#and let her beat him fourteen times in a row before he finally begged for mercy

[ad1thi]

@starklysteve me?? spamming you w recs because i love talking about my ships?? more likely than you think :)) (here’s some rhodeytony to get you started on what is objectively the best tony ship)

i place your hands around my neck:  @fanfictiongreenirises

"Rhodey could practically feel his lungs getting heavier again, weighed down by roots of plants that he’d thought would never take hold in him again."

Or: the one where Rhodey's been pining over Tony for much longer than either of them realised and develops the Hanahaki disease

Pretend We’re In Love (The Heartache Still Hurts): @marvelingjules

Rhodey's dad is dying, and what he's always wanted is for Rhodey to be happily married. Tony and Rhodey were best friends, and haven't spoken in years. But after a chance meeting at the airport, and a desperate, insane idea on Rhodey's part, they end up pretending to be engaged.

But how much of it is really pretend?

i can’t seem to get a grip, no matter how i live with it:  @psikeval

Tony knows he's got no business being a father.

A Million Shades of Blue: @notfknapplicable

“I just know that if I could get to wherever he is, I could find him. Dead or alive, I'd bring him back to us.”

James Rhodes will never stop searching for Tony Stark.

Twenty Five Years: @notfknapplicable (part of a series)

Nobody knows how long this has actually been going on. (Tony Stark has pretty much been in a monogamous relationship since he was 18 years old.)

Leave The Light On: @notfknapplicable (part of a series)

He was never doing this for fun. He'd just wanted to stay awake. And whatever you do, please don't tell that guy he's been fucking. He kinda likes him.

coloured in sun: @heleus

The one in which Anthony Edward Stark, having just reached the warm age of seventeen, realizes that he's in love with his best friend.

(The idea is terrifying.)

the planets that bend us: @deathsweetqueen

When Antonia Margaret Stark wakes up on her sixth birthday, it’s to the words: I didn’t get any sleep last night after that fucking lawn mower decided that 7 in the morning would be a perfect time for him to start his day, right outside my room.

She runs a thumb over the long string of words, wrapping around her wrist like a thick leather band.

She smiles.

She’s fourteen when she meets James Rupert Rhodes for the first time.

Written for the "more than a partner" square (S3) for the Tony Stark Bingo 2019 and the "soulmate" square for the Iron Husbands Bingo 2019

we rattle together in a bed of honey: @deathsweetqueen

Toni first met James Rhodes in Cellular Neurophysiology and Computing, when she was fourteen and trying very hard to stay in the shadows. She stumbles into the classroom, clutching her books and binders and pencil case close to her chest, as she stares at everything, wide-eyed and hungry and terrified. She seizes on the contempt, the confusion, the incredulity of the other freshman who look at her like she’s an incongruity – she’s used to that look, all that hate and derision.

She eats it up like chocolate cake.

Much to her luck, all the seats are filled, all except for one towards the middle of the row, a table shared only by a tall, handsome black boy, sleeping on top of the counter.

a winding road that stretches to the truth: @/coulddaughter (this author ostensibly has a tumblr but im unable to locate it -- so if anyone knows what their tumblr is please let me know so i can tag them!)

“Why do you need a date? Also, no offence, but why did you come to me? I stole, like, four of your girlfriends and at least two boyfriends, remember.”

“I do remember that, Tony,” said Jim, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, I need you to come on a date with me.”

Love in the Eyes:  @child-of-sunshine

The moment each of the Avengers realized Tony and Rhodey were in love.

The Curious Case Of The Discarded Condom:  @/AssvengersArsemble

Natasha, Clint and Steve get just a little nosy about Tony's love life. Tony finds it extremely amusing they can't see what's right under their noses.

takes a lot of love and compliance: @gyzym

She's born breech, feet kicking out before the rest of her screams free; she's born breech, and never stops running. (Rule 63!Tony)

Targeted Persuasion: @galwednesday

Jim opened Tony's most formal closet and started pulling out tuxedos. "Put one of these on.”

"Why?"

"We're getting married."

Tony froze. "No, we're not."

"Oh yes we are." Jim tossed three tuxedos onto the bed. Three was a good number of options, enough for Tony to make a choice, but not so many that he'd get lost analyzing the ramifications of navy pinstripes vs. charcoal paisley. Tony did best with clear, specific expectations rather than an unlimited universe of possibilities that he would inevitably filter through his neuroses and obsess over, and Jim was really kicking himself for not considering that, oh, ten years ago when they’d first started this, but there was no point in beating himself up about it now when he could put that energy towards solving the problem instead. "You brought this on yourself, Tones. Pick a damn tux."

Five thousand roses: @/forestgreen

She is broken and all the more dangerous for it. The world should tread carefully around the shards of her former self lest they cut themselves on Antonia Stark's sharp edges.

A Guide to Handling the Unhandleable Tony Stark:  @/nightrider101 (this is ab a/b/o verse)

Written for the following prompt on the Avengers Kink meme: The rest of the Avengers assume Tony is an unbound Omega by the way he acts. He's reckless and carefree and does what he wants. Imagine their surprise when they find out that Rhodey is Tony's Alpha. They're all confused at the way Rhodey lets Tony act and how they can be away from each other for long periods of time and Rhodey's just like 'He didn't want to give up his career and I didn't want to give up mine. And I gave up trying to tell Tony what to do years ago.'

It’s Not Bacon Until It Ceases To Be Bacon: @sobebold

Tony has lived with his best friend Rhodey for fifteen years, and everything is perfect.

Until Rhodey finally gets a boyfriend, and Tony's world gets turned upside down.

by any name: @machi-kun

Tony calls him ‘mine’, sometimes.

And he also calls him platypus, honeybear, sugarplum, all those stupid nicknames; but James’ favorite will always be ‘mine’.

Tutor Me: @wisiaden

Tony really wants James Rhodes to be his math tutor. The guy was hot, and if he had to play dumb, well, he can say he hates math.

run and hide: @/starksrhodey

Tony may or may not have a crush on football captain James Rhodes.

Or, Tony is extremely insecure, Pepper knows best, Steve likes to bake, Bucky loves red heads, and Rhodey keeps trying to talk to Tony.

This Is The Real Life: @blancheludis

It takes doing the laundry for Tony to realize he is completely, irrevocably in love with Rhodey. Who knew that the way to Tony Stark's heart is to teach him how to wash his clothes.

Anything For You Darling: @areiton

Tony is sitting on the balcony of his palace in Malibu, and Rhodey hates it, more than he's ever hated anything, watching his best friend stare at the water, limmed by the sun and utterly alone.

"She's dead," Tony says, before Rhodey can ask and he feels his breath catch, his heart stumble.

There's--

Grief. For pretty, troubled Maya with her big eyes.

Heartbreak. For a sweet infant who will never know the mother who gave him up, whose life will never be exposed, now.

Relief. Because Harley is safe. Safe. Gods, he's safe.

or

Rhodey helps Tony raise his son.

it goes like this (just like heroin): @quandongcrumble

He’s twenty-six and you’re twenty-eight and you get a midnight phone call from Obadiah and between the two of you, you manage to beg and bully until you can fly back to the States and sit beside the white hospital bed while they say words like heroin and accidental overdose and that Tony should pull through but Tiberius might not wake up.

It goes like this—for almost sixteen years Tony’s addiction problems are a blight on Rhodey’s relationship with him. Friendships crack and trust is shattered, over and over again.

motor oil and coconut oil: @/halfasgoodasanything

James loves his best friend. He's entirely supportive of his friendship and his almost relationship with Steve Rogers. He is! He is. Carol and Pepper seem to think otherwise, but he's cool. Loving Tony doesn't mean no one else can. Even if he wanted to.

lost and found: @starkslovemail 

“Are you lost?”

Tony jumped at the voice cutting into his thoughts. Turning around, he saw another teen, maybe a year or two older than him, decked out in Team USA gear. He shook his head, flashing what he hoped was a disarming smile, “Nope.”

“Are you sure about that?” The athlete raised a disbelieving brow as he stared down at Tony. “You’ve been walking up and down this hallway for the past ten minutes, and the least embarrassing reason why is being lost.”

The blunt honesty startled a laugh out of Tony. He grinned cheekily, rocking back on his heels, “Guess I’m lost then.”

--

Written for the RhodeyTony Mini-Bang! Art can be seen on twitter here!

two boy geniuses walk into one frat house: @starkslovemail (part of a series)

There were too many white people at this damn party.

The Other 'Mr Stark': Iron Man’s Mysterious Paramour:  @presidentrhodes 

Clint leans over to Tony and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re dating Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker.“(Based on this prompt: Tony keeps telling the avengers how awesome his husband is but they don't believe he exists because it has been months and they still haven't met him yet and then finally, Rhodey comes home.)

[lovelylapins]

au august day 7

day 7: famous

adrien is too famous already, so we said YEET and went with the good sis mari

Adrien had never been so excited.

“Yo, isn’t this the craziest thing ever? I can’t believe your dad let you come!” Nino yells into his ear.

“I know!” Adrien yells back. He’s buzzing from head to toe, an adrenaline he hasn’t felt before in his life pulsing through him. Finally, after months and months spent begging his dad, he was finally standing front row with Nino by his side. This would be his first time at a concert, his years spent modeling for his overprotective father meaning he never got the chance to step out of the house, much less be surrounded by dozens of strangers. Behind him, a crowded room of a hundred and something fans buzz and scream about, growing louder by the minute.

Suddenly, the lights go out. The crowd bursts into high pitched screams, all awaiting for her to enter.

“You ready to have the best night of your life?” he says to Adrien, motioning to the wings. A figure steps out in the darkness, Adrien so close to the stage he can almost see her face, catches sight of the crazy heels she’s sauntering in on. She stops center stage and raises the microphone to her mouth, a single light beaming down on her. The crowd stills, all sound in the room sucked out to hear what she has to say.

“Are you guys ready?” she asks, and Adrien can’t stop his own mouth from opening up and screaming in response.

She laughs, bringing a hand to her mouth as she looks around the room. The mask she’s wearing matches her nails, the ladybug pattern recognizable from a mile away. His breath hitches as he sees her face, beauty untouchable by anyone else.

It’s Ladybug.

Adrien feels his heart soar at the sight of her. He had been a devoted follower of hers since she was fourteen and released her first single, a French pop song that made her an overnight hit in Europe. And when she changed gears at sixteen and released an all-English album, Adrien had streamed her music for hours and bought more copies of her album than he knew what to do with. Now, the same age as Adrien, she was doing a worldwide tour, the most known and unknown teen in the world with a voice that could seduce sailors and a mask that hid her identity from the world.

“I said ‘Are you ready?’” she repeats, the microphone extended to the crowd. They respond quickly, screaming so loud Adrien feels his bones shake inside his body, a feat he’s not sure was possible before tonight.

“That’s what I like to hear!” she says, beaming at the crowd. The stage comes to life, basking Ladybug will all lights trained on her. She moves her hair away from her face, showing off the row of piercings decorating her ear. “Do you guys know how embarrassed I was gonna be if I had a boring audience tonight? I grew up here! I talked about you guys to the band for weeks! I was gonna have to cough up twenty euros to each of them!”

The crowd laughs, eating up her jokes.

“Before we start the show, I’d like to throw out a big thanks to some people tonight,” she starts, raising a hand out to hush the crowd. They do so, not wanting to miss a single word. “First off, to my mom and dad for letting me travel the world at seventeen, although they did bother me with plenty of late night calls and early morning Facetimes. My fans, for sticking with me even through puberty. And lastly, to Gabriel Agreste, for helping me design and make all the outfits for my tour.”

She gestures up and down to her outfit, drawing loud whoops and scream from the fans.

“Now we know why he let you come,” Nino mutters. Adrien nods, noticing now that the bomber jacket she wore had the trademark A stitched onto it, as with did her ripped jeans.

“I would die for you!” someone screams out.

“Please don’t!” she calls out, drawing laughter from the crowd. She chuckles as well, moving her hand upwards to adjust the mask a bit. Adrien tries to see if any adjusting will show any clues behind her identity.

“Why don’t we go ahead and get lucky!” she shouts, the band bouncing into the first notes of her most popular song. The crowd whoops, joining in as she starts with the first verse. Adrien feels his body moving along to the beat, Nino beside him already dancing.

It’s crazy how powerful she is onstage, bouncing up and down to the track. It’s no wonder why she’s so popular, confidence practically jumping out and raining down on the audience. She’s belting and dancing and woah is she pretty. Adrien finds his hands grow sweaty, clinging tightly to her album. Ladybug’s beginning to bend down and sign merch, getting ever so closer to him and Nino.

“Go dude, get her signature,” Nino says, nudging him closer to the stage and to Ladybug’s space.

Finally, she’s next to them, bending down. She smiles, still singing yet looking directly into Adrien’s eyes, which draws out a blush that paints his cheeks. Her free hand quickly writing down a message on the album, Ladybug throws him a quick wink as she finally gets up, moving to the next fan. Adrien pulls the album back, carefully holding it out in front of him like it might disappear if he lets go of it.

“What does it say?” Nino asks, trying to read the words. Adrien tries as well but can’t see due to the dark lighting. He instead presses the album close to his chest in order to protect it, eyes turning away from the peace of treasure in his hands to gaze at Ladybug more, mouth moving along to the words.

After the concert, Adrien walks out dazed. Nino throws an arm around him, leading him to the car waiting for them. They climb in, each still shaking with the buzz of the concert. As the car pulls away, Adrien finds his fingers tapping on his knee his favorite song from the night, Little Black Chat.

“I still can’t believe she signed your album,” Nino lets out, a few minutes later. He looks over, trying to look at the table. “What did she even write, anyways?”

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Adrien looks at the album, trying to read it with light from passing lampposts. He squints, finally making out the message.

Hey there!

Funny catching you in the crowd tonight! Glad to know Mr. Agreste’s son is a big fan of my music! :D I hope you had a nice time! Why don’t you tell me your favorite song? My number’s xxx-xxx-xxx, if you wanna chat!

Stay miraculous, Ladybug!

Adrien blinks, reading the words once again. Did… did Ladybug just give him her number? He turns to Nino, ready to ask him for help, but instead sees his best friend asleep, face pressed against the window and slight snores coming out.

Adrien looks again at the message, then at his phone. Then he does so again, this time drawing strength. Unlocking it, he types the number in, preparing to write something. An image of Ladybug dances through his mind, hyping him up as he types.

He presses send, hoping for once he’ll get lucky.

[annewithagee]

Know Love When You See It (1)

“I can’t do this, Gil. I can’t open this door. What it it’s too late? What if we came all this way only to find it was all for naught, because she... she..." A story in which Gilbert's health remains perfectly fine, but that's not enough to bring Anne peace. Alternate ending to AotI. Shirbert.

fanfiction.net / AO3

Chapter 1 A Love Letter

Rusty purred longingly, trying to get his young Mistress’s attention. Anne smiled gently at the sound and reached out to caress the determined feline and yet, her sight remained fixed on the book she held in her other hand,

It was clear that even Rusty didn’t have enough charm to make her abandon Lord Tennyson’s fine work.

“Really, Anne, I never imagined you’d be one to spoil a cat,” Stella scolded her gently. “You used to barely tolerate these animals, and even then you only approved of the clean, well-mannered ones. And here you are, letting the least mannered cat of all lie on Miss Patty’s lovely sofa and encouraging his stay!”

Anne barely looked up at her.

“We let the Sarah-cat and Thomas sleep on the finest of our cushions, darling,” she protested softly. “It wouldn’t be fair to treat Rusty differently. And his manners have improved immensely since we took him in, don’t you think?”

“Well, there wasn’t much to improve to start with.” Stella grimaced. “He had no manners at all – he could only go up from there.”

“I say the important part is that he decided to improve at all. I know what it’s like to be judged for the improper behaviour when there has been no one to teach you anything about it in the first place. I can only marvel at my own initial indifference and lack of understanding towards this unlucky fellow.”

“Oh, enough of this cat talk!” Phil interrupted impatiently then. “You better tell us about this book you’re reading, Queen Anne. You look as if you’ve been wanting to laugh for the past quarter and I am dying to find out why. I’d love to borrow that volume later, too; I could certainly use a good laugh right now.”

“You could always use a good laugh, Phil, no matter what your mood currently is,” Anne retorted cleverly. “And don’t make it sound as if you had any reasons to feel miserable.”

“Tease all you like, Anne, it won’t change a thing. I may be the one getting married next month, but that certainly doesn’t make me any less nervous, no matter how happy I am. I keep having these awful nightmares about Jo changing his mind and leaving me, or about my family suddenly deciding to oppose to the marriage and consequently ruining everything I have hoped for – right when I finally started to believe that I could pass for a respectable wife, even for a minister.”

“Dearest Phil, you know theses nightmares have nothing to do with your future,” Anne protested gently, suppressing a laugh caused by both Philippa’s words and the sight of Stella, mercilessly rolling her eyes at them. “You know Jonas loves you too much to ever give up on you, and even if your family decided to interfere with your happiness in any way – which I am sure they will not – you would not pay it much mind anyway.”

Phil sighed deeply as she sunk on the closest chair. “You are perfectly right, Queen Anne, as you usually are. You know, sometimes I wish I had your wisdom; but then I realise that Jo might not want me so much if I were and I immediately regret making any silly wishes. Anyway, you have not answered my question about your reading: what is it?”

Anne allowed herself a small chuckle this time.

“Something you would not find very amusing, I’m afraid,” she explained softly, her eyes returning to the pages in question. “I’ve been skimming through Lancelot and Elaine, stopping only when I came across the parts dearest to me.”

“And that’s what made you glow so much?” Stella joined the conversation once more. “Why, Anne, I’ve always known you had a rather queer taste in literature, but I would never assume you’d find such tragic poem comical.”

“It’s not so much the poem itself as the memory it brings. I remember discussing it at school in Avonlea, weeping and sighing over poor Elaine’s fate with my friends. I was the most emotional, of course, but the girls were not far behind me.”

Stella nodded with a little more understanding. “I can see how that’s amusing now, although I’d still expect a smile rather than a laughter as a natural reaction to it.”

“That’s because you haven’t heard the best part yet!” Anne responded with a sly smile and began recounting their unfortunate attempt to enact the aforementioned poem on the bright waters of Barry’s Pond. By the time Anne came to the infamous scene of the leaking boat, all three had been shaking with laughter, tears of joy glimmering in more than one pair of eyes.

“Really, Anne!” Phil exclaimed in what was supposed to be a stern tone but couldn’t be due to the cheerful trembling of her voice. “We have lived here together for nearly three years, have known each other for four and for all this time you have not thought it appropriate to treat us with a story like this! Why, I am sure you would have spared me at least one miserable night if you had.”

“She hath kept the good wine until now,” Stella answered, trying as she might to sound as serious and composed as the paraphrase required, and failing spectacularly. “I am only surprised she didn’t wait for Priss to come back – the poor girl will be devastated when she learns how much fun she has missed.”

“There is no need to worry about that,” Anne hastened to explain. “Priscilla had known the whole story long before we even arrived to Redmond and I can assure you that her reaction was every bit as fierce as yours.”

Stella pressed her hand against her chest and sighed with emphasis. “Oh, now I see! Priss gets to know everything in advance while we have to beg! Now, Anne, I am positively wounded!”

“And you two are getting off topic again!” Phil intervened again, this time throwing her arms high in the air for a better effect. “Truly, how you can focus on such nonsense when the great finale is still ahead of us is beyond me.”

“You were the one who started it!” Anne contradicted her with another short laugh.

“I beg your pardon, but my comment was fully justified and in some ways it still referred directly to the story you had told. But enough of this! How did you get off that bridge, Anne?”

The auburn-haired girl chuckled again, a little nervously this time, as she lowered her eyes and fixed them on the text once more.

“That is the part in which my pride suffers most,” she said quietly, forcing a light, careless tone that suddenly felt so inappropriate. “You see, I didn’t really mind climbing that pole – of course, it was uncomfortable and comical, and very different from the romantic scene I had envisioned; but at least there was no one there to see me. And all I needed to do was to hold onto that pole until Mr Barry came to help me out in my distress. He would laugh, of course, but I couldn’t care much for it – he had been an eye-witness to my antics too many times already. Unfortunately, my rescue came from a different party entirely.”

Anne expected her friends to interrupt her with more witty remarks; however, they made none.

“There was...” she picked up hesitantly. “There was a boy in our class, who went rowing on Barry’s Pond that day. He saw me and came closer, offering to take me to the shore in his flat.”

“How romantic,” Stella mused teasingly at that.

“Oh, hardly!” Anne protested vigorously, as if she had been fourteen again, listening to Diana’s most ridiculous comments. “I have never thought of my classmates in terms of romance, but it wouldn’t have been half so bad – half so humiliating – had it been any other boy than the one that came. Dear me, how I hated him then! I had been angry with him before, but it was nothing compared to what I felt on that moment under the bridge.”

“And is there any chance we might know the poor chivalrous knight?” Phil asked, wriggling her eyebrows meaningfully. “Could it be Charles and his big, bulging eyes?”

Anne’s own big eyes widened in surprise at her friend’s abrupt assumption.

“No, not at all!” she denied firmly. “I have never hated Charlie, although I have never been particularly fond of him, either. In fact, I think I’ve always cared too little for him to hold any such strong feelings towards him.”

“Poor Charlie,” Stella remarked with an absolute lack of sympathy. “But if not him, then who?”

“The same boy I had ignored for the three years prior and continued to do so for another two, both at school and at Queen’s – and whom, I believe, you have got to know quite well during our stay here.”

Stella was close to choking on her astonishment. “You mean...”

“Gilbert Blythe, yes,” Anne admitted with a small smile. “And I truly wished it had been anyone but him back then.”

“Not so fast, my dear,” Phil exclaimed now. “I know you and Gilbert have not always been friends – it’s certainly hard to call you friends now – but you can’t tell me you used to hate him!”

“Oh, but I did! Or at least, I wholeheartedly believed so.”

“The same Gilbert who is always so kind and considerate, no matter how little he likes the company he’s in?”

“No, the one who had pulled my braid and called me ‘Carrots’ on our very first day of school.” Anne countered cleverly, her smile widening at the sight of shock that had reflected on her friend’s faces almost immediately. “Well, I suppose you didn’t expect to hear that about him.”

“And that’s why you weren’t friends for so long?” Stella asked with disbelief.

Anne nodded, regaining some of her temporarily lost composure. “We were sworn enemies at the time – at least I was. Gilbert tried to apologise and make things right, but my eleven year old self wouldn’t hear of it; and then I suppose I kept thinking of him in that way because my rise and sense of dignity demanded it. Not to mention, I’ve always had that bit of a competitive strike, and since Gilbert soon turned out to be the only real rival, beating him in class became another matter of honour to me.”

“And you didn’t make your peace that day by the pond?” Phil asked again.

“No,” Anne responded, with a little bit of melancholy – sentiment – embarrassment ringing in her voice. “It was the last time my pettiness made itself known and consequently robbed us both of two years of friendship. He went furious – as furious as someone of Gilbert’s personality can be, anyway – snapped and walked away. He had been a rival before, but he had never seemed to care much about it… But after that encounter he became just as ruthless as I had been from the start.”

“In that case, I suppose your fiery arguments here at Redmond were not even half as bad as we all thought,” Phil muttered under her breath. “It must have been nothing compared to what you two had done at school.”

Anne smiled more sincerely now. “Oh, you should have seen us then. Poor Miss Stacy barely managed to answer our overly grown hunger for knowledge, not to mention that we must have been a terrible distraction from other students, who undoubtedly needed her attention much more than we did. In the end she would just give us more to read, if only to make us stay quiet for a moment at least.”

It was Phil’s turn to nod. “You two really have a history.”

“That we do,” Anne agreed a little wistfully. She brightened up the next moment, however. “But, as one of my dearest friends often says, enough of this! The story was meant to cheer you up, not to make us go down some cold, hostile memory lane. We still have a whole afternoon ahead of us, and I’m not going to waste it in any way. We only have a few short days before we leave Patty’s Place for good, and I am determined to make the most of it – and you don’t even try to talk yourselves out of it!”

“And what would you have us do, Queen Anne?” Stella asked a little sceptically, for which she received a frown from Phil. Seeing the exchange, Anne could hardly do more than laugh wholeheartedly at them.

“I have no idea, my dearest Kindred Spirits!” she cried out with eagerness that didn’t match her words nor the atmosphere from mere moments earlier and yet, her voice resonated with sincerity that could not have been denied. “We can dance and we can sing, or we can leave the house and set off on a journey, if only it doesn’t take us too far away from this most beloved place. I once said that I had two homes – Green Gables and Patty’s Place – and I can’t tell you how happy I am that my feelings towards that matter have not changed at all. It is reassuring to know that one can truly love more than just one place so much.”

“I suppose it must be so, or no one would ever find happiness after they married – save for the people who stayed in their own houses and those who never loved their homes in the first place,” Stella concluded.

Anne nodded in agreement with her words. “It is very true, but let’s not forget those who must leave their homes for reasons other than marriage. Oh, Phil, please don’t give me that look, even if I have deserved it. I know you are still angry with me for what happened yesterday, but I promise you, it has nothing to do with what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?” Phil asked calmly, refraining from a more blatant comment that was springing to her lips.

“I meant us. Four college girls, thrown into a new life, away from their families, their neighbours, away from the people and places they care for so much. It could have been such miserable four years, full of stress and loneliness, with homesickness threatening to take over us any minute – and instead they were four years of great friendships, and three of them have been spent here. I’m not sure if I could have born to go through the many challenges Redmond had in store, had it not been for the sense of safety this place has given me.”

“Oh, and here I thought it was our unconditional love and support that had pushed you through!” Stella exclaimed, her hand once again flying to her chest in a dramatic gesture. “Now, you have really hurt my feelings, Anne. Excruciatingly!”

Anne laughed wholeheartedly at her friend’s words, basking in the joy this wonderful comradeship could give.

“Tease all you like -” she said with confidence. “you will not succeed in ruining my good spirits. The day is just too lovely for any sort of pettiness; you can say whatever you want and I won’t take offence. I’m in a forgiving mood – I feel you that if the worst of my enemies came to visit me today, I could not hold grudge against them.”

“Poor Gilbert!” Phil cried out then. “If only he had known that day would come, he might have waited for it, instead of trying to make peace with you over some pond only minutes after he had so unnecessarily rescued you!”

Anne did not find the comment worthy of her answer and decided to resort to violence instead. In one swift motion she grabbed the nearest cushion and threw it at Phil, hitting her right in her smiling face; the latter squeaked in shock but caught the missile in perfect reflex and threw it back at her aggressor without hesitation.

That was the setting in which Priscilla found them in.

“I leave you alone for an hour and you turn into children we used to teach!” she exclaimed in the tone of a perplexed matron, as if she had been at least a decade older than her frivolous friends. “Truly, Anne, what would the board of Avonlea school think if they saw what their favourite schoolmarm does when left unsupervised?”

“I have never been their favourite, so how would I know?” Anne answered her question laughingly, catching the cushion that had once again flown in her direction; however, she refrained from tossing it back. Priscilla raised her gaze to the ceiling, most probably asking the Good Lord to give her patience necessary for dealing with the force her companions undoubtedly were.

“They should take away your B. A.s for behaving like this,” she muttered under her breath as she shrugged off her coat and took off her hat. “I’m not surprised to see Anne or Phil act like that, but you, Stella? Why, I believed you to be the sensible one at least.”

“Don’t lump me together with them,” Stella opposed. “These two won’t listen to anyone and certainly not me.”

“They better do listen to me, though, because I have some great news that should interest them. I’ve been to the post office and there was at least half a dozen letters addressed to us.”

“And I bet half of those are for Phil,” Anne commented teasingly, standing up and approaching Priscilla, ready to take some of the many packages the other girl had brought with her. “Let me take these, Priss, as I’m sure none of those letters are for me. After all, I never receive any letters on Monday.”

“How can you be so sure?” Priscilla asked suggestively. “What if I told you that it’s your turn to receive Phil’s usual, ridiculous share?”

Anne shook her head vigorously. “Impossible! The only letters I am waiting for are the ones from Green Gables and those always arrive on Wednesday, and sum up the whole previous week, together with Mrs Lynde’s great commentary on the minister’s latest sermon.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t change the fact that one of these letters really has you name written on it – and the handwriting does look to me as if it was Mrs Lynde’s, indeed.”

“It can’t be,” Anne repeated; but the treacherous smile was beginning to blossom on her joyful countenance and not a minute passed before she had whipped the envelope from Priscilla’s hand and pressed in to her chest, barely deigning the item with a glance.

“This truly is the most wonderful of days!” she said excitedly. “Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, you bring this! Dear Priss, you really are a herald of good news!”

And with that she ran towards the sofa and sank on it once more, impatient to learn the contents of the letter that had already gladdened her so much.

“My, my, Anne!” Phil remarked with a dry smile and a slight rise of her eyebrows. “Judging from your excitement, one could think it is a love letter you are holding; if I didn’t know any better, I would swear it was Roy Gardner who had written to you again.”

“Oh, but it as a love letter, and it’s the most beautiful one – better than any suitor could ever send!”  Anne protested firmly, glancing from over the letter with her bright eyes. “No one has ever loved me more dearly than those who lived at Green Gables and I doubt anyone ever could. Green Gables letters always are the most affectionate ones; even if sometimes I am the only one who can feel and see it hidden between the lines.”

“Even if those lines are written by Mrs Rachel Lynde?” Priss asked.

Anne nodded eagerly.

“Even if,” she confirmed resolutely. “Mrs Lynde is a dear soul and a true Kindred Spirit, even if our first encounter seemed to prove the opposite; besides, it never is just Mrs Lynde that writes, although she addresses the envelopes to spare Marilla the trouble. Oh, I can’t wait to read about all the scrapes Davy has got himself in since the last time! I did not expect this letter to come for the next two days and now I can’t imagine delaying it for another minute!”

The three friends gifted her with the same bemused look before chuckling cheerfully.

“Well, in that case I suggest you go to your room at once, Miss Anne,” Phil advised with feign seriousness. “Otherwise you’ll just keep talking to us and we’ll never get to learn what this precious letters is really about.”

“I am not going anywhere.” Anne protested for the last time. “I will sit here for the whole time and share all of the best parts with you immediately. Oh, what a feast this is going to be!”

[wesknox]

☒ FACTS ABOUT W E S

FULL NAME: Wesley Ronald Knox

NICKNAMES: Wes, Weslington, Weasel, Wessy

BIRTHPLACE: Brighton and Hove, East Sussex

BIRTH DATE: 28th of December 2001

CURRENT AGE: 16

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Homosexual

EYE COLOR: Blue

HAIR COLOR: Blonde

BODY MODIFICATIONS: Piercing on the left bottom lip

HEIGHT: 6 ft 2 (190 cm)

WEIGHT: 179 pounds (81 kg)

RELIGION: Christian-Catholic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single

✔ L I K E S

Junk food, rock/indie/alternative music, poems, Charles Dickens’ books, Netflix, getting lost on the wrong side of Youtube, Brandon Urie’s voice, karaoke bars, midnight talks with Kyle, Edgar Allen Poe, going for late walks with Hamlet, gay bars/clubs, Maya Angelou, playing the guitar and chewing gum.

✘ D I S L I K E S

Bad grammar, homophobes, when his mum doesn’t have time for him, ignorance, pineable on pizza, any kind of sport, Mr. Creevey, shopping with Ronnie, maths, people interrupting him and people talking shit about people he cares about.

▲ T R A I T S

☼ GOOD: Reliable, charismatic, loyal, communicative and generous.

☢ BAD: Lazy, forgetful, dreamy, persistent, chaotic, stubborn, unstable and insecure.

☒ B A C K S T O R Y

- Wes’ mother works as a nurse and works basically ALL the time, that’s why she sent Wes to Clifton, she hated leaving him alone for days in a row. His mother is the most loving, generous and kind-hearted person you’ll ever meet. Wes admires her a lot for the things she does on a daily, working her ass off to help others. Although he doesn’t get to see her often, his mother is his rock. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen her without dark bags under her eyes, messy hair and scrub but she seems to be happy, so he is happy for her. His mum got him at a young age, so she’s a young mum and definitely proud of her “sunshine”. Her choice of men hasn’t been so lucky in the past; men coming and going and Wes always there to pick up the pieces. 

- Wes grew up without a father. His dad left him and his mother for another family when Wes was only a two years old. He doesn’t have any memories of him other than the birthday and Christmas cards he’s sending every year. Wes hates his father, every mention of him but easily sees a dad figure in every male adult or person of authority like teachers or doctors. A therapist would call it “daddy issues”.

- Wes also does have three paternal half sisters but he’s never seen or talked to any of them; just knows about the mere existence. He’s never been curious to find out more about them and since ignoring his father’s cards worked so far, he wants to keep it that way.

- Wes found his love for poetry and pretty words at a pretty early age. His kindergartener always read poems before afternoon nap and little Wes was so fascinated by the words being used, he begged his mum to get him all kind of kids editions of famous poem collections. She never understood it, she herself never having anything to do with poetry at all, but she accepted it. Not like she had much of choice when your five year old begs you for books. When Wes got older, he started writing some himself, his English teacher encouraging and challenging him. He liked Wes and Wes liked him. He saw only good in Wes, predicting a great future but unfortunately his mum never got to hear any of the good feedback he had on her son.

- He met his best friend, Kyle, in primary school and have been best friends ever since. Kyle is one of the most important people in Wes’ life, if not the most important. He can always count on him, no matter the time, no matter the circumstance. Kyle is Wes’ personal protector and never let anyone being mean to Wes slide. When the both of them started high school at Clifton, Ronnie came to the mix and the three have been inseperable since. Ronnie was exactly what he wished for Kyle; she was absolutely perfect for him.

- When Wes was thirteen he began struggling with his self-esteem. He thought he was too pale, too scrawny, too tall and his forming acne didn’t help the case either. He started showing symptoms of a mild depression, locking himself in his room unless it was Kyle who wanted to see him. His mum blamed herself and her constant absence and immediately sent him off to multiple therapy sessions, all of which didn’t help a whole lot. He hated it. 

- A year later, he realized he was gay. You could say, he always kind of knew that something was different, if his crush on Harry Potter was anything to go by, but at the age fourteen he admitted to himself after pining after Joey Carpenter for the longest time and jerking off to his school picture that he, in fact, liked dick and dick only. Later that summer, him and Joey Carpenter’s best friend started dating. The irony, huh. Although secretly, but Wes did believe he was in love back in the day and he would’ve done anything for Tim, that was his name. It was his first and only boyfriend, his first gay experience so more than handjobs and blowjob was not in it. They dated for three months but sooner or later, Wes found flithy texts to another boy on Tim’s phone. Not long after that, they broke up.

- At 15, Wes had his first time with a guy named Blake. Blake was older, hot and experienced. He met Blake at Why Not?, a gay bar in Bristol. Wes was immediately attracted to him, absolutely drawn to the authority the older radiated. Him and Blake went on a date or two until Wes let Blake fuck him. It hurt, but it was hot and Wes was happy he finally got it over with. How things go, the both of them ended things rather quickly after that and Wes started to get around. Thanks to his fake ID it was possible for him to lie about his age and sleep with guys older than he was at the time.

- Wes wanted a piercing. Not just any piercing but a lip piercing and he wanted it bad. Wes wasn’t old enough to get it done by himself, so when he asked his mother for approval, it was a no brainer. “Are you sure?” is all she asked and when Wes nodded enthusiastically, she signed the papers without second-guessing a thing. The next day, him and Kyle went to get pierced together.

- When it got out at school that Wes Knox was gay, most people took it well and were very accepting of the news while some people gave him disapproving looks. Especially a group of jocks made it their mission to make Wes’ life extraordinarily hard. Steven Dally, the leader of the pack definitely had it out for Wes and always had a stupid, homophobic remark on his tongue when he saw Wes. It was childish, and truly, Wes tried not to take it to heart, not the way Kyle did anyway. It wasn’t until he gave Steven Dally a blowjob in the showers after PE that the bullying got out of hand. Wes figured it was his way of dealing with regret or fear, but he ignored it for as long as he could until one afternoon Steven and his friends beat him up until he was spitting blood and his nose was broken. 

- Wes was seeking revenge. Something in his mind wanted to see Steven hurt in a way humanly unimaginable and it went further than seeing Kyle punch Steven in the face and him being expelled the next day. No, it had to go way deeper than that. On a way more emotional basis. So he set up a profile of a girl named Nicole Jennings. Nicole was pretty, young, independent and absolutely irressistable. Every guy’s wet dream. What started out as a plan to get back at Steven Dally, turned into something way more... fun. 

- It was a good laugh. Kyle and him laughing at the sexual frustrated guys that were more than willing to share all kind of pictures with Nicole, but soon their nightly rituals of laughing at other people’s expense lost its charm to Kyle and he told Wes to delete Nicole’s profile. But Wes didn’t do as told and started to find a liking in being Nicole, in being someone else -- no, he took things even further. He was insecure and as Nicole, he had all the guys wrapped around his little finger. He sexted, broke hearts without even a blink of his eye or showing any kind of remorse. It didn’t matter to him, because he was being someone else. He didn’t have to face any sort of consequences. 

- It wasn’t until he found Jake Seringway on Facebook. Jake being recommended as “people you may also know” and while Wes would’ve definitely remembered a face like Jake’s, he looked at his profile anyway and looked through the things Jake Seringway liked, what kind of photos he posted, what kind of people he hung out with and what schools he went to. Although Jake didn’t seem like the guy to accept  a stranger’s friend request, Wes, disguised as beautiful Nicole Jennings, tried his luck anyway - and a few hours later, Jake accepted it.

- What Wes knows now, Jake was different from the start. He wasn’t needy or frustrated, he was full of life and honest interest. While Wes texted with other guys beside Jake, Jake was his favourite person to talk to, the person he would always drop everything for in order to answer his texts. He stayed up long nights in order to talk to Jake, to hear how his day was and what his dreams and aspirations are. Wes himself revealed so much of himself, something he didn’t do before, but it was so easy with Jake and he wanted him to know. Sooner or later, Jake was all Wes thought about. During class, they would text each other and Wes got in so much trouble for texting (damn Mr. Creevey), but he didn’t care and before he knew it, he was falling. Hard and undeniably. All the other boys were irrelevant and all that mattered was JakeJakeJake. After months of texting they agreed to be a couple, Wes always finding an excuse as to why they can’t meet up. Although there was this big, massive lie in between them, Wes was happy and for the first time in his life, truly in love.

- Jake transfered to Clifton when Wes was in year 9 and to say it was a shock, would be the understatement of the year. Jake was even more beautiful in real life; muscular with long legs, a nice butt and that smile had Wes weak in the knees. Wes would’ve loved to snog him right then and there and just blurt out the whole truth, that hey, it’s me, I’m Nicole. I’m your girlfriend. Wes wanted to end it as soon as he saw Jake for the first time. Suddenly everything got so real, too real and it dawned on Wes what the hell he was actually doing, playing someone so dirty. One time he ran into Jake and talked to him for the first time as Wes and Wes was a stuttering mess but Jake was so kind and so nice and so straight and Wes wanked that night until he started to cry.

- The day he told Jake, was the worst of his life so far. He hated himself -- he was downright disgusted with himself. How could he ever look into Jake’s eyes again or anyone’s for that matter after what he did? He deserved the black eye he was sporting for two weeks and even more than that. He faked being sick for a week until Grimmy found out and forced him back to classes. Wes underwent heartbreak for the first time in his life.

- When Jake and him started to be something like friends, he couldn’t believe his luck. Couldn’t believe this was happening after all he’s done, but he figured it was typical and so Jake because Jake was kind, nice and all the things Wes wasn’t - not after what he did. 

- Wes hasn’t slept with anyone since going out with Jake as Nicole. Even now, while the both of them are still friends, Wes can’t bring himself to go see someone else, even if it’s just sex. Not when everything seems like Jake might give him a chance. Not when Jake kisses him and acts like it didn’t happen the next two weeks. Not when Jake is still the main inspiration in his poetry.

- Wes usually chills in his room, listening You Me At Six or pines over Brendon Urie’s jawline. The latter he would easily deny. He works on his poems and tries not to make any enemies or stand out, which to be fair is going along quite smoothly since him, Kyle and Ronnie do not quite fit the popular type. People would probably refer to the trio as misfits and none of them seem to mind. Kyle with his colourful hair that change every month, Ronnie with her idiotic yet adorable bowties and Wes.. being, well, Wes.

- After Clifton, Wes wants to study Creative Writing at NYU. He’s always had this straight fascination with New York and it’s always been his dream to someday move and live there. While he’s going to miss his mum, he believes she won’t be sad for too long, her first love always being her job. He wants to be a writer and inspire people with his words, just like Edgar Allen Poe, Charles Dickens or Maya Angelou did. 

[sending-the-message]

My Lucky Charm by Pippinacious

I thought I knew what it was to be afraid. I thought I knew it when I was ten and realized I didn't like girls in the same way all the other little boys seemed to. I thought I knew it when I was fourteen and had my first kiss with Stacey Andrews behind the school and felt absolutely nothing. I thought I knew it when I was sixteen and couldn't lie to myself anymore.

I was sure I knew what fear was the first I said I was gay out loud to my parents.

Dad left the room and Mom sat very still in her chair, her eyes downcast and fixed on the arm of the sofa. She was quiet for a long time, until I wanted to beg her to speak, to say something, anything, but my own throat was too tight to let any words pass. Finally, she looked up.

“Do you know why I call you and your brother and sister and father my hummingbirds?” She asked softly.

I shook my head, a jerky, nervous motion. I'd never thought much about the nickname, it was one she had always used. I had just thought it was because she liked the small, colorful birds.

“Because a group of hummingbirds is called a charm,” she said, “and my life has never been so charmed as when I met your dad and had you kids. God gave each of you to me exactly as you were meant to be and I will never love you any less for being who you are. I don't care who you bring home, James, I only care that you are loved and you are happy.”

When Dad returned to the living room, he found Mom and me hugging and crying and he snorted before retaking his seat in his recliner, a sandwich and beer in his hands.

“You manage to get it all out?” He asked around a mouthful of food.

“Oh shush,” Mom said, wiping her eyes.

“What?” I looked between them, uncertain and still a bit on edge since Dad hadn't really reacted yet.

“We've suspected for years, Jimmy,” Dad said plainly. “Mom’s had that speech prepared for a while in case you came out.”

“I just wanted you to know that we love you no matter what,” Mom gave Dad the stink eye and he shrugged.

“You still the same Jimmy you been the last seventeen years?”

“Y-yeah,” I said.

“Then do you need me to give you some kinda monologue about how nothing has changed and you're my son and the only thing I've ever cared about is your happiness?”

“No,” I said and the beginning of a smile tugged at my lips. He'd said everything I needed to hear under the guise of a gruff dismissal.

“Alright then, can I finish my show?”

Even with their support, the fear I thought I'd known didn't go away. It just got bigger, changed into something new. It was no longer a hypothetical fear of “What if people know”; it was now “They know, what will they do?”.

Not everyone I came out to was so accepting, and not everyone kept it to themselves. I lost friends, lost my spot on the swim team, had rumors started about me. I received threats and anonymous notes in my locker telling me go kill myself. As far as I knew, I was the only gay kid in our small school and some of the other students made it their mission to let me know just how isolated I was.

I endured though, with the help of my siblings and my parents and the friends that I still had, and I graduated high school with a full scholarship to a state university hours away from my hometown. It felt safer there, more accepting, and everything I'd lost to the small minds I'd left behind, I regained quickly; my confidence, my happiness, a sense of belonging.

Little by little, that fear that I carried with me started to fade into background noise, still there, but out of focus. I did well in my classes, discovered a previously untapped love of computer science that led to a change in my major, joined a programming club with some of my classmates, I even went on a few dates with a guy I met in my dorm.

“I knew you'd do great, hummingbird,” Mom told me over the phone during our weekly phone call. “Shout out if you need anything, ok? I love you!”

My first semester was an amazing time and I was able to put a lot of high school’s negativity behind me.

And then Dad called.

There'd been an accident when Mom was on her way from work. A drunk driver going too fast down the wrong way hit her head on. He lived. She didn't.

I went home for the funeral. I helped carry my mother’s casket. I tossed a calla lily, her favorite, into her grave after she'd been lowered in. I accepted the whispered sympathies and apologies of the mourners in line with my family. I listened to my dad sob alone in his room for the first time in my life that night.

But I didn't cry. My grief was sharp and constant and there were moments I thought I'd suffocate beneath it, but for some reason, I couldn't cry. I just lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling and thinking of my mom and how different life was going to be without her.

A week later, I hugged my dad and my brother and my sister and I went back to college.

Things changed quickly even though I didn't mean for them to. I was distracted and flighty and I lost interest in my schoolwork. My dorm room suddenly felt like a cage and I paced restlessly with a constant need to be on the move, to be busy and unthinking. I got my hands on a fake ID, something I'd never even considered before, and started going out to clubs and bars with older friends.

I drank too much, stayed out too late, ignored the little nagging voices in my head that said I needed to get back on track. Every night was spent out, every day spent in bed, hungover and ill, but I just kept doing it. There was freedom in recklessness, pain and remembrance both far away things, and I hid from Mom’s death in the bottom of any bottle I could get my hands on.

I was a sloppy, careless drunk. I was an easy target.

It was just after two AM. I had stumbled out of the club after a fight with my not-quite-boyfriend, who had become concerned with my drinking, and was stomping back towards campus. I had just wanted to have a good time, and he'd ruined the whole night. I made it a couple blocks before dizziness and nausea overtook me and I had to rest against the side of a building while the world spun around me.

I hadn't realized I was being followed until someone’s fist slammed into my stomach.

The taunts seemed to come from all directions, ones I naively thought I had escaped: queer, fag, cock sucker. Something about me “gaying up their club” and how nobody wanted to see a couple of guys making out. I was able to focus enough to see it was two of them, obviously a bit drunk themselves, egging each other on and taking turns hurling insults. Trying to walk away just riled them further.

The street, a quiet row of closed shops and dark alleyways, was empty and the punch had sobered me just enough to know I was in a very bad position. I tried to run, hoping if I could back to a better populated place, they'd be scared off, but my legs were like jello and the ground pitched and heaved unsteadily.

It didn't take long for them to catch me.

I was dragged back to a car, where one of them kept me pinned against the backseat, out of sight from the window, while the other sped off. They cheered and mocked and shouted the whole, long drive, taunting me with things they planned to do to me.

The car was parked alongside a long, unlit road and they dragged me between them, down a ravine, into the thick line of dark trees.I begged and pleaded, tried to pull away, but they were too strong.

I had thought I knew what it was to be afraid. I learned a whole new level of fear that night.

I was afraid of my helplessness and of the pain. I was afraid of all the blood and the cracking bones and of the way one eye swelled shut and I couldn't see. I was afraid of the things they said and even moreso of what they did.

I was afraid I was going to die.

I think they thought I had. I faded in and out of consciousness and, every time I came to, I thought this was it, the last time I'd wake up. Their torture lasted until the sun started to come up and the alcohol had fully worn off and they could finally really see what they had done to me. I couldn't move, could barely breathe, and I just lied there with only a single thought, shouted out in a child’s wounded voice, echoing in my head: Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.

They swore and spit on me and laughed still, but there was a nervousness now.

“What do we so with him?” One asked.

“We gotta get rid of him.”

“Let's just leave him.”

“You want to get caught and let this fag ruin our lives? We gotta get rid of the body. There's some shovels and shit at my house. We'll get them and come back.”

They argued all the way back to the car. It roared into life in the distance and there was a squeal of tires and then they were gone and I was alone. All I could smell and taste was iron, all I could feel was fire and ice. My sight was hazy. Tears leaked freely from my eyes, stinging in hot trails down my face as darkness seeped into my mind again, accompanied by that same little boy voice calling out for his mommy.

Something brushed against my cheek. Despite how soft it was, it sent an electric shock of agony up my broken face and instinctively, I pulled away, which only sent more waves of pain rolling through me. It did it again and I let out a gurgling groan. Again and again, it kept touching my cheek until I opened my eye and searched feverishly for the source of my torment.

A hummingbird, bright green and red even in my bleary vision, was hovering over me.

It turned its tiny head this way and that and then whizzed in a fast circle around me, chirping wildly. When I didn't move, it was at my face again. Very gently, but deliberately, it poked the end of my nose with its beak. I sputtered at the touch, which might as well have been a fist upon my broken nose, and it fluttered in place just above me, its wings beating too quickly for me to keep up.

When I still didn't move, it poked me again and again, until I pushed myself on to my stomach to keep it away from my face. But it was persistent and kept needling at me, beating at my head with its wings, chirping and swooping. I could barely stay conscious and didn't know what to make of my newest attacker.

It went on and on, and I dragged myself a little bit away in an exhausting, excruciating attempt to get it to leave me alone.

But then a second hummingbird joined it, buzzing around my head and jabbing its beak into my scalp and neck. I couldn't lift my arms to swat at them, I could only grab at the ground and wiggle my way forward while the pair took turns dive bombing me.

A third appeared, and then a fourth, and they were all over me, until I was screaming weakly at them to stop. Their chirps were loud and endless and ringing and they picked at my clothes and hair and drilled their tiny beaks into my flesh. Every time they connected was like nails raking across my skin. When I tried to lay still and cover my head, it only got worse, they became agitated and louder, more violent. They only let up when I hauled myself away, inch by agonizing inch. When I stopped, they'd dive again.

For such tiny birds, they were able to inflict a great deal of pain.

More still came, until the air seemed alive with buzzing, vibrating wings and chirps that turned to screeches. They surrounded me, buffeting me and poking and prodding and screaming, and I kept trying to move forward and escape, but they followed, unrelenting. If I tried to turn off in a different direction, they'd swoop as one against my side until I was forced back on to my original path.

Every tiny movement hurt in ways I'd never imagined, but it was worse to be still, when the hummingbirds would attack, and so I did my best to keep my head down and to keep moving, to try and find some shelter from the birds. It seemed an endless, hellish hunt for relief.

It wasn't until I felt the warmth of open sunlight on my battered body that I dared to look up.

Somehow, impossibly, I had managed to crawl from the cover of the woods into the open ravine. There were cars speeding past overhead. There were people who could help me. I tried to shout, but I had no voice, no strength, and I slumped against the ground, praying for someone to notice.

Overhead, the hummingbirds had risen in and circled where I lay until they looked like a tornado of shining feathers.

Cars started to slow and then a few pulled over. People were getting out of their car and taking pictures and admiring the hummingbirds, which started to swoop again so close that I could feel the rush of wind as they passed.

“Hey, is that...there's a person down there!” I heard someone say distantly.

“He's right!” Someone else agreed.

As a handful of people started to slide down the ravine towards me, the hummingbirds rose once more and disappeared back into the tree line, until only one was left. It had settled on a thin branch and was watching with sparkling black eyes.

An ambulance was called and, as I was loaded onto the gurney and carefully carried back to the ravine’s slope, that final hummingbird sang one more time and the took off.

I was in the hospital for weeks recovering. I gave my statement to the police, tried to remember everything I could about the two who had almost killed me, and then I focused on healing. It took me a long time to shake the anger, longer to start overcoming the fear, and it was only then that I started to think of those hummingbirds.

Those hummingbirds who had pushed me forward. Those hummingbirds who had ensured that I didn't stop and give up. Those hummingbirds, who had made sure I survived.

Everyone else who was there that day agrees it was a miracle that those hummingbirds happened to be there when I was to attract people’s attention. They say that they were my lucky charm. I disagree, though.

Shout out if you need anything, she had told me during our last phone call, and I had done just that, crying out in my mind for her when I needed help, just as I always had.

No, it hadn't been a miracle that saved me.

It had been my mom.

[hexiewrites]

my heart’s always yours

Pairing: Pansy Parkinson / Daphne Greengrass Setting: modern, non-magical AU Word count: 1988 Written for: the femslash February trope bingo: au: unrequited (with some crossover into au: childhood best friends and au: childhood sweethearts and a bit of au: highschool tossed in for good measure ;)) and hp femslash february in general A/N: well. this got out of hand... alternately: pure wish fulfillment brought to you by baby gays who fell in love with their straight best friends and never got their happy endings. deep never-ending love to @nymphadoraholtzmann and @flintwoodandco who beta’d this for me!! <3

Now if time is what it takes I'll be here, I'll be waiting for you I don't need a break No tears, always in your corner You know, I'll be waiting for you You know, always yours My heart’s always yours -       Arkells, My Heart’s Always Yours

(my femslash feb bingo card) (my other writing)

Pansy was three when she fell in love with Daphne Greengrass.

Well, that’s not entirely true, because Pansy certainly couldn’t remember being three, let alone understanding complex constructs like love. But according to her older brother, that was when she had started holding Daphne’s hand, grinning at her with stars in her eyes, and begging to spend all of her time with the little blonde girl. They grew up inseparable, joined at the hip. One tiny and graceful and blonde and perfect, the other dark haired and angry and too loud, too busy, too - Pansy won’t you just shut up!

It took Daphne a little longer for the same realization to sink in. In between, there were years of holding hands, giggling into the phone, staying up late and whispering about who they wanted to be. Endless summers spent lounging by the Greengrass pool. Fall afternoons huddled together in the park under a giant plaid scarf with over the top coffee orders warming their hands. Winter mornings, first of snowballs and snow angels, and then of lazy excitement and treks through the snow to spend their snow days huddled under a big blanket in Pansy’s basement watching rom coms and sighing wistfully about love. And then spring, bringing promises of warmth, hours of braiding flower crowns, and Pansy, falling more in love with her best friend with every sunshine scattered giggle and wind whispered promise of forever.

Specifically, it took until they turned fourteen for Daphne to understand what was happening between them. Pansy had sat Daphne down and poked at the pathetic salad on her plate – her mother’s fourth attempt an an enforced diet – and tried not to cry when she told Daphne she thought she probably wasn’t really into guys. And Daphne had promised her it was fine, until Pansy looked up and glanced over at bubblegum pink lips, and Daphne’s ever present pout, and that stupid piece of her hair that never lay flat and confessed that actually, she thought she was really into Daphne.

Which hadn’t gone very well at all.

Daphne had backed away, their friendship shifted to the edge of a precipice, and Pansy cried every day for a week. They started high school, and she met Draco Malfoy, and decided she could maybe be into pretty boys with blonde hair and pink lips. Or at least, she could try her best.

It took Daphne three days to realize she had made the biggest mistake of her life, and three years to fix it.

By seventeen, Pansy and Daphne barely spoke, and Pansy had filled the empty spot in her heart with a vigorous exercise routine, mediocre sex with her on and off mostly-boyfriend Draco, and old photo albums. They passed in the halls and Pansy forced herself to look away, to pretend it didn’t hurt that Daphne had learned the truth and ran. Daphne let her eyes linger on the red of Pansy’s lips, the curve of her breasts and jut of her hipbones, and told herself that it was her fault, that she was a coward, that she would forever be stuck in a position of wanting but not getting because Pansy would never forgive her.

Daphne could never forgive herself.

Mostly, she tried to cover it up by pretending to be sociable, by hanging off the arms of older boys, and, of course, by looking through old photo albums.

One Friday, Cassius Warrington (now in community college) invited her to a party. Daphne would have turned it down, most other times. But there was something in her that demanded she go, get out of the house and breathe in some fresh air and some fresh people and get drunk off cheap vodka and try not to cry too much. Sometimes, it felt like all she did was cry.

When, standing near a wall with a lukewarm cup of keg beer, she spotted Pansy across the room, she nearly screamed. Pansy looked gorgeous, as always, in a tight black dress and blood red lipstick. She’d half curled her short hair and her eyes were fierce. Her arm was wrapped around Draco’s, but his eyes were trained across the room on a girl Daphne recognized from English class – swotty, stuck up, and a constant subject of Draco’s mockery. She seemed to be looking back with something suspiciously like interest in her eyes.

Daphne left the room in search of vodka. One of Cassius’s housemates, Marcus, had gratefully taken her beer and replaced it with a shot glass, pouring her four in a row until she felt the edge of pain slip away. He tried to start a conversation about football and Daphne did the best to plaster a curious smile on her lips, but she knew she fell short because eventually he shrugged and gave up, leaving her behind.

And then Pansy sauntered into the kitchen, where Daphne was leaning against one of the counters with her head swimming and her stomach churning softly, and stopped.

“Oh.” Pansy said, and the noise of the party seemed to splinter and fall apart around them and Daphne had to swallow the sob that came from nowhere, choking her and threatening to ruin her mascara for good.

Finally, Daphne took a deep breath, and looked up. Pansy looked just as lost as she did, and she was biting her lip in a way that Daphne knew meant she was nervous. The image of fierce and formidable was gone and left was Pansy. Just Pansy. All of the pieces that Daphne had loved and longed for and needed – bared in front of her and more raw than she had ever seen them.

“Hi.” Daphne said, unable to stop herself. She blamed the vodka.

“I should… um…” Pansy gestured around the empty kitchen, and shook her head once. “You were probably… with someone…”

Daphne responded far before she realized she was doing so. “No!” She all but shouted, and then she felt her cheeks flush and she had to take a breath and keep talking. “No. I was talking to… I don’t know his name. Only wanted to talk about football. How dry.”

Pansy had snorted a laugh but she clearly was trying to stifle it, and she still stood slightly awkwardly in the doorway. “I didn’t… know you were going to be here. I wouldn’t have come.”

Daphne couldn’t stop the wince that tugged at her features and instead of trying, she looked back down at her pink leather ballet flats and berated herself, again, for her failure. “I don’t usually. Come to parties, that is.”

Heels clicked against the floor and when Daphne looked up again, Pansy was only a few feet away from her. She wobbled just slightly and Daphne almost reached out to catch her but Pansy clearly had practice being drunk in heels and she steadied herself quickly, took a breath, and bit her lip once more. “I’ve missed you.” She whispered, and Daphne had to swallow another sob, but she couldn’t stop the tears that were now definitely leaking from her eyes and probably smearing her mascara on the way down.

“Pansy I…” She knew she needed to apologize, to explain why she had reacted badly as a terrified preteen, why she had never apologized or tried to make it right. Tell Pansy what she really felt.

But Pansy was acting before she could wrap her mind around what to say, and there were smooth cool hands on her face. Daphne managed to take a small breath and then Pansy was kissing her. Pansy was kissing her and it was everything Daphne had thought and hoped it would be and more and of course of course because it was Pansy, it had always been Pansy but before she could fully react Pansy was pulling back, stepping away.

“I’m sorry I just… I’ve wanted to do that for so long and you looked so sad and I shouldn’t take advantage of that but, we’re going to graduate and I might never… never see you again and-”

“I love you.” Daphne whispered, and then she cleared her throat. “I love you and I have loved you since we were fourteen, probably longer than that but I didn’t realize and then I panicked and you left and then you started dating Malfoy and I figured well, it won’t last, she doesn’t like him she just told me she likes me. So I thought I’d wait and then I’d be there and then it never ended and you… and I… I wasn’t brave enough to tell you because I love you but I’m terrified of you and I need you in my life like I need air and-”

Pansy was blinking over at her, opening and closing her mouth, trying to process what was going on. Before Daphne could finish speaking she had reached out again and pressed their bodies together. They were kissing for real now, with Pansy’s hands on Daphne’s cheeks and Daphne’s resting on Pansy’s hips and everything was so right and would never be wrong again.

“I’ve always been yours,” Pansy whispered, as she pulled back, and started to pepper small kisses across Daphne’s cheeks and forehead as if she couldn’t believe her luck and needed to get all of this in before Daphne sobered up and changed her mind. “My heart has always been yours.” She said again, and Daphne giggled like she was a child sprawled on the grass with the sun beating down on her and Pansy was grinning and everything, everything was okay.

“I’m sorry I ruined everything.” Daphne murmured, and Pansy paused her kisses and pulled back just enough to look down into Daphne’s eyes. Bright blue, just like she remembered, wide and bright and so goddamn earnest that Pansy wanted to melt.

“You didn’t, beautiful, you never could. I would have waited to the end of the world for you.” And then she kissed Daphne again, full on the lips. “And now I’m going to take you home and lock you in my bedroom and I’m not letting you leave until I’ve memorized every part of you.”

Daphne blushed, but she also pushed away from the counter and slid her hand down into Pansy’s. They were almost out of the kitchen when she remembered. “What about Draco?”

Pansy grinned almost gleefully and tugged Daphne into the main room, stalking across the party towards the blonde man who was talking to a handful of friends. He glanced up when he noticed Pansy and then looked down to see her hand intertwined with Daphne’s and he grinned. “Well, Parkinson?” He asked, crossing his arms in a way that seemed more joking than anything.

Pansy’s grin slipped into something slightly more evil and she turned her head over her shoulder. “Granger!” She shouted, and the party quieted a little as the girl on the far side of the room stepped forward and frowned. “Draco here is a little bit in love with you and, although I am actually quite gay and very much not interested now that I don’t have to be, he’s not half bad with that cock of his. Don’t fuck it up!” She half sung, and then she turned back to Draco who was gaping at her like a fish. “I’m taking my girlfriend home.”

Daphne was blushing furiously but she couldn’t stop the grin that was splitting her face in half. “Thanks for looking after her for me.” She said to Draco, and then turned back to Pansy like she was the sun. “Lead the way.”

And as Pansy pulled open the front door of the party, the entire room burst into a round of raucous applause and a cheer of “that’s how you do it!” and Pansy and Daphne tumbled out onto the street and Daphne pulled Pansy back towards her and kissed her, just because she could.

[mysteryshelf]

FALL INTO MYSTERY BLOG TOUR - A Fatal Obsession

Welcome to the “Fall Into Mystery Event” happening Sepetember 10th to 21th, 2018, at SHANNON MUIR’S THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to SHANNON MUIR’S THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF arranged by Partners in Crime Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

A Fatal Obsession

by James Hayman

on Tour September 1 – 30, 2018

Synopsis:

“James Hayman’s edgy, ingenious novels rival the best of Lisa Gardner, Jeffery Deaver, and Kathy Reichs. A Fatal Obsession is his finest to date: a ferocious live-wire thriller starring two of the most appealing cops in contemporary fiction.” —A.J. Finn, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Woman in the Window

Zoe McCabe is a beautiful young actress on the verge of stardom who has been basking in the standing ovations and rave reviews she’s been getting from critics and fans alike for her portrayal of Desdemona in an off-Broadway production of Othello. As she takes her final bows, Zoe has no idea that, seated in the audience, a man has been studying her night after night, performance after performance. A man whose carefully crafted plans are for the young actress to take a starring role in a far deadlier production he has created just for her.

Portland, Maine detectives Mike McCabe and Maggie Savage are settling into the new rhythm of their relationship when McCabe gets a late night call from his brother Bobby that Zoe, McCabe’s favorite niece and Bobby’s daughter, has suddenly disappeared. The NYPD is certain Zoe’s abduction is the work of the man the tabloids have dubbed “The Star Struck Strangler,” a killer who has been kidnapping, abusing and finally strangling one beautiful young performer after another. Bobby begs McCabe to return to the New York City crime beat he’d left behind so many years ago, to work his old connections, and to help find Zoe before her time runs out. The stakes for McCabe and Savage have never been higher. Or more personal. And suddenly the race is on to stop a vicious attacker, before the McCabe family is torn apart beyond repair.

  Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Thriller Published by: Witness Impulse Publication Date: Aug. 21, 2018 Number of Pages: 432 ISBN: 9780062876676 Series: McCabe and Savage Thrillers #6 Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

  Read an excerpt:

Prologue

The worst thing about the rage was its randomness. Tyler Bradshaw never knew what might trigger one. A tone of voice. A look. An innocent or perhaps a not so innocent remark. Tonight he could feel it starting to build just seconds after he’d begun walking down the center aisle of the small McArthur/Weinstein Community Theater on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.

Having attended all eleven previous performances in this limited-run production of Othello, Tyler knew exactly where he wanted to sit for tonight’s finale. The same seat he’d occupied for every performance so far. The same seat he was going to sit in tonight no matter what. A12. On the aisle. Front row. Right-hand side. By far the best seat in the house in terms of offering him the most intimate view of the death of Zoe McCabe, the young actress cast in the role of Desdemona.

This would be Tyler’s last chance to watch the woman he wanted so desperately, the woman who’d been haunting his dreams for months, meet death at the hands of Randall Carter, the well known black actor who was playing Othello the Moor. And if all went according to plan, this closing night would become opening night for a much more intimate relationship.

But Tyler had taken only a few steps down the aisle when he was stopped short by the sight of some son of a bitch sitting in his seat. The theater was practically empty, and some asshole had actually had the nerve to plant his butt in the seat Tyler claimed as his own. He stood for a few seconds watching the guy as the anger grew. Some skinny twerp with a shaved head and black-framed hipster glasses leaning over and talking to the woman next to him as if unaware of his transgression. Tyler barely managed to suppress an urge to run down the nearly empty aisle to the first row, pull the guy up by his ears and kick the shit out of him right then and there.

Take it easy, Tyler told himself. Don’t start a fight. Don’t cause a scene. Don’t get your ass thrown out of here. Do that and you’ll miss Zoe’s final death scene, and you really don’t want to do that. Still, when something he so desperately wanted was denied him, when something he considered rightfully his was withheld or taken away, Tyler found it nearly impossible to suppress the anger filling his brain. But he knew he had to try. Taking a deep breath, he managed to walk at a measured pace the rest of the way down the aisle. He stopped and stood directly in front of the guy in A12. He looked down. “Sorry, buddy,” he said in a voice filled with no more than a hint of threat, “you and your girlfriend are gonna have to move. This seat’s taken.”

“I beg your pardon,” the guy said in what Tyler thought was a condescending tone. Tyler hated it when people condescended to him. New York was full of them. It was one of the reasons he really didn’t like spending time in the city even though he’d been born here. Even though he still kept an apartment here. Even though he’d worked three years at his uncle’s fancy Wall Street law firm. That job had gone down the crapper the day Tyler totally lost it when one of the other associates had condescended to him. Told Tyler in front of like ten other people that the only reason the firm had hired Tyler was because his uncle happened to be managing partner. Tyler reacted by slugging the guy right then and there in front of six other lawyers. Knocked the bastard flat on his ass. Then followed up with a kick to the gut. A deliciously satisfying kick even though it marked the end of his legal career. The only reason Tyler hadn’t been charged with assault was that his uncle convinced the other guy his own career would go much better if he simply forgot about the whole thing. Tyler still got pissed off when he thought about that asshole.

“You heard me,” Tyler said to the guy who’d taken his seat, making sure he kept his voice quiet and controlled. “You’re sitting in my seat. This has been my seat for the last two weeks. The entire run. And it will continue to be my seat for tonight. That means it’s time for you to tell me how sorry you are and get up and move.”

Condescension changed to huffiness. “I don’t know who you think you are but there’s no reserved seating in this theater. We took these seats first. That means they’re ours. There’s plenty of empty seats all over the place. Just take one of those and leave us the hell alone.”

“This is my seat and you are going to have to move.”

For exactly twenty-three seconds the guy said nothing. Tyler knew it was twenty-three without having to consult his watch. It was this brain thing he’d had ever since the so-called accident. He always knew precisely to the second what time it was and precisely how much time was passing. Just as he knew how many steps it would take to get from one place to another without having to think about it. It hadn’t always been that way. Just since his old man had tossed him headfirst into the shallow end of the swimming pool at their country place when he was fourteen and he’d bashed his head against the concrete. That’s when the rage problems started as well.

For the entire time, the guy just sat where he was and looked up at Tyler. Maybe he was debating whether to challenge someone who, at six foot three and two hundred and twenty pounds, was way the hell bigger than he was.

Tyler was getting closer to hoisting the guy out of the seat and tossing his skinny little ass out into the aisle. Which would have ruined everything. Thankfully, one second before he would have done just that, the guy’s wife or girlfriend or whatever she was, broke the impasse.

“Come on, Richard,” she said. “Let’s move. I don’t like being this close to the stage anyway.”

“I oughtta call the police,” said Richard.

“Call whoever the fuck you want, Richard. Just get your ass out of my seat.”

“Richard. Please,” said the woman. “This guy’s unhinged.”

“Yeah, Richard, I’m unhinged,” said Tyler, putting as much menace in his voice as he could.

“And if you want to know the truth, I’m getting more fucking unhinged by the second.”

The woman rose, took Richard’s hand and pulled. “Please,” she said.

The guy finally stood. No doubt relieved not to have to confront someone as big and angry-looking as Tyler. But, Tyler figured, also ashamed that he lacked the cojones to stand up to the bully who’d shamed him in front of his girlfriend. A lot of people responded to Tyler that way. He usually enjoyed it when they did. He especially liked it when people backed down and did exactly what he told them to. Which was most of the time. Most people were too chicken-shit to stand up for themselves.

Tonight was no different. The guy named Richard picked up a canvas messenger bag from the floor and let the woman lead him across to the other side of the small auditorium, where they found seats a couple of rows back. Tyler watched them go. Neither looked back at him. Neither noticed the small, satisfied smile he threw at them. Confrontations that ended like this and the adrenaline rush that came with them always made him feel better.

Before sitting down, Tyler unzipped his backpack, pulled a pair of latex gloves from the package he’d put in there, and put them on. Then he took out a packet of antibacterial wet wipes and used three of them to wipe down the seat, the backrest and the arms before easing his large frame down into seat A12. His seat. That done, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing deeply in and out. Pictured the rage that had come from the confrontation slowly dripping out of him, drop by drop, like water from a leaky faucet. That’s what Dr. Steinman, the therapist he started seeing a year after the swimming pool incident, had taught him to do when he felt this way. He watched the drops falling . . . exactly one drop per second . . . and knew without counting that one hundred and forty-four drops had fallen before he’d totally emptied himself of the anger and felt calm enough to open his eyes.

Tyler had another twenty-one minutes and twelve seconds to wait before scheduled curtain time. Maybe even more minutes and seconds before the curtain actually went up, because they never seemed to get the timing right. To pass the time he popped a couple of sticks of Juicy Fruit gum in his mouth and started chewing. Then he pulled a week-old copy of the New York Daily News from his backpack and unfolded it. He stared for what had to be the hundredth time at the banner headline, the big black letters seeming to leap out at him from the front page. StarStruck Strangler Strikes Again. He wondered if that was just one headline or if that was the nickname they were going to give the killer. He wondered if the name would stick. Tyler thought about it. Star-Struck Strangler wasn’t nearly as interesting as, say, Son of Sam. Though it was, he supposed, equally alliterative. Both had multiple S’s, which had always been one of Tyler’s favorite letters. He repeated the headline to himself. Star-Struck Strangler Strikes Again. Four ST words in a row. Tyler preferred S words when they were followed by L’s. Words like slasher. Slimy. Sleazy. Slippery. Slinky. Slick. Slutty. Yes, SL words were much better than ST words. His favorite SL word, slithy, wasn’t a real word at all. Just something made up by Lewis Carroll. ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves / Did gyre and gimble in the wabe. Wonderful creepy-crawly sounds.

Beneath the headline that dominated the front page was a subhead set in slightly smaller black type. It read, Missing Ballerina Found Murdered on Beach. No alliteration there unless you counted the M’s in Missing and Murdered and the B’s in Ballerina and Beach, and Tyler didn’t think that really counted. Tucked next to the headline and subhead was a color photo of an attractive young blonde, her hair pulled back in a bun, smiling at the camera. A happy smile, he thought, for a woman who’d turned up dead over a week ago. Tyler flipped open the tabloid and read full the story once again:

Friday, October 2, 2015. The body of 21-year-old Sarah Jacobs, a dancer with the New York City Ballet who had been reported missing two weeks earlier on September 15, was discovered late last night lying in a shallow, sandy grave on a stretch of beach in Sherwood Island State Park., The beach is located on the Long Island Sound in the affluent suburb of Westport, Connecticut.

Investigators say Ms. Jacobs’s body was discovered at approximately six a.m. by Westport resident Edward Todd. Todd told police he was walking his dog on the beach as he does every morning, when the dog raced ahead and started sniffing at something in the sand. When Mr. Todd was close enough to see it was the remains of a human body, he immediately dialed 911 on his mobile phone and informed Westport police, who arrived moments later. After identifying the body, Westport detectives notified the NYPD, which had been searching for Ms. Jacobs since her disappearance.

The victim, Sarah Jacobs, was a well-regarded dancer who was considered a rising star with the New York City Ballet. According to police sources, the victim’s body, when found, was wearing a black leotard and black ballet slippers, an outfit identical to the one she wore on stage during her last performance at Lincoln Center on September 12, three days prior to her disappearance. Her hair was also arranged identically to the way it had been during the performance.

Ms. Jacobs was the daughter of prominent Broadway producer Frederick Jacobs and Chelsea art dealer Marjorie Hanscomb Jacobs. Both parents refused to comment on the discovery of their daughter’s body. André Komar, the company’s ballet master, told reporters, “Sarah was an exceptionally gifted young dancer with a bright future ahead of her. All of us who knew and worked with her here at the New York City Ballet are grieving along with her parents. This is a real tragedy and we will all miss her enormously.”

Assistant New York City Medical Examiner Dr. Peter Weisman told reporters the apparent cause of death was strangulation. He also said the body was badly bruised and there were clear signs that Ms. Jacobs had been sexually assaulted prior to death. Her body is scheduled to be autopsied by the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner to determine, among other things, time of death and if strangulation was indeed the cause.

The victim has been the subject of an intense New York Police Department manhunt ever since her disappearance. She was last seen leaving a private party at the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan on the evening of September 15th. Her father told reporters she left the party early after complaining of feeling “queasy” and said that she was going to take a cab home to her Greenwich Village apartment.

Ms. Jacobs is the third young member of New York’s performing arts community to have disappeared from Manhattan since the beginning of the year. The body of an earlier victim, Ronda Wingfield, 28, an actress who appeared frequently in musical productions in Manhattan and elsewhere, was discovered last May 19th in a wooded section of Manhattan’s Highbridge Park.

A third performer, actress Marzena Wolski, who also lived in Manhattan and who, for the last two years, had a starring role in the TV crime drama Malicious, was reported missing September 28th. Police have reportedly found no clues as to Ms. Wolski’s whereabouts.

When asked if police believed the three kidnappings and two confirmed deaths were the work of a serial killer, the NYPD’s chief of detectives, Charles Pryor, told reporters, “While we can’t be absolutely sure at this point in the investigation, given the obvious similarities in the choice of victims, all of whom performed on television or on stage, as well as similarities in the cause and manner of death of the two victims found so far, we are fairly certain that that is the case.” Pryor added, “There are currently no suspects but we are hopeful that the discovery of Ms. Jacobs’s remains will provide some relevant leads.”

Tyler reread the article a couple of times even though he already knew it pretty much by heart, as he did just about everything else that had been published about the kidnappings and murders. He then turned back and examined the front-page photo of Sarah Jacobs. With her long, narrow face, Sarah wasn’t really all that pretty. At least not compared to Zoe McCabe. For Tyler Bradshaw, there was no one who could compare to Zoe.

Tyler finally returned the paper to his backpack, relaxed in his seat and waited patiently until the curtain rose, and Roderigo and Iago entered a bare-bones version of a sixteenth-century Venetian street. Tyler watched the beginning of the play with minimal interest. It wasn’t Iago or Roderigo he’d come for. Tyler’s only reason to sit through this part of the play over and over again was to make sure he got the right seat to feel the closeness of the woman he so desperately wanted. His gaze never strayed from her from the moment she first came on stage in Act I, Scene III, until she was finally done to death in Act V, Scene II, bloodlessly smothered by the actor who played the title role. When the play got to that point, Tyler whispered Desdemona’s last words to himself, doing his best to mimic the way Zoe spoke them.

That death’s unnatural that kills for loving.

Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?

Tyler sometimes practiced gnawing his nether lip when Zoe said the lines. She was right. It didn’t seem natural. Still, the most famous writer who ever lived had written it that way.

Some bloody passion shakes your very frame: These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope They do not point on me. . . . A guiltless death I die. Oh yes, my love, he whispered to himself, a guiltless death you die. But not too soon I hope. For I’m quite sure I want you with me for a much longer time than the Star-Struck Strangler had allowed either of the others.

And then, when it came time, he mouthed the famous lines spoken by the Moor.

When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely, but too well . . .

Tyler had fixated on these words since he’d watched the first performance two weeks ago, for he believed they precisely defined who he was. They were his lines because he believed that he too was one who loved not wisely but too well.

When the play finally ended and the curtain fell two hours, twenty-seven minutes and thirty seconds later, it was the third longest of the twelve performances he had attended. It irritated Tyler that the actors couldn’t do a better job of getting the timing right. Yes, in one performance, the actor playing Iago had even screwed up one of his lines and Othello had to ad-lib filler dialogue until Iago got his brain back on track. But that was the only time they had an excuse.

He let the irritation go when Zoe and the rest of the cast stepped in front of the curtain to take their bows. He stood with the audience and applauded as loudly as, if not more so than, anyone else in the theater. Took the overchewed ball of gum from his mouth and whistled loudly.

Of course, Tyler’s applause was only for Zoe. His gaze fixed only on her. Her dark and penetrating eyes. Her glorious smile. The slender perfection of her figure. At last, when the curtain calls were finally finished and the actors gone from the stage, Tyler slung his pack around one shoulder and walked out, once again practically the last to leave the theater. For the first time, his mind was finally and truly made up. He could wait no longer. He pulled a crushable Aussie outback hat from his backpack and put it on. Kind of goofy-looking, but what with all the damned surveillance cameras on the streets these days, the wide brim did a good job of hiding his face. And on a cold, drizzly night like this, it wouldn’t even attract much attention. Tyler left the theater by a side exit, crossed the street and stood in the shadows of a darkened computer repair shop, waiting for Zoe to emerge from the stage door dressed in her own street clothes.

When she finally walked out, she wasn’t alone. She was with Randall Carter, the big black dude who played Othello. They stood together on the sidewalk talking. Tyler felt rage once again building as they talked. Especially when Carter leaned down and kissed Zoe on the lips. Nothing passionate. Nothing sexy. But still. The woman Tyler considered his own kissing some hotshot Hollywood bastard? A black hotshot Hollywood bastard no less, which made it even harder to take. Tyler could barely keep his rage from roaring back, barely restrain himself from rushing across the street and kicking the shit out of Carter. While he stood there seething, a black Lincoln SUV pulled up. Randall Carter got in. Zoe waved. The car drove off. Zoe pulled up the hood on her rain jacket and started walking by herself along the street. Tyler watched and waited until she was a little ahead before following.

***

Excerpt from A Fatal Obsession by James Hayman. Copyright © 2018 by James Hayman. Reproduced with permission from Witness Impulse. All rights reserved.

  Author Bio:

JAMES HAYMAN, formerly creative director at one of New York’s largest advertising agencies, is the author of the acclaimed McCabe and Savage Thriller series: The Cutting, The Chill of Night, Darkness First, The Girl in the Glass, The Girl on The Bridge, and A Fatal Obsession.

Catch Up With James Hayman On: jameshaymanthrillers.com, Goodreads, Twitter, & Facebook!

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This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Harper Collins/Witness Impulse and James Hayman. There will be 3 winners of one (1) copy of The Cutting by James Hayman (eBook). The giveaway begins on September 1, 2018 and runs through October 1, 2018. (FOR BOOKS Open to U.S. addresses only). Void where prohibited.

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FALL INTO MYSTERY BLOG TOUR – A Fatal Obsession was originally published on the Wordpress version of Shannon Muir's The Pulp and Mystery Shelf