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uselessgayshit · 3 years

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bitter

title from "Bitter" by Fletcher

AO3 Fic Link

It wasn’t unusual for her to find herself in the chair next to the living room window on a Saturday night, the last rays of sun illuminating the words of the book she was reading. It wasn’t unusual for her roommate to be dancing around to music she wished wasn’t so loud, already halfway to drunk before she rushed out the door. But that had been hours ago. The sun had set. The room had darkened. The only light was the dim one shining on her face from the Kindle. Same book. One hundred pages later. Or so.

The door came crashing open and her attention was stripped from the book in her lap. It also wasn’t unusual for her roommate to bring someone home. She only jumped slightly from their sudden appearance. She watched as two women stumbled into the apartment. At first glance, they looked like they were struggling, but it quickly became apparent that wasn’t the case. Or, at least it was a struggle of a different kind; they were entangled in one another. It was hard to see much of anything. Her roommate hadn’t turned the lights on when she entered and they had yet to reach the halo of light that was casting an eerie, yet warm light across the kitchen. Neither of them had noticed her, the lone figure in the dark. Even if they hadn’t been occupied, she wasn’t sure they would have. But, if she wasn’t mistaken, a hand was already shoved down her roommate’s pants.

But maybe it wasn’t, because there was a flurry of movement and a quiet thump as a piece of clothing was tossed to the floor. There was a grunt as her roommate was roughly set atop their counter. In the light it was clear that this hadn’t just started; they had only come back to the apartment to finish it. Her hair was mussed, and she had eyes for no one but the woman still enwrapped in shadow.

And then it felt like time stopped as the woman stepped into the light. It glinted off abs and shone on blonde hair. Her breath stuck in her throat as the woman dipped her head and the outline of a familiar jawline appeared. But the shock passed as quickly as it came, and she had to stop herself from snorting. It wasn’t the first time her roommate had brought home an unexpected guest, nor the first time she had been witness to it. But it was the first time Veronica had sunk to a level this low.

She thought she was going to have to sneak to her room as a hand snuck around to Veronica’s ass. It made her want to be as far away as she could from this particular hookup.

There was a whisper. Already breathless. She was that good. “Wait. Wait. I have a roommate.”

And then Veronica slid off the counter and led her guest by hand out of the kitchen and down the hallway. Still, neither of them noticed her. She found herself wanting to laugh and could only shake her head at Veronica’s new plan to ruin her. She couldn’t put many things past Veronica, but this, this she had not expected.

It was well after midnight. The earliest hours of the morning that never did anything good for her state of mind. She was exhausted. A throbbing at her temple caused her irritation to rise. She had long ago given up any thought of reading. Her mind raced.

She should have left the apartment. Any rational person would have left the apartment. But something kept her rooted to her seat. Something verging on masochism as she listened to Veronica’s cries and moans of pleasure as they floated down the hallway. They tugged on her already frayed nerves and her fingernails dug into the arms of the chair as her own memories resurfaced.

The noises from Veronica’s bedroom had quieted until it was almost completely silent. But she was still reluctant to go to her room in case they started up again. She didn’t want to be any closer to them than she had to be. And in the quiet of the apartment, the bedroom door clicking open sounded like a bomb had gone off. All of her muscles tensed, and she gritted her teeth as she stared straight ahead.

The woman appeared in a sports bra and a pair of what were obviously Veronica’s shorts. There was no reason for the woman to expect her presence and she didn’t. She went around the kitchen, opening cabinets until she found a glass and filled it with water from the sink. She drained the entire thing in one go.

“Well,” she finally broke her silence from the dark corner, “it sounds like you’re just as good as ever.”

The woman froze, eyes widening. The glass clattered against the counter but didn’t break. Her eyes searched into the dark living room. It was everything she could do not to smirk as she stepped into the light.

“Lena.” It was a whisper, her lips only slightly parted. Lena let the smirk spread across her face to let Kara know what they both knew: Lena held all the power, and she relished the control.

“I didn’t know you lived here.” It was flimsy but Kara finally unfroze, her hand clenching onto the edge of the counter so tightly that Lena watched her knuckles turn white.

She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. As if she wasn’t refusing to rake her eyes up Kara’s body. “I know. Veronica knew exactly what she was doing.”

Kara looked off toward the bedroom at the mention of Veronica’s name. “Oh, no need to hurry back. I’m sure she’s getting herself off on the mere thought of the situation she’s created.”

“Situation?”

“Well, I didn’t necessarily ever want to see you again.”

Kara’s lips formed into an “O” shape, but no sound came out.

“Surprised?”

Kara’s stomach twitched. Lena bit the inside of her cheek; the pain led to control. Because she was imagining much more. She was imagining surging forward, pressing herself against Kara, feeling Kara’s hands all over her body. But she shut it all down; the heat roiling in her stomach staunched.

“Yeah.” Lena didn’t appreciate the resignation in her tone, as if seeing Lena was just another part of Kara’s day that she had to get through. Because seeing Kara again had completely upended her world.

Lena sneered. “How’d she taste?”

Kara’s lips thinned and she pressed into the counter. She huffed out in an attempt to suppress a laugh. “I wouldn’t know.”

Lena took a couple steps forward, pressing both of her hands against the counter, mirroring Kara. “Oh, I heard everything. You don’t have to spare me.”

Kara looked up at her; her pupils exploded, there was almost no blue left. “Veronica likes toys.”

“So?” Lena spit back, refusing to give ground. She would get her answer.

Kara’s eyes glanced quickly away and then back. She bit her lip which made Lena’s anger rise even more. “This is a bad idea.”

“You don’t get to call that anymore.”

“She’s waiting.”

“Like I said.” As if on cue, a distant moan sounded through the apartment. Kara’s attention was pulled toward it. Lena didn’t move.

“I didn’t know.”

“I’m not holding it against you.” Lena knew it was entirely Veronica’s doing; a horrific plan to completely destroy her.

“Are you sure?”

“There are so many more things to hate you for.”

Kara pushed off the counter, almost sneering, a smirk of self-deprecation. “I didn’t come here for this.”

Lena watched her decide. Watched her turn her back. Watched her walk away. And pretended that her heart didn’t shatter.

“So, why’d you come?” Lena was nothing if not self-destructive.

Kara paused in the hallway. “We were at the same club and Veronica asked. That simple.”

“Are you sure?”

What she didn’t expect was Kara to turn around and obliterate her with a single look. “I’ve only ever tasted you.”

“Stop.” Her voice betrayed her, cracking around a swell of emotion.

“You asked.”

“Lie to me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because Veronica is a fun fuck.”

“Okay.”

“But she’s not you.”

Lena swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Sounds like you should get back to her then.”

“Is that what you want?”

Lena knew what she wanted; she just wasn’t sure if she should have it. But she would have the last word before Kara walked away. “You made your choice.”

“I did.” She stated it simply, not looking for remorse, forgiveness, or pity.

Lena placed the Kindle carefully on the counter and then walked around it, pushing past Kara and making a choice that was as far from her own self-interest as she could get. “Second door on the left.”

“Noted.”

#my fic #myfic #supercorp #kara danvers x lena luthor #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp fic #supergirl #supergirl fic

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captainkippen · 3 years

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Heart of December

Short Story • Romance • New Adult • Ghosts

Every winter, the fireplace in the parlour roars to life of its own accord and from the flames emerges a ghost of the manor's past. Wesley doesn’t mean to fall in love with a dead man, but it seems anything is possible in the heart of December.

Read it on Wattpad.

The front parlour of Somerstone Manor was always freezing this time of year. It had been a persistent problem long before the deeds fell to the possession of Wesley Griffiths and had continued to be a nuisance ever since. Built before the invention of double-glazing, the whole house tended to be drafty. This was fine most of the year but made the harsh Yorkshire winters somewhat uncomfortable enough without the parlour’s icy demeanour creeping under the door and into the hallways.

Wesley had never found the source of the cold, though it was not for lack of trying. Eight expensive contractors and a handful of local handymen had all been left scratching their heads. It was not the windows, they said, nor the floorboards. There was no mysterious gap in the roofing and the insulation was both new and too thick to be so ineffective. Neither the fire, which would not light no matter how much kindling sat in the grate nor the newly installed central heating system made any difference. It seemed the parlour was determined to become an icebox, what Wesley wanted be damned. It made sitting in there a ghastly endeavour, but he was determined not to show any sign of weakness. He suspected the house could sense such things. Then one night, at the stroke of midnight, the fire had burst into life, sending him staggering across the hearth in shock as he took in the terrifying sight before him.

Tonight was twice as cold as usual. He sat wrapped in three layers of blankets and scarves only to continue shivering. A half-eaten tin of Marks & Spencer biscuits sat forgotten by his feet and his cup of tea had long since gone cold. Were it any other night, he might give in just this once and retire to his bedroom where at least he could curl up with a hot water bottle, but tonight he wouldn’t. It was December third.

On December third, every year for the last four, he had sat in the very spot he sat in now and waited. As usual, the fireplace was dry and unlit. He stared at it, shifting slightly and rustling the blankets as he pulled them tighter around himself, waiting. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked. Three minutes to midnight. Every sound made him twitch with anticipation. Two minutes to midnight. The icy white flakes swirled down in a thick white fog, piling up on the windows. It was getting colder. One minute to midnight. The air felt as though it was biting at Wesley’s face. It was almost impossible to breathe…

Midnight. Nothing happened. Wesley frowned to himself, checking his wristwatch, it was definitely the correct time. Surely he had not gotten the date wrong. He glanced over at the newspaper he’d abandoned on the side table. December 3rd, 2020, read the date. The chill of the air intensified. There was nothing for it, then. He would have to go upstairs. With a sigh, he began gathering the ends of his makeshift cocoon and stood. No sooner had he done so, when the fireplace burst into life.

‘Evening, Wes,’ greeted the man who had appeared out of thin air alongside the flames.

‘You’re late,’ said Wes.

James Sherrington was a ghost. He had entered in his usual dramatic fashion, leaning against the wall dressed in the same white shirt and rumpled ascot that he’d been wearing since 1912, more solid than any ghost should be in Wesley’s opinion.

‘Traffic on the other end.’ James made a vague gesture towards the fireplace.

Wesley raised one incredulous eyebrow.

‘Traffic?’

‘Yes, well, you know. The holiday season is a busy time for the other side, all those spirits desperate to go through the doors and haunt their loved ones while they do their Christmas shopping. The queue really was enormous.’

Wesley suspected James was pulling his leg, but it was always hard to tell.

The first time James had appeared next to the fireplace, the very same night the fire had come alive, Wesley had assumed he was going mad. Indignant at the idea of being imaginary, James had picked up Wesley’s favourite mug and thrown it across the room where it smashed hard against the stone wall, scattering ceramic shards all over. Wesley had fled, locking the parlour door behind him, hoping it was all a strange dream. When he’d woken up the next morning to find James sprawled across the chaise lounge reading a battered copy of Wuthering Heights, he had not been impressed.

He had decided then that James was an intruder. It appeared the only reasonable explanation was that he was some sort of madman attempting to scare Wesley out of his new home, perhaps in order to rob him. When the police had arrived, they did nothing but shoot wary looks at him while James stood, unseen by anyone but Wesley, laughing in the corner. They’d recommended he make an appointment with his GP, perhaps he was not feeling too well. The doctor had prescribed him tablets for insomnia, though Wesley knew he had no trouble sleeping, which lay still untouched five years later in his medicine cabinet. So he left for his sister’s house down in Kent, hoping he could outrun his problems until at least after the holidays were done, and when he’d returned on the twenty-seventh the fire was out once more and there were no strange men in sight. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He had done a good job erasing James from his mind by the time December third rolled around once more, putting it down to the stress of moving, only to have the whole unpleasant experience repeat. Once more the flames spontaneously appeared at midnight, and again came James. This time Wesley did not call the police; he called a priest. The priest brought with him an expert on spirits from the Vatican, and Wesley watched with his arms folded from the doorway as they read from the bible and flung holy water about the room. The fire roared on. James laughed. Wesley began to lose his temper.

They went through three more exorcists and a variety of ‘ghost hunters’ armed with EMPs and other useless equipment which buzzed at nothing in particular until midnight on Christmas Eve rolled around and the fire went out. The house was too quiet without James taunting him.

The third year, James was greeted by a fatigued Wesley armed with a collection of crosses. He had been up and staring at the fire for a full week before the date rolled around. The crosses did nothing, but that wasn’t all that much of a surprise. For the first time, James revealed that he could in fact leave the parlour if he wanted to, and he made Wesley a cup of tea before sending him off to bed. Perturbed by this impossible man roaming the manor’s halls, but unable to think of anything else to do about it, Wesley had trudged up the stairs and fallen exhausted upon his mattress, vowing to sort it out tomorrow.

They started to get used to one another after that, sitting together at the crooked kitchen table and listening to terrible Christmas music on the radio while Wesley worked away at his laptop. He learned that James’ family had owned the house for several generations a century or so before, and he was the last of them to live there. He had disappeared in 1912, never to be found, only to pop up dead in the house every year after. An odd twist – something like regret maybe – always appeared on his lips when he mentioned it. He disappeared again on Christmas Eve, and Wesley spent the entire next day missing his ear-splitting renditions of All I Want For Christmas.

The fourth year, James had crossed the threshold with, ‘What? No crosses this year?’ and Wesley had made him help put up the Christmas tree.

James could not, or would not – Wesley was unsure which – leave the grounds of Somerstone, but he liked to wander about the garden on the busy afternoons when Wesley was working. He read every book on the tottering shelves of the library, ate half the food in the pantry and spent hours marvelling over Wesley’s phone and iPad with the kind of excitement you often see on the faces of children in a sweet shop. He did seem dead when he was around. On the odd occasion where their hands brushed, his skin was warm. His breath stirred the air when he laughed and he left creases and dents on the furniture he sat on. Like Wesley, James had a bad habit of leaving half-drunk teacups laying about on every surface and, unlike Wesley, he would spend hours in the shower if he could. Wesley wasn’t sure if he slept, he suspected not, but he would stay sat with him by the fire on the late nights that they’d stayed up talking so long that Wesley drifted off to sleep against his shoulder. He smelled like earth and smoke.

The parlour was quite comfortable when it was warm. The fire flickered bright orange, casting shadows across the walls. Wesley cracked his neck and turned the page of his book. He was fighting off sleep, determined to get the information before him to seep into his brain properly before he turned in for the night, but it was a losing battle. At his feet, James was sprawled across ignoring the small mountain range of old tomes around him. He was counting all the red baubles on the Christmas tree aloud. It was distracting. For one thing, Wesley couldn’t concentrate on words when James was singing numbers under his breath, and it did not help that a wayward strange of blonde hair had fallen across his face in a way that made him want to lean down and sweep it back. He growled in frustration.

‘Must you do that?’ he snapped.

James’ mouth twitched and he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow so as to get a better look at Wesley.

‘Are you going to continue being boring if I stop?’

‘It’s not boring,’ he lied. ‘I’m trying to help.’

James covered his face with his hands and groaned, the exasperation slipping through his fingers and swirling in the air between them. For several days now, they had been going back and forth over the same old argument. Unfortunately, stubbornness was one of the few traits the two of them shared.

It was the year before that James had admitted the truth. Though he had previously claimed he had no idea what had happened regarding his disappearance or the strange circumstances under which he existed now, it transpired to be the result of a curse. One evening, half-drunk from a dusty bottle of Merlot they’d unearthed from the depths of the cellar, they had flopped back onto one of the drawing-room sofas and the whole sorry story had come out.

‘I didn’t mean to upset her,’ James had sighed as Wesley mulled it over.

A witch, Wesley felt he deserved an award for his calm reaction to the revelation that such a thing existed, though since he had been spending the lead up to Christmas with a living dead man for the past four years it was hard to be surprised by much these days, was the cause of it all. In his last week of living and breathing on a regular basis, James had met a witch – Marlene Maminot was her name – at the party of a politician his father wished him to rub elbows with. She had claimed she could find anybody’s ‘true love’, something which James had very much scoffed at. He believed not in true love nor in magic and, as far as he was concerned, love was a children’s tale told to make the idea of marriage more bearable. It was rather stupid, but not out of character, for James to respond by daring Ms. Maminot to prove she was not just an old fraud so, of course, he did just that.

‘Fine,’ she’d said. ‘I will find your true love for you, hold out your hand.’ She ran a finger along his palm, closing her eyes. ‘Your heart line is long and your fate is clear, but your life line… it complicates things. You are too hesitant. It will require sacrifice. You must accept the truth if you wish to be free.’

She pulled her hand back. They’d stared at one another, a small crowd of party-goers gathered around them, and the ridiculousness of it all overwhelmed him. He laughed and laughed until she had melted away.

Six days later, on the third of December, James was dead.

Because he could not let things lie, Wesley had waited until James had disappeared and left him feeling hollow and alone once more before he dove headfirst into his research. Ms. Maminot had long since been buried by the time Wesley tracked her down, but by a stroke of unexpected luck his granddaughter, Louisa, still lived at that same address. They’d had tea together and visited her grave.

‘I imagine it’s a curse, from what you’ve told me,’ she said. ‘Nana liked to teach lessons, see. She wasn’t one to be mistreated or to pander to arrogance, but she wasn’t cruel… there will be a way to break it. He just has to find it.’

Thus, after this, Wesley had amassed a collection of books on spells, curses and the occult so large that it looked like he might be starting a cult. Ever since James had returned for the holidays, he’d been trying to pry more details out of him regarding Ms. Maminot and find a way to fix it. James gave his answers reluctantly, growing more sullen the further Wesley got. He did not see why Wesley was so bothered, he’d been reappearing in the parlour for over one hundred Christmases now and the witch was dead, it was a pointless endeavour. Wesley, however, could not understand why James was not more motivated to find a way to break the curse. It seemed a miserable thing to spend most of the year dead, only to reappear confined to an ageing manor with only one person for company and nothing much to do but read.

‘That’s no way to live,’ he said.

‘Good thing I’m not alive, then!’ James sniped back.

The weeks passed with agonising terseness. James was not his usual jovial self, he had not once sung along to Mariah Carey or insisted that Wesley watch a funny YouTube video he’d found. He’d all but locked himself away in the parlour, looking more ghostly each day. It was inevitable, then, the argument that cracked it. Wesley had found something; a book on enchantments which might be helpful in finding James’ corpse (if indeed there was one). James had been none too thrilled about this discovery.

‘I don’t understand why you care so much!’ he shouted. ‘Would you rather I be gone? Am I that much of a burden to you? You’re that desperate to have your peace and quiet?’

Wesley frowned.

‘You know that’s not the case.’

‘Then why?’

‘Because I want you to stay.’

They stared at one another.

‘But… but I’m dead,’ James said, hopelessly. He stalked forward and grasped Wesley by the shoulders, looking him in the eye with an expression of deep intensity. ‘I’m dead, Wes. I’ve got nothing to offer you.’

‘If you were dead, you wouldn’t be able to eat all the biscuits when I’m not looking,’ Wesley pointed out. ‘If you were really dead, you wouldn’t leave footprints in the snow. But you do. You do.’

James shook his head and stepped back.

‘You don’t understand.’

Wesley grabbed his wrist, pulling him forward again and caressing his face gently with the other hand.

‘I do understand,’ he said gently. ‘I do. You’re not dead, James. You’re not dead, you’re cursed. There’s a difference. I want you to stay. Please stay. You have to believe you can stay.’

‘Why?’ He asked again, quietly this time.

‘Because… I miss you,’ Wesley whispered, pressing his forehead to James’. The desperation in his voice was unbearable. ‘ When you’re gone… I hate it when you’re gone. It’s too quiet. I’ve got no one to steal my books, or use up all the hot water or drink my terrible tea. It’s awful. Don’t you…’ he trailed off, unsure of how to ask. It came out in a rush. ‘I love you.’

James stared at him, gaze flooded with disbelief, and Wesley braced himself for the punch. But no hit came. Instead, a hand reached up and adjusted his glasses for him.

‘Do you truly mean that? You love me?’

For a moment, Wesley could do nought but nod. And then he remembered something, something which made it all seem so obvious.

‘You must accept the truth to be free,’ he recited. ‘That’s what Ms. Maminot said, isn’t it? When you laughed at the idea of love.’

James paused. Understanding began to dawn on his face and he nodded.

‘The old witch was telling the truth then, she really could find people’s lovers.’

‘Seems that way.’

‘I… didn’t think it possible. I thought it was just me,’ James murmured.

‘You’re both blind and an idiot, then.’

‘And you’re an unbearable sap.’

James grinned as he leaned forward to press their lips together. A great pressure lifted from Wesley’s chest as they curled around one another. Time slowed, the snow outside ceased falling, and on the mantelpiece, the clock chimed twelve.

They pulled apart, eyes wide.

‘Don’t–’ Wesley started to say, clutching tighter to James, but then the chiming stopped.

The fire roared on, the parlour bathed in its comforting warmth, and beneath his fingers, the long-still pulse of James’ wrist finally began to thump.

#short story #original writing #am i posting this again? yes #bc i want to

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artdaily7 · 4 years

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Paul Revere’s Ride by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five: Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, “If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch Of the North-Church-tower, as a signal-light,-- One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country-folk to be up and to arm.” Then he said “Good night!” and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war: A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon, like a prison-bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide. Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street Wanders and watches with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climbed to the tower of the church, Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry-chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the sombre rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade,-- By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town, And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, In their night-encampment on the hill, Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper, “All is well!” A moment only he feels the spell Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away, Where the river widens to meet the bay, -- A line of black, that bends and floats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride, On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse’s side, Now gazed on the landscape far and near, Then impetuous stamped the earth, And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry-tower of the old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height, A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns! A hurry of hoofs in a village-street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed that flies fearless and fleet: That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat. He has left the village and mounted the steep, And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; And under the alders, that skirt its edge, Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. It was twelve by the village clock When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock, And the barking of the farmer’s dog, And felt the damp of the river-fog, That rises when the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock, When be came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket-ball. You know the rest. In the books you have read, How the British Regulars fired and fled,-- How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farmyard-wall, Chasing the red-coats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm,-- A cry of defiance, and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo forevermore! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere. Grant Wood 1931 The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, Oil on masonite, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City

#Paul Revere’s Ride #Henry Wadsworth Longfellow #Longfellow #Grant Wood #Wood #The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere #Paul Revere #Art #Poetry #Fine Arts #Poems #Painting #Revere

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hailing-stars · 5 years

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for peter, for @frostysunflowers

summary

“What can I get for you two fellas?” asked the waitress, still grinning, still wildly amused by the way Tony bullied the manager on shift into letting Buddy come inside the diner and eat at a table.

“I’ll take a cheeseburger,” Tony told the waitress, “And he’ll have the same.”

Buddy barked three times.

“Scratch that, three cheeseburgers and a bowl of water for my friend,” said Tony, catching the eyes of a group of men that sat at a table across restaurant. “What are you all staring at? It’s a dog, alright? What? Never seen a guy having burgers with his dog before?”

Tony recovers from losing Peter to the snap by hanging out with a stray dog he found in the Parker’s apartment.

An AU where instead of being dusted Peter turns into a dog and lives that five year gap with the Starks at their lake cabin.

Irondad Bingo: Fluff

1/4

Read on AO3 or after the undercut

The door to Peter and May’s apartment was cracked at an odd angle, unnatural and eerie and evidence, somehow, that the world just as crooked as the bolts on the Parker’s door. They were unhinged, and well Tony was unhinged, too, like the lady he passed by in stairwell, who was wailing and screaming for someone Tony assumed was now only dust.

He paused at the end of the hallway, still listening to her faint howling, and stared at the door. He took a breath, released, and walked forward, towards a sight he was certain would break him.

Tony didn’t understand why he was doing this to himself.

He couldn’t even remember why he’d gotten into his car and made the drive into the city, or why his heart worked against logic, that he, of all people, had hoped that somehow the Parker’s apartment might have remained untouched from the devastation that had ransacked the rest of Queens, or all of New York, really.

Everything, everywhere. The whole universe. It was all broken and grey with grief, and Tony felt confident it was the way it was always going to be. The sun wouldn’t sun. There wasn’t any trace of hope left in the atmosphere to be kindled or sparked.

The ache in his soul would keep on aching, with nothing to sooth or comfort.

Pepper helped, sure. She was alive and breathing and real, and he could sit with her all day at their cabin and pretend like the universe wasn’t collapsing around them both. He could get lost in being with her, in her smile and her wit, but he could never get so lost as to forget that he’d never hear Peter Parker laugh again.

He’d never get to make good on that promise to watch every Star Wars movie with him. He’d never get to eat cheeseburgers with him past midnight, at their favorite twenty-four burger joint, after late night missions and patrols. He’d never get to pretend to be annoyed at his fast talking or his bad puns and jokes, or at the way he never stopped making noise.

The baby growing inside Pepper couldn’t replace all that, couldn’t replace intern he’d lost and there was no guarantee that the new baby wouldn’t crumble to ash in his hands, the way Pete had.

Tony pushed the thought away and took the door all the way off the hinges, set it aside, then stepped into the Parker’s apartment, though it was clear it wasn’t their apartment anymore.

It was only ruins of what once was.

Stripped of anything valuable, with heaps of empty candy wrappers, beer cans and chip bags littering the floor and spray paint marking up the walls. The couch Tony had sat on and pretended to like May’s date loaf was flipped over, sitting diagonal in the middle of the living room.

Um, w-what, what are you doing here… uh, hey, I’m, I’m Peter

Tony

He sucked in a breath and kicked at a pile of trash, before moving on, down the hallway and towards Peter’s bedroom. The door was propped open, and as Tony entered, he was greeted with a low growl.

It lasted a half second before the growling stopped, and a dog, a filthy, covered in dirt, dog charged at him. Tony was going to die. He was completely sold on that. He’d survived Afghanistan and the wormhole and space, only to die at the paws of a stray mutt.

He jumped up on him. Dirty paws on his cat t-shirt. He licked him, wagged his tail happily, and barked.

“Hey, hey,” said Tony, moving backwards and pushing the dog away. “We just met, alright? Give it some time.”

The dog sat in front of him and looked up with big, brown eyes, pleading, begging eyes, that had soul and spirit behind them. They were hauntingly familiar, and the memories came unbidden.

Please, Mr. Stark. May won’t let me keep him, and it’s totally unfair. I could hide him from the apartment management, you know.

Sorry, buddy, I don’t have time to take care of a dog.

Tony crouched down, hesitantly reached his hand out, stroking the dog’s fur. “So, you’re Peter’s stray, huh?”

The golden retriever titled his head at him, listening, then barked once, and turned. He trotted off to the corner of Peter’s room, where two cardboard boxes sat. He dug his nose around in one, scooped something up in his mouth, then brought it back to Tony, dropping it on the floor and nudging it at his feet.

Tony picked it up and shattered his heart. Just one cheap frame with a picture inside was all it took to make Tony stumble over, butt on the floor, back against the wall. He swallowed and stared at the picture, looking at a happier version of himself, with Pete by his side. They were holding a certificate upside down and giving each other bunny ears.

They had laughed a lot that day. The echoes rattled around in Tony’s head.

The dog barked and Tony looked up. “You’re… you’re waiting for Peter to come back.”

He stared intently back at Tony, with eyes that convinced him that he somehow understood what he was telling him.

“I don’t really know about to tell you this, buddy,” said Tony, taking a shaky breath. “But Pete’s gone. I lost him, and he won’t be - He isn’t coming back.”

Tony sniffed and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, while the dog made a noise that was somewhere between a whine and groan.

“I know, I – I’m gonna miss him, too.” He reached out again, giving the dog another good pet, and watched his eyes. There was warmth behind him, warmth that reminded Tony just how compassionate and caring Peter had been.

The dog whined as Tony lifted his hand and wiped his eyes again with his sleeve. He straightened out and stood up, looking around the ravaged bedroom and gripping the picture frame. It’d been pointless. Thinking he could save any of Peter’s stuff or somehow get transported back to the past.

It was clear why he really came there, now. To say goodbye.

Even still, the two boxes in the corner of the room looked savable. Tony put the picture frame back inside the first box, stacked them on top of each other and picked them up. He walked towards the door but stopped before stepping out in the hallway. He turned, and the filthy golden retriever was still staring up at him, expectant, waiting for someone who’d never come back.

“Wanna come home with me?” asked Tony. “Look, I’m not Peter, I’m nowhere near as good and kind, hell I don’t even really like dogs, but… I have a house with a big yard and plenty of squirrels and rats to chase and… if you’re lucky, I might even feed you.”

The retriever barked and followed Tony as he left Peter’s room, and eventually the apartment building. It only figured, and brought the briefest smile to his face, that Peter had won the dog argument. Tony ended up with the stray after all, and even in death, Peter was getting his way.

Pepper had been waiting for him on the front porch, with a book in her lap, and an unreadable expression on her face, as Tony watched her watch him park the car, get out, and open the back door, releasing the hound.

He jumped out and put his nose straight into the grass and dirt. He sniffed around, before yelping out a few happy barks.

“Who is this?” asked Pepper. She shut her book, put it down on the chair next to her, and stepped on the porch. Her eyes moved back and forth between the dog and Tony, until Tony turned, distracted himself from Pepper’s question by fishing Peter’s boxes from the car.

“Tony,” said Pepper. “Why do you have a dog?”

He turned back around, with two boxes gripped in his hand, and shut the car door with his foot.

“Tony,” she said, louder. She beckoned at the dog. “Who is this?”

“He’s my new best friend,” said Tony. “You’ll have to break the news to Rhodes and Hap that they’ve been replaced, I don’t think my heart could take seeing their faces when they find out.”

Pepper stared at Tony, while the retriever stopped sniffing the dirt and sat directly in front of her, looking up, giving her actual, literal puppy dog eyes. She didn’t look down. Refused to acknowledge him. If she did, Tony knew that, just like he had, she’d cave within seconds.

“Just look at him, Pep. Isn’t he adorable, uh, under all that dirt?”

“We can’t adopt a dog.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Pepper. “Maybe because we’re about to have a newborn.”

“I know that.”

“Do you know that, Tony? Because I’m starting to wonder… I know, I know things have been a nightmare, since the snap, it’s been hell, but I thought we at least had each other… but sometimes, it’s like you’re not even here. Like you never came back from space.”

“I’m right here,” said Tony, though even to his own ears, he sounded far away. “And I’m really excited for the baby. I’m pumped.”

“Oh, you’re pumped?” asked Pepper, with a raised eyebrow. Tony gave her a nod. “Then why haven’t you painted the nursery?”

“I’m gonna paint it. I’m gonna do it tomorrow.”

“That’s what you said yesterday.”

“This time I’m serious,” said Tony. He swallowed and shifted his eyes back to his dog. He still sat at attention, waiting for Pepper to notice him, the same way he’d been waiting for Peter to come back home. “Look, Pep, he’s Peter’s stray. I couldn’t just – I couldn’t just leave him there by himself.”

Pepper released a breath, her body relaxed, her eyes went softer, as she finally looked down to give the dog attention. “Does he at least have a name? Besides Peter’s stray?”

“Buddy,” said Tony. The name rolled off his tongue without any thought. It didn’t require any. Buddy was his name, and Tony, somehow, just knew.

“Buddy,” repeated Pepper, crouching down, and patting him on the head. She massaged his ears. “Welcome to our mess.” She straightened out and leveled her stare back at Tony. “He gets a bath before he comes in the house or you’re both sleeping in the shed.”

She snatched the boxes out from Tony’s hands, turned, and walked back inside, the outer door swinging shut behind her.

“Better get used to that, boy, she’s your overlord now, too.”

Buddy barked and followed Tony as he walked around to the side of the cabin, searching for the hose.

The sun beat down bright and hot as Tony dragged a metal bin he found, that he could only assume belong to the cabin’s previous owners, from the garage to yard and stuck the hose inside, letting it fill with water while Buddy watched with mournful eyes.

“Okay, we’re good,” said Tony, when the tin was half full. He took the hose out and held it out away from his shoes, so he wouldn’t get them wet. “Well go on. Get in.”

Buddy didn’t move.

Tony stuck his hand in and flicked water at him. “It’s not that cold. It’s just like swimming.”

Buddy laid down on his belly, stretched his front legs and paws out in front of him, and whined.

“Don’t be a drama queen about it, alright? We gotta get all that dirt off you,” said Tony. He hoped just plain water would do the trick. He didn’t have any dog shampoo, and he knew, thanks to one of Peter’s rambles, that he shouldn’t use human shampoo on dogs.

Grief hit him like an icicle through his heart. He’d never get listen to Peter rattle off rambles while he was trying to work.

Buddy barked, loud and abrupt, breaking Tony out of his stupor. He was suddenly up on all four of his legs, charging at Tony. He bit down on the hose, tried to wrestle it away, and in the process, sprayed Tony first in the face, then the chest, and then finally, his shoes.

“Hey! You little shit!”

Buddy released the hose, and Tony fall backwards, landing with a thud on the ground, his hair dripping wet, the hose spilling water out on the ground.

“Really, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

Buddy titled his head, then raced off towards the lake, where he jumped in the water with no hesitation and happily swam around.

This dog was worse than a teenager.

He released an annoyed, slow sigh, before standing up and switching off the hose. By the time Buddy was done with his afternoon swim in the lake, Tony had a towel waiting. Predictably, Buddy had another method of getting dry. He shook the water from his fur, right in front of Tony and his towel, and had the audacity to look smug about it.

“Now you smell like lake water,” Tony complained, as he kneeled on one knee and ruffled the towel through Buddy’s fur. He wagged his tail, nipping and licking at Tony’s face while he attempted to help him get dry. “Uh-uh, no way, don’t even try making it up to me now.”

Buddy stared at him, with wide brown eyes. Tony melted.

“You’re just lucky you’re Pete’s stray or else I’d take you straight to the pound.”

Tony tried to ignore it.

He squeezed his eyes shut and clung onto to sleep, trying to block out the loud, repetitive and persistent barking. He groaned, and shifted under his covers, and burrowed his head under his pillow, holding the sides against his ears. It didn’t help, did not do a thing to block out the noise, but Tony wanted to pretend.

He thought Buddy would tire out and let him sleep.

Tony had no reason to think this, other than being overly optimistic, or maybe, more likely, in denial. He’d suffered through three mornings with Buddy. All three of those went the same way. The dog was an alarm clock without a snooze button. A needy, attention hungry pile of golden fluff that refused to let Tony sleep past ten.

In the past, anxiety and nightmares would not let him rest, and now, that grief and depression sapped his energy dry, it was Buddy who would not let him sleep stay sleeping.

Life, he supposed, was unfair that way.

Tony lifted his head from under the pillow and opened his eyes.

Buddy stared back at him, looking serious and intent. He barked.

“Go away.”

Buddy stuck his head up into the air and howled.

“Alright, alright, Jesus, mom,” said Tony, raising up, out from under the covers. “I’m up.”

The golden retriever ran out of the bedroom once he saw Tony put his feet on the floor, his claws scrapping against the wood as he went, just another example of how damn noisy that animal was.

If he wasn’t barking, he was howling. If he wasn’t howling, his tail was thudding against the floor or the wall, in a rhythm only Buddy understood, reminding Tony of the way Peter used to tap his pencil against his notebook when he concentrated.

Tony slipped on pajamas pants and headed down to the kitchen, before Buddy got impatient and started howling again. When he passed by the room Pepper designated as the nursey, he stuck his head in and looked at the paint and brushes she had laid out in the center of the room.

They were unused, and the walls were still off-white.

He shook his head and continued downstairs, on to his morning routine, which consisted only of eating pop-tarts and watching TV with his dog. He plopped down on the couch, ripped the tin foil off the first packet and laid it down for Buddy, then opened his and took a bite.

“Breakfast of champions,” said Tony. Buddy was too busy eating and licking up crumbs off the couch to bark his usual agreement. “That’s right. Good boy. Get rid of the all evidence.”

Pepper didn’t like him feeding Buddy human food, but Tony couldn’t help it. Buddy didn’t seem to like the dog food very much and Tony couldn’t blame him. The stuff looked and smelled disgusting.

Tony mindlessly flipped through the channels as he ate, with an actual, physical remote, since he hadn’t bothered with installing FRIDAY into the cabin yet. He stopped when Buddy started barking and landed on a channel that displayed two cloaked figures fighting each other with laser swords.

“This?” asked Tony. Buddy barked, his head looking back and forth from Tony to the TV. “You watched this with Pete, huh? At least one of us made time for him.”

Tony put his thumb back on the button, about to push down, and keep channel surfing, when Buddy stopped him with a low, menacing growl.

“Okay, okay fine. We can watch this,” said Tony, but Buddy didn’t take his eyes off him until he put the remote down on the coffee table.

He barked, jumped off the couch and trotted out of the room, only to return seconds later with a teddy bear in his mouth. On his first night in the Stark cabin, he’d dug it out from one Peter’s boxes, and slept with it every night since. Familiar smells, Tony guessed, comforted him.

He jumped back up to sit next to Tony, eventually laying down, stretching his legs and his paws across Tony’s lap, then using his leg as a pillow, with that old ratty teddy bear still nestled in his mouth.

Tony let it happen, cuddled him, even, massaged his head and played with his ears as they both watched space wizards fight each other, movie after movie. They spent the entire day watching Star Wars, only stopping for bathroom breaks and that time between movies when Buddy sat in front of the fridge and howled until Tony made them both something to eat.

Tony woke up the next morning on his own, without any barking. His mind and his body automatically jolted him from his sleep before ten, proving to Tony that he wasn’t just being dramatic, the world really was off its hinges and as a result, everything was crooked.

He was supposed to be training the dog, but instead, the dog was training him.

When he opened his eyes, Buddy came into focus first. He was staring at him, with a paintbrush gripped between his teeth. His woof was muffled by the object he held.

Tony blinked.

“Not today, Buddy.”

He made a sound of disapproval and ran out of the room, only to return seconds later with his leash in his mouth, instead. Tony let out a breath. He didn’t have the heart to tell Buddy no twice in the span of a minute, so he forced himself out of bed, then forced himself to get dressed.

He didn’t regret it.

It turned out to be a perfect day to be walking around in the park, or rather, Buddy had taken a regular day and turned it into the perfect day. Tony watched him chasing and barking at ducks, smelling every new smell, letting random children pet him and pull on his ears. He was living it up, having the best time, and it was hard for Tony to remember he was miserable and sad watching Buddy attempt to play with stray cat, who hissed and swatted at him.

A little girl holding hands with her mother walked by as Buddy retreated from the cat with a whine, nursing a scratch on his nose.

“Cute dog,” said the girl. “Can I pet him?”

“You know, he’d really like that,” said Tony, watching the girl smile and reach her hand out. “He never says no to extra attention.”

She laughed, pet Buddy, who wagged his tail and sniffed her, then the girl and the mother continued on their way, saying thanks as they waved goodbye. Just for a few flickering seconds, Tony pictured Pepper and their child, here at this park, with him and Buddy, and for the first time, in a long time, he looked forward to the future.

Quiet moments were rare after Buddy joined the family, but when things got still and the noise in Tony’s head got loud, he would sit on the back porch with Buddy and watch the lake. That night, the breeze was gentle, and the moon was high. It’s light reflected in the water below.

Nature was peaceful and calm, and yet, all Tony could hear was Peter Parker and the words he said right before he died.

I don’t wanna go

That moment, those words, they replayed over and over. They stabbed at his heart and made him wish more than anything that it’d been him instead of Peter. That kid, he just really loved being alive, and the more Tony remembered him, the more that was evident, by his laugh and his smile and the way he threw himself into everything he did.

Thanos had wanted balance, but this balance wasn’t fair.

Buddy stared up at him from his resting place on the porch, next to his feet, and Tony refused to look down, into those eyes. It was too damn hard. Buddy, though, never liked to be ignored. He only tolerated it for a few minutes before he sat up and nudged Tony’s knee with his nose.

Tony forced a laugh, and gave in, just like he always did.

“I bet Peter loved you,” said Tony, giving him a good pet. “Spoiled you, probably, with the way you behave. I guess I should’ve listened to him more and took you in when he asked me. Let him have a dog while he was still here. Truth be told, bud, there’s probably a lot of things I should’ve done.”

Buddy titled his head at him, something Tony learned to associate with listening. Really, he was starting to believe he was losing his mind. He was starting to believe Buddy the golden retriever understood everything he said. Empathized with him. That the two of them were grieving Peter together, and they both understood the paralyzing silence he’d left behind.

“I should’ve-“ started Tony. He stopped. Closed his mouth, then opened it again, forcing the words out. He had to get it out. “He… he was my son, and I never told him how much he meant to me.”

Buddy laid his head down on Tony’s knee, and let out a sad, pitiful whine.

The admission was a heavy, heavy sorrow, that somehow got lighter after he spoke it out loud. Before he denied it for fear he’d be a repeat of Howard, and then, after the snap, he’d been denying it because it just hurt too much to admit he was a grieving father.

Speaking the words out loud opened up something in him that took him by surprised.

Tony needed to feel close to Peter again, even if he knew it would hurt.

“You like cheeseburgers, boy?”

Buddy perked up with a bark and wagged his tail furiously.

“Of course you do, let’s get out of here.”

Plastic crinkled under Tony as he shifted his position in the booth. Buddy sat across the table from him, in his own booth seat, and they were silent while they waited for the waitress to come around and take their order. They were just man and dog, waiting for their cheeseburgers come and their grief to end.

Tony knew he’d be waiting forever.

He wouldn’t ever get over losing Peter Parker, but he could celebrate his life, by doing all the things Peter loved doing. He could still go out to diners after midnight and have cheeseburgers and remember the way Peter couldn’t ever eat without making a mess.

Tony hadn’t driven to their exact favorite burger joint, the one in Queens they had eaten at together, countless times before, but the one he found had the same vibe, the same checkered floor and greasy smell in the air.

“I’ll take a cheeseburger,” Tony told the waitress, “And he’ll have the same.”

Buddy barked three times.

The men went back to their own business, whispering with raised eyebrows, and the waitress took the menus and walked off towards the kitchen. Their food arrived in under fifteen minutes, and together, Tony and Buddy went to work on their burgers.

It just was the sort of absurdity Peter lived for.

Really, he just lived for anything, no matter how absurd or crazy. Cheeseburgers at midnight, Star Wars marathons, school trips to places the rest of his classmates considered boring, and, the thought hit him sudden and hard, his new baby sibling.

If he’d had the chance to know about baby Stark, he would’ve been excited, would’ve happy for him.

He would’ve bought Spider-Man onesies and Iron Man plushies. He would’ve swung to the tower with late-night pints of ice cream for Pepper.

He would’ve helped Tony paint the nursery.

“For Peter,” said Tony, holding up his burger, the same way a champagne chute would be held during a toast. Buddy gave a quiet, sorrowful howl, then they both finished their meals.

On the drive back to the cabin, Tony cranked the music up and drove with the windows down, allowing Buddy to stick his head out the window. His ears flopped around with the wind, and his tail thudded against the car seat to the rhythm Back in Black as it blasted through the speakers.

“Are they closed?” asked Tony, as he pulled Pepper down the hallway by her hand, with his other hand covering her eyes. “You gotta keep them closed.”

“Yes, Tony, they’re closed, just like they were five second ago.”

Tony took his hand away from her eyes and hooked it with Pepper’s free hand, walking backwards into the nursery and stopping only once they got into the center.

“Alright, you can open them.”

Tony watched Pepper’s eyes open and look around the freshly painted nursery. He’d taken it a step further, and put in the crib, a rocking chair, a changing table, anything and everything they’d need when baby Stark arrived.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” said Pepper. “It’s perfect, Tony. Thank you.”

Tony dropped her hands, only to pull her closer, into a hug. “I know I’ve been, uh – “

“Spacey? Distant?”

“Yeah, both those things,” said Tony. “I just want you to know, I’m all in. This is our second chance and we’re gonna make the most of it.”

Pepper let out a breath, and her body relaxed against his, for the first time, in a long time. They held each other in the middle of their new nursery and Tony was happy, grateful, even, that they still had each other, even if there were so many that were lost.

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are there paw prints on my wall?”

“Buddy wanted to help,” said Tony, smiling, at the memory of Buddy dipping his paws into the baby blue paint and then jumping up on the wall, splattering it everywhere. He’d gotten another bath after that. A real one. With dog shampoo Tony had ordered off the internet.

“You and the damn dog,” laughed Pepper.

“I can paint over it.”

“Don’t. I like it.”

Tony nodded and let himself get lost in the moment. He had his dog and his wife and a baby on the way. There was sun streaming in through the windows, and there was paw prints on the wall.

He still wasn’t okay, but he believed one day, he could be. For just that moment, Tony allowed himself to consider that it might be enough.

#irondad #fanfic #irondad bingo #Peter parker #Tony stark #tony stark needs a hug #Tony stark has a heart #fluff and angst #Peter is a dog #Peter is a little shit #crack treated seriously

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sergeanttpoliteness · 5 years

Text

➹teenage vows➹(peter b. parker x fem!reader)

Requested by anon➝ hi!! is it alright to request some peter b parker x fem!reader confession/proposal scene? tysm ❤❤

It’s time Peter caught up to some promises he made long ago. Like, embarrassingly long ago.

word count: 6k

a/n: hello! hope whoever’s reading this is having a good day bc u deserve it. just a heads up, but i think i’m gonna post a lot slower bc school starts tomorrow (pls kill me) and i gotta work hard if i want to get in a good college, y’know. gross. but anyway, i hope whoever requested it likes it! i had so much fun writing it and it’s rlly sweet and short, my heart is warm. i promise i’ll be uploading part 2 of one make out session next, idk when but i’m working on it (: enjoy!

It was moments like these— the ones where you flashed him teary smile, and reassured him that you didn't mind him leaving you for the night to go and save the city desperate for his protection— that Peter desired to pause the outside world just so it could be you and you only; no agonizing battles, no villains tearing him to pieces, no delinquents threatening the safety of others when they could barely even withstand a punch. Because just as much as everyone else, you needed him; and as guilty as it made him feel, he pondered the possibility of putting away the mantle of the Spiderling for a single night as he perched on the window sill hesitating, wearing his suit, his mask not fully on yet. But you both knew no such thing was an option whilst the news played loudly in the background, the piercing wails of the police sirens multiplying with each passing moment. You simply grasped the fabric and covered his face, smirking as you slowly walked away from the aperture. "Go save some civilians, Spider-Boy." You couldn't see it, but he grinned behind his disguise, for that nickname which would've bothered him if it'd come from someone else's mouth had set his heart ablaze ever since you two were just some kids; and the flare persisted, even as fervent bodies molded into jaded souls, beaten down by the colossal waves of changes and cataclysms that collided into you one after another.

That day you'd been victim of too many tides.

The evening that unfolded wasn't the one Peter planned. Not at all. Life was anything but a fairy tale; his surely wasn't close to being one, but he'd conjure that magic— transform reality into a children's book with your arms around his neck, his around your waist, your lips close, a soft amorous graze, your living room as the ballroom as you two gently swayed until the clock struck midnight. He'd plotted all the details, from the scent of the candles to every compliment he'd utter. Perhaps he worried too much, but it's what your love demanded, what you deserved, a happily ever after, and he'd oblige the heavens to bring you just that. More calamities were what the cosmos had in mind for you and Peter, though, a sour reality-shattering reminder of how nonsensical wasting time in dreaming of that fairy story was.

The first blow hit you (quite literally) just minutes after you woke up, and Peter accidentally knocked a cupboard into your nose. 'How was your morning?' Your coworker asked, the steaming vapor of her coffee clouding her glasses. You went cross-eyed as you glanced down at the gauze on your nose, briefly recalling the previous events— gushing blood, too much for your liking, maybe a broken nose, who knows, and a string of Peter's apologies flying at you at the speed of light as he placed the bandage over your wound. You wore a tight-lipped smile and shrugged while you were unabashedly dishonest— 'oh, you know, same old'. Yeah, because your boyfriend unintentionally breaking your nose (it's not broken, you insisted) was a normal thing, right? Then came the second slap to your face as a revelation; remembrance dawned upon you, your speeding brain screeching to a halt, and you sighed into your hands. It was you and Peter's two year anniversary.

The man spent the entirety of his work blasting himself; it hadn't slipped his memory, unlike you (which was a surprise, seeing how your enthusiasm the day prior could easily be compared to a child's in a candy store), but after his imbecility and shame, how could he not forget to kiss your forehead and bring you breakfast to your bed as a sweet morning surprise the same way you did last year? It didn't stop there— oh, no, it did not— for then came the third inconvenience of the day: goddamn Jameson went on another rant about him— or well, Spider-Man; not a phenomenon, really, you get used to it, but it was at the worst time possible. He timed it: fifteen whole minutes of his booming voice and curses, 'more pictures of the menace!' or whatever, as if Peter didn't already feel ludicrous enough while taking pictures of himself, or the twenty pictures scattered across his boss' desk were a meager effort. An unwanted setback, although he arrived back home nevertheless, scurrying to your bedroom and clumsily removing his clothes along the way. Suit? Check. Clean-shaven face? Check. That one fragrance which turned you on? Check that, too. Roses?

"Ah, shit." He muttered as he took the cooking pot from the cabinet. Roses. Stupid Jameson and his obsession with Spidey— he forgot to stop by the flower shop. It was alright, though, he could deal with it; no flowers? No problem. Just... the food needed to be good, restaurant-type of cuisine, and taking in mind he wasn't a terrific cook, it'd be quite the challenge. Peter lit the lighter, his hand on the stove's knob, prepared to ignite the burner, but he swore it'd suddenly come to life and taunted him, laughed at his upcoming defeat. He narrowed his eyes at the object, somewhat intimidated, when the front door slammed open. He peered up at the clock hanging on the wall. You were back ahead of time, a lot earlier than he'd anticipated; he didn't even have all the ingredients out yet. He alleviated the clutching in his chest with a deep breath before rushing over to the small portable stereo (you two really needed an upgrade), his finger pressing down on a button. He was satisfied with the soft tunes from the random jazz station and scratched the back of his neck as he went to greet you.

"Hey! You're... early." Saying that your appearance was rough would've been uncalled for, but your scowl and glossy eyes kindled that concern in the pit of his stomach. It was another punch, one that caught him off guard as he frowned and immediately wrapped his arms around you. "Hey, what's wrong?" His worry evoked a pang of guilt in you, and you thought about pulling away, but you couldn't, instead digging your nose deeper into the crook of his neck.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I just..." You reassured, your tense shoulders relaxing since God, you could breathe in that cologne of his, and he smelled so good. "You look hot."

You sensed his breath catch in his throat before he chuckled, rubbing the small of your back. "I'm glad you think that, but let's talk about you, alright?" You lifted your head to meet his gaze, smiling weakly when he placed a careful kiss on your temple. You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head.

"I got a speeding ticket. Two hundred."

Fifth strike.

He blinked, processing your confession, his eyes slowly growing big. "Two hundred?!" You were expecting it; it was a normal reaction, yet you squirmed, flailing your hands as you attempted to explain yourself.

"I'm sorry—"

"Why? How?"

"I'm sorry," You repeated, your hands on top of your head. "I'm so stupid. I can't believe I'm so dumb, and we were saving for the trip but I just fucking ruined it. You deserve a vacation, Pete, I'm so sorry I'm like this." You spoke fast, pulling at your hair with frustration as you walked back and forth in front of him.

"Y/N..." He sighed, upset, of course, but forgiving. "Don't be so hard on yourself. It was just a mistake and we'll get through it, okay?" Your pacing ceased, skepticism crossing your face. "Yeah! The vacation can wait just for a bit. It'll be even more rewarding, anyway." He said with a beam, cupping your cheeks. You didn't know where the rare optimism came from, but you laughed at your lover, the remorse fortifying because you truly did not deserve the tolerance. On the spur of the moment, your fingers threaded through his hair and you pulled him in, urgent lips against his own soft ones. He couldn't help the subtle moan he emitted, dazed by your sudden lust as you spilled all your fervor and hunger into him; all emotion drained from every one of your cells, your fist gripping his jacket, tugging him as close to you as possible, bodies flush together, wrinkling the formerly smooth fabric, yet it wasn't enough.

His hand sneaked inside your shirt, riding up your back; but he paused and groaned, breaking apart from your blissful mouth. "After dinner, but right now I need you to help me because I haven't even gotten started with the food yet." He panted, abstaining from flinging all his cares far away and caving into your luring warmth to please you. Your mouth curved into a smile and you rolled your eyes, pushing him toward the kitchen.

He immediately got back to work, filling the large pot with water, but you stopped at the entrance and glanced down at your outfit. "I should get changed, shouldn't I?"

Peter turned around, shamelessly eyeing your body with desire. "You look perfect." You snorted.

"Peter, you're wearing a suit and I'm still in my work clothes."

"Maybe I... overdid it a bit?" He admitted with a bashful twitch of his lips. He took off his suit jacket, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows while you stole his discarded coat. He didn't notice until you put it on, quirking a brow. "You playing dress up or what?"

"This is it. This is what I'm gonna wear." You declared, raising your arms to show off your glorious look."

Peter bit his lip, a grin breaking out across his face, staring at you as if you were a divine entity, the physical proof of the existence of the heavens above as you straightened the creases. "You look silly." Adorable, he corrected himself internally.

"Nuh-uh, sir, I look hot." You scoffed, although you didn't look silly nor hot, but rather like a little kid who went through an exploration in his father's closet. You'd made up your mind, though; sacrificing a good-looking outfit sounded thousands of times better than actually making the effort to appear decent. You finished your five-second fashion exhibition before a full-blown runway commenced when your stomach rumbled, and summoned your inner chef, standing beside Peter. "You deal with the pasta, I'm gonna pick the salad because there's no way to mess that up."

"I'm the fuck-up, so shouldn't it be the other way around?" He muttered, and as if on cue, he almost spilled the dry pasta noodles all over the counter after miscalculating his strength and tore the bag open. His eyes drifted to you, and just like he predicted, you sported a judgmental expression. "I've got it."

"I dunno, I feel like if I give you a knife you're gonna somehow accidentally stab me." You chuckled, gesturing to the knife in your grasp. His face twisted with remorse. "I'm not feeling so lucky today."

"How's, uh, how's your nose doing?" He questioned, fault gnawing on him. It was the third time the man asked you, the first one being before you left for work, and the remaining a phone call and message during your shift. You, indubitably, told him everything was splendid, as if you didn't almost cry from the pain right after you waved goodbye to him and closed your front door.

"It's okay," You shrugged, despite the sting in the bridge of your nose. "Yeah, you know, it doesn't really hurt. Okay, no, that's a lie— it hurts a bit, but it's not something I can't handle."

"I'm so, so sorry I broke your nose. That was a really dick move."

"It's not broken!" You corrected him, pointing your finger at him. "It's fine. Don't worry, it just looks broken."

"If it looks broken, then it's broken."

"Since when are you a doctor?"

The corner of his lips tugged upwards as he added the pasta to the boiling water. "Y/N, getting my nose broken is my second job."

"Okay, whatever. I've heard the word 'broken' enough times today." You giggled, but then nibbled on your cheek while you began to slice a tomato. "Hey, I need to tell you something."

He swallowed, his throat all of a sudden dry. He opened his mouth to speak, but the abrupt ringing of his phone drove his attention to the device. "Hold on," He took it out of his pocket, his brows knitting together as he checked the screen. Your chest tightened after you sneaked a glimpse of the caller ID. "MJ? Hi!" He greeted, his voice way too cheery and his gaze still on you.

Your chopping came to a halt and you settled the knife on the cutting board. Her voice was clear, audible, yet you couldn't properly distinguish any of her words. Peter hummed as you held onto the counter, your knuckles turning white when his features broke out into a wide grin. "That's great! See, I told you you'd get through it."

Get through it, you reiterated in your head, the sixth wave crashing into your hot-blooded body.

"Yeah... yeah. You too. Night." He finally hung up, and your hand found itself on your hip.

"MJ?" You inquired, your eyebrows raised. He resumed his cooking, his phone forgotten on the countertop and you shot daggers at it.

"Yeah, she just wanted to tell me something."

"Tell you something?"

A crease appeared between his eyebrows and he looked at you sideways, confused. "A problem she fixed."

"Huh. I see." You grumbled, your brows scrunched together. Peter turned to face you, folding his arms across his chest.

"What?"

You met his stare. "What?"

"You're annoyed. I can tell."

"I'm not annoyed." You countered, squinting.

"Yeah, you are, 'cause you're doing that thing with your eyebrows—" He waved his hand, motioning toward your face. You mirrored his stance, doing exactly what he pointed out. "They get really expressive when you're mad."

"Suddenly, there's something wrong with my eyebrows?" You knew you were reaching, but the irritation dominated your mouth. Peter stammered in disbelief, briskly shaking his head.

"What?! Y/N, I did not say that at all."

You leaned against the kitchen counter, your lips tight until you were talking again. "You know, I just think it's kinda weird."

Peter looked heavenward, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh, here we go." He took in a deep breath, peeved. "What?"

"How you and Mary Jane have been calling each other so much lately." You mumbled, hugging yourself.

"What about it?"

Now you were the incredulous one. "What about it? Peter, it's weird."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time, but explain why." He said, exasperated.

Your jaw tightened and you picked up the knife before restarting with the slashing of the food, your hold of the tool harsh. "I don't really need to explain myself."

"Well, I want you to!"

"Alright, you want to know why it's weird? You want me to tell you?" Your tone grew louder.

"Yes, please! Go on!" Peter nodded, voice equally as bitter. You scraped the sliced tomatoes off of the cutting board with the knife, careless about where they landed, and clutched a second vegetable.

"She's your ex." You hissed. He had to momentarily walk away, although not too far considering the restricted place. He rubbed his face, holding up two fingers with his other hand.

"That was two years ago. Almost three."

"Your ex-wife!"

"I know what she is, Y/N, but there's no need to be worried. There's a reason why it didn't work out."

"It's kinda hard not to worry when she's calling you all the time, apparently telling you about all the problems in her life and who knows what else. I bet you call her to complain about me, or something." You poked his chest with a pickle.

He pushed the cucumber away with his finger, laughing. "Oh my god, you're being so ridiculous right now."

"I'm allowed to be ridiculous right now!" You shouted, slamming the green edible on the piece of wood.

"We're just friends! I can't even believe I have to say this!"

You shot him a sneer. "How can you just be friends with your ex?"

"Well, that's what we were after we broke up the first time, no?" He claimed, his forehead creased. You grew quiet and weakly dug the blade into the cucumber.

"That's different, I was your best friend. I am your best friend." You whispered, but he wasn't taking it.

He tilted his head back, his eyes closed. "It's really not different."

"It is!" You persisted, "We were kids, and I was friends with Gwen, so obviously it's not like I even thought about trying something."

"You think MJ is trying something?"

You blinked furiously, lifting one shoulder. "You know we never got along that well!"

Peter took a step closer to you, holding himself up with his hand on the counter. "She wouldn't ever do that, Y/N, no matter how bad things are between you two." You rolled your eyes.

"How would you know?"

God, you truly were driving him crazy. He began to tap his foot, groaning. "How would I know? How would I know? We were together for sixteen years, I know a lot more than you do!"

"Sixteen years, no way there still wouldn't be some sort of feelings." You lowly told yourself, but he still listened. He squeezed his hands closed and his view landed on the bundle of bananas inside a basket. He ripped one, peeling it open and taking a large bite, his infuriation pushing him to stress-eat. You heard him exclaim, as if he'd managed to remember an idea long repressed.

"What about that one guy you're always talking with? Thomas, was it?" He began, his mouth full. You whispered 'oh my god' as he swallowed before continuing. "You two dated, didn't you?"

You placed your hand on your chest, unbelieving that he decided to complain about the most insignificant guy in your relationship. "Peter, he's my coworker."

"Well, it's kinda hard not to worry!" He mocked you, flailing his arm.

"Fucking hell."

"He's all attractive and shit, with his eight-pack, expensive car, and twenty dogs. Real boyfriend material, huh?" He clenched his teeth, his hands trembling with the overwhelming jealousy.

You peered up at him, your eyes soft. "I would never hurt you like that."

"Exactly!" He gently held your shoulders, hopeful that you finally understood you absurd your worries were. "Neither would I! Ever."

"You broke up with me once, why would you not do it again?!" You shoved his hands off of you. Despair clawed at your heart, poisoned your insides with its foul venom, constricting your lungs, wetting your eyes.

Your words and crestfallen features subsided his fury, like a powerful breeze extinguishing a flickering candle, a gleam of sunlight reaching out through heavy sullen clouds, clearing his sight. His face fell, his fingers twitching, aching to touch you. "Y/N..."

You cracked, lost control, lashed out all your anguish on the food you cut. "You left me for Gwen! After three years!" Your cutting sped up, loud and quick clanks echoing across the room. "You said you loved me! A-and I believed you!" You sobbed, yet no tears would spill; only built up rage as you snagged a second tomato and stabbed it harder, the blade dangerously close to your finger.

"You're gonna hurt yourself." Peter warned, watching as you ignored him and only went faster, harder, your hand beginning to cramp up.

"But then you didn't love me, you loved her, and everything you said became complete bullshit and just lies! All those stupid promises and your fucking vows," You couldn't see anymore, your vision too blurry, but you didn't slow down. "What was I supposed to do other than just be happy for you? Because I had to be a good friend, and I just wanted you to be happy—"

"Y/N—"

You felt the knife close to your finger. "And what if it happens again? Mary Jane is perfect, you two were perfect; maybe one day you'll regret you chose me at the end—" Peter's hand shot out and captured the knife. You closed your mouth and blinked your tears away, your eyes then growing wide, for the blade hung right above your finger.

He moved it to the side and away from your resting hand, his grasp shaky. "I told you you were gonna hurt yourself." He breathed out.

The radio remained barely audible before, almost as if its presence were missing, but as silence overtook the room— heavy, asphyxiating, weighing down on both of you, crushing you with no mercy— it made your skull pulse. You laid the cutting tool back down, your gaze fixed ahead of you.

"My boss laid me off today." You saw through your peripheral vision how his head jerked up. "That's why I got back home early. And why I got the speeding ticket." You revealed, ashamed. Peter gulped, trying to dive to the surface, float in the flooded wreckage you two were trapped in.

"I'm sorry."

"What do you mean? It's not your fault." You looked at him, but it was quick. "And it's not my fault, either. I guess the trip will have to wait longer than we expected." You sadly joked.

He didn't say anything. He simply approached you, slowly and quiet, and soon his arms were around you. You grew weak to his embrace and squeezed him, inhaling deeply, holding back the tears once again that day— you didn't even know, really, you'd lost count.

The universe wouldn't hand you the quietude you had craved so easily, though, because without warning, Peter began to usher you far from the stove. "Wait, wha—" A bang cut you off and you yelped while Peter unconsciously pulled you closer to him. You heard clinking, a shattering sound as something rained over the floor. You both slowly glanced back, still hugging each other.

"What the hell?" You gasped when you saw the large crack running up the stove top, various small ones branching out from it, and glass littering almost all of your kitchen. Peter's body shook and you stared up at his nervous grin.

"I told you we had the change the stove."

You two began to laugh— not a normal response to your stove exploding, indeed; perhaps it was an odd way to cope with the pain, but Peter ran his fingers through his hair as he chuckled.

"I should've listened." You smiled at him, and your mind turned to mush when he returned the expression.

"Good evening, everyone— I'm sorry to interrupt, I know that tonight is 'only music' night." The music ended and a dopey voice spoke instead; a guy who'd most definitely hit a few too many blunts.

"What kind of station did you chose?" You asked your boyfriend, your face scrunched up. He shrugged, just as clueless as you were.

"I don't know, it was on when I switched on the radio." However, your ears perked up when the man carried on.

"Just in case you haven't watched the news yet, I wanted to tell you to please stay away from Times Square. There's some crazy stuff going on there, man, it's nuts, and the police are arriving on the scene. But..." Peter looked at you, his eyes sad with guilt. Realization hit you like a truck, your heart almost stopping.

It was the final straw.

"No... no, please, Pete." You started to breathe heavily, your lower lip trembling. He held your hands, kissing your knuckles apologetically.

"I'm so sorry." The tears flowed free, and it broke him further.

"Everything's been going wrong today, p-please, I don't want anything bad happening to you." You begged. But he was already leaving the kitchen, and you yelled out a frustrated curse. You ran to the living room, searching for the remote control, then fell to your knees as you saw it under the coffee table, instantly snatching it. You desperately wiggled the remote when it didn't work, but moments later the TV lit up, and you jumped from channel to channel, seeking for the news. You raised your hand up to your mouth, your shoulders shuddering from the horrific footage— the hopelessness, the explosions, the fire. You heard the first siren outside.

You felt a tender hand on your shoulder, the indication of what you feared the most, of the dreaded goodbye lurking in all your nightmares. You were fully submerged into the screen, enough that you hadn't noticed Peter standing behind you. "This was not the night I planned." He said, staring down at the ground. " We were gonna have a nice dinner, maybe even dance like you enjoy to do sometimes, and then... I don't know, but I'm sorry. You deserved it." He confessed, sorrowful and sincere.

You placed your hand on his hard chest, over the spider emblem of his suit. You didn't waste any time and kissed him, a passion different from earlier; different from the arousal, the heat at the pit of your stomach, the goosebumps spreading all over your skin. Now it was just as forceful, just as needy, but it tasted like innocent affection, like a refuge for a terrified child from a spine-chilling thunderstorm, the assurance that the downpour would pass. You cherished every second, the way he clung onto your waist with as much urgency, his breathing as he ended what he hoped was just another kiss and not the last one. It tore you down to nothingness, but it's what you signed up for the moment you fell in love with him, and you truly did not regret it. Never.

Your foreheads rested against each other, your hands trailing up to his shoulders. "Happy two year anniversary." He grinned. You pecked him one last time.

"Happy two year anniversary."

It was the usual routine: he went to the window, putting his mask over his head, not bothering to brush away his hair, and he looked back at you. Stay, you both thought as you followed him. You held yourself back, though, for you knew that if you asked him to, he would. You tugged his mask down, covering his face. "Go save some civilians, Spider-Boy. I love you." His white eyes were wide, taking you in wholly.

"I love you, too."

You undid the button of Peter's suit jacket for the twentieth time in a row, the action a momentary consolation as your eyes lingered on the flat screen; however, your mind drifted away somewhere in the vastness of space, distant from the images and your solitary apartment, revolving around a certain man you couldn't help but worry about. The broadcast should've been enough to relieve your fidgeting and the iciness that ran through your veins, because just like always, the superhero had saved the day, but you wouldn't ease into satisfaction until you had Peter in your arms— safe and sound, alive. That comfort arrived in the form of the window sliding open, and you jumped off your seat, wrapping your arms around your torso, watching as the red and blue figure slipped inside. He closed the window, holding his side, and he removed his mask with a swift motion, strands of hair sticking up while others fell graciously. You repressed the shocked gasp at his appearance; his bleeding and swollen lip, the cut running up his forehead, his nose which now looked just like yours if not a bit worse, and the forming bruise on his cheek.

You ran up to him and hugged him tightly. As gentle as you tried to be, it still hurt, but he didn't voice his pain. "I'm proud of you. You did great." You kissed his shoulder. He mumbled a 'yay!' and you let out a weak laugh, carefully pulling his arm. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

He tugged you back into him, his eyes droopy with exhaustion. "No."

Your eyebrows rose, confusion overtaking your face. "What?"

"Our date is not over yet."

You sucked in a breath, ignoring his ridiculous statement— he'd definitely received a rough blow to his head. "Peter, it's late, you need some rest—"

"Just, please." He urged. "Trust me." He bore his eyes burning with need into yours, frowning.

It was unbelievable, how Peter B. Parker could ask you to dress up as a hot dog and breakdance in the middle of the street and you'd comply, simply because it's what he wanted. You're weak, you told yourself, your hand in Peter's as you strolled down the pathway of the park; although you did force him to sit down and let you patch him up earlier, for only the man thought there was nothing wrong with leaving the house looking like you just came back from the fight club— ‘it's gonna heal soon’, he would whine as the roles reversed and you smoothed the gauze over his nose. He limped slightly while he picked a flower from a bush, another one for the growing collection in his fist, and you groaned loudly.

"Parker, seriously, I wouldn't have minded if we'd stayed back at home. Our anniversary doesn't need to be perfect." You said, expecting it'd knock some sense into him. He remained stubborn, though, inspecting the plants he held.

"Oh man, you said 'Parker', you must be serious." He wore a crooked smile and you narrowed your eyes at him. "Look, the day was far from perfect, so at least I want it to end well."

"I mean, this place is really nice." You acknowledged as you both stopped to admire a cherry blossom tree. Peter glanced sideways at you, his mouth twitching.

"Do you remember when we planned our wedding?"

You looked back at him and you both cringed, laughing after. "Ah, we did that, didn't we?" You crinkled your nose, recalling the night you and Peter lied on your twin bed; surrounded by heavy textbooks and colorful notes with illegible writing, in a haze from all the studying that you two started to make big, naive plans for a distant future, your head on his chest as he ran his fingers through your hair.

"It was cute at the moment, but now that I think back, it was really stupid." He laughed. You swiped away the fallen flowers of the tree with your foot, nostalgia showering over you.

"Yeah... I wonder what sixteen-year-old me would think about thirty-eight-year-old me. Probably would be disappointed. At least she'd be happy I'm with you, though." You admitted softly, your skin prickling. "That's something her and I have in common."

Peter flashed you a half-smile. "Really?"

"Yeah," You grinned back, your eyes darting down to the petals he plucked. "Hey, don't kill it! What did it ever do to you?"

"It looked at me the wrong way." He smiled, shrugging. "I'm just nervous, that's it."

"What, you playing 'does she love me, does she love me not'?" You fluttered your eyelashes, the back of your hand on your forehead. He bit his lip, snickering, but then went poker-faced.

"It's a really serious game, Y/N." Your body lit up with laughter and he moved to face you, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he stared at you. "I want you to know that everything I said back then wasn't a lie. I meant every 'I love you' and promise I made."

You shoved your hands inside the pockets of his suit jacket (you probably should have changed, you realized), shifting your weight from one foot to another. "Pete, I know." You took out one hand to squeeze his bicep. "Forget everything I said earlier, alright? The jealousy just got to me and I said some dumb shit."

He shook his head, his fingers curling around your wrist. "No, but... I really did. And I've been thinking lately th-that maybe things with MJ didn't just work out because I was scared to have kids. I love you, Y/N. It's always been that way."

"Peter..." You rubbed his knuckles with your thumb, your heart glowing. "I love you, too."

"I'm sorry I didn't do this sooner."

You lifted a brow, puzzled. "Do what?" Your confusion dissolved when he dug his hand into his pocket, the color draining out of your face as he revealed a blue velvet box. You took a step back in disbelief, your hand cupping your cheek. "Parker, I swear to God."

"I'm sorry you had to wait so long for this moment." His voice wavered with nerves, the confirmation that this wasn't a sick prank he was pulling— not that he ever would hurt you in such way, anyway, but it was impossible not to feel lightheaded from the shock of witnessing a daydream you'd imagined for so long unfolding right in front of you, to not tremble as you waited for everything to slowly fade away as you woke up from another dream. His touch felt so real, though, so genuine, far from a fabricated illusion created just to satisfy a lurking desolation. "I wish I had known back then— God, I really do. But maybe I did kinda know, because after we discussed the whole dream wedding thing, I proposed to you." He recalled.

You sniffed, smiling. "You said it was practice for when we did get married."

He nodded, scratching the back of his neck. "It was not romantic at all." You both giggled, the ring he'd made out of a ripped piece of paper present in your memories.

You scanned your own outfit, wishing you'd looked much nicer for the occasion. "I look terrible right now."

"And so do I, but I don't care, because my heart still does that thing when it's the afternoon and you haven't showered yet."

"You're ridiculous."

"I know."

A deep rumble in the sky shook the ground beneath your feet and Peter looked up, letting out an exasperated sigh when droplets of rain pattered down on you. "Yeah, way to ruin the moment, weather. Thanks."

You lifted your hand to cover your face from the light drizzle, miniature beads of water on your eyelashes. "You know we can't afford a wedding right now, right?" You asked him, the corner of your lips tugged upwards.

His cheeks expanded as he let out air through his pressed lips. "I know. We gotta get that new stove."

"Our bed broke."

"Speeding ticket."

"I lost my job."

"You need a new nose." He tapped his own nose, which was a bad idea after he twisted his face in discomfort.

"It's not broken!" You insisted with a gesture of your hand, the corner of your eyes crinkled as you laughed. The rain poured down harder, quickly drenching yours and Peter's hair along with your clothes. Nothing was stopping him anymore, though, and he got down on one knee, audibly still aching from his bruises. Your laughter persisted, but now you hiccuped as well, your eyes red.

"We're not at a beach in Hawaii, but I tried to get the petals at least." When you inspected the ground— purple and red petals messily surrounding you, shriveled from the water— you comprehended the reason for his flower killing spree. You gripped his cold hand, the downpour emitting a shudder from you.

"It really doesn't matter."

"Good, good." He breathed out, more like a reassurance for himself, his own breathing speeding up for he could sense the tears coming as well. "Y/N. I loved you back then. I love you right now... and I'll love you for the rest of my years. It's not an exaggeration, it's the truth. I promise I'm not going anywhere. Not again. So..." He opened the box, and you stared in awe at the golden circlet with the pretty silver diamond.

"Will you marry me?"

You couldn't utter a single word, your throat closed up as you instead nodded fervently. You both beamed at each other, your smiles easily capable of moving worlds and galaxies as he slid the engagement ring onto your finger, his own hands trembling. You didn't give him a chance to stand up— you got down to his level and crashed your lips into his, your mouths slippery from the rain, your appearances far from alluring with his hair clinging to his skin and your mascara trailing down your cheeks. But it was alright. For the first time that day, everything was alright.

#peter b parker #peter b parker x reader #peter b parker x you #peter b parker x y/n #imagine #peter parker one shot #peter parker #sm:itsv #spider man #spider-man: into the spider-verse #fem!reader

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hey-hey-chan · 5 years

Text

Last Chances - Jisung

❀Fluff + coming of age fic

❀ Word count: 3.9K

❀Every year, your class hosts a new years party that EVERYONE attends, including you, the school homebody. And every single year, you watch your best friend kiss another girl as you sit on the sidelines, doing nothing about your feelings. As the years go by, will you ever do anything about your love for him, or will you continue to let him be swooped away every year at midnight?

❀Inspiration: “Midnight” by Rainbow Rowell (found in My True Love Gave to Me: Twelve Holiday Stories)

❀ A/N: i rly love this short story by Rainbow Rowell and i wanted to do something inspired by it so!! here is is! I really love this concept and i might do smthing similar for my ygtb blog! hehe <3 there’s only so many new years stories you could do skdajajdsf hope you guys enjoy this one <3 :D

❀ ❀ ❀

12/31/2015

11:43 pm

You slowly sipped on the apple cider in your hand, careful not to bump into anyone as you headed for the back of the house. Every year, someone in your class hosted a New Years party to celebrate the incoming year and a fresh start. In your tiny school, everyone was basically required to come. Even the homebodies-- like you.

“Already found the corner, aye?” The brown haired boy plopped next to you, probably sipping on hard cider instead of the normal one in your hand. You gave him a nervous smile.

“Um, did you expect anything different, Jisung?” You taunted while getting comfy in your spot. You hated the busy crowd and the drunk people, you found more comfort in the small, quietish space. Jisung laughed and shook his head, making his hair flop in his eyes.

“Touche, y/n, touche.” Jisung then proceeded to down his cup of hard cider and stood up. “I’m getting a refill, you want anything?” He asked. You peered down at your almost empty cup. You bit a lip, wondering if you should ask him or not, but before you could make up your mind, he took the cup from you. “Apple cider right?” You nodded quickly.

The boy gave you a gentle smile before disappearing into the crowd of people. Jisung was quite popular, in contrary to you. It wasn’t like you were hated or anything, but Jisung had an aura that made others flock to him, and you couldn’t help to flock to him as well. The two of you had become best friends in your freshman year of high school and have been inseparable since. Even though you’ve only known Jisung for one year, it felt like an entire lifetime.

Jisung came back soon and plopped the cup into your hands. “Here you go.” He took a seat next to you and sipped on his drink as well.

Right in front of you and Jisung, a girl and a boy in your class started to flirt with each other. Or you thought they were flirting. “Have you ever been kissed on New Years before?” Jisung suddenly asked. The question made red flood to your cheeks, but you were honest with him and shook your head.

“No, I always thought it was quite cheesy.” It could have been your imagination, but you could’ve sworn his smile faded just a tad. Or it could have been your wishful thinking.

“Cheesy huh-”

“Jisung!” A girl from your class called out. Nayeon was in photography club with Jisung and Hyunjin, another friend of yours. Jisung excused himself from you and went up to her.

You could see her twirl her hair flirtatiously and touched his arm when he said something funny. You were never the type to wear makeup or dress up, but you suddenly felt odd when everyone else had their best outfit on, specifically Nayeon. She was gorgeous; she didn’t have to try hard to look sexy, yet innocent.

“Five! Four! Three! Two!”

You watched as Nayeon leaned closer to Jisung, waiting for his approval.

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR” As the clock hit midnight, Jisung sealed his lips with hers, having his first kiss of the new year. You watched awkwardly, but then realized it was weird to look at people kiss. Kids in your class were kissing left and right, somehow everyone found someone to smooch, well, except you.

❀ ❀ ❀

12/21/2016

11:23 pm

The party house had upgraded this year. The class president had a pool in her backyard, which meant everyone was at the pool-- either jumping in or throwing their friends in. You, of course, decided to stay inside where the warmth was. You curled up next to the fireplace and flipped through instagram. This year, you foolishly forgot to bring your kindle.

“Well, well, well, a surprise to see you in here while the entire party is outside.” You finally looked up and saw that the people who were dancing in the living room had left as well. You shrugged at Jisung’s comment.

“So what, it’s warm out here. I’m not about to go swimming in 30 degree weather, are you crazy?” You snapped at him, although your temper wasn’t serious. Jisung laughed and fixed his dark black hair to frame his face. He adjusted his round glasses as the heat of fireplace got to them.

“Well, suit yourself then, I’m about to dive in the pool and get my party on.” He moonwalked backwards and gave you a killer stare which made you burst out into laughter. “Go have fun, you weirdo.” You jokingly pushed him away from you but he didn’t budge.

He kept staring at you with curiosity in his eyes but said nothing. “What?” You barked finally. The boy didn’t avert his gaze, but instead gave you a silly smile.

“Nothing, I just think it’s cute that you would rather stay in here than go outside where the main event is happening.” You turned your gaze outside and saw people jumping in the pool and music was blaring loud enough to make you unable to think. Alcohol was spilled all over the backyard and you could even smell a tiny bit on Jisung’s breath. Of course you were driving the both of you home.

To answer his question, you simply shrugged and returned to your phone. “I guess I’m not into the main event.” Jisung laughed like he expected your answer but walked to go outside. Once you thought he was gone, he turned back around and sat next to you. “Jisung, what are you doing? I thought you were going outside.”

Jisung sighed and ruffled his hair, a habit he did when he wanted to tell you something. You patted his hair down and put his hands to his sides. “What’s up?”

“Hm, well, I was just wondering if you had anyone to kiss at midnight.” The question definitely caught you off guard, but Jisung was always asking weird questions anyways.

You finally shook your head. “Nope, no one.”

Honestly, the question got your hopes up. You thought your small crush on Jisung would fade, but instead it furthered as the two of you grew older.

Jisung clapped his hands excitedly and stood up. “Good, save it for me.” He gave you a quick wink before running outside, leaving you to think about what he said carefully. You felt a blush form on your face and your thoughts became jumbled. D-did he mean what he said?

You hid your giddy smile of thought of kissing your handsome and charming best friend.

Before you knew it, you heard the familiar countdown.

“Ten! Nine!” You turned around and saw Jisung wiping off his feet and hair before walking into the house. Your heartbeat picked up as you licked your lips in anticipation. Your palms were sweaty since this would be your very first kiss.

He gave you a wide grin and all you could see was him as he sauntered over to you.

“Five! Four!”

“Han Jisung!” A girl called him over and he looked distraught, but recovered quickly at the shoutout.

He gave the girl a small smile while you prayed he would make it to you in time. As soon as you had hope in your heart, the girl leaned in and captured Jisung’s lips with hers.

“One! HAPPY NEW YEAR BITCHES!” Confetti flew everywhere, hiding the sadness and disappointment in your face. Jisung pulled away from the kiss to look at you. You gave him a small thumbs up and pointed to your phone to show you were fine and occupied with something else. He gave you a relieved smile and returned to kissing the girl, making your heart shatter into a million pieces.

❀ ❀ ❀

12/31/2017

11:30pm

It was finally senior year, meaning it was the last new years party before going off to college. That meant it was a do or die situation. Ok, not to that extent, but it was the last chance to kiss that special someone on new years. Everyone broke up before senior year ended anyways, so a relationship now wasn’t really the main focus. A good time was what people were looking for.

You were still on the couch reading a book that you just couldn’t put down.

“Hey y/n!” You glanced up from your novel and saw Jisung drunkenly walking over to you. You held in the urge to roll you eyes but only held it back because of the girl by his side.

This year, Jisung had a girlfriend, which meant that your kiss wasn’t going to happen.

You gave the girl a small smile as she wasn’t a mean person... to you at least. She gave you one back, but it looked more like a smirk. You took note of her carefully applied makeup and bedazzling outfit which made you feel like a potato in comparison.

“y/n!” Jisung shouted again at you. “What do you want Jisung?” You finally said, confused on what he was doing.

He laughed loudly before stepping closer to you. Your eyes widened at his close proximity. Then, he poked you on the nose. “Nothing, just wanted to check in. Do you want a beer?”

You crinkled your nose from the smell of alcohol in his breath. “Nope, I’m good, but thanks for asking.” Jisung frowned but then backed up. “Ok, suit yourself.”

As you were about to return to your book, you saw Jisung stick his hand in the girls backpocket and pulled her closer. Ugh, how cliche.

The girl laughed wildly and flung her hair over his shoulders seductively.

You furrowed your brows, wondering what Jisung saw in her besides her looks. But you shook your head, knowing boys liked girls like her.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” You looked up, expecting to see Jisung. But once you saw the cute boy in your chemistry class, you were a bit shaken up. You then realized the boy was still staring at you and you hadn’t responded. “Um, no it isn’t.” You said and scooted over a bit to make room.

The boy sat down next to you and peered over at what you were doing. He let out a small chuckle, which was deep and mysterious sounding. “You’re reading during a new years party? Who are you?” The boy teased. You raised a brow and closed your book to book mark.

“I’m a smart person who wants to ignore the rambunctious, immature teenagers and just wants to finish a riveting, exciting novel.” You responded jokingly. The boy laughed loudly and shook his head, which shook his cross earring.

“You’re funny.” He stated like it was a fact. You shrugged. “People always talk about Jisung being the funny one between the two of you, but I think you’re the funnier one, y/n.” You felt your heart swell with pride at his compliment. You always knew that Jisung was the funnier and charming one, but it was tiresome to constantly be reminded of it.

You gave him a prideful grin but ended up laughing. “Thank you, Felix. That’s very sweet of you.” Felix shrugged and leaned back in his chair to stretch his legs.

“You guys ready?! LAST COUNTDOWN OF OUR HIGH SCHOOL CAREER! TEN, NINE!” Before you could comprehend what was happening, Felix leaned in extremely close to you. So close you could feel his breath against his lips. Your heart beat sped up and your palms became sweaty in anticipation.

“Is this ok?” He asked respectfully.

“Four! Three!”

You nodded quickly.

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR SENIORS!” The two of you leaned in nearly at the same time and once you felt his lips on yours, you felt lost in his kiss. The loud screams and other kissing noises were drowned out by your very own midnight moment. Felix pulled away shyly and gave you a cute smile. You could see his beautiful freckles up close which made you want to kiss him even more.

So you did.

2018 is going to be a good year.

❀ ❀ ❀

12/31/2018

10:08 pm

You carefully applied your winged eyeliner while being careful not to make the line uneven or too thick. You had started to wear makeup at the beginning of your college career. It wasn’t because you think you “needed” it persay, but it was because you found the concept interesting. Drawing on your face was quite fun. And you did not want to be a twenty year old who didn’t know how to apply mascara.

You slipped on a sparkly gold skirt and tucked in your black blouse. Your style had also changed as well. Somehow, a new years party was organized from someone in your grade and was sort of a welcome back party for those who left home. Most people were back home for winter break and everyone wanted to see each other.

You suddenly heard numerous honks at your door and you grew irritated. You heard your phone buzz on the counter which signaled you had a call from Jisung.

Despite your anger at him, you still picked up the call. “What do you want?” You snapped. You heard light laughter over the other line.

“What do I want? I want you to come outside so we can leave! I wanna see everyone we haven’t seen in like, a year!” You heard him get over-excited and scream the last line. You rolled your eyes and started to heat up your curling iron.

“Well, that’s not going to happy because I’m curling my hair.” You heard Jisung groan. “Well at least open the door for me.” You sighed and hung up on him before going to open the door. He had somehow gotten out of the car without you noticing on the phone call and was waiting for you at your door already.

As soon as you opened the door, his eyes scanned your face and then your body. You slapped him playfully. He yelped in surprise but let out a laugh.

“Hey!”

“Eyes up here buddy.” You half joked before letting him in. The boy wasn’t embarrassed and rather thought the situation was funny.

“Sorry miss y/n, but next time you wear a skirt the same brightness level as the sun, expect people to look at you.” You rolled at your eyes and led him up to your room.

Your parents were already asleep since they always hated new years and were always woken up to fireworks and people screaming around our neighborhood. They wanted to sleep so that they would get some sleep before being woken up.

Jisung hopped on your bed like it was his own and laid in it. “Hmph, so comfy.” He whined. You rolled your eyes before you picked up the curling iron. “I feel like I haven’t been in this room in ten years.”

You picked up a piece of hair to curl before answering him. “By ten years, you mean since Thanksgiving break?” He gave you a sheepish smile and was about to throw a pillow at you until he saw what you were doing.

He settled for putting the pillow under his head and rolling his eyes.

You and Jisung were only two hours away from each other’s colleges and only one hour away from your hometown. It wasn’t like you guys had gone out of the country for school.

“Whatever, can’t I miss my best friend?” He whined playfully before rolling in your bed, messing it up. You chuckled and shook your head jokingly, knowing you missed him too.

You continued to curl your hair in silence before you noticed Jisung staring at you.

“What?” You snapped at the boy who wasn’t surprised by your outburst. He didn’t respond. “What?” You asked again.

He paused for a moment but then shrugged. “You look different.” He finally said. You stopped curling your hair for a moment to look at him.

"Says the boy with blue hair.” You teased while he fell back laughing. “Touche” He said softly.

“Well, why do you say I look different?” You added.

He shrugged, rolling on his side to face me while laying down. “You just do. You never used to put on makeup or do your hair or dress up.”

You sighed and held in your complaints. “Well, you’re right, but I guess in college, I grew up a little.” You admit. He made it sound like you became a whole different person, but that wasn’t the case, you had just emphasized what you already had.

“I mean it’s not a bad thing, it’s just a different thing. And besides, you’ll always be my cutie y/n.” He teased while you shook your head with a smile.

Soon, you were done curling your hair and you hair-sprayed it so it stayed.

“Ok, ready.” He raised a brow at your before glancing at your outfit again. “Ugh, what now?”

He sighed and tossed you a jacket. “Put it on, it’s going to be cold you weirdo. You’re wearing a skirt.” You scoffed and tossed the jacket back on the bed as it didn’t match your outfit.

“Jisung, some girls, and even guys, wear stuff much more revealing and ‘cold’ as me, and you never tell them.” He shrugged and patted your head.

“You’re different.” he said like it was obvious.

“What do you mean?”

“It means, you’re my best friend, and those people are not my best friend, meaning they can turn into icicles for all I care.”

He didn’t bother to throw another jacket at you as he knew that you would just toss it away. “Plus, you always wear lots of layers because you get cold easily.” You shrugged. You learned to deal with it from partying so much in the early weeks of college.

“I’ll be fine, now let’s get to that party.”

He laughed at your excitement and you piled into his car. He turned on the familiar songs the two of you used to bop to in the car.

“So, who are you the most excited to see?” He asked curiously.

You thought carefully about the question, scrunching your nose up to think about it. “I don’t really know, I don’t really miss anyone too much to be honest. What about you?”

“Hyunjin and Seungmin probably.” You nodded as Jisung was also close with those two boys. Suddenly, you saw his smile turn evil.

“Anyone you plan on kissing tonight?” You hit his arm playfully, but you could feel the heat on your cheeks.

You rolled down the window to get more air going. “Yeah right, when do I kiss anyone?” Jisung laughed loudly and gave you a judgy look. “What?”

He did the same thing again. “Um, really? ‘Cause last year I remember you kissing Felix Lee.” He said with a big fat smile. You rolled your eyes and looked out the window so you could feel the cold air on your cheeks.

“Uhhhh how did you know that?” You asked. Last year, Jisung and his girlfriend were going at it-- he had no time to see that you kissed Felix. Jisung rolled his eyes as he drove into the driveway.

“I mean, the both of you were making out on the couch in front of everyone, which isn’t bad but it was noticeable.” You turned a deep red, which made Jisung laugh. “It’s fine y/n, it was cute.” He winked at you while you just got even more red.

“Now, let’s go in, there are people expecting us.”

❀ ❀ ❀

Surprisingly, the party was just as big as it was the previous years. Maybe even bigger because people brought outside people.

“Gross.” You mumbled softly. You barely could recognize all the people from your high school as it had been so long.

Jisung chuckled at your reaction. “No corner tonight, you’re dancing with me.” At first, you thought he was joking, but you saw the serious stare in his eyes.

“Wait, you’re serious?” He nodded and pulled you onto the dance floor. “Jisung!” You yelped in surprise. He held you close and brought you to the rowdiest part of the dancefloor.

People were dancing all over, most people were just jumping or moving side to side but that meant people were going to bump into you.

“Dance!” You felt Jisung grab both your hands and start to sway you from side to side. You groaned in response-- you hated dancing. Especially in front of people. You were sort of awkward limbed.

“If you don’t know what to do, you can just start grinding on me.” At those words, you hit him harshly on the arm. “OW!” He yelped. You let out evil laughter at his pain.

You were used to his flirty comments and dirty jokes honestly, that was just a part of Jisung’s sense of humor. He never meant it.

“You’re impossible.” You whispered in his ear.

Somehow, throughout the night, you lost yourself while dancing with the blue-haired boy. The two of you were immensely sweaty by 11pm. Hyunjin and Seungmin had stopped by to say hi, but you and Jisung stayed together the entire night, surprisingly.

Until it was the final moments until midnight.

“I need a break.” You finally said to Jisung who was laughing at your fatigue.

“Ok, ok, let’s go take a break. It’s almost midnight anyways.” You nodded as he guided you safely out of the crowd. You took a seat at the back of the house and took deep breaths. “Are you okay?”

You nodded in response. “I’m fine, I just don’t think I’ve ever danced that hard in my life.” He shook his head in response.

“Don’t you go to parties at your university?” You shrugged.

“Yeah, but mostly I just get drunk and go home.” At that statement, Jisung laughed and laid his head on your shoulder.

“You’re so funny, y/n.”

“IT’S ALMOST MIDNIGHT!” You heard someone scream.

“Ten! Nine!”

Suddenly, a girl came and approached you and Jisung. You recognized her from being in your literature class last year, and you knew she hooked up with Jisung once.

“Hey Jisung, can you come with me?” She held out her hand to guide him away and he took it, standing up. You felt your heart racing, realizing you let this happen ever year.

You watched multiple girls kiss Jisung, leaving you in the dust and leaving you with pain.

That wasn’t going to be the case this year.

This is your last chance, y/n, take it.

“FOUR! THREE!”

“Sorry, he’s with me.” You fibbed quickly while pulling Jisung back.

“ONE!” At the stroke of midnight and with a confused and surprised Jisung, you pulled his face closer to yours, finally planting a kiss on his lips after all these years. He was genuinely surprised, but caught on in .002 seconds.

He brought you closer to him and wrapped his arms around your waist and your arms were around his neck. You finally understood why all these girls wanted to kiss him all these years-- he was an amazing kisser.

He pulled away, teasing you a bit before pulling you in for a deeper kiss, one you wanted to be alone with him for.

“Wow.” You said dumbly. After all that kissing, that’s the only thing you could say. He chuckled and shook his head, kissing you softly on the lips once more.

“’Wow’ is right.”

#stray kids #straykidznet #sk-writernet #han jisung #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #jisung #han #han scenarios #jisung scenarios #han jisung scenarios #jisung imagines #han imagines #han jisung imagines #skz #skz scenarios #sk scenarios #skz imagines #sk imagines

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gemmasmithwrites · 4 years

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Top 5 Reads for December

December reading round up - I was absolutely certain I had read less than I did last month, but when going thru my @goodreads list I noticed that was definitely NOT the case. I only had 1 ARC for December, and that came late in the month. It "freed" me up to read more for myself. I read A LOT of dark romance or romantic suspense. I also read a lot of quick and dirty novellas between novels to kind of "cleanse" my mind between novels.

December stats:

22 books total

- 4 audios

- 1 ARC

- 9 novels

- 8 novellas

Thankfully, picking my top reads for the month wasn't too difficult. I only have 6 five star reads in December, and two of those books belong to a duet.

Scroll ⬇️⬇️⬇️ to see my top picks for December (as always they are listed in the order they were read)

The Virgin Gift by Lauren Blakely - I listened to this as soon as it came out, and man was it HOT HOT HOT. Sometimes I'm not a fan of books where the heroine is a virgin, but I like how Lauren presented it in the story. Once Nina, the heroine, explained her reasoning it made a lot of sense and to me made her a much stronger character. Don't even get me started on the dirty talk from Adam, the hero. GOOD LORD!

Midnight with the Devil by Emma Castle - I had no idea what to expect with book. Emma Chase is a "new to me" author and I got the book when I saw it was posted for free. The blurb was definitely intriguing. It kind of reminded me of the tv show Lucifier, and I was 100% ok with that. Tom Ellis is HOT AF, so I had no problem kind of picturing him as Lucifer. It wasn't as "dark" as I thought it might be, but ultimately I loved loved loved how the story turned out.

The Devils Playground Duet by Ashley Jade - HOLY HELL, this duet. #TeamDamien FOR LIFE! This book was hot, twisty, kinda suspenseful and fucking AMAZING. I was kind of mad at myself for waiting so long to read it after it sat on my TBR taunting me. I devoured both books in two days!

Marriage for One by Ella Maise - When I posted a cliche meme about grumpy heroes, someone commented that Jack, the hero from Marriage for One was their favorite grumpy hero. I had put off reading it because honestly I have to be in the mood for a slow burn and a lot of angst, but when I was "pressured" by the wonderful Ella, I totally caved. I started listening to the audio on my commute to and from work, but eventually downloaded the book onto my Kindle and finished reading it. One I started, I couldn't put it down.

Chandelier by Annie Dyer - This was my lone ARC of the month and defintely a 5 star read for me. I love everything Annie writes, but this was different than her usual contemporary romance (The Severton Series, Callaghan Green Series). I started and finished reading in one day. I couldn't put it down. I don't want to give too much away (I still have to do my review) but it is part of a series, and ends with a cliffy. When it comes out in January, I highly highly recommend you pick it up and then pre-order Grenade and Emeralds immediately.

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anitabyars · 4 years

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“This book has it all—explosive chemistry, feel-good fun, and loads of banter.”

—Kendall Ryan, New York Times bestselling author

A Favor for a Favor, all-new enemies-to-lovers standalone sports romance from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting, is available now!

A new stand-alone romance about trading favors, battling wills, and winning love.

When I joined Seattle’s NHL expansion team, I thought it was the start of something great. But nothing ever goes the way you expect. Take my introduction to my new neighbor. She came rolling in on the hot mess express at midnight, making a racket while she tried to get into my team captain’s apartment. Did I mention that he’s married to a woman who definitely was not her?

Imagine my surprise when I end up with an injury that has me out of the game for weeks, and she’s the one to offer to help me. I should probably add that she’s not the captain’s mistress. She’s his sexy, pastel-haired younger sister.

So we come up with an arrangement: she rehabs me so that I can get back on the ice sooner, and she can add a professional athlete that isn’t her brother to her client list. Seems simple enough. As long as I can keep my hands to myself and my hormones in check.

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/31LPGjq

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/AFFAF

Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2msA1pY

Amazon Audible: https://amzn.to/2Gh4xtv

Audio: https://amzn.to/2kYpUZr

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2m17XK2

My Review

5 *****

Deliciously Entertaining!

Holy Smokes, from the very first pages...Stevie and Bishop’s interactions are a delight and seeing how they mix business with their increasing attraction for each other is entertaining indeed. Readers who love sexy reads with a hero who makes your jaw drop with every smile and every word out of his mouth, as well as what saying is on his underwear...who love strong, independent woman who love fiercely will adore this book. It’s hockey romance at its best.

No one does enemies-to-lovers romance like Helena Hunting, and “A FAVOR FOR A FAVOR” showcases her story telling at its best. This fast paced, smart, witty, slow burn and scorching-hot love story held me enthralled in its’ clutches from the beginning to the end, and I couldn’t get enough of Stevie and Bishop. I loved every minute of this thoroughly engrossing, emotionally charged and deliciously scorching romance. YUM!! My new favorite of the year!

Received a early copy in exchange for a honest review.

#helenahunting #afavorforaafavor #netgalley #hothockeyplayer #yumyum #deliciouslyentertaining #newrelease #mynewfavorite

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theselfhelphipster · 5 years

Photo

I still read every night before bed and when I love a story, I burn my way through it in a matter of days. Hours if I really put my mind to it.

It is scientifically proven that reading is one of the most relaxing things you can do (more than other things even) - it slows down your breathing and your heart rate, which is why it's perfect to incorporate in a bedtime ritual.

Here's the list of my favourite books of the past year or so.

*Affiliate links below!

Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J Maas

This series is not as steamy as the Court-series I wrote about in the previous blog post. However, technically speaking this is definitely a better saga, if you will.

Sarah J Maas has created this epic tale around Selena Galynthius in an epic world full of old-time fantasy characters like elves and fae and witches and wyverns. It's very cool.

The series wrapped up with a stunner of a finale last fall and it was some of the best fantasy I've read in a while. Book 1 is kind of weirdly written if you compare it to the rest, but in book two she really gets the show on the road.

If you like epic fantasy? This is IT.

I'm thinking about buying this box myself (I've read them on Kindle but these are so epic I want them on print) but if you want to start, start with Throne of Glass AND Crown of Midnight.

The Meredith Gentry Series - Laurel K Hamilton

I'm including this one more for lolz than for anything else.

I LOVED these when I was a teen, such smutty books in a fantasy world. Turns out it was either hormones kicking in or I just had terrible taste back then. (Probably both.)

These are TERRIBLE!

They make zero sense, the story is incredibly convoluted and I don't even think the sex scenes are that well-written or hot anymore. They're no Court of Mist and Fury, if ya know what I mean.

I reread them for old time sake, and if you're into Harlequin-esque elf books with a lot of descriptives and dialogues, in a story that only BARELY goes somewhere, go off I guess. If not, steer clear.

Bol.com is like 'fuck you we're not selling this drivel' but Amazon Kindle always comes through for us perverts.

Good Omens - Thierry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

When I saw that wickedly cool trailer for Good OmensI immediately started reading Good Omens. I had had it on my Kindle forever, and it really is a classic.

It's fun, funny, great story and great writing. I'm going to do that online storytelling class by Neil Gaiman and read a lot more by them both the upcoming year.

I've read Neil Gaiman's American Gods, The Ocean By The End of the Lake and Graveyard Boy, but nothing by Thierry Pratchett yet.

I'm excited.

Where to buy? A paperback at Bol.com is just 8,99 right now.

(Also, WATCH THE AMAZON PRIME SERIES, it is SO FUN!)

Caraval & Legendary - Stephanie Gaber

A magical story about two sisters (there's quite a few books I read the past year with sisters) get invited to a once-a-year, exclusive magical live performance where the audience participates. The protagonist has been obsessed with this Caraval as long as she lives. To escape a betrothal of her sister, they go and during the Caraval a lot happens that changes everything.

Apparently there is a third book called Finale, which makes me think I maybe haven't finished Legendary and I need to, because I thought there would just be two.

You can buy the paperback here, and if you want to read it in Dutch you can too: My favorite online writer to follow on Instagram, Chinouk Thijssen translated the book!

Circe - Madeline miller

I've read both this one, Song of Achilles and Galatea. The only one I wouldn't really recommend was Galatea, I just didn't really think that one is interesting. The other two are, though.

I love Greek mythology and when people retell a classic in an interesting new way, and Madeline Miller has done so with this book. I really liked Circe.

The paperback is only 9,70!

Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller

One f the most beautiful and tragic lovestories I've ever read. I recommend it to everyone, especially anyone who likes Greek mythology. It's about Patrocles and Achilles, and their lovestory.

I cried like a baby during the last bit.

If you want to purchase this stunning story in paperback, click here.

A Little Life - Hanya Yanagihara

SPEAKING OF CRYING.

If you'd like to be emotionally destroyed and sob incontrollably through the entire last half of this book, go read 'A Little Life'

At first I resisted, and during the first chapters of this book I was mostly confused about who was who, but once you've got it, it is one of those stories that touches you, breaks you and then changes you.

English paperback here, Dutch paperback here.

Fireblood Trilogy - Elly Blake

I read this only a few weeks ago and I burned through these books, if you will. Finished all three in less than a week.

These are SO GOOD. The world is divided into three types of people: Regular, Firebloods and Frostbloods, the last two types having magic abilities that they train and can use, and with the Firebloods and Frostbloods being enemies of sorts.

A Fireblood girl is taken by Frostbloods to help them take down their evil king, but it turns out everything is a lot more complicated than it seems.

Lots of plot twists you can't easily see coming, a lot of friendships, a little romance, and a really good story. It's absolutely lovely.

Paperback here, Amazon Kindle below.

The Bear and the Nightingale Series - Katherine Arden

The prettiest trilogy I've read all year.

Set in Russia, a fairytale of sorts, and the protagonist is a strong girl who believes in freedom, her own decisions and heart, and who falls in love.

Three books to enjoy and swoon over. Try the first one hereor get the ebook below.

Small Spaces - Katherine Arden

By the same author as the previous trilogy, perhaps a children's book, but a good scary story that is easy to read.

A girl who has lost her mom goes on a field trip and turns out, farms and scarecrows are still as scary as they were during Children of the Corn.

I highly recommend; easy and fun scary story, fun to read with a child I think.

You can get it here, or here:

The Mermaid's Sister - Carrie Anne Noble

This is such a beautiful story.

You meet Clara, Maren and O'Neill. Claire was brought to her aunt by a stork, Maren came out of a shell, and O'Neill was found by the woman's husband under an apple tree. As Maren slowly turns into a mermaid, Clara and O'Neill try desperately to save Maren and return her to the ocean.

It's kinda like Frozen with the sisterly love, but has more to it.

Easy to read, with lovely and beautiful sentences, and I cried at the end.

Where to buy? For 12 euros you can buy the paperback here, or the Kindle version for 3.99$ below!

Numina Series - Charlie N Holmberg

This is such a good series, I can't wait for the third book - it's coming out in September.

In this world, magic is a scary underground thing where you need slaves to get possessed by numen, fiery beings from a different plane of existence.

A girl escapes her master who as it turns out, wants to bring the worst numen from that plane to destroy the world. With the help from a charming thief, she tries to save the fellow slaves and prevent world destruction.

Get the first one hereor below:

Magi Bitter, Magic Sweet - Charlie N Holmberg

By the same author, really interesting and pretty fairytale, kind of.

It's about a magical baker, and you should just read it. Buy it here, or below. It's cheaper on Kindle and it's such a breezy book, it's fine as an ebook.

My Absolute Darling - Gabriel Tallent

Horrible but gripping story about a girl called Turtle who grows up with her survivalist nut job of a dad in the woods, and then meets a few boys and a little girl that change the course of her life.

It's hard to read sometimes because the writer has made Turtle into what into my eyes is an eerily accurate portrait of the abused and traumatised. You're rooting for her but you don't always understand her, and you don't always understand her but you're always rooting for her, you know?

You can buy the paperback here for 12 euros or do as I do and buy the Kindle version via the link below!

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein - Kiersten White

I'm a sucker for reinventions of the classics, especially if suddenly we see everything from a woman's perspective. This story is about Elizabeth Frankenstein, the girl who grew up with the boy who will become Doctor Frankenstein and who loves him, and goes looking for him when he disappears from the place he was studying.

It's a very interesting and scary story, and it shows exactly how sometimes the things we do for love, are the very things that make the person we love into a monster.

I'm going to read a lot more by Kiersten White upcoming year, that's for sure.

You can buy the paperback herefor 12 euros, or click below for the Kindle version, for only 8.32$. Fun fact: The copy of the actual story about Frankenstein's monster by Mary Shelby is the second half of the book!

Strange the Dreamer & Muse of Nightmares - Laini Taylor

By the author of some of my favorite books EVER (Daughter of Smoke and Bone series), such a well-written and ethereal story. Full of legends, poetry and love.

It is well-written, heartbreaking and especially during Muse of Nightmares it is so great to see how everything pans out.

Buy the paperback herefor 12 euros , or below:

Grim Lovelies - Meghan Shepherd

I literally finished these last weekend, and really fun! Good story, set in France, in which 'Beasties' are animals turned people and used to help magical people like witches.

Can't wait for the sequel that is coming out in a couple of days!

Get the paperback here, or below.

A Blade So Black - L. L. Mckinny

This is such an interesting take on Alice in Wonderland, scarier and darker, but also more fun. The series is called the Nightmare Verse, I haven't gotten around to reading the second instalment: A Dream So Dark.

Incredible about this book is that the protagonist is a black girl and the book also touches upon the horrible terror that you can get attacked or killed just because of the color of your skin.

You can buy the paperback for 11,99, or on Kindle below.

The Luminous Dead - Caitlin Starling

This might be one of the most terrifying books I have ever read. It combines a few of my greatest fears (caving, being underground and diving) into a goosebump-filled adventure as you follow Gyre, an inexperienced caver who lied on her resume in order to get this job, go deeper and deeper into the cave -- as well as into the complicated backstory of her handler, Em.

Guys. It is so scary. And so good. Go read it. It's 14 euros here, or available on Amazon.

The Girl From Everwhere - Heidi Heilig

Timetravel always gives me a headache, but this piratey-spin on int is really fun.

You can buy the paperback for 9,99 on Bol.com and I was pleased to find out there is a second book now: The Ship Beyond Time. Definitely reading this as soon as I finish Frost!

Phew, a whale of a post

As always, I'd love it if you reciprocate with your own (non)-fiction recommendations: Let me know in the comments below what books you loved the past year.

Have a lovely Sunday!

#booklr #books #book #book rec #young adult books #reading community #favorite books

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shotgunsandsage · 5 years

Photo

Tyler has extraordinary powers and a heinous inability to plan ahead. He fancies himself a magical minuteman for NYC, but with the Batman approach unsatisfactory, he joined the NYPD to more efficiently spook the spooks. Perfect – until Eli came along and ruined it.

Read more about Tyler in “Tyler Kincaide: He-Witch!”, the first book in the Midnight Tour series. Pre-order on Amazon now (to read on any device, not just kindle) and follow us on tumblr and twitter. Links are in the blog header and our About.

What is Midnight Tour?

What happens when a regular New York cop with a bad luck streak catches a fellow officer skipping out on tour … to exorcise a hellish fire creature from the girders of an abandoned warehouse? Instant bromance, of course! Ride along for the Midnight Tour, a series of mystery-horror-supernatural cases that follow the adventures of Tyler Kincaide (witch) and Eli Ledeman (assistant and confidante) in lushly updated detective noir fashion as they police the many beats of New York, casting, copping, connoitering and generally trying not to get themselves killed.

#books #booklover #urban fantasy #indie author #supernatural #novel #amwriting #Midnight Tour #tyler kincaide #shotguns and sage

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nythroughthelens · 6 years

Photo

It's early morning. I am 10 years old.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table furiously scribbling finishing details onto a blueprint that I've painstakingly drawn over the course of the last five days.

The blueprint is for my own chocolate factory fueled by my umpteenth reading of Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

The drawing is etched onto blank newsprint sheets that my family refers to as scrap paper.

---

My father fell into his job as a union pressman for the Daily News out of necessity.

He had just moved to New York City with next to nothing aside from his wife, a suitcase full of clothing, and a few dollars.

Having only completed a Junior High School level education in the farming community he lived in growing up, he didn't have a lot of options when it came to joining the workforce.

When someone introduced him to the Newspaper Printing Pressman's Union, his life changed. The union took him in and trained him in the brute art of loading printing presses.

He worked nights for the next 20 years at the Daily News feeding large bales of newspaper to hungry printing presses. His knees and back suffered as did his general mood. He was an irascible character that I rarely saw.

I relished the large amounts of blank newsprint scrap paper that existed in our house. It was the kindling for my escapist imagination.

On blank newsprint canvas I would scrawl out information about my endless Dungeon & Dragons campaigns, and draw up blueprints for my future fantasy wardrobes reminiscent of the one in Chronicles of Narnia.

Eventually, my father moved from loading printing presses for the Daily News to doing the same exact thing for the New York Times. This was a huge deal for him. Even though he was still breaking his back literally and metaphorically, the clout of working for the Times vs the Daily News was enough to make him smile (a rarity) and celebrate when he got confirmation of the move to the Times.

I grew up with an understanding that the New York Times was a paper that held weight in the minds of many. But that understanding came with the deeply embedded belief that it was the place where other people got mentioned and written about. It was a place to admire other people, not the people I grew up with or even people like myself and my family who were living on the bitter edges of poverty barely eeking out an existence.

---

It’s July and it’s sunny outside. I am 20 years old. I am sitting at my desk listening to Depeche Mode while registering for classes in the art school I am attending for illustration.

I have been living on my own for the last two years after having been disowned by my parents due to leaving their conservative religion.

Being disowned feels like the loudest silence in existence.

The only break in the silence comes moments later when my roommate tells me that my mother is on the phone. I answer and she informs me that my father died earlier that morning and she felt she should let me know. You know, just in case, it mattered. I don’t know what matters when I hear those words. Those words replay over and over in my mind for the rest of the summer.

---

It’s January and it’s a grim, rainy afternoon. I am 25 years old.

I have just celebrated my birthday and I am sitting on a couch I rescued from the trash.

I start listening to a Sigur Ros album.

The music swells to an emotive crescendo. It's the type of crescendo that propagates self-reflection. I try to imagine my future and start crying soul-wrenching tears that pour down my face.

I've been working seven days a week in dead-end jobs for years. I am so tired.

My roommate and his girlfriend come home right at that moment. He sees me on the couch with a tear-stained face and sits next to me. Without any words exchanged we hug for a good half hour while I sob uncontrollably into his neck.

It’s a real hug. I can feel his ribs and it reminds me of how fragile existence is.

I go to sleep that night the same way I have been going to sleep for years, recalling a blizzard when I was a child.

My father had to stay home from work that night since the trains were not running. Our neighbors offered use of their sleds and my parents happily took them up on the offer.

As soon as my father stepped outside, his face erupted into a huge grin and he proceeded to spend the night pulling me and my brothers on sleds through the streets of Flushing.

The snow swirled like confetti at a ticker-tape parade.

I looked up at the street lights and in that moment wonder and magic felt tangible and real, as real as the wind kissing my face.

I returned to this moment every night for years because for years bedtime was one of the few things I looked forward to.

----

It’s December and It's almost midnight. It's the winter of 2012.

I am feverishly checking the weather forecast to figure out when the first snowflakes will fall to the ground.

I listen to The Cure - Plainsong on repeat. It's my ritual before every snowstorm.

The chimes start and as the lyrics kick in, I get goosebumps:

"I think it's dark and it looks like it's rain, you said And the wind is blowing like it's the end of the world, you said

And it's so cold, it's like the cold if you were dead And you smiled for a second

I think I'm old and I'm feeling pain, you said And it's all running out like it's the end of the world, you said

And it's so cold, it's like the cold if you were dead And you smiled for a second

Sometimes you make me feel Like I'm living at the edge of the world Like I'm living at the edge of the world It's just the way I smile, you said"

I have felt like the wind is blowing like it’s the end of the world for what seems like an eternity.

It's these lyrics I hear in my mind when I walk seven or eight miles in snowstorms trying to capture what loneliness, isolation, and nostalgia have felt like trying to survive alone in New York City.

I lose myself every time I go out in the snow.

I lose the feeling of hunger gnawing its way through my stomach for years.

I lose the crushing feeling of futility I used to feel heading to endless dead-end jobs hoping to keep the lights on for another month.

I lose the years of wondering if my family ever even thinks of me.

I lose the bits of myself that suffered the most.

I lose the anger, the sadness, the loss.

I am cleansed by the flakes that flutter in the night air and land on my nose and eyelashes.

I am, momentarily, that child in my neighbor's sled looking up at streetlights marveling at the wonder of existence.

----

It's today.

I walk to the newsstand.

I open the New York Times and see my book, New York in the Snow, staring back at me.

I grin for what seems like an eternity.

A post shared by Vivienne Gucwa (@travelinglens) on Nov 26, 2017 at 10:38am PST

----

(special thanks to everyone who has been in my life for the whole journey or even part of the journey - some of you probably don't even know the impact you have had)

(and, of course, a warm thanks to the New York Times for making me believe that dreams really do come true)

(this moment probably won’t ever not seem surreal.)

#vivienne gucwa #new york in the snow #vivienne gucwa new york times #new york times #nyc snow #new york city snow #nyc #new york city

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kmalexander · 3 years

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Gleam Upon the Soundtrack

In the past, I’ve released my book playlists before the launch of the book. These tend to be inspiration playlists, not the music I find myself writing to. (If you’re interested in a “writing playlist,” let me know in the comments! I’d be happy to assemble something. There’s very much a “type” of music I listen to when writing a Bell Forging Cycle book.) Since Gleam Upon the Waves has been out for a little over a week, I thought I’d go a step further and not only share the playlist but give a few details, why I chose particular songs, and how I felt they reflected (and inspired) aspects of the story.

First, the playlist! Jam out, roaders.

Not a Spotify fan? The playlist is also over on YouTube.

SPOILER WARNING

The following details will contain Gleam Upon the Waves spoilers. So, if you’re still reading, I’d recommend avoiding the rest of this post until after you finished the book. For the rest of you, let’s head deeper into the playlist.

Prologue

Sons and Daughters – American Spirit

youtube

Sleep now child beneath The heavy current Dragging you along

This was the song that inspired this book. Something about life dragging you through the wringer without caring about your desires or plans cemented itself inside my head (even well before 2020.)

Chapter 1 & 2

Baltimore Blues No. 1 – Deer Tick

youtube

Can you hear the sound of the crawling flesh Now can you smell the burning desire This place is too small to hide All the ghosts that’s kicking around inside

There’s something gritty to this Deer Tick song. I felt it was a nice pairing to Wal putting on airs and wearing suits—despite his intentions, he can’t hide who he is. His problems will not disappear. Lovat devours.

Chapter 3

Gates of Dawn – Heartless Bastards

youtube

I have awoken The footsteps sound of thunder

While this tune more positive than Wal’s experience, I thought opening a new reality deserved a song that had a similar impact. I’m also a sucker for Erika Wennerstrom’s vocals. (Probably why Heartless Bastards make an appearance a little later.)

Chapter 1-3

How Deep Is The Ocean – Miles Davis

youtube

Like I wouldn’t include this in an ocean-themed playlist.

Chapter 4

bury a friend – Billie Eilish

youtube

Why aren’t you scared of me? Why do you care for me? When we all fall asleep, where do we go?

I had this chapter in my head since Red Little World. I also read it for Dead Drop Live last week. I loved the idea of Ashton being this ghost that haunts Wal—an echo of his past. One he weirdly cares about despite understanding that he’s an enemy. Eilish’s pop-minimalism just felt right for a decoupled avatar whom you may or may not want dead.

Chapter 5

Wild and Wasted Waters – Kill It Kid

youtube

Wild and wasted waters Have come to carry me on

For something so deadly, humans have an odd fascination with water. Also, this song fits with Wal being entirely out of his element. It’s helped by the Alan Lomax sample that works too well as an undercurrent for the story happening to Wal.

Chapter 6 & 7

Blood on your Bootheel – Caroline Rose

youtube

Think if you act like a man, you can alter this wheel; You can make it in this world without that blood on your bootheels

“Altering the wheel” is something Wal has attempting for a while (since Old Broken Road, if we’re honest,) but he can’t change his destiny. He can kick against the goads as much as he wants, but fate will drag him along whether he wants it or not.

Chapter 8

‘Round Midnight – Thelonious Monk

youtube

No lyrics, but man what a song. (If you haven’t noticed, any of the jazz numbers I call out in the books end up in my playlists.)

Chapter 9 & 10

Glitter & Gold – Barns Courtney

youtube

Do you ponder the manner of things In the dark The dark, the dark, the dark

Wal’s damn lucky for a guy that can’t escape his reality, eh? There’s also an element of foreshowing here. With the cult’s interest Wal can’t escape his past just like he can’t escape fate.

Chapter 11

Lovecraft in Brooklyn – The Mountains Goats

youtube

Someday something’s coming From way out beyond the stars To kill us while we stand here It’ll store our brains in mason jars

If you’ve read the last three books, it should be obvious why I included this one. Also, John Darnielle is a national treasure and should be protected at all costs.

Chapter 12, 13, & 14

Sirens – Lola Marsh

youtube

In a million years It’ll all be over Within a million years It’ll all be over

Yael Shoshana Cohen’s voice is incredible. There is a vastness in this song that matched the tone of the Wasteland. It also deals with time on an epic scale, and that’s something I appreciated—it’s cosmicy without being overt.

Chapter 15

Postcards From Hell – The Wood Brothers

youtube

I got a soul that I won’t sell And I don’t read postcards from hell

I hope you caught how Gleam Upon the Waves reflects the other stories up until this point. Wal waking in a hospital and pushing himself out of bed is awfully familiar. Despite what he’s faced with, Wal tends not to stop. He’s relentless. Tell him things are bad, and he keeps going. His tenacity is admirable, if not a bit foolish.

Chapter 16 & 17

Wicked Waters – Benjamin Booker

youtube

This must be where I lose it all, darling Throw myself into wicked waters

Again, water. Maybe our pal acted a bit too rashly?

Chapter 18

Ding Ding Dong – Waipod Petchsuphan

youtube

For all its familiarity, Empress is a foreign place, and Wal is a stranger. This poppy Thai luk thung track from ’76 sparked similar emotions for me. It’s familiar, borrowing from common themes, but at the same time it’s different from other music of the era. It’s also a bop.

Chapter 19

Hello, Darling – Conway Twitty

youtube

Hello darlin’, nice to see you, it’s been a long time

Should be fairly obvious.

Chapter 20

Figure It Out – Royal Blood

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Nothing better to do When I’m stuck on you And still I’m here Trying to figure it out

This is a fairly big reveal, and while the theme of the song is related to Wal’s relationship with Essie, it’s even more complicated. “Figuring it out” is kinda a thing here, see?

Chapter 21, 22, & 23

You Want it Darker – Leonard Cohen

youtube

There’s a lullaby for suffering And a paradox to blame But it’s written in the scriptures And it’s not some idle claim You want it darker We kill the flame

Cohen’s last album deals with death and loss, there’s a heaviness to it, and it felt fitting for this section of the book.

Chapter 24, 25, 26

Mean Old World – Big Bill Broonzy

youtube

This is a mean old world to live in, I’m just travelin’ through It’s a mean old world to live in, I’m just travelin’ through Yes, sometime I get so blue, that I don’t know what to do

Another one that should be obvious. Poor Wal. Who’s the jerk that subjects him to this?

Chapter 27 & 28

Madness – Ruelle

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Nowhere to run from all of this havoc Nowhere to hide From all of this madness, madness, madness

Eventually, you can only experience so much before it all just begins to break down.

Chapter 29 & 30

Sway – Heartless Bastards

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So, I stumble and I sway into the room and I fade I hope my darkest day are behind me I want to stay here in the sun for a while I hope my darkest days are behind me

There’s a spark of hope here, and I feel like there’s a spark of hope in these chapters as well. Yes, two Heartless Bastard songs in this playlist. You’re going to have to deal.

Chapter 31

Remains – Algiers

youtube

While the captors boast On how they lower your costs The rich men gamble At the foot of the cross

When you make a decision, you need to be ready to deal with the outcome.

Chapter 32

Revival – Soulsavers

youtube

Why am I so blind With my eyes wide open, oh? Trying to get my hands Clean in dirty water

A song about people doing something they feel is right even though reality clashes with that desire, and somehow, at their core, they know it. If that doesn’t fit the Deeperists, I don’t know what would.

Chapter 33 & 34

The Church Bell’s Moan – Bror Gunnar Jansson

youtube

Don’t you hear them?

Ring the bell and eventually they’ll come.

Chapter 35 & 36

Get Loud for Me – Gizzle

youtube

I see my goal and get cold as December when Counting our sins, I don’t have no friends I came here to win, my start is your end Now let it begin now

FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT. Also, this is such a great reflection of the previous song that I had to include it.

Chapter 37 & 38

The End – Kings of Leon

youtube

This could be the end This could be the end This could be the end This could be the end ‘Cause I ain’t got a home

A song about change and facing that change. Felt like a fitting end to this playlist.

Chapter 37 & 38… again

I See A Darkness – Johnny Cash & Bonnie “Prince” Billy

youtube

And did you know how much I love you Is a hope that somehow you you Can save me from this darkness?

Wait, never mind. This is even more fitting.

Chapter 37 & 38… for real this time

The Parting Glass – Hozier

youtube

Of all the comrades that ere I had, they’re sorry for my going away, And of all the sweethearts that ere I had, they wish me one more day to stay, But since it falls unto my lot that I should rise while you should not, I will gently rise and I’ll softly call, “Goodnight and joy be with you all!”

No… this one.

So, that’s Gleam Upon the Soundtrack, a Gleam Upon the Waves playlist! I hope everyone enjoyed a glimpse into my musical inspirations. It’s really fun to assemble these things and reflect on why particular songs spoke to me over another. I totally understand why other authors do it as well. This isn’t the only playlist I’ve made for my novels, you can check out the other ones here.

Once again, thanks to everyone for picking up Gleam Upon the Waves. I’m really proud of it, and I hope you enjoyed your time back in the Territories. If you haven’t nabbed your copies yet, you can do so from any of the links below.

Buy the paperback:

Amazon – Barnes & Noble

Buy the eBook:

Kindle – Kobo – Nook – Apple Books – GooglePlay

Finally, if you’ve finished Gleam, please leave an honest review, and if you liked it, tell your friends! Thank you for making Gleam Upon the Waves one of the books you chose to read this year. Time is finite and it’s an honor you decided to spend some of yours with my book.

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