally get around to writing a shitty draft 4) s u f f e r 12. How do you deal with self-doubts? - whine at someone and then remind myself that nothing starts perfect and i have time to make it better. tbqh a lot of the time i remind myself that Six of Crows started as smthn like 31,000 words and is a lot longer in the final form and, no offense to leigh, was probs kinda crap at first lmfao13. How do you deal with writers block? - i remind myself that its not gonna get written if i dont write it, i sit my ass down, and i write something. anything. any stupid sentence. and then i write another one.14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book? - hoo boi am i bad at research n o t m u c h 15. Where does your inspiration come from? - a lot of my inspiration comes from music and other books, i have playlists that remind me of my characters and story on spotify and those help a lot16. Where do you take your motivation from? - i remember that i’ve always wanted to be a writer since i was like 5 and could barely write my name and i think about how much i want that to be a reality.17. On avarage, how much writing do you get done in a day? - ehh i’d say maybe 400 words on average? the least ive written recently is 100 words the most was 1,50018. What’s your revision or rewriting process like? - ah i havent worked on one story enough to know yet19. First line of a WIP you’re working on. - No matter how many she saw, Siora couldn’t get used to Outer Land bars.

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on. - “In a shocking plot twist, the rich Kitonian girl used to be a thief,” Linde said, mimicking some sort of announcer.

“Are you just here to add sarcastic commentary?” Siora glared at them.

She seems to glare at them a lot, Dema thought.

“That’s the whole reason I’m following you,” they said, then added, “Don’t give me that look, you know I don’t really care about the war.”

“My question is why is Siora still putting up with you,” Asteria laughed.

“Don’t give me any ideas,” The Beati girl grumbled, a smile playing on her lips.

“Oh yes, don’t encourage her. She might try to hurt me with one of her toothpicks.”

Dema laughed, “Don’t insult a lady’s knives, it’s not wise.”

“What’s a lady?” The Gerum asked, feigning confusion.

“Dema is a lady,” Asteria kissed the girl on the cheek, laughing.

“Doesn’t seem very ladylike to me,” Siora snorted.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Dema shot back.

“If anyone here is a lady, it’s me,” Linde said, sticking their nose in the air.

“You aren’t even a girl!” Asteria shrieked, grinning.

“Fair enough,” They nodded.

21. Post the last sentence you wrote in one of your WIP’s. - “Yep, now we’re just doing a final check to make sure we have everything,” The girl said without looking up.22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you? - ahh depends i havent really “completed” any big projects, but for short stories usually only one or two23. Single or multi POV, and why? - multiple because i have so many characters and none of them is really the /main/ character24. Poetry or prose, and why? - i love prose but tbh im a poet at heart i write a l o t of poetry

25. Linear or non-linear, and why? - linear, otherwise i get too confused26. Standalone or series, and why? - standalone, because i think the story im working on rn is only one book long. altho i do have another story in this world planned dont tell anyone 27. Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished? - i share as i write

28. And who do you share them with? only sharing with @canipetyourdragon tho29. Who do you write for? - myself and my future readers30. Favorite line you’ve ever written. - for prose? “You complain so much I’m starting to think it’s a religious observance,” Siora said, leaning against the wall. the answer is dif for poetry tho31. Hardest character to write. - a s t e r i a i love her but shes not fully fleshed out yet. also shes so good32. Easiest character to write. - linde that snarky bastard33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing? - yep i have a playlist that reminds me of my story34. Handwritten notes or typed notes? - both35. Tell some backstory details about one of your characters in your story. - Siora was raised to be the right hand guard of the princess, but was exiled when she died.36. A spoiler for story? - the villain gets redeemed37. Most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you. - hm i really dont know. writing wise, i love the quote “if the muse is late for work, start without her.”

38. Have you shared your outline of your story with someone? If so, what did they think of it? - I tell wyna about all my story shenanigans and schemes, and so far i think she likes it lmao39. Do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one.- not characters i like. sometimes background redshirts are based on people i hate so that i can kill them40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why? - both. I love writing fanfiction, but i also have a lot of original stories to tell41. How many stories do you work on at one time? - only one at a time for me42. How do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc. - a lot of the time it just comes to me, but i also answer ask memes like this as that character43. Are you an avid reader? - y e s 44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten. - hm im really not sure45. Worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten. - most unhelpful? “it sucked ass” - daedalus46. What would your story look like as a tv show or movie? - o h dude i would love to see it as a movie it would be a really cool fantasy aesthetic omg the effects for the shapeshifters would be so cool to see

47. Do you start with characters or plot when working on a new story? - this story actually started with setting48. Favorite genre to write in. - YA isnt a genre is it? technically fantasy i guess49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end? - the middle for sure50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had. - idk abt story idea but when i was 12 i killed a character by turning him into a tortilla ¯\_(ツ)_/¯51. Describe the aesthetic of your story in 5 sentences or words. - fantasy eclectic influence and design.52. How did writing change you? - honestly writing poetry gave me a way to express my feelings safely. it honest to gods helped me stop self-harming.53. What does writing mean to you? - to me it means putting my ideas and thoughts and self into the world in a way that people (hopefully) read and enjoy54. Any writing advice you want to share? - start writing and dont stop. if you think that its crap, remember that everything starts as crap, and if you think no one in the world wants to read it, remember that i definitely want to read it if you tell me about it.

tysm for asking omg!

#freya answers #a shade-y fellow

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thebandcampdiaries · 5 years

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Jaime Deraz - Ghosts

Jaime Deraz is a singer and songwriter with a very personal twist on her music. Her songs combine lush pop melodies with timeless indie aesthetics, making for a really dynamic and uncompromising feel. Recently, Jaime took the scene to release a brand new single, “Ghosts.” This song marks a really significant achievement for the artist, and her sound is becoming increasingly more defined, one step at a time. Jaime also complemented the music with some outstanding lyrics. The wordplay is witty and direct, combining great vocal melodies and powerful dynamics, with heartfelt songwriting. This is the kind of song that feels very deep and personal, yet it has a very relatable feel that makes it very easy to relate to. The song begins with a touching piano melody. There is a melodic drone in the background, adding some texture and atmosphere. The chords in the beginning shape up the main melody of the instrumental track, and the sound is reminiscent of a warm, vintage electric piano. Soon after, the beat kicks in along with the vocals. The drum sound is crisp, present and vibrant, tipping the hat off to the best electronic beat-making. Loving those claps and hats! Jaime’s vocals are the brightest star on this track. Her lyrics are personable and easy to relate to, while her voice itself has a beautiful dynamic range. The first verse has a mellow, bare atmosphere, before the kick comes in, adding a lot of depth to the mix. Jaime’s vocals are inspired and romantic. The lyrics are melancholic, but there is also a light at the end of the tunnel, with a positive, lush melodies. I am absolutely loving the hooks, with the pitch shifted vocal effect, adding a modern edge to this song. The vocal performance is truly astonishing. It is loaded with passion and integrity, while the production aesthetics are also excellent, as mentioned earlier. The combination of these two different aspects create a great synergy, with the end result of a beautiful song!The mixing quality is indeed absolutely world-class, with some amazing definition in the top end and lots of punch in the low-end and midrange. The results sound warm and present, yet never harsh or fatiguing, which is quite an amazing achievement, particularly in this genre! One of the most impressive features of this track is definitely the fact that this is a song with a stunning dichotomy. One one hand, it is a very intimate song, which arguably means something deeper to the author. On the other, it is a catchy song with some immediate melodies and a really stunning approach to production. In terms of production, “Ghosts” truly hits the mark. This release is pleasing to the ear, due to her crisp modern tones. However, it also has a distinctive modern edge, which tips the hat off to alternative music, while retaining a catchy twist. The song’s bridge takes a breather, allowing the beat to relax for a while, and deliver some of the most emotional vocals in the track. The drums come back in with an amazing crescendo, which actually brings so much energy to the conclusive segment of the song. The sheer scope of the production will immediately capture your imagination. The music has a larger-than-life feel, almost hitting the speaker in a big cinematic way. These sounds are very evocative, and create a strong texture, rather than just focusing on a melodic line to remember. The fact that there are many layers to this release really allow the artist to achieve an extra sense of depth, making for a strong and balanced tone. In conclusion, this song is truly astonishing, making for a really fantastic flow and an amazing delivery. If you are a fan of artists such as Halsey, Rihanna or Alison Wonderland, you might definitely enjoy this one! Much like the aforementioned artists, Jaime has a knack for instinctive songwriting, but he also knows how to really contextualize some good lyrics with a great production, bringing the whole concept to a whole new level. Find out more about Jaime Deraz and do not miss out on “Ghosts,” and other astonishing releases from this talented artist.

We also had the chance to speak to the artist - keep reading for a full interview!

I love how you manage to render your tracks so personal and organic. Does the melody come first, or do you focus on the beat the most?

Answer: Neither! Typically, the lyrics come first. I find it hard to write a song based off a melody, because then I’m limited in the way I can express the lyrical content. I find that when I’m stuck trying to minimize syllables or repeat phrases simply to fit a melody, a lot of the lyrical content gets lost somewhere along the way. The best way for me to capture what I’m trying to say is to write it down in words, and let the music carry the message.

Do you perform live? If so, do you feel more comfortable on a stage or within the walls of the recording studio?

Answer:

I have performed live in the past, but I definitely feel more comfortable in the studio. Performing live is a great experience and it’s definitely something I would like to continue doing in the future. However, when I’m in the studio it actually feels much more personal. I’m singing from myself and to others, just like I would be live. But in the walls of the studio, my creativity is able to come through when I’m feeling relaxed and comfortable. When I’m singing only in the presence of myself, I don’t focus on making mistakes or the way I’m coming off to my audience. I sing like nobody is watching, and that’s when the best artistry comes through.

If you could only pick one song to make a “first impression” on a new listener, which song would you pick and why?

Answer: For a first impression, I’d be torn between two of my songs. The first release I ever had, “lonely like me”, really represents the storytelling aspect I try to include in all of my music. While that’s important to me and a huge part of what I’m trying to do, “Ghosts” tells the story in a more abstract way. It’s much less direct, and leaves the listener to interpret it through the lens of their own heartbreak. Much less detailed, “Ghosts” could be about anyone and anything, and I think that’s something I really would like to do more of in the future. To be able to make a song that is relatable and has listeners swear it was written for them,to help them through something, would be the ultimate accomplishment.

What does it take to be “innovative” in music?

Answer: Personally, I think it takes more to NOT be innovative in music. It is such a personal and expressive area of creativity. In today’s world, it seems that artists are grouped together and categorized based on their similarities in image and style, and I think that might play a part in stifling a lot of creativity. To be innovative in music, you simply have to be open with sharing yourself. Being inspired by the creativity of others is something that should be drawn upon, but I think it’s important to let your own style take the forefront. It’s crucial to be so devoted to being innovative and unlike any others that conforming to what is already being done would be not only difficult, but also unsettling.

Any upcoming release or tour your way?

Answer: My next release, ‘Chase You’, will be out by the end of June! It’s definitely different from my most recent release, and taps into a different form of songwriting. Detailed images reflect the tone of my debut EP, Almost, while the message behind the lyrics fits more with the content of “Ghosts”.

Anywhere online where curious fans can listen to your music and find out more about you?

Answer: All of my music can be found on pretty much all streaming platforms! Spotify, Apple Music, iTunes, etc. I try to keep everyone up to date on my music through my Instagram, and I often tease upcoming tracks and show a bit of insight into the songwriting process through the stories on my page.

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lancecarr · 5 years

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How to Engage With the Muses

You’d think that one of the first things a creative would master would be learning to talk with the muses. I don’t know how it works with others but in my case, up until last July, I wasn’t talking to the muses. I was sometimes catching some of their singing but I wasn’t conversing with them in an open dialogue.

1. USE THE POWER OF WORDS

2018 and 2019 have been the year where I started appreciating the power of words. Not only the words you say to another human being, but the words you say to the Universe. What we say out loud -or what we don’t say, hold a lot of power and a lot of magick. The words we throw often mindlessly will create ripples. We’re so used to throwing words out loud, we’ve forgotten about the ripples. Each word creates a little reaction, a tiny spark (not necessarily a friendly one). Most of those reactions will die, some of them will turn into fireballs. And we can have an active role in this.

That’s what we’ve forgotten. We can accompany the words we chose to say and transform the spark into a fire. To create or destroy.

So, the first step on my path to learning to talk to the muses was remembering the power of words and that the conversation will start with me saying something out loud: asking for help, asking for advice, voicing a wish.

Last July, almost 3 months ago today, I was having a beer with three friends to close a three-days writing residency working on a feature screenplay. We talked about podcasts, Spotify vs. YouTube and then I turned to my creative-partner from the residency and said: “Let’s make an audio fiction“. She said “Okay.” And the first sparkle was offered.

2. TAKE NOTES

It could have stopped there as I left Marion to take the train and go back home but we kept “talking” about it via Whatsapp and by the end of my 1h ride, we knew we were going to do an audio fiction that would be different: instead of a weekly episode of 20min, 30min or an hour, we would create a story composed solely of Whatsapp audio messages between two characters.

That felt like a breakthrough. We didn’t have the story but we had found a new way of creating a story without spending an outrageous amount of money on technology, and that’s rare enough to be extremely exciting.

I scribbled a one-sentence note about the whole thing: “Audio fiction made of messages between two friends.”

3. MAKE SPACE

At the same time, I was working on two very big projects and realized that I had to cut one of them off. And so I did. And by doing that I created space for my brain, for my creativity and for the muses.

4. STAY IN MOTION

For the next 15 days life took over anyway and I stopped thinking about this new idea until another train ride (motion and showers: two big gateways to engage with the muses!!).

5. LOOK BACK

During that said train ride, I went through my notebook. This is something I’ve taken the habit of doing, scanning my notebooks, and I always collect dots. You think you’ll remember but you don’t. Even when you think you’re writing down something amazing, you forget. That’s why we use notebooks and that’s why it’s essential to look back at them. Browsing through my notebook I saw the note I had scribbled 15 days ago.

I had forgotten about this idea entirely so when I read the words, it felt like a little electric shock.

7. SHOW YOUR GOODWILL

I decided to spend the rest of the train ride thinking about this idea and try to find out what type of story we could tell with this creative constraint. For the entire train ride, I searched and searched and searched and all I could hear in my head was: “You don’t have any original idea.” I closed my notebook, defeated. I had tried but I felt like shit.

But I believe this was a show of good faith to the muses: I was willing to do the work. I wanted to tell this story. Here I should say that I’ve been creating and storytelling “officially” (i.e. full time) for over a decade now so I have accumulated tools and skills that make one hour of deep work a potent one.

8. DO THE WORK

A few nights later, as I turned off the lights and my brain started to fall asleep I heard the muses talking back to me.

This moment where your brain loosens up and opens up space to other radiowaves is such an important one. So many times I’ve felt an idea traveling through my brain at that weird moment of the day and let it escape me, convinced I would remember it the next day because it felt like too potent to be forgotten and inevitably the next day I would barely remember I had an idea in the first place.

But this time was different. This time I forced myself to turn the light back on (a simple gesture that can feel like an insurmountable mountain), I grabbed my notebook and I wrote everything that was coming through me. It literally felt that I was just the recipient of ideas whispered to me. I wrote them all down and crashed. The next day I organized them and shared them with my creative partner, we brainstormed and built and debated and put words on what was missing and what we wanted and the following night the muses came back again.

After three days of that dance, we had a 6 pages document and had changed our next feature film writing residency into a residency to write this audio project. We met the third week of August for three days and worked our butts off. (with great pleasure!) The past 6 weeks have been about testing, recording, prepping the launch and staying in motion until our baby lives autonomously in this world.

8. SHARE YOUR WORK

In a week from now, CONSCIENCE (Conscious in French) will be out. It’s the result of three months of work from the first word put into the world to the first episode shared online. If you speak French, you can find how to subscribe and listen to this story here. (Ha, creating in the language that half of the world understands and value… life would be much simpler)

9. REPEAT

I thought this was a one-time thing, but then last week I use the power of words to create some sparkles and sure enough, I heard the muses whispering.

To Be Continued…

http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Mentorless/~3/hsF1wO48Hzc/

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dstrachan · 6 years

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FREAK MYTHOLOGY – ‘FREAK MYTHOLOGY’

According to the bio on Freak Mythology's FaceBook page, the band were voted "Cincinnati's Next Big Band 2017" having formed in late 2012; they blend together a mixture of funk and blues rock with psychedelia to create a sound that can quite rightly be considered as "modern classic rock". Pete's Rock News and Views (UK) has selected this eponymous release as 'album of the year 2017'. They are currently located in West Chester, Cincinnati, and thanks to the wonders of social media I was directed towards this album by Mark Winder aka 'TheRetweeter' – further proof that if you can filter out the reams of negativity, insults and 'Fake News' Twitter does have many positive benefits!

I must start by drilling down into that “modern classic rock” designation as quoted in the aforementioned bio, surely an oxymoron as only the passage of time can qualify the use of the term 'classic'? Certainly that may be true but I do feel that the use of the designation is justified – even if it is only a couple of days since I first heard of the band. They are barely 5 years old and clearly appear to be active now so that counts as 'modern' and having listened to them there is no dispute that they produce 'rock' music that doesn't require any additional sub-genre endorsement; so that just leaves the 'classic' word! Right from hearing the first bars and phrases of 'Where Does The Time Go' my mind was immediately seeking to identify the numerous echoes that had begun to reverberate in my mind; the love scene from 'Zabriskie Point' as provided by Jerry García (1970) infused with David Crosby's 'If I Could Only Remember My Name' (1971) and cranked up in pace with the likes of Spin Doctors' 'Two Princes' (1993), add in a touch of solo Tom Petty as on 'Full Moon Fever' (1989), Steve Miller Band 'Your Saving Grace' era minus the organ (1969) , and I could go on – it all sounded so wonderfully familiar and timeless yet absolutely fresh, and not in any way a lame attempt to simply replicate the sounds from years gone by; so 100% yes to the application of 'modern classic rock'! Most definitely I was hooked.

So, enough of my reminiscing and creating a check list of music to re-visit, what about this Freak Mythology album? At the present time I find it quite difficult to view anything without it passing through a 'Brexit' / '#POTUS45' filter, particularly when confronted with lyrics such as this from 'House Arrest'; “Stuck here, I gotta find some work / Stuck here, I gotta pay my dues / Stuck here, my thoughts they lurk / But to them, I’m just another jerk / Stuck here, I just want the world back”, I am immediately drawn in to want to hear more.

Gilbert Shelton's marvellous cartoons featuring 'The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers' could be said to be very much part of the mythology of my youth, presenting a critique of the establishment, while simultaneously satirizing counterculture – as I waited for the album to unfold I wondered if this band might adopt a similar philosophy.

The album starts with a builder, 'Where Does The Time Go', a phrase that frequently circulates in my head as the years progress!

“There’s people around me, and they don’t know / Where does the time go? / Nobody knows ….... I’m a little bit crazy, well can’t you tell, / From the smile on my face / I’m feelin’ pretty well”. This track sees the various elements build to a crescendo of instrumental virtuosity. Track two is 'Haunting Me' and it invites you in with the introductory lyrics “All these questions, they’re haunting me / It’s all chaos, madness, and creeds / There’s footsteps above me, I’m locked inside / I’ve gotta get out of this place, and see what I can find.” The third track 'House Arrest' sets off at a jaunty pace with an catchy riff to accompany yet more engaging lyrics and is followed by an absolutely stunning instrumental, 'Surge' follows; this evoked so many memories of great live gigs back in the mid 1970s! 'Headed Out' brings things to a close with a mellower and more acoustic vibe and more intelligent lyrics which offer an insightful commentary on the conflict between hopes and wishes for a better life, and the daily grind. If these excellent five tracks aren't enough then there are others to treat your ears on the band's Spotify page!

Brad Wehlitz - Guitar, Vocals Ryan Shephard - Guitar, Vocals Caroline Joseph - Bass, Vocals Travis Hanna - Percussion

1/ Where Does The Time Go?

2/ Haunting Me

3/ House Arrest

4/ Surge

5/ Headed Out

#freakmythology #modernclassicrock #theretweeter

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swimintothesound · 7 years

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Gateway Indie

On May 20th of 2008, my musical taste changed forever. We (or at least I) tend to discover things in waves. Specifically waves of increasingly-tiered obsession that escalate until I can focus on one thing and one thing only. I’ll find a song I really like, devour the album that it came from, read everything on the band’s Wikipedia page, explore their discography, listen to side projects, see them live, spend exorbitant amounts of money on limited edition vinyl, then (apparently) write about my experience years later.

One of the most important steps in my particular brand of hyper-obsessive fandom is delving deeper into the genre of the band who I’ve recently discovered. Whether it’s simply to contextualize their sound, see if I recognize any of their contemporaries, or just to get a better understanding of the world’s musical history. When one artist’s discography isn’t enough, sometimes the next logical step is to start absorbing everything in their immediate vicinity. It’s a beautiful notion that one album can open the door to a whole new world of music that was previously hidden. It’s how you diversify as a music listener and as a person.

Up until high school, I’d really only explored the genres of classic rock, grunge, and some metal. All pretty standard stuff, especially for a white suburban teen, but it was all music that came out before I was born. In 2008 I discovered a group of albums that opened my eyes to the ever-cool world of indie and, more importantly, paved the way for my interest in both the genre and the contemporary music scene as a whole. As each of these albums near their 10th anniversary I realized that not only have many of them achieved “classic” status within the genre, they were also part of a larger movement for my generation.

Universality

Now that the internet has paved the way for services like iTunes, Spotify, Soundcloud, and Bandcamp, music has become more insular than ever. In 2017 there are entire sects of fans who can be hyper-devoted to one artist or scene that may never intersect with anyone else. Additionally, with the rise of social platforms like forums, Twitter, and reddit fans can live in a bubble… and while it’s great to connect with other fans, it also means the vocal obsessives are more walled-off.

We have fewer “universals” than ever before. Ed Sheeran is one of the best-selling artists in the world right now, but I don’t think I’ve heard a single song of his. Drake is breaking records every week, but if you don’t care about hip-hop, he’s pretty easy to avoid listening to. It’s a byproduct of the ever-splintering media landscape that we’re living in.

So there are positives and negatives, but this splintering is relevant because those “universals” will become fewer and far between as we move forward. Looking beyond music, you have shows like Game of Thrones which is one of the most technically popular and most-talked about shows currently on TV. It consistently shatters its own self-set viewership records, numbers which are worth screaming about in 2017, yet would have gotten a show canceled even 20 years ago. There’s just more to watch, more to do, and more to care about in 2017, so if you don’t want to watch Game of Thrones, you truly don’t have to. This isn’t the 20’s where everyone gathers around the radio for the day’s episode of Little Orphan Annie. I feel like I’m getting off track, but music is this phenomenon multiplied by thousands. Not only are there dozens of alternatives mediums vying for your attention, practically anyone can create music in 2017. There are more alternatives (and therefore fewer commonalities) than ever before.

I feel like we will reach (or perhaps have already hit) a point where there are simply no more universal artists. There’s never going to be another Beatles. Obviously. But looking purely at The Beatles on a scale purely based on audience and cultural impact, there will never be another musical group in the history of the world that reaches the omniscient presence that the Beatles achieved. There were fewer artists to listen to then, fewer ways to create music, and even fewer avenues to discover new music.

As technology has improved, we’ve seen a direct impact on the music industry as an entity. At the same time, we’ve also seen artists effectively harness this power. Groups like Odd Future were pervasive and forward-thinking enough that I (a high school-aged non-hip-hop listener) knew who they were and knew at least a few of their songs. While everyone’s musical journey is a unique story filled with personal discoveries that have influenced their taste, this is really a story about the first universal that I was a part of as it was happening.

I Miss the Old iTunes

Back when iTunes was still relatively new, it was my only source of current music. I would almost instantaneously drain any gift card I was given, using it to cross several songs off my carefully-curated iTunes wish list. I was also fortunate enough to have my Dad’s massive collection of nearly one thousand CD’s at my disposal, but as you could imagine, most of those albums were a decade old at least. That’s why I was a rock fan first: ease of access.

But I always found ways to satiate my hunger for new music. From VH1 to renting CDs one by one from the local library, there were only so many ways to hear new music, even in the mid-2000’s. One of the most unexpected avenues that I took advantage of was the (now sadly-defunct) iTunes Single of the Week Program, which offered exposure to countless contemporary acts one song at a time. It may not have been much, but this program turned me onto dozens of artists and sounds that I wouldn’t have heard otherwise. Through this mishmash of mid-2000’s media, I was able to satiate my budding hunger for new music as a penniless 14-year-old.

That brings us back to the first sentence of this post.

Unbeknownst to me, indie folk was blowing up In 2008. Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago was gaining serious traction a year after its release thanks to the album’s breakout hit “Skinny Love” and in May “Skinny Love” was put up as iTunes’ free song. As with most songs in the program, I’d never heard of the artist, nor had any experience with the genre, but I downloaded it anyway because that’s how hungry I was for new music.

I downloaded the track (no doubt on my family’s bulky oversized 2005 laptop) and synced it onto my iPod immediately. I was floored. I’d never heard anything so delicate. It was catchy (especially for a folk song) but it also had a soft warmth and reserved delivery that was a revelation to me at the time. “Skinny Love” evoked a feeling that was unlike any other music I’d ever heard. I had to have more.

Part of the beauty of the Single of the Week program was how random it was. One week it’d be an electropop song, the next it would be something folky like Bon Iver, and then it would be a latin song. I didn’t necessarily like it all (quite the opposite, in fact) but I listened to it all for the sake of discovery. The fact that these songs were free was just the icing on top of the cake. I had nothing to lose.

I had no idea at the time, but indie folk saw a massive explosion in popularity in 2008 with the rise of acts like Bon Iver and Fleet Foxes, who both released stunning debuts around this time. I didn’t realize that this era of indie had been such a widespread phenomenon until I saw people discussing Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago on its tenth anniversary calling it their “Gateway Indie” album. I liked that phrase, but I didn’t think much of it until I heard the ineffable deep_cuts youtube channel cite both For Emma and Fleet Foxes as “dominating adolescent MP3 players the world over” at this time. Maybe it was just his worldly UK accent, but something clicked for me. I realized this was not only a formative album, era, and sound for myself, but for everyone my age.

Beyond Folk

Later that year I met some of the coolest people in my high school. And by that I don’t mean cool in the traditional sense, they were dork-ass nerds like me, but they were dork-ass nerds with impeccable musical taste. At this point, the edgiest thing I had ever listened to was Nine Inch Nails, but these guys opened my mind to the larger world of indie music. Genres I didn’t even know existed. Sounds I could barely conceive of. This was 10th grade and the albums they showed me would go on to become some of my favorite and most formative of all time.

The first song I remember them playing for me was the opening track to Portugal. The Man’s first album Waiter: "You Vultures!" which was titled “How the Leopard Got Its Spots.” I’m going to stop there for a second just to point out this band/album/song combo was (before hearing the first note) already more experimental and out-there than anything else I’d ever heard up to that point.

“How the Leopard Got Its Spots” is a pokey unpredictable song that almost borders on prog. While Portugal. The Man changes up their sound every album, their debut is easily the most experimental of their discography, still retaining many characteristics of the band’s post-hard predecessor Anatomy of a Ghost. But I didn’t know any of that at the time. I just listened to the song, enraptured by the track’s grungy guitars that paired perfectly with Gourley’s shrill high-pitched singing. The lyrics were obtuse in a Relationship of Command-type way and the final glitched-out chorus haunted me for days after the fact, becoming an immovable earworm. I remember at the time Grand Theft Auto IV had just been released (God, take me back) and I’d spend hours tooling around the game’s gray city listening to this song on repeat for hours.

Sometime later, Eric (the one of the group who I was closest to) and I found ourselves sitting next to each other during a weirdly-placed mid-day homeroom period. I asked him what he was listening to and he said “I’ll show you” he handed me his headphones and hit play on his 3rd generation iPod Nano. What I heard were the first shimmering notes of Minus The Bear’s “Pachuca Sunrise.” The song’s carefully-times guitar taps and intensely-technical drumming provide the crunchy background for Jake Snyder’s laid-back sensual lyrics and Cory Murchy’s smooth flowing bassline. It gelled into a transformative experience that made my body feel warm with sunlight and love. There’s a reason it’s still one of the band’s most-played live songs even a decade later. It turns out “Pachuca Sunrise” was many people’s first Minus The Bear song and led countless fans to the group’s second album Menos El Oso.

At this point, I already had enough “material” to go off on my own and endlessly devour these two records from these two very different bands. And I did, but I was also hungry for more. I came back to this group of guys in our shared AV class and begged for more in the coolest way I could without discounting my own cred.

From there Eric, Oliver, and Max threw me into the deep end. They showed me “Death Rides a Horse” by instrumental band Russian Circles. I dug it. Ratcheting up the intensity, they moved onto “Laser Life” by the post-hardcore band Blood Brothers. I dug it. They then threw the hyperchaotic cybergrind “Chapels” by Genghis Tron at me. I didn’t dig it, but I warmed up to it pretty quickly.

While there were dozens of other acts and songs that these guys turned me onto over the course of the next year, this crop stands out in my mind both for its breadth and what they’ve gone on to represent for me personally.

Portugal. The Man would go onto become one of my favorite bands. I’ve often proselytized online that they have one of the best discographies in indie rock. I would also go on to expose this band to my two younger brothers, and for one of them, Portugal. The Man has become their favorite band of all time. They currently sit at my 8th most played band on Last.fm with just over 3,000 plays.

Minus the Bear was my favorite band for years. At 6 concerts they’re also far-and-away the band I’ve seen live the most, and two years ago I saw them play Menos El Oso in full for the album’s 10th-anniversary tour. The album’s closing track “This Ain't a Surfin’ Movie” has been my favorite song of all time since I first heard it. The band is currently my 6th most-listened band on Last.fm, and three of the band's albums are have made it onto my list of all-time favorites.

Russian Circles would eventually lead me to the world of post-rock and instrumental metal. Bands like Explosions in the Sky, Mogwai, and Earth, all of whom have served as my reading and studying music throughout high school and college. Russian Circles also have a nearly-perfect discography, and they currently sit at #15 on my Last.fm.

Meanwhile, Fleet Foxes were always a bit boring to me… until this year. Maybe I have more patience at 24 than I did at 15, but I’ve had their discography on repeat for this entire summer and I’ve been loving it.

Most importantly, Bon Iver served as my gateway to all of this. It’s weird that a slow quiet folk album could pave the way for something as discordant and brutal as Genghis Tron, but I guess it’s a snowball effect type of thing. For Emma, Forever Ago also became somewhat of a soundtrack for my first real relationship, and despite that relationship’s rocky conclusion a year later, I can still listen to the album today and enjoy it as much as I did the first time hearing it.

I can’t thank these three dudes (and the creators of these albums) enough. I can safely say that my life would be unequivocally and vastly different without having gone through this period of exploration when I did. I would be a different person with different tastes and interests entirely. Full stop. So for that, I can only say “thank you” and hope that I returned the favor with someone else somewhere down the line. Sometimes discoveries come from the most unexpected places. Sometimes a random song can lead you down a path you never could have blazed yourself. Sometimes a single song can change everything.

#Bon iver #fleet foxes #portugal. the man #waiter you vultures #minus the bear #blood brothers #russian circles #indie #metal #genghis tron #Metalcore #high school #music #high school music

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