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imaginethebeautifulworld · 4 years ago

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Let’s say England has a long-term girlfriend he knows isn’t the biggest fan of marriage bc her family had been really really pushy (before she got the heck out of dodge) about her marrying + reproducing ASAP. How might he react if she came to him and said she was kinda starting to like the general concept of marrying him — that is, the whole ‘together forever’ bit. Thanks!

I confess darling that I have been trying to finish this prompt for well over a year, and I offer my sincerest apologies that it’s taken me this long to finish it. Still, despite my tardiness, I hope you enjoy, and I thank you for your patience with me.

You had never intended to fall in love, not with the constant push of your relatives to fall in line like a perfect child.

First, marriage to someone they deemed acceptable, raising the perfect 2.5 children, followed by quietly settling into parenthood and complaisant contentment until the day you last drew breath.

Truth of the matter was, you had avoided all chances of romance for the first few years after you moved away from home, carefully slipping away from anyone who seemed remotely interested in you.

You knew your folks would have disproved such behaviour had they learnt the truth, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to care. You had your own dreams to pursue, your own story to tell, your own life to live; you didn't need someone by your side to feel complete.

You were happy as you were, finding enjoyment in your work and figuring out your place in the world.

You didn’t need, or frankly want, anything more than that.

That was of course until you met him.

Falling in love with Arthur Kirkland had been a complete accident. He slipped past all of your defenses and took up residence in your heart as if he had always belonged there.

It started out slow enough; at first you simply knew him as a familiar face from the cafe in Waterstones, steaming cup of Darjeeling and a chocolate croissant sitting forgotten on the table in front of him, always too focused on his reading to pay any attention to the outside world. After one particularly crowded Sunday afternoon, he began to transition into your favorite dining companion, the two of you often taking turns paying for each other’s food. Slowly but surely, you began forgetting about your books, too wrapped up in conversation, and before you knew it-

You had come to love every part of him- the gentleman that you begrudgingly introduced to your parents, the rebellious and passionate activist, the cocky and playful little shit who had long ago memorised all the best ways to disarm you, and the ancient soul who cared so deeply, who still stretched himself thin most days in effort to protect each of his loved ones.

You fell in love with his voice, whispering sonnets and sonatas and sweet nothings in your ear while his arms cradled you from behind.

You fell in love with his eyes, still losing your footing sometimes when the light caught them just right, dreaming momentarily of summer forests and grassy glades and the misty dews of spring.

You fell in love with his smiles, from the satisfied grin at stirring up Peter’s ire to the breathless wonder each time you kissed or complimented him, to the bright, beautiful, blinding smile he wore when he was incandescently happy, his entire countenance iridescent from his joy.

You loved him completely- for his devotion, for his sweet gestures, for his damned impishness, for his wit, his sass, and the soft spoken affection.

You loved him: for his patience, for his recklessness, for his resilience, for his possessive pride that was somehow more charming than alarming.

He was unique, an enigma that, even after having lived together for years and dating even longer, kept you on your toes, his energy and random spouts of spontaneity proving to you that, even if you spent one hundred lifetimes with him, he would always remain a puzzle you would never fully solve.

And by God did you want to.

Arthur had stolen your heart away from you before you had even noticed he was close enough to take it, offering his own in its stead.

You had remained reluctant, confided in him your fears about settling down, how much you dreaded becoming trapped in a monotonous rut of tedium. He was quick to reassure you, showing through words and actions far more impassioned and teasing than he had ever shown prior, that an eternity with him could never be boring.

Even on quiet days, like today, with a steady drizzle painting the world in greys, Arthur humming quietly while adding another patch to his denim vest, and no other disturbance apart from the cat’s chittering at the robins playing in a puddle by the iron fence- Even now, you weren’t so much bored as you were pensive.

You had been thinking about a future with him a lot in the past few days, some irrelevant ad on your mobile about wedding venues catching your attention and slithering into the back of your mind.

What kind of wedding would he like? Would Arthur prefer something small and intimate, or would his hubris crave a larger venue, giving him yet another chance to prove to the world that he belonged at your side, no one else? You couldn’t help but wonder if he would wear his uniform or a suit, if he would leave the rats' nest he called a hairstyle untouched, or if he would perhaps slick it back in that way that somehow made the normal rakishness disappear, a confident, refined cavalier standing in his place.

You knew of course that none of this mattered unless you actually talked to him first; as far as you were aware, he was content with the current arrangement, and he respected your views of marriage.

He had known, for a long time, just where the grim outlook stemmed from, and he never breached the subject again.

But now-

You had thought it was enough to hold his love, his faith, his vulnerabilities. But life was so fleeting, and now those few things were no longer enough.

You wanted to wake up every morning next to him, wanted the cheesy partners’ towel and flip flop sets. You wanted the physical reminder that you held his heart, the comforting reminder that he completely possessed your own. You wanted to be by his side forever, holding his hand through the good and the ill, facing new worlds and challenges and the uncertain future together.

You knew the risks, of course.

Marriage to a Nation carried an even heavier burden than the simple oath of “till death do us part.”

No, marrying Arthur would mean weaving your entire lives together, binding you on a spiritual level far surpassing mortality; it would mean sacrificing your chance to ever grow old, to eternally give yourself away: heart, mind, body, and soul.

But this was Arthur, who sang showtunes in the shower, who spent hours making silly faces at the cat, who was ridiculously competitive about Halloween costumes, the man who sat down and memorised the entirety of The Tempest in one night just for the bragging rights.

He already owned your heart, constantly invaded your thoughts and daydreams, and God knew he had long, long ago claimed your body, making certain not a single millimeter of his new territory went unexplored.

Would it really be so bad to give him your soul, too?

Glancing back up, seeing his eyes narrowed in concentration, his fingers handling the needle with expert precision, lips slightly parted, reading glasses fallen halfway down his nose-

You knew your answer.

It was always going to be Arthur for you, only Arthur.

Forever, should he have you.

But now you faced the challenge of telling him that.

It should be simple enough; you really held no more secrets from him, and he no longer bothered trying to hide anything from you. You loved how open you were with one another, cherished the honesty that served as the very foundation to your relationship.

But the truth was that you were terrified.

It had been so long since either of you had spoken of marriage, since the topic was even a thought in your minds, and-

What if he didn't want you anymore?

What if he-

"I can see the steam coming outta your ears."

The unexpected presence of Arthur's voice startled you, eyes darting back over to the very man who was unwittingly tormenting you.

He had barely moved from his earlier position, though his glasses had been pushed up into his hair and he was studying you curiously, if not bemusedly.

"You good there?"

By default, you nearly responded with an affirmative, some playful, lighthearted thing that would have dismissed his concern immediately. You cut yourself off mid-start, then, while shifting to sit properly in the armchair, you decided to push forward. "Can we talk?"

You watched as his expression shifted, revealing his concern as he tied off his thread, setting aside the patchwork and gestured for you to join him on the sofa.

There were a few awkward moments where you took up your favourite positions, Arthur tossing an afghan across the pair of you despite your insistence that you didn't need one, the flicker of a grin as you begrudgingly thanked him, and then shifting around as you both got comfortable, but soon enough-

"Alright, now; talketh at-eth me."

It was impossible to fight the smile his choice of words triggered, a reference to an inside joke so old now that you could scarcely recall its origin. Seeming to deem it a success, his own soft, reassuring smile greeted you.

"Seriously though, luv-" His hand came to rest atop your own, his fingers gently tapping a familiar rhythm against your skin. "What's troubling you?"

You were half-tempted to offer something short of sincerity, something innocuous and mundane that you could both laugh over and forget again within a few hours. Yet, you knew that if you didn't tell him now, didn't ask him now, you would never find the courage again.

"I've been thinking-"

"Ah. A scary premise in its own right."

"Oh, shut up," you retorted to his tease, smacking his arm for his troubles. He rewarded you with a grin, all fondness and mischief. Opting to ignore him, you pressed on, eyes downcast to avoid whatever judgement he may offer.

"As I was trying to say earlier, before I was so rudely interrupted-" The teasing fell off, and the worry crept back in. "I've been thinking. About us."

"O-oh?"

Were you not so consumed by your own anxieties, you would have noticed his stutter, would have seen the sudden tension in his posture, the fear in his eyes. As it was, you were completely oblivious to all of it, and made yourself continue at his prompting.

"I- I think I'm ready."

He mimed the word "ready" to himself, parroting it with utter befuddlement. "For wha-"

"I mean, I know I wasn't for such a long time, and-" Suddenly, you were off, half unhinged. Now that you had admitted the truth aloud, it was all rushing out of you, everything you had come to love about him, everything that-

A finger pressing firmly against your lips stopped you mid-tangent, and when you glanced up to find piercing, blazing emerald focused on you as if you were the very center of the universe, whatever remained of your ramblings disappeared entirely.

"What are you trying to say?"

A simple question, so easy to answer, yet it carried with it the weight of Infinities, demanding nothing save the truth, in its most basic state.

You were lost in his gravity, half-drowning in whatever this new feeling was. It was addicting, another riddle to be solved.

"Marry me."

Time stood still, the words weighing heavily in the space between you, now seemingly insurmountable despite being no more than mere decimeters.

Arthur showed no reaction, revealed no indication that he had even heard your plea, your query, your command, your request, and yet it echoed over and over in your own mind, the tone, the weight, the untimeliness-

Every facet- from your inflection to chosen tempo- crescandoed as an accusation, a mocking symphony that he would reject you, that you would be left with only the haunting strains of your ill-conceived proposal.

And yet-

There was a hesitation in his eyes, the face of a man who wanted wholeheartedly to believe what he had heard, but had been burned far too often in the past to dare allow himself hope.

"You-" His eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed as he studied you once more, only for the suspicion to disappear again almost immediately, disbelief swiftly taking its place. "You're serious?"

It was then that you finally read his nervousness, understood the strange emotion reflecting in his eyes.

You had lead him to a precipice, the vast Unknown before you both, and-

And he was just as fragile as you were, even if he was better at hiding it.

You gave his hand a light squeeze, hoping to ground you both, and offered him a nod. “If you’ll have me, anyway.”

His eyes flickered between your own, darting back-and-forth so quickly in search of a lie, of any doubts, of any hint that you were less than certain- yet you knew he would find none of that.

“What about your family?”

The question took you by surprise; in the moment, you had completely forgotten anyone else even existed.

You weighed his question carefully. Marrying Arthur would give your family leave to gloat in self-satisfaction, and you knew with absolutely certainty that they would hold it over your head for the next three decades. But looking into the eyes of the man before you, remembering all that you had already seen and done together, you found that others' opinions no longer mattered, really hadn't mattered in a long, long time.

“I couldn’t care less about them. Arth-”

Whatever you were going to say was forgotten as he closed the remaining distance between you, moving so swiftly that you scarcely had a moment to steady yourself before he captured you in a searing kiss, one of his most passionate by far.

Somehow, despite the suddenness of it all, the initial force, the intensity-

He was being incredibly gentle, and moving slowly enough to almost be more a torment than a treat. Almost.

You found yourself lost in a daze when he finally pulled away, just enough for each of you to catch your breaths, just far enough that he could study you with rapt attention. You could have drowned in his eyes, endless greens magnetizing in their intensity. His hands were still cradling your cheeks, still holding you firmly in place, a not completely foreign expression creasing his features.

You couldn't quite place it, even as your memories shifted desperately in search of its mate.

"'If I'd have you?'" His words, a rhetorical refrain of your own mere moments earlier, were scarcely a shared breath between you, murmured in timbre so low it summoned a shiver. There was the smallest twitch of his lip, his head tilting ever so slightly as more of that damned deviousness made its presence known. "I fully intend to have you regardless, luv. But the formality of it all certainly adds a particular je ne sais quoi, wouldn't you agree?"

You'd be damned if he knew just how that made your heart flutter, if he knew just how much weight that reassurance had lifted from your shoulders.

Carefree, content, you offered a playful smile. "Till death do us part then?"

Arthur no longer bothered trying to restrain his smile, soft and sincere in a way that left you breathless. "I'll love you till even the stars go cold, my dear."

Thanks for reading~

#england x reader #aph england #arthur kirkland x reader #hello lovelies~!#hws england #hetalia england #aph arthur kirkland #hetalia arthur kirkland #hws arthur kirkland #reader insert #hetalia x reader #hello lovelies!#readerfic #thanks for reading!#aph england x reader #hetalia england x reader #hws england x reader

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embrassemoi · 3 years ago

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Gleamin' Shiny and Bright ✿ L.E

Loving Lily made it feel as if the world suddenly became saturated with varying piercing bright colours that were hidden before. It was endless and expanded with every waking moment. She learned to love Lily in hues and shades of colours: reds also revealed to have pinks, blues suddenly had turquoise and periwinkle, purples became violets and lavender while yellow became creams and blended with red to make orange.

Pairing: Lily Evans x [F]Reader CW: Implied sexual content, fluff, a lot of fluff, discussions of marriage, fluff, Unbeta’d A/N: Inspo: Emerald Eyes by Fleetwood mac

【 Masterlist | Playlist | ao3 】

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Lily’s fingers softly trailed down the contours of Y/N’s spine as her lips trailed her jaw all the way up to her ear. Both laid bare, bodies intertwined in soft silk sheets, basking in the soft golden glow of the setting sun. Lily whispered seductively into her ear which had her skin burning in its wake.

“You’re insatiable!” she giggled, pushing Lily away playfully before turning to face her.

“Only for you.” Lily purred, before attacking her with peppered kisses. Y/N’s hands sneaked to cradle her face, weaving their way through her red, messy hair cascading all around her.

The way the warm rays spilled onto Lily made her look ethereal. A soft blush spread all over her cheekbones as Y/N subconsciously traced her freckles. They were laid out like a constellation, a road hidden with secrets and stories that only she knew.

She would consider herself lucky; to be able to touch, to know, to laugh and to hold someone like Lily Evans. Y/N could live a thousand lifetimes and still never feel worthy of someone like her.

She recalled the early stages of falling in love with Lily. It crept on her slowly, quietly but then pulled her into a whirlwind. Falling in love with her felt like climbing onto a roller coaster, being strapped in tightly and started moving. Every sharp twist, every slump and new loop constantly had her wanting more. The ride would speed up, her heart pound and fluttered before her stomach turned and twisted once the ride flipped upside down. But she was more than fine with that. Perfect, actually. It stayed like that, for weeks, for months until the ride came to a stop.

Being in love with Lily was like climbing off the ride, dazed and high, enriched in the atmosphere around. Everything felt soothing, like slipping into a warm bath on a winter’s eve. Even her name brought her to ease.

Every kiss pressed to her lips made Y/N feel sun-kissed, basked in a thousand stars. “I love you,” she breathed.

There was a soft gaze in Lily’s eyes as her forehead leaned against hers; eyes darting across her face like she was trying to commit everything to memory. Before Y/N went to open her mouth again, she was suddenly interrupted. Her words were quiet, breathy — barely above a whisper but it seemed like the loudest Lily had ever spoken.

“Do you want to get married?”

Y/N halts, becoming motionless and pulls away from Lily to stare unto her bright, emerald eyes as silence ensues. Her jaw is slacked, confused as she studies a-way-too calm Lily whilst her abdomen explodes with fluttering butterflies. They could both hear the soft crashing of waves in the background along with the seagulls singing their daily rituals. They both had rented out a small cottage in Cornwall for their second anniversary, their window wide open as the curtains moved as the breeze flowed in.

She swore her heart stopped.

“. . .What? Was that — are you proposing?”

But then the reality of what she said must’ve hit Lily all at once as the words fell from her lips because she sits upright, eyes wide and tries to seem unperturbed by Y/N’s shock. She rips away, hand threading through her hair as her mouth opens and closes like somehow the action would take back what she said.

“Ugh — Y’know. . . um — right, sorry. I — let’s er. . . forget what I said.”

Lily pushes up, away from her, the cool feeling of the evening breeze now surrounds them but Y/N grabs her wrist and pulls her back.

“No, continue!” she urged. Somehow, Lily’s blush deepens.

“Well — erm, no, I wasn’t proposing,” but then Lily sputters, quickly adding on. “It’s not like I don’t want to! I very much want to — it just won’t be like this? Wait, um — okay.” She stops to recollect herself. “We’ve just never talked about. . .” her eyes glance up to gauge her reaction, “marriage before. . . and once I propose, I just wanted to make sure you were on the same page?”

Y/N’s lungs seem to collapse, rip apart and then piece themselves back together as the implication from Lily’s words reverberated inside her now very empty head.

I want to, she said — once I propose. She said once and want to. That means it will happen — that she has every intention of marrying her eventually.

Lily Evans wants to marry her. She has to take a moment to process it, but the silence leaves Lily panicking.

“Nevermind, it’s stupid — not important —”

“Stop it,” she finally snaps out of her daze, “that wasn’t stupid. Far from it.”

Lily drops her head into her hands as she struggles to put her thoughts into words. Her palms eventually worm their way to press firmly against her eyes as her fingers yank down on her hair. She was struggling, immensely hard and Y/N’s heart ached at the scene. So, she moved closer to her, closing the gap between them as she placed an encouraging hand on Lily’s knee. That seemed to stop the intrusive thoughts altogether as she bit her lip.

She takes a deep breath of air, feeling the breeze help calm her down and chest starts to return to its normal intervals.

“I know I want to get married,” she states. Her eyes lock with Y/N’s as she desperately tries to make out how she’s feeling. Lily read every micro-expression, studied the way she blinked or breathed in hopes of an answer.

Y/N lets the words sink in for a second and her heart beats so hard against her chest she wonders if Lily could hear. But then Lily coughs; she wants a response — some sort — any sort of confirmation that what she said was okay. “So. . .”

“Wow.” Inwardly, she scolds herself.

Lily tilts her head. “Is that a bad wow?”

She gently lays herself back down on the soft pillows as Lily follows. They both face each other as the wind beckons them. She tucks a strand of fallen red hair behind Lily’s ears and Y/N couldn’t help but fall in love just a little more, a little harder and a few imagines of what their potential wedding could look like popped up.

“No," she reassured her, "but you really know how to leave me breathless, literally.” And then Lily let out a breathy chuckle and she smiled. Her smile… it lit Y/N up like a thousand stars. Her smile was so bright, so beautiful that it could make flowers grow and it was the most precious treasure Y/N could ever ask for. Her heart cooled, from the cool wind, to a warm contentedness.

She pulls Lily flush against her, pressing a soft kiss against her velvety lips and pulls back just enough to see her reaction but bathe in her warmth.

“I do too,” her breath fanned gently across Lily’s face.

She couldn’t contain her smile as her eyes crinkle. “You do?”

Her smile was wide and Lily’s eyes gleamed so brightly that they could rival emeralds themselves. Y/N knew for a long time too. Everything about their relationship made her feel safe, surrounded by a serenity that only Lily could provide. She made her feel hugged like freshly fallen snow on a mountain; eyes so profound that searched through the very inner workings of her soul. She felt new and exciting, yet like she’d known her forever. Lily was dazzling, beaming with glittering colours. She’d known for a while, it’s just the realization came a little later than her lover’s.

“I want to get married too.”

Lily tackled her into a hug which had them both chuckling out. Both in amusement, but filled with the purest love that made their hearts ache with pride.

And so they started brainstorming.

“Is there a time you would want to?”

“Anytime. We’re young, in love — the world is our oyster, blah, blah,” Y/N replies, but her answer is honest. Anytime. “Getting the timing down will be hard.”

“Imagine proposing and James see? I think he’ll wail and faint.”

“Or Sirius would make it about himself.”

“He would whine about not proposing to Remus first.”

“What about a public or private proposal?”

“Private.”

“I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“What about flowers?”

“Oh, pfft,” Y/N lets out a snort, “there obviously has to be —” “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to say.”

Y/N mocks offensive, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Let me finish!”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Terribly sorry.”

Her lips twitch into a knowing smirk, “— lilies. There have to be lilies. Maybe they’ll be my bouquet.”

“Of course, of course.”

“Preferably. . . would red clash with our scheme?”

“Red, as in my hair?”

“Yes.” “Then probably.”

They burst out into another fit of giggles. Maybe it was paradoxically — a placebo — cliche — but Y/N felt her heartbeat calm at the thought. Maybe it was finally getting an answer, that they’re taking their relationship to the next level. Marriage. . . forever. . . It's said to be scary, but maybe it’s because it’s with Lily that it seems the exact opposite.

Unknowingly, for their fourth anniversary two years from then, they both bought a set of rings with one question heavy in their hearts, knowing deep down what their response would be.

Yes.

And then, I do.

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cathygeha · 5 years ago

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REVIEW

Handle With Care by Helena Hunting

Shacking Up #5 Couldn’t put it down...nope...no way...no how! Wren Sterling is a “handler” of people and situations they create. Her job is to keep the PR positive even when the person responsible for messes deserves to take a hit. Having worked for awhile to clean up Armstrong Moorehead’s messes and try to control his antics she is asked to take on the other brother – Lexington. With the goal of starting her own business and the job lucrative enough to perhaps do so...she signs on the dotted line. Lexington is NOT like his brother and has managed to distance himself from the dysfunctional family he was born into...until his father dies suddenly and the will is read. With a plea from G-Mom to help run the media company and no way to say no he settles in to see what has happened and needs to happen to keep the company going and perhaps thrive again. Wren’s meet-cute with Lexington was...interesting and the hook that started the book. The next one had to do with an interesting situation involving a breeze and a skirt flying up and from there on this book had me smiling and caring and laughing and sometimes wanting to pound on a few of the family members Lexington had to contend with. And, that secret apartment that is found and the mystery that unearths is...VERY interesting. I am now wondering if perhaps a person introduced near the end of the book will get a story of her own – I do Hope so ;) As for Armstrong...I have no idea if there is ANY hope for him but perhaps there is a woman somewhere in the world that can redeem him...or perhaps not. The chemistry between Wren and Lexington was definitely there and when they acted upon it...oh my! I so enjoyed reading their scenes together. I found them both intelligent, warm, caring and just the sort of people I would like to be friends with. Did I enjoy this book? Definitely! Would I like to read more in this series? Without a doubt Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Paperbacks – This is my honest review. 5 Stars

Synopsis:

New York Times bestselling author of SHACKING UP and I FLIPPING LOVE YOU Helena Hunting mixes humor and heart in this scandal-filled romantic comedy.

HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL. Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman

SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER. Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.

Buy-Book Link:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250183996

EXCERPT

CHAPTER 1

WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?

WREN

I slip onto the empty bar stool beside the lumberjack mountain man who looks like he tried to squeeze himself into a suit two sizes too small. He’s intimidatingly broad and thick, with long dark hair that’s been pulled up into a haphazard man bun thing. His beard is a hipster’s wet dream. His scowl, however, makes him about as approachable as a rabid porcupine. And yet, here I am, sidling up next to him.

He glances at me, eyes bleary and not really tracking. He quickly focuses on his half-empty glass again. Based on the slump of his shoulders and the uncoordinated way he picks up his glass and tips it toward his mouth, I’m guessing he’s pretty hammered. I order a sparkling water with a dash of cranberry juice and a lime.

What I could really use is a cup of lavender-mint tea and my bed, but instead, I’m sitting next to a drunk man in his thirties. My life is extra glamorous, obviously. And no, I’m not an escort, but at the moment I feel like my morals are on the same kind of slippery slope.

“Rough day?” I ask, nodding to the bottle that’s missing more than half its contents. It was full when he sat down at the bar an hour ago. Yes, I’ve been watching him the entire time, waiting for an opportunity to make my move. While he’s been sitting here, he’s turned down two women, one in a dress that could’ve doubled as a disco ball and the other in a top so low-cut, I could almost see her navel.

“You could say that,” he slurs. He props his cheek on his fist, eyes almost slits. I can still make out the vibrant blue hue despite them almost being closed. They move over me, assessing. I’m wearing a conservative black dress with a high neckline and a hem that falls below my knees. Definitely not nearly as provocative as Disco Ball or Navel Lady.

“That solving your problems?” I give him a wry grin and tip my chin in the direction of his bottle of Johnnie.

His gaze swings slowly to the bottle. It gives me a chance to really look at him. Or what I can see of his face under his beard, anyway. 

“Nah, but it helps quiet down all the noise up here.” He taps his temple and blurts, “My dad died.” 

I put a hand on his forearm. It feels awkward, and creepy on my part since its half-genuine, half-contrived comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

 He glances at my hand, which I quickly remove, and refocuses on his drink. “I should be sorry too, but I think he was mostly an asshole, so the world might be better off without him.” He attempts to fill his glass again, but his aim is off, and he pours it on the bar instead. I rush to lift my purse and grab a handful of napkins to mop up the mess.

“I’m drunk,” he mumbles. 

“Well, I’m thinking that might’ve been the plan, considering the way you’re sucking that bottle back. I’m actually surprised you didn’t ask for a straw in the first place. Might be a good idea to throw a spacer in there if you want tomorrow morning to suck less.” I push my drink toward him, hoping he doesn’t send me packing like he did the other women who approached him earlier.

He narrows his eyes at my glass, suspicious, maybe. “What is that?”

“Cranberry and soda.”  

“No booze?” 

“No booze. Go ahead. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

 He picks up the glass and pauses when it’s an inch from his mouth. His eyes crinkle, telling me he’s smiling under that beard. “Does that mean Imma wake up with you beside me?”

I cock a brow. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Shit, sorry.” He chugs the contents of my glass. “I was joking. Besides, I’m so wasted, I can barely remember my name. Pretty sure I’d be useless in bed tonight. I should stop talkin’.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then motions to me. “I wouldn’t proposition you.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I go with semi-affronted, since it seems like somewhat of an insult. “Good to know.”

“Dammit. I mean, I think you might be hot. You look hot. I mean attractive. I think you’re pretty.” He tips his head to the side and blinks a few times. “You have nice eyes, all four of them are lovely.”

This time I laugh—for real—and point to the bottle. “I think you might want to tell your date you’re done for the night.”

He blows out a breath and nods. “You might be right.”

He makes an attempt to stand, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles into me and grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa. Sorry. Yup, I’m definitely drunk.” His face is inches from mine, breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Beyond that, I get a whiff of fresh soap and a hint of aftershave. He lets go of my shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. “I don’t usually do this.” He motions sloppily to the bottle. “Mostly I’m a three drink max guy.”

“I think losing your father makes this condonable.” I slide off my stool. Despite being tall for a woman, and wearing heels, he still manages to be close to a head taller than me.

“Yeah, maybe, but I still think I might regret it tomorrow.” He’s incredibly unsteady, swaying while standing in place. I take the opportunity for what it is and thread my arm through his, leading him away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get you to the elevator before you pass out right here.”

He nods, then wobbles a bit, like moving his head has set him off balance. “That’s probably a good idea.”

He leans into me as we weave through the bar and stumbles on the two stairs leading to the foyer. There’s no way I’ll be able to stop him if he goes down, but I drape one of his huge arms over my shoulder anyway, and slip my own around his waist, guiding him in a mostly straight line to the elevators.

“Which floor are you on?” I ask.

“Penthouse.” He drops his arm from my shoulder and flings it out, pointing to the black doors at the end of the hall. “Jesus, I feel like I’m on a boat.”

“It’s probably all the alcohol sloshing around in your brain.” I take his elbow again, helping him stagger the last twenty feet to the dedicated penthouse elevator.

He stares at the keypad for a few seconds, brow pulling into a furrow. “I can’t remember the code. It’s thumbprint activated though too.” He stumbles forward and presses his forehead against the wall, then tries to line up his thumb with the sensor, but his aim is horrendous and he keeps missing.

I settle a hand on his very firm forearm. This man is built like a tank. Or a superhero. For a moment, I reconsider what I’m about to do, but he seems pretty harmless and ridiculously hammered, so he shouldn’t pose a threat. I’m also trained in self-defense, which would fall under the by any means necessary umbrella. “Can I help?”

He rolls his head, eyes slits as they bounce around my face. “Please.”

I take his hand between mine. The first thing I notice is how clammy it is. But beyond that, his knuckles are rough, littered with tiny scars and a few scabs, and his nails are jagged.

“Your hands are small,” he observes as I line his thumb up with the sensor pad and press down.

“Maybe yours are abnormally big,” I reply. They are rather large. Like basketball player hands.

“You know what they say about big hands.”

I fight not to roll my eyes, but for a brief moment, I wonder if what’s in his pants actually matches the rest of him. And if he’s unkempt everywhere, not just on his face. I cut that visual quickly because it makes me want to gag. “And what do they say?”

His eyes crinkle again, and he slaps his own chest. “Something about big hands, big heart.”

I bite back my own smile. “Pretty sure you’re mixing that up with cold hands, warm heart.”

His brow furrows. “There’s a good chance.”

The elevator doors slide open. He pushes off the wall with some effort and practically tumbles inside. He catches himself on the rail and sags against the wall as I follow him in. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now.

He doesn’t have to press a button since the elevator only goes to the penthouse floor. As soon as we start moving, he groans and his shoulders curl in. “I don’t feel so good.”

Please don’t let him be sick in here. If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s vomit. “You should sit.”

He slides down the wall, massive shoulders rolling forward as he rests his forehead on his knees. “Tomorrow is going to suck.”

I stay on the other side of the elevator, in case he tosses his cookies. “Probably.”

It’s the longest elevator ride in the history of the world. Or at least it feels that way, mostly because I’m terrified he’s going to yak. Thankfully, we make it to the penthouse floor incident-free. On the down side, now that he’s in a sitting position, getting him to stand again is a challenge. I have to press the open door button three times before I can finally coax him to his feet.

In the time between leaving the bar and making it to the penthouse floor, the effects of the alcohol seems to have compounded. He’s beyond sloppy, using the wall and me for support as we make our way to his door. There are two penthouse apartments up here. One on either side of the foyer.

He leans against the doorjamb, once again fighting to find the coordination to get his thumb to the sensor pad. I don’t ask if he needs my assistance this time since it’s quite clear he does. Once again I take his clammy hand in mine.

“Your hands are really soft,” he mumbles. 

“Thanks.”

 The pad ashes green, and I turn the handle. “Okay, here we go. Home sweet home.” 

“This isn’t my home,” he slurs. “My cousin’s family owns this building. I’m crashing here until I can get the fuck out of New York.”

I scan the penthouse. It an eclectic combination of odd art and modern furniture, like two different tastes crashed together and this is the result. Aside from that, it’s clean to the point of looking almost like a show home.

The only sign that someone is staying here is the lone coffee cup on the table in the living room and the blanket lolling like a tongue over the edge of the couch. I’m still standing in the doorway while he sways unsteadily.

He tries to shove his hand in his pants pocket, but all he succeeds in doing is setting himself off-balance. He nearly stumbles into the wall.

“Thanks for your help,” he says.

He’s back in his penthouse, which means my job is technically done. However, I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself, or worse, asphyxiate on his own vomit in the middle of the night, and I’ll be the one catching heat if that happens. I’ll also feel bad if something happens to him. I blow out a breath, annoyed that this is how my night is ending.

I heave his arm over my shoulder and slip mine around his waist again, leading him through the living room toward what seems to be the kitchen. There’s a sheet of paper on the island, but otherwise it’s spotless.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

We pause when we reach the threshold. “Which way is your bedroom?”

He looks slowly from right to left. “Not that way.” He points to the kitchen. It’s very state of the art.

I guide him in the opposite direction down the hall, until he stumbles through a doorway, into a large but simply furnished bedroom. Once we reach the edge of the bed, he drops his arm, spins around—it’s drunkenly graceful—and falls back on the bed, arms spread wide as if he’s planning on making snow angels. “The room is spinning.”

“Would you like me to get you a glass of water and possibly a painkiller for the headache you’ll likely have in the morning?” I’m already heading for the bathroom.

“Might be a good idea,” he mumbles.

I find a glass on the edge of bathroom vanity—which is clean, apart from a brand new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. I run the tap, wishing I had a plastic tumbler, because I’m not sure he’s in any state to deal with breakable objects. I check the medicine cabinet, find the pills I need, shake out two tablets, and return to the bedroom.

He’s right where I left him; sprawled out faceup on a massive king-size bed, legs hanging off the end, one shoe on the floor beside him. I cross over and set the water and the pills on the nightstand.

I make a quick trip back to the bathroom and grab the empty wastebasket from beside the toilet in case his night is a lot rougher than he expects.

I tap his knee, crossing my fingers he’ll be easy to rouse. “Hey, I have painkillers for you.”

He makes a noise, but doesn’t move otherwise.

I tap his knee again. “Lincoln, you need to wake up long enough to take these.” I cringe. I called him by name, and he didn’t offer it to me while we were down at the bar. Here’s hoping he’s too drunk to notice or remember. His name is Lincoln Moorehead, heir to the Moorehead Media fortune and all the crap that comes with it. And there’s a lot of it.

One eye becomes a slit. “Every time I open my eyes, the room starts spinning again.”

“If you drink this and take these, it might help.” I hold up the glass of water and the pills.

“’Kay.” It takes three tries for him to sit up. He tries to pick the pills up out of my palm, but keeps missing my hand.

“Just open your mouth.”

He lifts his head. “How do I know you’re not trying to roofie me?”

I hold up the tablet in front of his face. “They don’t say roofie, so you’re safe.”

He tries to focus on the pill and then my face. I have my doubts he’s successful at either.

His tongue peeks out to drag across his bottom lip. “The cameras in the hall will catch you if you steal my wallet.”

I laugh at that. “I’m not going to steal your wallet, I’m going to put you to bed.”

“Hmm.” He nods slowly and opens his mouth.

I drop the pills on his tongue and hand him the glass, which he drains in three long swallows. “Would you like me to refill that?”

“That’d be nice.” He holds out the glass, but when I try to pull away, he covers my hands with his. His shockingly blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment they’re clear and compelling. Despite how out of it he is, and how much he resembles a mountain man, or maybe because of it, I have a hard time looking away. “I really wish I wasn’t this messed up. You smell nice. I bet your hair is pretty when it’s not pulled up like that.” He flops a hand toward my bun. “Not that it’s not pretty like that, but I bet if you took it down, it would be wavy and soft. The kind of hair you want to bury your face in and run your fingers through.” He exhales a long breath. “I haven’t had sex in a really long time, but I feel like I would have zero finesse if I tried right now.”

I smile and turn away. In the time it takes for me to refill his glass, he’s managed to get one arm out of his suit jacket. He’s made it most of the way onto the bed, feet still hanging off the end, but he’s on his back, which is not ideal.

I set the glass on his nightstand, along with a second set of painkillers, which I’m assuming he’ll need in the morning, and give him another nudge. “Hey.”

This time I get nothing in the way of a response. I poke him twice more, but still nothing. He can’t sleep on his back with how drunk he is. He needs to be on his side or his stomach with a wastebasket close by.

I can’t in good conscience leave him like this. My options are limited. I shake my head as I kick off my shoes and climb up onto the bed with him. This is not at all what I expected to be doing when I brought him back up here.

I stare down at his sleeping form. His lips are parted, they’re nice lips, full and plump, even though they’re mostly obscured by his overgrown beard. His hair has started to unravel from its man bun, wisps hanging in his face. He has long lashes, really long actually, and they’re thick and dark, the kind women pay a lot of money for. His nose is straight and his cheekbones— what I can see of them—are high. With a haircut, a beard trim or complete shave, and a new suit that actually fits, I can imagine how refined he’ll look. More like a Moorehead than a mountain man lumberjack. I shake my head. “I need you to roll onto your side, please,” I say loudly.

Nothing. Not even a grunt.

I pull on his shoulder, but he’s dead weight. Leaning over him, I make a fist and give him a light jab approximately where his kidney is. “Lincoln, roll over.”

And roll he does, knocking me down and turning over so he’s right on top of me. We’re face-to-face. Good God, he’s heavy. His bones must be made of lead. He shifts, one leg coming over both of mine. I push at his knee, but his arm swings out and he wraps himself around me on a low groan, pinning my arm to my side. He’s like a giant human blanket.

“How did this become my life?” I say to the ceiling, because the man lying on top of me is apparently out cold.

I try to wriggle free, I even yell his name a bunch of time before I give up and wait for him to roll off me. And while I wait for that to happen, I replay the conversation with his mother, Gwendolyn Moorehead, that took place forty-eight hours ago and put me in this awkward position underneath her drunk son.

I’d been standing in Fredrick’s office, still digesting the fact that he was dead. It was shocking that a massive heart attack had taken him, since he was always so healthy and full of life.

Gwendolyn, his wife—now a widow—stood stoic behind his desk, papers stacked neatly in the center.

“I’m so very for your loss, Gwendolyn. If there’s anything I can do. Whatever you need.” The words poured out, typical condolences, but sincerely meant because I couldn’t imagine how my mother and I would feel if we lost my father.

Gwendolyn’s fingers danced at her throat as she cleared it. “Thank you,” she whispered brokenly and dabbed at her eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, Wren.”

“Let me know what you want me to handle, and I’ll take care of it.”

She took a deep breath, composing herself before she lifted her gaze to mine. “I need your help.”

“Of course, what can I do?”

“My oldest son, Lincoln, will be returning to New York for the funeral, and he’ll be staying to help run the company.”

A hot feeling crept up my spine. I’d heard very little about Lincoln. Everything from Armstrong’s mouth was scathing, Fredrick’s passing references had been with fondness, and my interactions with Gwendolyn had been minimal as it was Fredrick himself who hired me, so this was first I’ve heard of Lincoln through her. “I see. And how can I help with that?” I could only imagine how difficult Armstrong would be if he had to share the attention with someone else, particularly his brother.

“Transitioning Lincoln.” Gwendolyn rounded her desk. “You’ve managed to turn around Armstrong’s reputation in the media during the time you’ve been here. I know it hasn’t been easy, and Armstrong can be difficult to manage.”

Difficult to manage is the understatement of the entire century where Armstrong is concerned. He’s a cocksucker of epic proportions. He’s also a misogynistic, narcissistic bastard that I’ve had to deal with for the past eight months on a nearly daily basis—sometimes even on weekends.

My job as his “handler” has been to reshape his horrendous reputation after his involvement in several scandalous events became very public. It wasn’t a job I necessarily wanted, and I was prepared to politely reject the offer, but my mother asked me to take the position as a favor to her since she’s a friend of Gwendolyn.

Beyond that, my relationship with my mother has been strained for the past decade. When I was a teenager, I discovered information that changed our relationship forever. Taking the job at Moorehead was in part, my way of trying to help repair our fractured bond. The financial compensation, which was ridiculously high, also didn’t hurt. Besides, Gwendolyn is on nearly every single charitable foundation committee in the city, and since that’s where my interests lie, it seemed like a smart career move.

“Since you’re already working with Armstrong and things seem to be settled there for the most part, I felt it would make sense to keep you on here at Moorehead to work with Lincoln. He’s been away from civilized society for several years. He’s nothing like his brother, very altruistic and focused on his job, rather than recreational pursuits, so he should be easier to manage.”

I fought a scoff at the last bit, since “recreational pursuits” was a reference to the fact that Armstrong couldn’t seem to keep his pants zipped when it came to women.

Gwendolyn pushed a set of papers toward me. “It would only be for another six months. And of course, your salary would reflect the double work load, since you’ll still have to maintain Armstrong in some capacity while you assist Lincoln in transitioning into his role here.”

“I’m sorry, what—”

Gwendolyn pulled me into an awkward hug, holding onto my shoulders when she stepped back. Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to take this on. As soon as your contract is fulfilled, you have my word that I’ll give you a glowing recommendation to whichever organization you’d like. Your mother told me you’re interested in starting your own foundation. I’ll certainly help you in any way I’m able if you’ll stay on a little longer for me.” She dabbed at her corner of her eyes and sniffed, then tapped the papers on the desk. “I already have an agreement ready and an NDA, of course. Everything is tabbed for signing.”

I’m pulled back into the present when Lincoln shifts and one of his huge hands slides up my side and lands on my breast. At the same time, he pushes his nose against my neck, beard tickling my collarbone. He mutters something unintelligible against my skin.

I’m momentarily frozen in shock. Under any other circumstances, I would knee him in the balls. However, he’s not conscious or even semi-aware that he’s fondling me. Thankfully, now that he’s moved, I have some wiggle room.

I elbow him in the ribs, which probably hurts me more than it does him. At least it gets him to move away enough that I can slip out from under him. I roll off the bed and pop back up, smoothing out my now-wrinkled dress. My stupid nipples are perky, thanks to the attention the right one just got. Probably because it’s the most action I’ve seen since I started working for the Mooreheads eight months ago.

I hit the lights on the way out of the bedroom, pause in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and check out the sheet of paper on the counter. It’s a list of important details regarding the penthouse, including the entry code. I nab my purse, snap a pic, and head for the elevators.

I have a feeling this is going to be a long six months.

permission from St. Martin’s Paperbacks.

AUTHOR BIO

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Q&A – with Helena Hunting

Q: Can you tell us a little about your new release, Handle with Care?

A: Handle with Care follows the story of the reclusive Lincoln Moorehead, who has done everything he can to separate himself from his family and their massive media corporation. Upon the death of his father, he’s forced to come home for the funeral, and then asked to stay on to help transition the company with the assistance of Wren Sterling who has been commissioned to overhaul Lincoln’s image in the public eye.

Q: Lincoln Morehead and Wren Sterling are the lead characters in Handle with Care. Which one of them did you find the easiest to develop? What is each characters best and worst traits?

A: I always find developing the male lead the easiest. I’m not sure why exactly that is, but Lincoln’s character was so easy to round out and develop. Lincoln’s worst trait is that he jumps to conclusions without first getting all the facts, but his best trait is his altruism. He’s very much about giving back, and despite the fact that he can be a grumpy jerk, he’s also an incredibly good human being. Wren’s worst trait is that she can be a martyr for things that are outside of her control but her best trait is her strength of character and her belief in redemption.

Q: What was your greatest challenge while Handle with Care? What was your greatest pleasure and/or reward?

A: Wren is a badass heroine, so I think finding the balance between her strength of character and those hints of vulnerability could be tricky at times. I really wanted to humanize her and make her relatable and I hope readers connect with her. I LOVED writing the banter between Linc and Wren. They are both such strong personalities, and that made putting them head to head so much fun.

Q: Which do you find easiest to write-the humor or the heart?

A: Humor always seems to find a natural place inside the story, but for me it’s about the balance between the two. I love taking a heavy moment and inserting some kind of comic relief before I go for the feels again.

Q: Do you work from an outline while writing your novels? How closely do the finished novels fit your original vision of the characters and storyline before you begin writing?

A: I outline extensively. Most of the time I have about ten thousand words of outline and character development before I even start writing. It’s just how I work most effectively. I need to know who my characters are going in and where I want them to be by the end of the book. I generally stick to my outlines very closely since they are so detailed.

Q: What did you edit OUT of this book?

A: A lot of f-bombs.

Q: Do you listen to music while writing? Does it influence the flow of the scene you are writing?

A: I do. I create playlists for every single book I write, and I often (always) listen to the same playlist while I write the book. This means that I burn out albums and songs for my family on a very, very regular basis. My husbands list of artists he will no longer listen to grows exponentially with every release. Halsey always finds a place on my playlist and the song Joaquim by Oscar and the Wolf was a particular favorite.

Q: When sitting down to write a new book you have a specific outline to follow or does it just flow naturally?

A: The first step in my process is always to write an outline. I need the bones of the story down, where the character arcs will fall and what the conflicts will look like before I start writing the book.

Q: What do you like to do when you aren't writing?

A: I like hanging out with my daughter and craft. Recently we went camping, which was a fun experience, although I grew up with a family cottage so we would spend a lot of the summer there.

Q: Name three things on your desk right now.

A: Broken Knight by LJ Shen, Fix Her Up by Tessa Bailey, Resist by K. Bromberg, Undeniable by Melanie Harlow, The Last Letter by Rebecca Yarros (still gives me the chills when I think about it), Verity by Colleen Hoover.

Q: What did you enjoy most about writing this book?

A: The banter between Wren and Linc and writing a grumpy, jerk hero who really isn’t a jerk but sure acts like one!

Q: To get to know you a little bit better... do you have a pet or something that is special to you that you could share with us?

A: I have two cats, Digit is a 14 year old pure white polydactyl cat who sheds like nobodies business and Pumpkin (named by our daughter) is a 6 year old black cat who often thinks he’s a dog, eat edamame beans and begs for bacon at the table.

Q: You've written many books & bestsellers, in many genres. What has been your favorite to write thus far?

A: That’s a hard question to answer. I love them all for very different reasons, but I will say that I had a lot of fun writing Wren and Linc because of the banter and how much I love writing a strong heroine.

Q: What was your favorite book or series in your youth?

A: I used to love reading VC Andrews books, and Clive Barker, which I realize are very, bery different!

Q: What would you like us (the readers) to take away from your story?

A: That families aren’t perfect and people can make mistakes, yet still grow from them.

Q: What is your favorite platform to connect with your reader to date?

A: I have a reader group called The Beaver Den and I love it in there. The readers are always sharing book experiences and it’s a great community! If you want to join my group you can do it here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/HelenaHuntingBeaverDen/

Q: What project(s) are you currently working on?

A: I just finished the third book in the All In Series, which the first book will be releasing this fall. Next I’m starting a standalone, but I also have a new series I’ll be starting soon, and I have a book idea or two for secondary characters in the last two books of The Shacking Up series, as well. It’s safe to say that my writing schedule is planned for the next two years!

Q: Do you believe in love at first sight?

A: I don’t know about love at first sight but when I saw my husband from across the room for the first time I thought, “man, he’s pretty” and then when we had our first conversation the connection was instant. I think people can “click” and be drawn to each other for inexplicable reasons.

#Helena Hunting #Shacking Up 5 #St. Martin's Paperbacks #Contemporary Romance #NetGalley

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totesmccoats · 7 years ago

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Dark Days: The Casting #1

This issue continues The Forge’s storytelling maneuver of throwing DCU canon at the wall to see what sticks, but also helpfully starts putting a few pieces together to the story of Metal.

Carter Hall writes in his journal about his multiple lives’ quest to discover the secret of Nth Metal – the power-source of his wings and weapons, and has traced it back to the beginnings of the universe, a bat-shaped Destroyer, and the “birds” that fought him back. Batman too, quests to discover the secret of the metals, which Wonder Woman tells him was used to make divine weapons, is found in all of the DCU’s most powerful relics, and courses through the blood of Earth’s heroes, including Batman himself. Meanwhile, Hal and Duke try to interrogate Joker about what he knows about the Metal and Batman’s been hiding from them.

This is Snyder going for broke, giving the DCU its biggest event since Flashpoint with Morrison-esque levels of continuity play connecting everything in the DC canon together. I’m expecting this to get incredibly silly, and make absolutely no sense to anyone not already 100% invested. Because it’s Snyder, I am so game for this. There’s still a radical shift in quality when the art goes from Kubrick to Romita Jr, the latter of whose style just does not fit the story as well as it does something like the first arc of All-Star Batman.

Wonder Woman #26

Considering her previous work, I wasn’t expecting Fontana’s first issue on the series to completely gel with where Rucka left us, but the shift in tone is still something I’m getting used to, even within this one issue.

I like the opening scene, with Wonder Woman breaking up a fight in a refugee camp, although I’m honestly not sure what’s supposed to be happening. She punches out a guy harassing a woman and her kid, but then the whole camp is on fire and explodes for some reason? I’m not sure; but that leads directly to a flashback where Wonder Woman overhears her mother worry that she shouldn’t still be playing with dolls if she’s to become an Amazon – a plot-thread which doesn’t really go anywhere nor even plant seeds for the story to come. After that, Diana debriefs from what’s revealed to be her 43rd mission this year with the US military, and the General offers to be someone she can talk to with any problems regarding what she sees on the missions; there’s a check-up with a Doctor with a mysterious cough; and Diana goes to Etta Candy’s brother’s wedding where she helps a young girl find a missing shoe.

Now, I’m the first person to advocate for more superheroes helping out children in comics, but there’s a tonal inconsistency between that and the beginning of the book which implies Di might be going through some PTSD. And that tonal inconstancy also appears within individual scenes, like when right after the General offers to be someone she can talk to, he bumps his head on a low-hanging light fixture, and then the two are interrupted by a Mark Zuckerberg-looking fellow who invites them to a building-wide softball game. Also, the final page feels like a Batman ’66 type cliffhanger, which I kind of love, but which also feels out of step with the rest of the issue.

The Flash #26

Eobard shows Barry and Iris a vision of their future where their children, Don and Dawn, grow up to be supervillains because Barry wasn’t around to be a father to them. Deciding that Iris has had enough of his lying to her, and that there is only one way to prevent this bad future from playing out, Barry goes with Eobard to a place where he’d never hurt anyone ever again – the negative Speed Force.

Although it probably happens too quickly, I like how Eobard breaks Barry by mind-judo-ing him into thinking that being the Flash is somehow irresponsible and hurts people. It’s not the most original storyline, god knows it’s happened to Peter Parker too many times, but in this situation, it works. Like Pete, Barry has seen how much his being the Flash hurts those closest to him, so when Eobard offers a way to prevent further harm, he takes it.

Also, it gives the series a great excuse to focus on Iris, who has to come to terms with her best friend being a superhero while fighting off the Reverse-Flash on her own. Hopefully this story will also borrow the ending from Spider-Man 2 and have the girlfriend knock some sense into their “my power = my choice” mindset when it comes to relationships.

Spider-Men II #1

The cover asks the question “Who is the other Miles?” but, of course we don’t find out this issue – though we do see his face. Instead, we get a cold in medias res open of the two Spider-Men failing to catch a plane with, presumably the other Miles on it, before jumping a week into the past where Peter and Miles meet up at the warehouse where the first Spider-Men story kicked off to investigate another mysterious pink portal flinging stuff through Manhattan.

I stopped picking up Bendis books, including Spider-Man (Miles’ book) because I was getting tired of his style after Civil War II; but reading this issue reminds me of what I like about his writing. All of Bendis’ dialogue is snappy and witty, with everyone knowing exactly how to respond to the last thing said with their own little witticism. So, basically, he’s perfect for Spider-Man (men).

Bendis does tend to be verbose, but the boxes and bubbles are broken up nicely through the spreads, never getting too much in the way except in one moment in particularly where the wordiness is a punchline. And despite each character being recognizably Bendis, they are still recognizably distinct. Peter’s inner monologue and dialogue reads as someone trying – perhaps too hard – to be funny. He repeats words and phrases, doubles back on things he’s thinking/saying to provide his own commentary, and goes out of his way to be self-deprecating while taking others down with his esteem. We don’t get any of Mile’s inner monologue, but his dialogue represents him as more self-conscious, more laconic. He speaks mainly to respond to others, and lets Ganke – oh man did I miss Ganke – do much of the talking for him.

Pichelli’s art also does a lot to define each of the Spider-Men. Peter, like his dialogue, is more comedic. His poses are more exaggerated, with him spreading his limbs away from his body with wide kicks and flips, and leaning and looking down over other characters. Conversely, Miles moves more conservatively, keeping his libs tucked while swinging, and crouching where Peter would stand and lean.

Amazing Spider-Man #30

We open on Spider-Man organizing a retreat from a Mjolnir wielding Hyrdra-Cap, then go to Peter in Shanghai, trying to rally his employees and prepare them for an attack by Doctor Octopus, who is raiding Parker Industry labs. Pete meets with the employees who remain loyal, warning them that if it comes to it, they’re going to have to destroy their life’s work to keep it out of Hydra’s grasps. And then Otto attacks.

It’s really impressive how Slott manages to weave his ongoing stories with event books without skipping a beat. Even without all the Secret Empire stuff, this arc is just another chapter in the Spider-Man/Doc Ock rivalry he’s set up since his Ends of the Earth storyline in 2012. Otto sees allying with Hydra as a means to the end of claiming all of Peter’s work as the fruits of his labor, and destroying Peter’s legacy as he takes it back.

And what’s scary is that, despite becoming a better CEO and doing his best to prepare for Ock, Peter is still a few steps behind. He still, unknowingly let Otto into his company, giving him the chance to sabotage everything right under his nose. In a way, Parker Industry is just as much Otto’s as it is Pete’s, and Otto’s taking advantage of that while Peter is failing to really comprehend it.

Black Panther and The Crew #4

In Mississippi in 1964, Ezra and Frank take the Crew to take care of some KKK members who can’t be touched by the law. In the present, Luke Cage escapes the firebombing of his apartment building by Hydra, then joins up with Misty Knight to investigate why he was targeted, and what that might have to do with Ezra’s assassination.

The cold open in Mississippi is one of the strongest scenes in comic books regarding racial violence printed in the Big 2’s comics yet. Not only does it clearly and concisely explain how white people can (and still) get away with murdering black people, but also demonstrates exactly why groups like the Crew, or the real life Black Panthers, were and are necessary in those times and places. It’s its own complete story and statement of purpose in four pages. And it’s echoed through the rest of the comic, as Misty and Luke eventually talk to the CEO of the company behind the Americops, who still gets away with targeting black people with impunity because that’s what benefits the powerful.

It’s weird how the same company that’s publishing Nick Spencer’s half-assed sanitized metaphor for fascism can also publish such clear-eyed commentary on race in America. And that also applies to David F. Walker’s too-short run on Nighthawk, which you should totally pick up.

Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #22

Doreen and Nancy win a programming contest and an all-expenses paid vacation to the Savage Land! Expect jokes involving: computer programming pun titles for classic literature, how insane Wikipedia articles in the Marvel universe must be, colonial era nomenclature, Jurassic Park, paleontology, Latveria, and more.

Reading this issue, it’s hard not to feel like North has wanted to write a Jurassic Park episode for Squirrel Girl for a while now, and he taps into the seemingly universal human love of dinosaurs. Henderson continues to deliver on art, with some of the best and funniest faces in comics, my favorite of which this issue is Doreen’s reaction to realizing Nancy has a crush on one of the other contest winners.

Kill or Be Killed #10

The cops, including detective Lily Sharpe find the Russian hitman’s burned-up corpse in the back of the van after learning about Dylan dropping off Rex at the hospital, and begin to postulate why their murderer tried to spare one victim while brutalizing the other. Meanwhile, Dylan, devastated by Rex’s death, move back home with his mom where he gets high, plays video games, and swears off killing, resigned to let the demon kill him. But then the demon reminds him that the Russians are after him, and might target the people he cares about, which complicates things a tad.

For a bit it seemed like Dylan was getting used to his new life, but this issue shows him in a downward spiral stemming from Rex’s death, as it’s the first one that’s actually personal for him. It’s his Uncle Ben moment, and that’s not the only part of this issue reminiscent of Spider-Man. When Dylan goes back to the city, it’s mainly to break up with Daisy and shut out Kira, who just happens to tell him about her feelings for him, just as he’s decided he’s too dangerous and messed up to afford to return her feelings.

This issue doesn’t really feel like the ending to an arc, but somewhere closer to the beginning of one. Continuing the comparison, this is Dylan’s “Spider-Man no more!” moment, which means that the stage is pretty much set for his comeback, whatever that may look like. It certainly won’t be as heroic as Spidey’s; but I wouldn’t rule out the inclusion of a criminal kingpin.

Comic Reviews for 7/12/17 Dark Days: The Casting #1 This issue continues The Forge's storytelling maneuver of throwing DCU canon at the wall to see what sticks, but also helpfully starts putting a few pieces together to the story of Metal.

#batman #black panther #dark days #dc comics #kill or be killed #luke cage #metal #miles morales #peter parker #spider-man #spider-men #squirrel girl #the casting #the crew #the flash #wonder woman

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totesmccoats · 7 years ago

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Dark Days: The Casting #1

This issue continues The Forge’s storytelling maneuver of throwing DCU canon at the wall to see what sticks, but also helpfully starts putting a few pieces together to the story of Metal.

Wonder Woman #26

The Flash #26

Spider-Men II #1

Amazing Spider-Man #30

Black Panther and The Crew #4

Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #22

Kill or Be Killed #10

#batman #black panther #dark days #dc comics #kill or be killed #luke cage #metal #miles morales #peter parker #spider-man #spider-men #squirrel girl #the casting #the crew #the flash #wonder woman

0 notes