#and listened to al*x jones

[dani-dear]

lmao i put so many tags under that poll alcjwjjc

[ouchmyheart22]

Hii pretty please something with buggy flirting w reader either with or without a body and at first it's just some off handed comment but reader thinks he's so hot so they get a little 😳👉👈 so he flirts with her more and more and gets increasingly suggestive just to see her squirm<3

Absolutely my love - hope this is what you wanted <3

Request for Buggy x Reader (OPLA Buggy the Clown)

Word Count: 1.7K

Warning: mentions of sex.

He leaned against his chair with such ease and nonchalance, his legs spread wide, one hand on his thigh, the other gripping the whiskey glass. His chin was darkened by stubble, his red lipstick was faded, smudging the crystal glass in his gloved hand.

You tried to focus on pouring the next customers drink but it was no use, your eyes kept trailing towards the corner of the bar, where Buggy and his crew had settled for the night.

Settled, they were anything but settled. Rowdy and increasingly loud, your boss seemed to tolerate the pirates for the business.

You hadn’t even spoke to him. Cabaji had ordered a bottle of whiskey for the captain, while Buggy had made himself comfortable at the head of the table. Perfectly in your eyeline, which you couldn’t tell was a good thing or bad thing.

He shrugged off his coat, revealing his toned arms, veins prominent in his forearms, a hazy blue colour under the fluorescents of the bar.. Definitely a bad thing you decided.

You turned away from the Buggy pirates, in an attempt to distract yourself. You tried to focus on drying the glass in your hands, ignoring the sound of laughter from behind you.

They were all intimidating, sure, they were pirates after all, but there was something about the captain that made your mouth dry, your muscles tense up. His air of confidence and familiarity, as he walked into the bar for the first time, commanding the space. Power.

You wondered what is felt like to have that power.

‘A pint of Red Herring and another bottle of Davy Jones whiskey sweetheart’

You’d been listening to his voice all night. Telling stories to his crew about a straw hat pirates and his friends, how he had successfully infiltrated their crew, and defeated Arlong single handed.

It was a husky tone, mischievous and teasing, he seemed to always be biting back a laugh.

You almost dropped the beer glass in your hands as you turned to him, your eyes wide and innocent.

His palms were flush against the bar, his arms stretched, flexing as he bent them to rest on the counter.

Your mouth opened and closed, suddenly full of sand as your tongue refused to form any words.

He grinned, his red lipstick stretching up his cheeks with amusement.

‘Well hello there Bambi’ the words tumbled from his lips before he even thought.

You blinked, not doing much for the impression.

God Buggy thought, you were a nice change. Young and beautiful, radiating the type of innocence someone at sea had long lost. Your doe eyes were big and expressive, he relished the feeling of your gaze on him. Your lips rested in a little pout, pink and plush as you nodded at him in response.

Buggy started to grind his teeth. Your bottom lip would be better suited between his teeth he thought.

You smiled, polite and shy, clearly too nervous to reply to the captain. For fear your voice would betray you, and come out stuttering and broken.

He leaned further onto the bar as you pulled the tap for the red ale, filling a pint for him.

He watched your small hands, grip the beer tap with ease, your fingers wrapped around the handle. God he wondered what those fingers would feel like wrapped around his-‘

‘I’ll just go take the whiskey from the back’

You finally spoke, your voice sickly sweet to him. It was soft, patient even, though he assumed you must have a lot of patience to be dealing with drunkards all day long.

He nodded, grinning at you, his eyes darkened.

‘I’m sure you love taking things from the back sweets’

Your entire face seemed to fill with colour, your cheeks volcanic hot as you stared at the clown. Had you heard that right? Did he actually just say that ? To you?

He laughed, jutting his chin towards to door wordlessly. As if to say go on, go ahead. You give a small nod, fiddling with your hands as you pushing open the storage room with your shoulder.

A breath escapes you, one you didn't know you had been holding.

God you must have looked so dumb. So naive. What must he be thinking of you? He wasn't thinking of you probably, had probably forgotten what you'd looked like by now.

You cursed yourself as you slid open the glass cabinet that held the top shelf spirits, ironically on the bottom shelf, gripping the Davy Jones bottle carefully.

Turning back towards the door, you allowed yourself a deep breath. Your hands were shaking with anxiety, aching from the adrenaline rush. God you were so reactive, too reactive for your liking. Letting on just how inexperienced you were.

If any other man had spoken to you like that you probably would have rolled your eyes, mentally gagging. But it seemed the attention the clown was giving you was making you squirm.

Gripping the door handle, you held the whiskey close to your chest, easing the blush that had spread down your neck. You allowed another deep breath before you pulled the door open with a small tug.

He had appeared at the door like a shadow, blocking the light from the bar outside the small storage room. His hat allowed a small bit of light to peak over the brim, but his entire form was now darkened, his eyes fell on you expectedly.

You resisted the urge to gulp.

‘Need a hand princess?’

He had popped his right hand off, floating towards you, he wigged his finger in front of your nose.

‘I-I got it’ you answered, weakly holding up the whiskey. You looked at the hand, and then at Buggy, who winked, clicking his tongue for emphasis.

He hummed, taking the bottle from your hand with his detached glove. It attached itself back to his forearm with a satisfying thunk.

Licking his lips, he replied.

‘I just got a craving for something sweet’ he decided

You blinked. Catching yourself with wide eyes again, you forced your eyes shut for a second, playing with your apron you responded.

‘Um.. okay' that was all you could get out at first, before your forced your customer service training to kick in 'What would you like?’

His eyes darkened, his chin dropping to stair at you better. He was an attractive man, even with the makeup, even in the dim lighting, even with the nose.

‘I’d like you. On the rocks. With a lemon slice’ his voice was teasing and rough, an interesting combination that sounded so perfect in your ears.

‘But I’ll settle for a cocktail sweetheart’ he finished, his wolfish grin subdued by a satisfied smirk.

You nodded, weakly, you felt like your body was rusted, in desperate need of oiling.

‘Any preference?’ You didn’t stutter this time but your voice was still smaller than usual. You cringed, you sounded pathetic.

‘I’m sure you’d know what I like sweets’ he shrugged, he cocked his head to the side, looking you up and down ‘You seem very attentive’

You nodded.

That was all you seemed to be able to do around him. He seemed amused, highly satisfied he had mustered such a reaction. Like a cat playing with a mouse he'd caught, dragging you back by your tail each time you slipped away.

He turned to allow you to pass him, though remained in the doorway so you could not avoid his gaze.

As you stepped out of the supply cupboard he bent down, his long blue hair swinging from his hat, a smile plastered on his red lips.

‘Not too sweet though, I don’t want to ruin my appetite’

He chomped down on his teeth, making a satisfying click sound, allowing his eyes to trail down your figure again. His eyes seemed to burn holes into your back as you cross the bar, away from him to start the drink.

By the time he had sauntered back to sit in front of you, your hands had stopped shaking and you were cutting lemon.

He watches you make the cocktail like a lion, watching an injured gazelle stumble, his eyes trained on your every move. You meet his eyes once, they're sea green, bold and piercing. He chuckles as you jerk your head back towards the glass.

‘Pretty’ he comments, his gloved hands are spread out on the counter, so much bigger than your own. You've never liked feeling small, but suddenly you feel just fine about it.

‘Hmm?’ Your head pops up from the cocktail glass, the small shot glass still in your hand. Did he just call you-

His lips turn up again, satisfied with your reaction. He holds your gaze, though you desperately hope the clown breaks the eye contact first. Though that seemed unlikely

‘The cocktail’ he allows his gaze to fall to the pink, frothing liquid below you.

Of course he meant the cocktail.

You place the tall tulip glass in front of him, placing the small red flower as garnish, you finally allow your shoulders to loosen.

He looks to you. Then looks at the cocktail. Then back to you.

This time, you are very aware you are holding your breath. Your hands are clasped behind your back, in an attempt to stretch your shoulders.

He takes a long sip, his eyes never leaving yours.

This feels too intimate for the setting, especially when you see Buggy swallow and his adams apple bobs. You think you might go insane, you want to scream at the clown.

‘Taste okay?’ you manage, forcing a small smile as he rests the glass on the counter.

He shrugs, crossing his arms, leaning closer to your side of the bar.

You look disappointed, like a kicked puppy, but only for a second, as you put on a brave face and open your mouth to offer him an alternative.

Buggy grins, wider than he has the whole night. Watching you squirm has certainly granted him with great entertainment, the best show he's watched in a long time.

He grabs the pint and the whiskey bottle, cackling as he turns away from the bar, leaving you bright red and shifting on your feet.

'You look like you'd taste a lot better sweetheart'

[whydoiluvcoffee]

alr since @thelonelydreams humbly requested, I'm making MICHEAL HOLDEN HEADCANONS BC MICHEAL HOLDEN SUPREMACY (btw im using the show micheal not book micheal):

He LOVES cheese. will drown his food in cheese. once went on a date with Tori where they had pasta. He just loaded it up with cheese (tori just casually regretting her life choices atm).

Sorta canon but he's a total dog person. just loves them and would keep some when he gets his own place.

Just starts working directly instead of going to college (in solitaire, he mentions that he has no plans of doing college).

Squirts ketchup into his mouth. like at a diner or something where he takes the squeezy bottle and just, squeezes it right into his mouth.

He's a mix of a golden retriever and an orange cat personality-wise.

Has undiagnosed audhd (was totally a gifted kid growing up but then school got hard).

Spends lots of time online on tumblr and fanfiction sites (for sherlock x watson fics)

Writes his own sherlock x watson fics and uploads them onto AO3/wattpad or smth.

The song "Wake Up" by Cheese People is definitely in his playlist.

Has repressed anger most of the time (may have tried to sh to cope with it but didn't work for him so he stopped).

Is that weirdo who loves pineapple pizza (him and tori have opposing pizza tastes).

Has seen "The Perks Of Being A Wallflower" and enjoyed it.

Would be the main character of an indie film (yk those 2000's ones with the whole vibe).

Doesn't bother with taking care of his hair (it has a soul of its own at this point since it's wild).

Didn't know how to tie a tie or his shoelaces until he was 13 or smth.

Tori, Charlie, Nick and Oliver are his found family (and nick's dogs ofc).

Cries when he gets emotional/has an anger outburst.

Climbed trees when he was younger, fell and something happened, next thing yk his eye is now blue (his heterochromia) and that eye is really weak he can't see too well from it.

Is always that one friend whose just, there, in the sidelines, not really included in anything but really wants a band of mates to call his own.

Listens to Glass Animals, Cavetown, Green Day, and just a bunch of indie and 2000's music.

Hates wearing shorts, it's a sensory issue for him tbh.

Is passively suicidal but having Tori in his life reduced that a bit or else according to him, who else would make her feel okay at times?

Becomes a professional speed skater in the future (sorta canon ig?)

Pedro Pascal and Leonardo DiCaprio were his pan awakening. In middle school, he wouldn't mind dating anyone, regardless of gender. Then later on realized that it was an actual thing called being pan and yea just a bunch of questioning before realizing ig.

Doesn't need physical intimacy in a relationship, he's fine with hugs and kisses and that stuff.

Would LOVE carnivals and their games, food, rides etc.

Likes wearing crocs, just ridiculous lime green froggie crocs. Switches them between default and "sports" mode.

hope y'all like it.

[sagemonsters]

Heyo! It’s been a hot second since I’ve posted about any writing activity in my life—the end of my university semester + some familial troubles has really kept me away from my drafts—BUT I’m getting back into the swing of things! I have a new WIP that I’m hoping to finish the second draft of before my autumn semester starts on August 22nd.

The WIP doesn’t have a title for now, but is best described as “Dungeons & Dragons meets Indiana Jones meets monster romance” and is a cis male centaur x AMAB nonbinary human/elf hybrid romance novella. I’m hoping to publish it on Kindle and/or Smashwords once I’ve finished the draft and made all necessary edits.

The story takes place in a high fantasy setting inspired by the pre-Islamic Middle East and northern Africa. If I may gush… the setting itself is what made me fall in love with the story. I’ve been listening to the Fall of Civilizations YouTube channel and really vibing with the episode about the Nabatean civilization + looking at some stunning photography of the real-world Namib Desert along the west coast of southern Africa.

The first draft of this nameless WIP was set in a generic kitchen sink fantasy universe in the standard western European flavor, and I really didn’t click with it; even adding my favorite biome (temperate rainforest) as the backdrop for an important location didn’t make me have fun with what I was writing. However, once I changed the setting to something more geographically & culturally distinct, I started to enjoy it a lot more.

But characters are important too!

Taji Seventhborn is a linquist-mage who specializes in translating a variety of ancient languages into a variety of contemporary ones. They’re newly graduated from a thaumaturgic university in the (ofc fictional) city of Al-Darabous, and struggle with a mild anxiety disorder. Taji is the POV character for the entire novella.

I used the Baydews 2.0 picrew to make a portrait of them, which I’m not 100% happy with because it makes Taji look 14 rather than their actual age of 24. However, it’s still nice to have a visual representation of the character.

Cimitrius Firefoot is the centaur character and love interest. He’s a little older than Taji at 27 and is a warrior rather than a mage. He leads a band of adventurers, and was contracted by Lord Sindiso (along with Taji; that's how they meet) to guard an expedition searching for an ancient temple somewhere among the ghost-wracked dunes of Tindaalo Desert.

Excerpt below the cut!

Taji took a deep breath and looked around the Square. Even though dawn had not yet broken, there were plenty of people about. Veiled women filled pitchers with water from the fountain, their bangles tinkling as they moved, and the first wagons were being admitted through the massive, studded ironwood doors of the Victory Gate on their way to the marketplace. Shutters were being opened in the windows of the tenement buildings that flanked the Square, and street vendors pulled their hand-carts into position in preparation for hawking food, drinks, trinkets, and everything else under the sun. Another busy day was getting ready to dawn in Al-Darabous, and—for the first time—Taji would be leaving it all behind.

Their nerves jangled like the delicate silver chains that the Emperor’s court dancers tied into their braids. They scanned the two major thoroughfares that fed into the Square over and over, shifting their weight from food to foot as time wore on. The gray dawnlight blushed into the full brilliance of morning, and a cacophony of bells tolled in the high white towers to mark the occasion. Taji pulled the papyrus letter out of their pocket and read the last lines for what might have been the thirtieth time:

Prepare and outfit yourself for a long journey through the desert, and meet us in the Square of the Leaping Gazelle before sunrise on the seventh day of Firefall.

[graemepark]

THIS IS GRAEME PARK: LONG LIVE HOUSE RADIO SHOW 08NOV24

THIS IS GRAEME PARK:

LONG LIVE HOUSE RADIO SHOW 08NOV24

In this week’s Long Live House Radio Show:

AC Soul Symphony

Tom Noble

Bushwacka!

Luksek

808 Beach x Amy Douglas

Nicole

David Morales

Doug Gomez

Lenny Fontana

Cameo

R-Tyme

Louie Vega feat. Honey Dijon

Those Guy

Harvey Mason

Listen Up and more. 

LONG LIVE HOUSE RADIO SHOW 08NOV24

Title (Mix), Artist

I Hear Music In The Streets (Michael Gray Remix), Unlimited Touch

Soul Underground, AC Soul Symphony

1 Up 1 Down, Goshawk feat. Lyma

Moving Away, Tom Noble

Back To The Underground, Bushwacka!

Break For Dancers, Luksek

Whatever Daddy Says (808 Beach Sub Soul Club Mix), 808 Beach x Amy Douglas

Blackwater, St. Croix feat. Zemi Gold

Rock The House (Michael Gray Vocal Remix), Nicole

Celebrate, David Morales

Get Down, Doug Gomez

Chocolate Sensation (Bimbo Jones Good Times Remix), Lenny Fontana

The Realist Person, Trimtone

Cats'n'Dogs, Osheen

Money (Reese Revamp Remix), Cameo

R-Theme, R-Tyme

What U Doing?, Dennis Cruz & Leo Wood

Feel So Right (Tedd Patterson 'Club' Remix), Louie Vega feat. Honey Dijon

Jingo (Alan Dixon Remix), Candido

Just As Long As I Got You (Dimitri From Paris DJ Friendly Classic Re-Edit), Love Committee

Bad Company, Purple Disco Machine

Tonite, Those Guys

Groovin' You (JN Mason's Revenge Mix), Harvey Mason

Listen Up (Raw Dance Mix), Listen Up feat. Tevin Campbell, Siedah Garrett, Karen White, Ice-T, Al B. Sure!, The Winans, James Ingram, El DeBarge, Big Daddy Kane, Melle Mel & Ray Charles

[valerie-is-in-the-cupboard]

Out of darkness - Chapter Two: Reinvented truth - Alastor x human!fem!reader

Table of Contents | Hazbin Hotel Masterlist | Main Masterlist ⬴ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ⤀ AO3 | Wattpad | Quotev Words: 3177 TW: Swearing, mentions of murder, cheating and SA

(y/n) woke up with a gasp, her lungs aching for air as if she almost drowned. Disoriented, she looked around, the comfort of her apartment making her relax a little. She probably had a nightmare, but she couldn’t remember anything apart from a very loud static noise. She figured David woke up since he wasn’t in the living room anymore. She got up, making her way to the bathroom, only to notice Alastor’s door was open, but no Alastor inside the room. She raised her eyebrow in confusion. Paranoia crept up on her and she frantically started looking around the house: the bathroom, her bedroom, the balcony... No one. She quickly made her way to the last room: the kitchen.

            (y/n) entered the kitchen, almost like a maniac, only to be met with a scene she wasn’t ready for...

            „Good morning, dear!” Alastor said to her, a smile planted on his face while he cracked some eggs in a bowl. David turned to her, throwing his cigarette out the window.

            „Why are you running around the house like a maniac?” He asked her. She was confused, looking at the two men just... sitting there.

            „Why are you sitting here... in total silence?” She asked. The men looked at each other, slightly smiling.

            „We were listening to your lovely neighbour’s conversation,” Alastor said, chuckling.

            „Yeah. Apparently, Mr. Jones found his wife having sex with another man...” David clarified.

            „... And she did this as revenge for him cheating on her with... How did she call her?”

            “A ‘wet cock-sucking sock’.”  

            The men chuckled like two little girls at a sleepover, while (y/n) still looked at them confused.

            “I’m glad you two are having fun… Or whatever this is…” she said, slightly smiling. “You ok, Al?” she asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

            Alastor looked up, his eyes meeting hers as she walked into the kitchen. Despite her earlier panic, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at her dishevelled appearance, her hair messy, her eyes still half-lidded from sleep.

            He smiled widely at her question, his casual demeanour betraying no hint of the events from last night. “Why, I’m just fine, darling!” he replied, his tone returning to his usual one. He noticed her confusion and added, “David and I were simply having a little morning chat.”

            “By the way, you won’t believe the shit he’s been through,” David said, his voice full of excitement as he remembered Alastor’s stories. (y/n) looked at them surprised that Alastor finally told them something about himself, curious about it all.

            “Well, I definitely can’t wait to hear it too!” she said, looking at Alastor. Alastor chuckled, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes betraying his excitement. He continued cooking breakfast, listening to David’s words and her response.

            “Ah, where do I even begin?” he said, his tone slightly theatrical. "I suppose you could say I've had a life quite unlike anyone else’s,” he said while preparing an omelette for breakfast. “How about you go get yourself all dolled up for breakfast and then we can continue our little chit-chat?” he said, his eyes meeting her once again. She blushed a little at this interaction but agreed. As (y/n) left to get freshened up, Alastor resumed preparing breakfast. He chuckled at her blushing, secretly enjoying the effect he seemed to have on her. As the omelette cooked, he glanced at David, who had a sly grin on his face. "What's that look for?" Alastor asked though he had a hunch what it was about.

            “Nothing, man.” He said, lighting up another cigarette. “Just… please don’t be an ass to her. She’s had her fair share with men,” he said, softly smiling.

            Alastor paused in his food preparations, a slight frown forming on his face. He had expected something along those lines from David, but he still bristled at the insinuation.

            "I’ll have you know I’m quite capable of being a perfect gentleman, thank you very much," he replied, trying to maintain his usual cheerful demeanour, but there was a hint of irritation in his voice. David chuckled, taking another puff of his cigarette.

            “Sure. I was just saying.”

            Alastor couldn’t help but roll his eyes at David’s response. He knew David meant well, but he hated being told how to behave. He returned to finishing breakfast, the irritation still lingering in his thoughts. A few minutes later, (y/n) returned to the kitchen, her hair freshly washed and brushed. She had changed into a comfy blouse and jeans. He looked at her, taking in her appearance. The way her hair slightly curled from the wetness and how the outfit hugged her curves…

            “The eggs are burning, Romeo,” David whispered, walking past him with a smug smile. Alastor quickly returned to his cooking, not realizing his attention was stolen.

            “Where are you going?” (y/n) asked David, as he got ready to leave.

            “Gotta pick Anne from her aunt. We’ll talk later.”

            “You’re living without tasting my famous omelette? Rude…” Alastor theatrically said, pretending he was hurt.

            “Call me when you’re cooking steak.” He said and opened the door. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

            Alastor, looked at (y/n), realizing it was just the two of them now. The silence that fell over the kitchen once David left was almost deafening. Despite his attempts to remain aloof, his eyes betrayed his thoughts: watching her as she moved around the kitchen, the way her hair fell perfectly on her shoulders, the subtle curves of her figure… He quickly reined in his thoughts, busying himself with finishing breakfast. He glanced up at her, a sly smile on his lips.

            "Just the two of us now," he said, his voice dropping ever so slightly. His gaze quickly fell over the knife in his hand, a dark thought passing his mind… No one would know… He didn’t have to hurt her… he could just wait for David to return and only kill him…

            “Don’t be so disappointed. I am well aware of the fact that people like my brother more than they like me,” she said chuckling, preparing some coffee. He looked at her and placed the knife in the sink, taking a deep breath, trying to calm down.

            Alastor scoffed playfully, rolling his eyes at her comment. "Now, now, darling, I'm sure that can't possibly be true," he responded, his usual smile etched on his face. He watched her as she prepared the coffee, his gaze lingering on her hands for a moment. He couldn't quite understand why her presence was affecting him so much, why his thoughts kept drifting away from the usual cold, logical way of thinking.

            “Well… I am the one who saved you from the claws of a painful, freezing death…” She said with a sarcastic tone. “You’re kind of forced to like me, you know?”

            Alastor chuckled at her sarcasm. "Ah, touché.," he said, a genuine smile now gracing his face. "I suppose I do owe you my life, don't I?"

            He leaned against the counter; his eyes fixed on hers. Despite his nonchalant demeanour, there was a flicker of sincerity in his gaze.

            “Well… I wouldn’t say your life… But I could get used to having breakfast cooked every now and then.” She said and handed him the cup of coffee. He took the cup from her, their fingers brushing against each other briefly, sending a jolt of electricity through him. He quickly composed himself, sipping the coffee.

            “Consider it a deal, then,” he replied, his voice slipping into a husky tone, a hint of something dangerous lurking beneath his usual cheerfulness. He tried to maintain his usual cool, nonchalant persona, but he was failing miserably as his mind kept racing. He had never felt such a magnetic pull towards someone and it both intrigued and unnerved him.

            He watched as she took her first bite of the omelette, the pleasant hum of pleasure escaping her lips. A sense of satisfaction and something deeper blossomed in his chest — he found himself enjoying her appreciation of his cooking.

            He took a bite himself but found his attention was entirely fixated on her. The way she savoured the food, the way her eyes lit up with pleasure, the small, little noises she made… He abruptly broke his stare, trying to maintain his nonchalant facade, but his eyes kept wandering back to her.

            “I would’ve never believed someone can actually make an omelette so good…” she said.

            Alastor chuckled, his ego gently stroked by her compliment. “Well, darling, I am a man of many talents,” he responded, a smug smile on his face.

            “Now… How about you tell me those stories you told David?” she said, picking up the coffee and taking a small sip.

            Alastor smiled, preparing his story. Last night, he couldn’t sleep at all. Yes, he attempted to kill David, but he gave up. He realized that it’s been years since he had to orchestrate such a crime and the thought of failing and possibly somehow dying and never coming back was… hurtful. He decided to wait. The times have changed a lot since he died and having a guide for a while didn’t sound so bad. But the whole idea of interacting with this filthy world full of technology… Horrendous. But you gotta do what you gotta do… Besides, he was still too weakened to do anything, let alone open a portal so he could return to Hell. It would’ve been reckless to act so silly. So, he thought of an entire story… one that would justify everything.

            “I was born in a small house, outside of New Orleans, but my parents were quite… eccentric.” He said. “They didn’t trust the system… Not even a bit. Thus, they hated everything that meant…” He stopped, trying to find his words. “Modern.”

            (y/n) raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his stories.

            “No doctors, no schools, no nothing. Practically, I do not exist here. We used to have a few legal papers, but they were gone when my house burned in…” he did a quick math in his mind, trying to remember the exact fake year he told David earlier when he revealed his story. “Oh yeah, I was so young that I always forget.” He chuckled. “Back in ’89, my dear. When I was just 7 years old.

            “7 years… So, you’re 27?” (y/n) asked.

            “Well, yes, darling.” He said, the smile on his face growing wider as she believed every single part of his story. Alastor in fact, died in 1933, back when he was 35 years old. But he couldn’t tell her this, of course. “I was homeschooled my whole life and didn’t really get the chance to… see this world for myself.”

            “And how did you end up here?” (y/n) asked, her interest peaking at his story.

            “My parents died recently… So, a distant aunt of mine decided to take me here, saying that the big city would be a great opportunity. She pulled some strings and found a job as a radio host on a not-so-known radio station. I was about to get all my legal documents sorted out when I got fired because of a small altercation with my boss which led to me being fired. My aunt kicked me out and… I guess that’s how I ended up at your doorstep. I might or might not have got a little... erratic and... I think I had some sort of a panic attack." he said, still smiling, watching her every reaction.

            (y/n) looked at him in disbelief, shocked by his story. “Alastor, I-“she said, thinking of what to say. “I am speechless.” Alastor chuckled, his face betraying no hint of the falsehood of his story. He was actually glad his tale was believable enough to her.

            He took another sip of his coffee, studying her reaction, her expression, and the look in her eyes. He found her quite amusing now — so naive, so easily swayed.

            (y/n) sighed and got up, cleaning the table as they both finished their breakfast. “Look, I and David spoke… We thought of a solution if you’re willing enough to do it.”

            Alastor looked at her, his interest piqued. He always had a penchant for bargaining, and if she was willing to negotiate, he was intrigued. He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table as she cleaned. "I'm listening," he said, his voice measured, controlled.

            “David is a lawyer and he has… a few connections. He can find you a place to stay and a minimum-wage job. Also, we can solve the problem of your document.” She said as she washed the dishes.

            Alastor's eyebrows raised in mild surprise. That offer was… surprisingly generous. He hadn't expected such an offer from her and her brother. However, he was immediately wary of it. He watched her wash the dishes, his gaze flickering from the dishes to her. "How kind…" he said, a bit of scepticism in his voice. "I suppose there's a catch to all this goodwill?"

            “Nope. None at all.”

            Alastor's eyes narrowed at her response. He didn't believe her for one second. There was always a catch to things like these, always. But he decided to press on. He got up from his chair, walking over to her, standing a few feet away. He crossed his arms across his chest, his expression turning serious.

            "And why exactly are you and your brother doing this for me?" he asked his tone a mix of suspicion and curiosity. She turned to face him, a bit taken aback by how tall he was compared to him, but she tried to maintain her confidence.

            “Can’t you just take it as a good deed?” she said, a bit of annoyance in her tone.

            Alastor chuckled darkly at her annoyance. He was enjoying this little banter, even if she was getting slightly riled up.

            He stepped closer to her, closing some distance. "Nothing in this world comes without a price, my dear," he said, his tone slightly amused, slightly mocking. "People don’t do things out of the goodness of their heart. So, pray tell, what's your angle in all of this?"

            She got closer to him, her face getting hotter from the small distance between them. “I just want to do something good.”

            Alastor's heart rate spiked as she got closer, his eyes roaming over her face, lingering for just a moment on her lips before meeting her gaze again.

            His expression softened momentarily, a flicker of something unrecognizable in his eyes. "Just a good deed, huh?" he said, his tone a bit quieter now. "How very… altruistic of you."

            She distanced herself, turning away from him. “You wanna know why?” she said, angrily. Alastor's eyes widened at her sudden reaction, his smirk faltering for a moment. He hadn't expected her to get so heated up over this.

            He watched her as she turned away from him, her anger almost visible. A small part of him was thrilled to see her so riled up, but he tried to contain it.

            "Yes, I would like to know why," he said, his voice slightly softer now.

            She sighed and sat down, memories flooding her brain. “I went clubbing a few weeks ago. When I arrived there, my friend told me she was not coming anymore. I’m not a fan of clubbing alone, but I decided I would only drink something and leave…”

            Alastor sat down in front of her listening to her story. She started fidgeting, getting a bit tense when she remembered that night: the fear she felt, the confusion...

            “Some guys came over to me. I had a bad feeling about the whole situation, so I tried to ignore them. That was until… One of them put something in my drink because suddenly I got so dizzy… And I passed out.”

            Alastor felt something inside him… a gut wrenching feeling. He got a bit confused at the sudden foreign emotions he felt, but his attention returned to her, interrupting his thoughts.

            “I woke up in a strange apartment and there was a man in the room with me. So I guess I know how you felt yesterday.” She chuckled. “I was scared when I asked him what happened. I didn’t want to hear anything that I thought I would hear but… he actually probably saved my life that night.”

            As Alastor listened, something in him snapped. The thought of her being vulnerable, at the mercy of those disgusting men, made him seethe with an unknown rage. He clenched his fists tightly, his jaw tense, trying to keep his composure.

    "Did they…" he started, but his voice trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence.

            “No. He saw everything and told the staff who kept them in custody until the police arrived. They were caught by the security camera too so no point in lying. He took me to his place, not knowing who to call as I didn’t have anything but a dead phone. He waited for me to wake up so I could call someone to come pick me up.” She looked away, a tear falling from her eye. “I didn’t tell anyone, but David.”

            Alastor's heart ached at the sight of her tear, his anger subsiding for a moment to give place to a feeling he couldn't quite put a name on.

            "Why didn't you tell anyone else?" he asked, his voice quieter, softer, laced with an unusual gentleness.

            “A part of me knows that it’s my fault too… That I should’ve left, but-“

            "Fault?" Alastor interrupted, not quite believing what he just heard. "Darling, how on Earth is any of that your fault?" His tone was softer now, but there was a lingering edge of frustration, both at her self-blame and at his unexpected concern.

            She looked away and sighed, trying to calm down. “Anyway… When I saw you there, unconscious and almost dying, I felt like I should help too. And I still do. Now you understand why?”

            Alastor's expression softened slightly. He understood her motivation and her reasons for helping him. It was foolish, naive even, but he couldn't deny that it stirred something within him. He studied her for a moment, his gaze fixed on her face. "Yes... I understand," he finally said, his voice a bit quieter.

            Alastor got lost in his thoughts for a moment. He had to admit that a part of him still appreciated pure kindness in people, something he hadn’t seen in many years, but he would also never leave any way of getting what he wanted unexploited. He might feel sympathy towards her, but his goals were more important than any human who might appear in his path.

Tags: @sirens-and-moonflowers

[dizzying-faust]

A Different Kind of Fever: Faust x Y/N Mix😷❤️👨‍⚕️

So I did a thing and made a Faust x Y/N playlist.

Art credit: @//kujikawaii on Twitter

Tracklist under cut

Doctor - Jack Stauber 

Doctor! Doctor! - Thompson Twins

Russian - Caravan Palace

Let’s Make Love and Listen to Death From Above - CSS

Infected - The The

Your New Cuckoo - The Cardigans

Doctor Jones - Aqua

You Make Me - “Weird Al” Yankovic

Calling Dr. Love - KISS

Personal Jesus - Depeche Mode

Fever - Kylie Minogue

Quit Playing Games With My Heart, Doctor - The Passionate & Objective Jokerfan

Fever - Peggy Lee

Building a Mystery - Sarah McLachlan

X&Y - Coldplay

While My Guitar Gently Weeps - Regina Spektor

Something Stupid - Lola Marsh

[notbecauseofvictories]

hi sarah! you'd been talking a lot about the history of blues/bluegrass a few months ago and i just remembered it so i was wondering if you have any book/article recommendations for the history of those genres?

Absolutely! My research has tended to focus on the history prior to the 1960s, since by that point both blues and bluegrass had mostly settled into the genres we recognize today.

BLUES is technically older, and the creation of black Americans, based on a Southern threading together of spiritual music (itself with deeper, trans-Atlantic African roots), slave working songs, and uniquely African-American folk ballad traditions. It encompasses an incredible amount of regional variation, as well as religiosity, and a slide into sub-genres like dirty blues and its euphemistic cousin, hokum blues. (If you want to hear the difference, listen to Lucille Bogan’s “Shave ‘em Dry” versus Bessie Smith’s “I Need a Little Sugar in my Bowl”.)

Sources for the Blues:

Samuel Charters’ “The Country Blues” was published in 1959 and is considered the groundbreaking history of the genre. The book has some failings and errors (it definitely over-romanticizes black life) but it really was the first of its kind and ignited all the study afterwards. Charters’ recordings of the blues artists he spoke with and interviewed has also been made into an album of the same name by Smithsonian Folkways.

There’s no way I can talk about the blues without referencing Alan Lomax—an ethnomusicologist and director of the American Archive of Folk Culture, who, when the Library of Congress stopped funding folk music recordings, went on collecting them independently. “The Land Where Blues Began” is both the title of his account of finding those recordings, and the documentary he directed and narrated for PBS. 

For more of a straightforward history, I recommend "Deep Blues“ by Robert Palmer or “Delta Blues: The Life and Times of the Mississippi Masters Who Revolutionized American Music” by Ted Gioia. They’re both good “big picture” histories.

A lot of blues histories are written by white historians and critics—with the exception of LeRoi Jones’ “Blues People” (since publication, Jones has changed his name to Amiri Baraka). It’s less a history than a theoretical project, an ethnography and sociological history of the people blues came from and why black people could make the blues in the first place. Still, it’s a great read and deserves to be on this list.

I’ll also give a shout out to “The Black Musician and the White City” by Amy Absher, which is all about the music scene in Chicago—the chapter I’ve linked here is a fascinating picture of what the music scene looked like, as the Delta blues branched off into Chicago blues and black musicians struggled to make inroads into a highly segregated profession (also, a look at the tension between largely-white unions and black communities in Chicago that continues to inform city politics).

If you’re looking for introductory reading….

I found this article on African-American Song from the Library of Congress a good starting place—it’s only partly about the blues, but I think it’s good to understand the context of blues, and the various other styles that were co-evolving with it. Blues, string-band, vaudeville, gospel….all these genres were talking to one another, and understanding that gives you a better grounding for the actual history of the thing.

Though less formal, PBS actually created “The Blues - Classroom” in 2003, which is a repository of lesson plans and essays to accompany the seven-part film series of the same name. It’s a great, quick resource, if you’re just getting started.

BLUEGRASS is much younger, if you’re going by when Earl Scruggs invented the particular picking style every banjo player since has imitated—or co-equally created, based on old-time string band music and what Al Hopkins in the 1920s called “hillbilly music.” You’ll often see the genre referred to as “bluegrass and old-time music” as a way of referencing both the pre-WWII folk/hillbilly music that gave rise to the genre as well as all the followed after Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys. (Though the debate as to what “counts” as bluegrass is so ubiquitous that the International Bluegrass Music Association message boards gave it an acronym: WIBA, short for “What Is Bluegrass Anyway?”)

Sources for Bluegrass & Old-Time:

A pretty foundational text in this area is Neil V. Rosenberg’s “History of Bluegrass”—Rosenberg almost exclusively studied bluegrass in the US, and had a column in Bluegrass Unlimited (the “bible of bluegrass”) for years. If you want just a taste, there are a number of his articles on jstor. Personally, I recommend “From Sound to Style: The Emergence of Bluegrass.” (He tends to be overly partial to Bill Monroe, but it is a heavy-hitter book in the area.)

There are a number of personal accounts that I could list here—for instance, Bill Monroe (the ‘father of bluegrass’) has a biography that’s supposedly pretty good, and Butch Robins, who later played banjo for the Blue Grass Boys, has a video series where he talks about bluegrass and his experience as a musician. However, I don’t know if these are actually enjoyable resources for anyone except the true devotee.

“What is bluegrass anyway? Category formation, debate and the framing of musical genre” by Joti Rockwell, from Popular Music. I love a good categorical debate!

Some of my favorite post-1960s bluegrass comes out of what I would call “folk resistance music”—figures like Pete and Mike Seeger, Woody Guthrie, Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard, all wielded the particular sound of bluegrass, but in a way that made it ideologically more similar to blues or traditional folk music. As someone who watched Harlan County, USA at a tender point in her life, I have a particular affection for Hazel Dickens, and I did enjoy her biography “Working Girl Blues.”

If you’re looking for introductory reading…

The Library of Congress entry on bluegrass music is a good place to start.

The Journal of American Folklore did an entire issue on hillbilly music and its influence on bluegrass. You can find it digitized on jstor here, including a very instructive article called “Introduction to Bluegrass” by L. Mayne Smith, himself a musician of the folk music revival.

……..as a final note, I also want to point out that though it’s tempting to think of blues as distinct from bluegrass/hillbilly/old-time, as well as easily separated out from folk, gospel, jazz, ragtime, vaudeville, and traditional English/Irish/French/West African/etc. sounds, it’s simply not true. Talking about these musical trends as separate and distinct ignores the fact that many were happening at the same time, evolving concurrently and together, borrowing extensively from one another as musicians swapped techniques, styles, and dirty tricks. 

By way of example, the “blue” in “bluegrass” comes from the addition of blue notes, which is also where you get “the blues.” Bluegrass definitely borrowed them from the African-American artists who had been blending blue notes and various styles of gospel music for decades by that point. But blue/bent notes are popular in Irish and English folk music as well, particularly on various types of mouth harps and pipes (…in America, mouth pipes became the diatonic harmonica, which, along with the banjo—itself evolved from West African gourd instruments—gave birth to cowboy blues. It’s all a huge, weird, mess of people making noise.)

Nevertheless, there are intense politics wrapped up in who each genre “belongs” to. As Lil’ Nas X’s “Old Town Road” recently demonstrated, music genres often serve to keep “black” music and “white” music as distinguishable as possible—even when the sound is the same. This has been true since the origin of record labels, when recordings of black artists were “race records,” or “string-band” and white artists made “hillbilly” or “old-time.” (They sound very similar and frequently borrowed instrumental techniques from one another.) It doesn’t help that bluegrass rose to prominence with an all-white band, at a time of intense racial tension and as many Civil Rights activists and black historians were reclaiming the blues as a distinctly African-American sound. More recently, Joe Thompson and Tony Thomas (a fiddler and a banjo player, respectively) have spoken out about their experiences as black musicians in a musical subculture that is often designated for-and-by white people.

I bring this up not to invalidate the sources I’ve listed above, but to point out that the story of blues and bluegrass and the space between them is complicated—there’s not just one story to tell. The 1960s’ blues fetishism has been equally damaging and helpful; the idea that bluegrass is “white” music is in a sense correct, but also a gatekeeping mechanism to keep black artists out of music they have always participated in and influenced. Much like every other aspect of American history, there is a dense and complex interplay between race, class, and self-made mythology that historians are still unpicking.

But goddamn, the music is cool.

[pancakebutton]

Teacher X Reader Part III

Summary: In the midst of the hockey season, you learn how to ice skate and play hockey because of Matt and Mr. (T/C). You get a new English teacher who ends up absolutely hating you. And because of certain circumstances, Matt ends up being a big help to Mr. (T/C).

Warnings: Foul Language & Sexual Content

Word Count: 3755

Genre: Romance, Slice of Life, Sexual, Series.

Pairing: Insert Teacher X Reader

A/N: (Y/NN) is your nickname

Masterlist

.

Everyone was still hyped up from the assembly including Mr. (T/C) who still has pieces of string confetti in his hair. After we finally settled, we hadn’t even gotten through half of the lecture done before Allen’s phone went off. He checked it of course, but his eyes went wide and without thinking of where he even was, he showed us his phone.

“Dude look at this! Thomas just got in a fight with Julien Castillo!”

“Thomas who?”

“Thomas (T/L/N)!”

I paused, “wait Mr. (T/C) has a son?”

“No his nephew.”

“Haha look at this! Damn Thomas really got em eh?”

I didn’t notice that Mr. (T/C) was listening the entire time, and he didn’t look pleased.

“Mr. Jones, mind if I take a look?”

Allen looked like he’d seen a ghost, “o-of course sir”.

Mr. (T/C) took Al’s phone and watched the video over, when it ended he sighed.

“That damn kid.”

I nervously tried helping the situation, “I didn’t know you had a sibling (T/C)”. His face of worry and anger dissolved and he seemed to have softened a little.

“Oh yeah, my older brother sure did teach a little fight in his two sons. They go here actually, thanks Allen, I’ll be sure to give him a stern talking to.”

“I didn’t mean to snitch on em sir, promise!”

“I know I know, I won’t tell him I found out through you. Now back to how bills are made.”

The bell rang and I stood to grab my stuff, before we all could leave however, Mr. (T/C) called out,

“Miss Maine, if you wouldn’t mind speaking with me for a few minutes?”

My friends “ooo’d” as they all smiled, Mo winked, and walked out of the classroom.

“Catch ya later (Your Nickname)” Brock teased, and I walked over to his desk.

“Yes sir?”

He leaned back in his chair and smiled.

“It seems I won our bet last night, oh and thanks for volunteering me for that contest so it seems you owe me double the payment in return.”

“What?! Haha that’s not fair Mr. (T/C) I didn't promise a prize for that silly contest.”

“Well a little bird told me you don’t know how to play hockey, my youngest nephew Zach is a goalie for the team and he plays tonight. Wanna stay after and play against me?”

I was taken aback, “I’d love to, but I think that match would be unfair, could I bring my friends with me, just you versus us? I’d love to see that skill of yours. I've heard you played college”. He then chuckled and nodded, “you’ve got yourself a deal then”.

.

The game was tied 3-3 with two minutes left in the third period. Zach had made countless saves and was doing fantastic, both teams seemed evenly matched. I was sitting next to Mo and Kaitlyn, but everyone else was there too, including Allen’s twin sister Ashley. Matt was on the ice, as it was a varsity game, and just slammed number thirty-eight into the boards and the crowd went ballistic. I had also found out that Matt had a younger brother who was a junior this year and was a defenseman like him.

“You got this boys!” I cheered. Since it was just a regular high school hockey game and not a championship, it would have ended in a tie. But with twenty seconds left, Matt’s wrist shot ended up in the back of the net. The crowd erupted in cheers stood for the last seconds of the game, us obviously winning. We waited for the boys to come back out of the locker room to congratulate them as they left. And slowly but surely, everyone left, leaving the empty rink all to ourselves.

“And did you see number nine’s slash on Smith? That should have been called, damn the refs are blind!”

As me and Mo were standing by the boards, waiting for everyone else to get skates, I heard a few new and familiar voices. I turned to see Mr. (T/C) walking towards us, followed by his two nephews.

“Haha I know Tommy it was right in front of me”.

“Sometimes I wish I did hockey just to be a total goon!”

“Okay settle down Thomas, boys these are my two students Morgan and (Y/n).”

Now that I’ve actually gotten to meet them, I noticed how Thomas, the older one, had the same hair color as (T/n) but he had deep blue eyes and was a bit slimmer. And Zach was adorable! He looked just like (T/n) but with much lighter hair.

“Nice to meet you,” Zach greeted. Thomas kinda just looked at me and smirked. He whispered something only (T/n) could hear and nudged him and Mr. (T/C)’s face immediately went red as he quickly shushed him.

“Aye (T/C)! We got some more skates for us, I see you brought your boys as backup?”

“Well, I know I could beat all of you, but it wouldn’t be too fair on my part and why not bring more company”. He then turned to me, “ready to start skating Miss Maine?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

I then made my way towards the ice, Matt was already on it, waiting to catch me in case I decide to fall.

“You got this (Y/n)!” He cheered and I took one step and immediately slipped, but fell into Matt’s arms. I laughed awkwardly, “he heh, thanks Williams”.

“Anytime (L/N).”

Mr. (T/C) coughed behind us, “next time keep your knees slightly bent and your legs shoulders width apart”. I laugh, “thanks (T/C) I’ll be sure to keep that in mind”. I let go of Matt and began trying to skate by myself, but I wasn’t expecting Mr. (T/C) to take my arm and help me as I was leaning a little to the left.

“Th-thanks. So (T/C) what made you like the leafs?”

He smiled as our arms linked and everyone warmed up by skating around or taking shots on Zach.

“I’ve never really had a favorite team, but I’ve always thought the leafs were a good team.”

“And I’m guessing you only like Matthews because he’s an idolized American on a Canadian team that doesn’t like Americans?”

“Bingo.”

I then felt my knees buckle as I hit a rough patch in the ice. But because I was still holding onto (T/C), I ended up bringing him down with me.

“Sorry Mr. (T/C)”. I then realized the position we were in. I was underneath him as his hands ended up on both sides of my head. Thomas, seeing the entire situation, then called out, “I know you’re a hands on teacher uncle (T/n), but you don’t need to be THIS handsy!”

Mr. (T/C)’s cheeks began to dust pink as he swiftly got us both back on our feet.

“It’s fine (Y/n) I should have caught you. Well on the bright side you’re getting the hang of it.”

“Yeah barely, I’m as fast as an old man!”

“Haha, well it will make playing against you even more fun.”

“At least I have teammates to pull through for me.”

We laughed and agreed to start the game. Of course I was slower than everyone else, but it was a lot of fun. I cross-checked (T/C) and slashed his stick, which I knew I wasn’t supposed to do but I was just having fun and (T/C) enjoyed my weak jabs.

“Gettin’ a little feisty huh Miss Maine?”

“Haha yep, I’d drop my gloves if I had some...and if I weren’t fighting you.”

“Why not me?”

“You’re like a brick wall! It’s literally impossible for such an inexperienced player like me to get the puck from the expert you!”

This made him laugh and my heart fluttered. I loved his laugh. I loved the way he teased me. God I need to get a grip. Theo then skated up to me and told me we were having a team huddle. Kaitlyn was our goalie, Theo and Matt were on my line and we had Beau, Allen, and Ashley on the bench. (T/C) took Brock and Matt’s brother Nick.

“We need to do the Flying V” Theo half whispered to the huddle. Matt then chuckled, “yeah like they won’t see that one coming”. I laughed too but agreed it would be a fun gesture and we decided to do it. Us three skate behind the net and slap our sticks down on the ice while chanting like they did in the movie. I looked over at (T/C) who was smiling ear to ear as he had already known what we were doing.

We then take off with me in the center with the puck, Theo to my left, and Matt to my right.

“The Flying V!!!” We all yell as we collide with (T/C)’s team. Matt takes his brother, leaving Theo with Brock and me with (T/C). But I anticipated him easily taking my puck, so I went to the left like I normally do, but I sneaked the puck to the right at the last minute and it passes between (T/C)’s legs. I decked around him and got back to the puck and shot and it went right past Zach into the net.

I then cheered, “It worked it worked!” thus causing Mr. (T/C) to laugh.

“You know you’re still losing 1-9 right?”

“Ugh, whatever! I still scored against you (T/C) and that’s all I need. Now I think it’s about time we went home, I’m pooped.”

Everyone agreed it was getting late and we should’ve gone home.

As we gathered all our stuff, Matt grumbled to himself.

“Forgot my damn phone in the locker room again! Ugh good thing they haven’t locked it yet, I’ll be right back guys.”

Then he ran off into the boys locker room.

“You guys go on ahead, I’ll wait for Matt” I offer followed by nods and goodbyes. I ended up standing around for about fifteen minutes before getting concerned.

What did he use the bathroom and fall in or something?

I knock on the locker room door with no response from the other side.

“Matt?...Matt come on I need to go home.”

Silence.

I huff and decide to just go in, it’s not like anyone else is in there and he was just looking for a phone not getting undressed. I look around and find him looking through a locker in the back.

“Jesus Matt are you deaf or something?”

Matt jumped, not expecting my arrival, “God (Y/n) don’t scare me like that! Haha sorry the walls are soundproof, don’t want the other team hearing our game plan”. I smile, letting it go.

“I hope you don’t mind me in here.”

“Not at all, I actually needed to talk to you-ah! Found it! Perfect timing too.”

I was taken aback, “what is it you needed to talk about?”

He paused, like he was contemplating telling me what was really on his mind.

“...you did really good for your first time skating.”

I was slightly disappointed, but still wanted to play along, “oh is that a compliment Williams?” He laughed, “yeah don’t get used to it (Y/L/N).” Then he grabbed his stuff and began walking out and I followed.

Once out, there by the bleachers was Mo who was at first smiling, but it slowly dropped.

“(Y/n)! You forgot your keys in my bag...what were you both doing in the men’s locker room?”

That’s what she was worried about.

“Thanks Mo, oh and I was just helping Matt look for his phone haha...Well I’m gonna go now, bye.”

I quickly sped off in hopes the shorter amount of time spent around her would keep me from looking like a threat to Mo. I knew she liked him and I didn’t wanna ruin that for them both.

.

I sat at my desk filing through the latest assignment as it was six-thirty in the morning. I got to (Y/n)’s paper and immediately regretted it. It was impossible to get her off of my mind, again. I then remember what Luke, one of my buddies, had told me about writing your thoughts and feelings about something to get it off of your chest. Might as well try it right?

Nothing.

I couldn’t find any words to describe her.

‘Dear (Y/N),

Words can’t even describe what you do to me. Your voice is like a gentle breeze that billows over the ocean tides. Your eyes twinkle in amazement and interest one like the stars in the sky or snow falling on a child’s nose. Being around you is like a drunk to alcohol, always wanting more and more until I feel like I can’t live without you. You’re smart, caring, loving, kind, I could go on and on like a senator giving a filibuster. I feel like I don’t deserve you in a way. When I was your age, I could barely hold a conversation with a girl, God I was such a dork. Even now, you’re still out of my league, out of my reach. Wishing you were mine to hold.’

And so it came.

I sighed and rub my eyes trying to ease my mile a minute thoughts. I decided taking a quick walk would clear my head, so I stood and walked out of the classroom.

Today is going to be terrible if this keeps up, I don’t know how much longer I can take her not being close to me.

I turned a corner to stop for a drink and kept going.

Maybe I should offer her extra credit so she can spend more time with me. Gah! No no that’s not fair to all the other capable students. What to do, what to do-

I reach back to my classroom, only to find Matt holding the key paper to the quiz we were supposed to take today.

“Matthieu Williams what in the hell do you think you’re doing young man?!”

He jumped and threw the papers back on the desk and stuttered, “N-nothing sir...Fuck you caught me Mr. (T/C), I’m sorry it won’t happen again.”

“I could get you kicked off the team for this you know.”

“And I could get you in some serious trouble with this letter you wrote about (Y/N).”

My eyes went wide and I stepped back a bit.

“...what are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb Mr. (T/C) it’s literally addressed to her.”

I glare at the kid and walk over towards him to take the papers back before he could use them against me, only for him to pull it away. Damn tall kids these days.

“And it seems you’ve caught me as well Mr. Williams. Now what will we do about that?”

“I’ve got a boon for you (T/C). You give me an A on this test and forget I was looking at the papers, and I’ll forget about seeing that letter.”

I pause and consider my situation. There was no other option, “fine. Now hand me the paper please.” Matt then finally returned my letter, so much for those. Matt’s face then went smug.

“You know (T/C) I feel the same way, what you wrote about (Y/N) that is.”

I could feel my face heat up with anger, causing me to grab Matt by the collar.

“Now you listen here you little-”

“Hey! Hey! Let me finish! I was going to say, I had liked her in the past, but it seemed she was a little distracted by you. I can tell she likes you (T/C) and I wanna help you.”

I let go of his shirt and step away, “and why would you help me?”

“Because even though I thought the same things you do about her and she obviously doesn’t return those feelings because of you, she’s still like a sister to me. And I really wanna see her happy.��

I raised my eyebrows in confusion, but it fades as I realized the answer.

“You like Morgan instead huh?”

He paused, “yeah, I didn’t notice it at first but the reason I’m letting (Y/n) go is because I found someone else I guess. But now to you, how long has this been going on?”

“What me favoring (Y/n)? Since she first walked in. I don’t know though, I’m not older than her by too much, but if I confess to her and she turns me down, she could tell someone and get me in trouble. And if she says yes, it’ll be hard to keep our relationship a secret.”

Matt leaned back against a desk and crossed his arms.

“And so what? If she is really worth all this to you, then tell her that. You’re her favorite teacher and she talks about you all the time and I’m sure she shares your feelings. If you don’t try then you’ll regret it I promise you that, and in all honesty I think you’re running out of time. Lots of guys are pursuing her and it’s only a matter of time before she caves because you took too long.”

I lowered my head knowing he was right and sighed.

“Fine then. Got any ideas as to how I can tell her correctly?”

Matt smiled and set his hand on my shoulder.

“I’ve asked tons of girls out before, you’re in good hands.”

.

Morgan had told me to meet her on the second floor classroom commons which was basically just a lounge around the counselor’s office. She didn’t tell me why or give any details so I was kinda rushing, causing me to turn a corner a little too sharply and bump into a teacher I didn’t know.

“Gosh I’m so sorry miss, here let me get that for you.”

“Oh thank you honey, where are you headed to in such a hurry?”

“Oh just worried for a friend.”

“Ah I see, what was your name again darling? I didn’t catch it, I'm Miss Crossland.”

“Oh I’m (Y/n), nice to meet you.”

I held out my hand but she just stared at it, looked up, and glared at me.

“You should watch where you’re going miss. Good day to you.” And then she walked off. I let my hand fall back into my pocket.

Rude ass bitch.

And I quickly walked towards Mo.

The second semester started tomorrow and here I was sitting in front of my computer screen staring at my schedule in awe. I had a new English teacher. Miss Crossland. Great. I groan and fall back onto my pillows as I try getting some sleep. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that my final semester as a senior was going to be hell because of her, and I don’t even know why she hates me.

Morning came and I walked into my first class which was math, and started counting down the minutes until I’d have to endure Miss stuck up. Finally the bell rang and I felt my feet drag as I got closer and closer to her classroom, which was surprisingly right across the hall from my next period with Mr. (T/C). Thank God I still had his class.

“Miss (Y/n) nice to see you not bumping into people this time. Your seat is at the front closest to my desk.”

I didn’t say anything back, too busy silently cursing her under my breath, and rolled my eyes after passing her. I looked over at my desk locked eyes with Matt in the desk right next to mine and immediately felt better.

“Thank our lord and savior Jesus Christ you’re here.”

Matt laughed, “what’s got you all worked up?”

“Oh nothing except for the fact that Miss Crossland already hates me and I have no clue as to why.”

Matt looked at me with concern.

“What did you do?”

“Absolutely nothing! I helped her pick up papers one day and told her my name and that’s all it took!”

He threw his head back and laughed, “maybe she knew someone she didn’t like who had your name too.”

“I guess, I don’t care just as long as I don’t have any problems with her.”

But of course we ended up with problems. She critiqued every little thing I did from my writing to my outfits. She was basically calling me a dumbass whore every day.

“What do you mean? This paragraph has no more clutter to get rid of Miss, this is the third time I’ve edited this particular section.”

I was currently fighting her over a damn essay that she decided to give a ‘C’ because of my terrible writing. I’ve edited everything she’s instructed, but to no avail, she keeps finding more things. I’m pretty sure she only tells me a quarter of the things wrong with my paper so I keep coming back more and more frustrated.

And damn was I getting frustrated.

“You can’t use infinitives and you forgot to delete all the conjunctions. Now get away from my desk, I don’t need your stench all over me.”

I clench my fist holding my paper reaching my limit.

“That would have been nice to know when you half-ass graded my paper Miss!”

“Watch your tone young lady! You will see me after class and that will be the end of it.”

I huff and sat down glaring a storm while endless curses spewed about my mind. The bell rang and I stayed seated, my gaze never leaving hers.

“Why do you hate me?”

She smirked and kicked her legs up on her desk.

“Oh don’t pretend like you don’t know you damn slut.”

My chair screeched behind me as I quickly stood. I despised people who called me or any women that.

“You’re one to talk.”

“I know you’re messing around with Mr. (T/C), I watch you basically throwing yourself onto him and I don’t appreciate whores messing with what’s mine!”

She also stood. Our eyes locked like we were in some sort of battle.

“How dare you assume such a thing! Mr. (T/C) is my favorite teacher and nothing more.” I couldn’t even comprehend what happened. All I remember is closing my eyes and reaching for my cheek that stung immensely.

She slapped me.

[get-your-fics]

Violent Ends - Chapter Twenty

Atonement

Summary: Bruce Wayne is addicted to a lot of things to distract from his dark urges, but his addiction to you might only increase them.

Pairing: dark!Bruce Wayne x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, stalking, kidnapping, underage drinking, drug use, torture, abuse

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The interrogation room was sterile and cold. The walls were stone, and the floor was concrete. I sat in a rigid chair, handcuffed to a metal table in front of me. There was one way in and out: a door in the corner of the room. It was locked, and I was sure that it had a deadbolt on the outside. The sounds of my breathing and the beating of my heart were extremely audible in the otherwise quiet room. The only colorful thing in the room was the dot of red light on the white security camera in the corner. Everything was impenetrable, built to keep people in not out, like a prison.

But I guess I was a prisoner now.

I stared in my reflection in the one way mirror. The scratch on my forehead had scabbed over, and I still had dry, crusted blood trailing from the corner of my mouth down my chin to my jaw. Brambles and cotton fuzz stuck to my black turtleneck, and dirt and grass stains smeared across my black slacks. My eyes weren’t so dark anymore. They were back to their original honey brown. I didn’t know if anyone was on the other side of the mirror looking in, but if there was, I wondered what they thought of me. Did they see a beaten up rich boy who lost his head at some point along the way? Or did they see a monster, all of the horrid and terrible things he had done written all over his face?

The turning of the lock on the door sounded like a gunshot in the deadly silent room. My head snapped to the door, and I waited with bated breath as it slowly creaked open. All the air left my lungs as your form filled the doorway. You looked completely different from when I had last seen you. Your hair was well-groomed and glossy. You wore Louboutins, a black pant suit, and a white blouse underneath. Your signature diamond necklace encircled your neck. You stared at me with wide eyes, like I could break out of my handcuffs and pounce on you at any moment. You didn’t move from the doorway.

“(Y/N),” I breathed out, a small smile on my face. “You came to see me.”

You gripped the doorframe with your hands and clenched your jaw. “I don’t have much time. I slipped an officer a hundred to get me in here.”

My heart fluttered in my chest at your words. Could it be possible that you still felt something for me, even after everything that happened? I didn’t say anything as you stepped one foot into the room like the floor was molten lava. When you didn’t burn up, you closed the door behind you and crossed the room to the metal chair across from me. You pulled it out and sat down, keeping a comfortable amount of distance between us.

I grinned. I couldn’t believe you were here, sitting across from me. “I confessed,” I admitted to you. “I told them everything, everything that happened, everything I did to you.”

“I know.” You narrowed your eyes at me. “You pleaded guilty so you could get a plea bargain for six months in prison.”

My jaw dropped. “That is not true,” I profusely denied. “I did it so that I could be punished for everything I did to you. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Well, how sweet it is of you to think of me after all the months you spent torturing me nonstop.” You leaned back in the chair and folded your arms over your chest. “You must have some pretty good lawyers if they can get you off with six months for kidnapping, raping, and torturing a woman.” “I can’t help that. They wanted to keep the whole matter discreet for the sake of the company. I thought it was the right thing to do.”

You scoffed. “For you,” you mumbled under your breath, rolling your eyes.

I furrowed my thick brows. “I’m doing this for you.”

“What are you talking about? Everything up to this point has been because of you! All of this is about you!” Your voice bounced off of the stone walls. “You even want to be punished because it’s what you think I want, so you can feel better about yourself.”

“If you don’t want me to be locked up, then what do you want?” I asked.

You pressed your hands flat on the metal table and leaned forward. “I want you to rot in hell,” you hissed. “I want you to be torn to shreds and consumed in fire.”

I raised a brow. “Is that really what you want?”

Your gaze flickered down to the table as your rage simmered. “No.” Your tone was suddenly soft and quiet. “I’m not like you. I don’t take lives, especially not those of innocent people who didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I haven’t killed anyone.” A small smirk tugged at the corners of my lips. “Brant Jones was the result of a mugging, and Grace Blomdahl is missing for all anyone knows. Her body hasn’t been recovered, and you know what they say: no corpse, no crime.”

Your hands balled into fists on the table, your knuckles turning white. “You’re so pleased with yourself, aren’t you? So smug.”

My smile vanished. “I’m not. If you’re worried about me not suffering, I will, gorgeous. Every single day I’m without you, I’ll be suffering.” I shook my head solemnly. “I’ll never be able to forget you, never be able to get you off my mind.”

“I’ll never be able to forget you either, because every time I look in the mirror, I’ll see these.” You pulled your suit jacket down your arms and pushed up the sleeves of your blouse over your elbows, revealing raised, little cuts littered across your skin. Some were fainter than others, while some were still shades of red and pink. They ran all the way up your arms to your neck, and I knew you had many more concealed underneath all your layers of clothing. “These scars will never fade. They will always be here, a reminder of all the shit you put me through.” Tears welled in your eyes.

I stared at you, stunned. I tried to feel guilt or shame, but pride bloomed within my chest at seeing the evidence of what I had done to you. Now, no matter how much you tried, you’d be forced to remember me. I would always be with you, whether you liked it or not. “I still love you,” I whispered.

“Don’t,” your voice was sharp like a knife, “don’t say that to me. You don’t love me. My mom loves me, Brant loved me. You don’t love me.”

“Do you still really believe that?” I questioned. “Why else do you think I would’ve done the things I did?” I tilted my head to the side, studying you intently. “I still remember when you said it to me, you know.”

“Because you made me!” you fired back.

The handcuffs rattled as I moved my hands. “I gave you everything.”

“You took everything from me!” The chair scraped against the concrete as you halfway rose out of it and slammed your hands down on the metal table. The bang echoed inside the small room. Your eyes widened as you stared down at me, and you drew in a sharp breath. “I’m filing a restraining order against you.”

My heart sank to my stomach at your words. I slumped in my chair, my back arching inwardly. My stomach hollowed out as my spine curved. I kicked my legs out in front of me. It felt like all the energy had been sucked out of me. It was just a piece of paper, but it made all the difference.

You sat back down, adjusting your blouse and suit jacket. “I hope you’ll abide by it and keep your distance after you get out of prison, or it’ll be pretty worthless and a waste of my time.”

“I will.” I nodded. “I will. I promise.” And when had I never kept a promise to you?

“Then take a good look. This is the last time you’ll ever see me.” And even though your image was burned into my brain, I did what you said. I raked over the violet bags under your bloodshot eyes and your lips pulled taut into a straight line, committing each detail to memory. Even dead tired, you looked beautiful. How could I ever get you out of my system?

“Goodbye, gorgeous,” I breathed out, my voice small.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Don’t call me that.”

You stood from the chair and went over to the door. You wrenched it open and stepped into the hall just as Alfred approached. You both made eye contact as you passed each other, exchanging words that went unsaid. His eyes followed you as you retreated down the hall, disappearing into the shadows, and I listened to the noisy click clack of your heels against the concrete until they faded into the distance.

Alfred stopped in the doorway and turned back to look at me. “Are you ready, Master Bruce?”

I replied with a soundless nod.

I was sent to an out of state prison and rehabilitation facility. I got out in three months on good behavior and making substantial progress. Those three months, I spent jotting all this down on any scraps of paper I could find. I wrote it all down from the beginning — at least the second beginning — all the bad parts and the good parts and the sick, perverted things I did that should never be written down, let alone spoken aloud. Everything I could remember, and I like to think I remember everything about you, about us. Or at least almost everything.

I’ll always think about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t have dropped out of Anders Preparatory Academy that day, if I hadn’t have killed Ra’s al Ghul. If I hadn’t have let my desires get the best of me, if I had pursued a normal relationship with you and severed off the twisted, depraved part of myself. If I had listened to you and left you alone. If I hadn’t have turned to drugs and drinking and sex for comfort and had been better for you. I’ll always be plagued by what ifs. They’ll always swarm and swirl in my head like a hurricane wracking the shore.

When I came out, I learned you quit your job as fundraising chairman of your family’s company. You moved out of Gotham with your stepmom, and I think you operate on your own now. You could never lose your will to give, I knew that about you. I had only looked up your name a couple of times.

I rehired Alfred as my butler, and I’m back at Wayne Manor now. I don’t hang out with Tommy anymore. The last thing I need is to go back down that path again and hurt someone else. There will never be someone like you. Alfred pushed me to take a more active role in Wayne Enterprises again, and I finally took his advice and listened to him. It’s not enough to fuel my soul, but nothing is anymore. Nothing ever was, except for you.

I don’t know where you went, but I made good on my promise. I didn’t look for you. I didn’t search for you. I let you disappear off the face of the Earth as if you had never been there in the first place. I’m playing by your rules now, but I can’t let you go just yet.

I’m giving this letter to Alfred to deliver to you. He says he knows where you are and that he’ll give it to you. I don’t know if this will ever make its way to you, if it’ll get lost or if Alfred will pocket it or if you’ll tear it to shreds and burn it before reading a single word, but if there is some way you are reading this, there is something I want you to know.

I didn’t apologize to you at our last confrontation because I knew you wouldn’t accept it. It would be like a slap in the face, like nails on a chalkboard. The last thing you want to hear me say is I’m sorry because no amount of apologies in the world, no way that I could string the words, could ever make up for all the things I did to you. But I am sorry. I do feel regret and remorse, and that’s something that I was starting to think was impossible for me. In a way, you gave me one last gift before you left. Maybe now I can start to heal.

I don’t expect you to forgive me. I definitely don’t expect a reply to this letter. I don’t expect you to reach out and wipe the slate clean and start over. I don’t expect another beginning, even if they say third time’s a charm. I just needed to get this off my chest, to lift the weight off of my shoulders, because you may have the scars, but I carry the burden with me everywhere I go.

I may not ever get the punishment you think I deserve, but I lost you, and for that I’ll have to atone for alone.

THE END

[blackkudos]

Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou (born Marguerite Annie Johnson; April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014) was an American poet, singer, memoirist, and civil rights activist. She published seven autobiographies, three books of essays, several books of poetry, and is credited with a list of plays, movies, and television shows spanning over 50 years. She received dozens of awards and more than 50 honorary degrees. Angelou is best known for her series of seven autobiographies, which focus on her childhood and early adult experiences. The first, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969), tells of her life up to the age of 17 and brought her international recognition and acclaim.

She became a poet and writer after a series of occupations as a young adult, including fry cook, sex worker, nightclub dancer and performer, cast member of the opera Porgy and Bess, coordinator for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, and journalist in Egypt and Ghana during the decolonization of Africa. She was an actress, writer, director, and producer of plays, movies, and public television programs. In 1982, she was named the first Reynolds Professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. She was active in the Civil Rights Movement and worked with Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. Beginning in the 1990s, she made around 80 appearances a year on the lecture circuit, something she continued into her eighties. In 1993, Angelou recited her poem "On the Pulse of Morning" (1993) at the first inauguration of Bill Clinton, making her the first poet to make an inaugural recitation since Robert Frost at the inauguration of John F. Kennedy in 1961.

With the publication of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Angelou publicly discussed aspects of her personal life. She was respected as a spokesperson for black people and women, and her works have been considered a defense of black culture. Her works are widely used in schools and universities worldwide, although attempts have been made to ban her books from some U.S. libraries. Angelou's most celebrated works have been labeled as autobiographical fiction, but many critics consider them to be autobiographies. She made a deliberate attempt to challenge the common structure of the autobiography by critiquing, changing and expanding the genre. Her books center on themes such as racism, identity, family and travel.

Early life

Marguerite Annie Johnson was born in St. Louis, Missouri, on April 4, 1928, the second child of Bailey Johnson, a doorman and navy dietitian, and Vivian (Baxter) Johnson, a nurse and card dealer. Angelou's older brother, Bailey Jr., nicknamed Marguerite "Maya", derived from "My" or "Mya Sister". When Angelou was three and her brother four, their parents' "calamitous marriage" ended, and their father sent them to Stamps, Arkansas, alone by train, to live with their paternal grandmother, Annie Henderson. In "an astonishing exception" to the harsh economics of African Americans of the time, Angelou's grandmother prospered financially during the Great Depression and World War II because the general store she owned sold needed basic commodities and because "she made wise and honest investments".

Four years later, the children's father "came to Stamps without warning" and returned them to their mother's care in St. Louis. At the age of eight, while living with her mother, Angelou was sexually abused and raped by her mother's boyfriend, a man named Freeman. She told her brother, who told the rest of their family. Freeman was found guilty but was jailed for only one day. Four days after his release, he was murdered, probably by Angelou's uncles. Angelou became mute for almost five years, believing, as she stated, "I thought, my voice killed him; I killed that man, because I told his name. And then I thought I would never speak again, because my voice would kill anyone." According to Marcia Ann Gillespie and her colleagues, who wrote a biography about Angelou, it was during this period of silence when Angelou developed her extraordinary memory, her love for books and literature, and her ability to listen and observe the world around her.

Shortly after Freeman's murder, Angelou and her brother were sent back to their grandmother. Angelou credits a teacher and friend of her family, Mrs. Bertha Flowers, with helping her speak again. Flowers introduced her to authors such as Charles Dickens, William Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, Douglas Johnson, and James Weldon Johnson, authors who would affect her life and career, as well as black female artists like Frances Harper, Anne Spencer, and Jessie Fauset.

When Angelou was 14, she and her brother moved in with their mother once again, who had since moved to Oakland, California. During World War II, Angelou attended the California Labor School. At the age of 16, she became the first black female cable car conductor in San Francisco. She wanted the job badly, admiring the uniforms of the operators—so much so that her mother referred to it as her "dream job." Her mother encouraged her to pursue the position, but warned her that she would need to arrive early and work harder than others. In 2014, Angelou received a lifetime achievement award from the Conference of Minority Transportation Officials as part of a session billed “Women Who Move the Nation.”

Three weeks after completing school, at the age of 17, she gave birth to her son, Clyde (who later changed his name to Guy Johnson).

Career

Adulthood and early career: 1951–61

In 1951, Angelou married Tosh Angelos, a Greek electrician, former sailor, and aspiring musician, despite the condemnation of interracial relationships at the time and the disapproval of her mother. She took modern dance classes during this time, and met dancers and choreographers Alvin Ailey and Ruth Beckford. Ailey and Angelou formed a dance team, calling themselves "Al and Rita", and performed modern dance at fraternal black organizations throughout San Francisco but never became successful. Angelou, her new husband, and her son moved to New York City so she could study African dance with Trinidadian dancer Pearl Primus, but they returned to San Francisco a year later.

After Angelou's marriage ended in 1954, she danced professionally in clubs around San Francisco, including the nightclub the Purple Onion, where she sang and danced to calypso music. Up to that point she went by the name of "Marguerite Johnson", or "Rita", but at the strong suggestion of her managers and supporters at the Purple Onion, she changed her professional name to "Maya Angelou" (her nickname and former married surname). It was a "distinctive name" that set her apart and captured the feel of her calypso dance performances. During 1954 and 1955, Angelou toured Europe with a production of the opera Porgy and Bess. She began her practice of learning the language of every country she visited, and in a few years she gained proficiency in several languages. In 1957, riding on the popularity of calypso, Angelou recorded her first album, Miss Calypso, which was reissued as a CD in 1996. She appeared in an off-Broadway review that inspired the 1957 film Calypso Heat Wave, in which Angelou sang and performed her own compositions.

Angelou met novelist John Oliver Killens in 1959 and, at his urging, moved to New York to concentrate on her writing career. She joined the Harlem Writers Guild, where she met several major African-American authors, including John Henrik Clarke, Rosa Guy, Paule Marshall, and Julian Mayfield, and was published for the first time. In 1960, after meeting civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr. and hearing him speak, she and Killens organized "the legendary" Cabaret for Freedom to benefit the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), and she was named SCLC's Northern Coordinator. According to scholar Lyman B. Hagen, her contributions to civil rights as a fundraiser and SCLC organizer were successful and "eminently effective". Angelou also began her pro-Castro and anti-apartheid activism during this time.

Africa to Caged Bird: 1961–69

In 1961, Angelou performed in Jean Genet's play The Blacks, along with Abbey Lincoln, Roscoe Lee Brown, James Earl Jones, Louis Gossett, Godfrey Cambridge, and Cicely Tyson. Also in 1961, she met South African freedom fighter Vusumzi Make; they never officially married. She and her son Guy moved with Make to Cairo, where Angelou worked as an associate editor at the weekly English-language newspaper The Arab Observer. In 1962, her relationship with Make ended, and she and Guy moved to Accra, Ghana so he could attend college, but he was seriously injured in an automobile accident. Angelou remained in Accra for his recovery and ended up staying there until 1965. She became an administrator at the University of Ghana, and was active in the African-American expatriate community. She was a feature editor for The African Review, a freelance writer for the Ghanaian Times, wrote and broadcast for Radio Ghana, and worked and performed for Ghana's National Theatre. She performed in a revival of The Blacks in Geneva and Berlin.

In Accra, she became close friends with Malcolm X during his visit in the early 1960s. Angelou returned to the U.S. in 1965 to help him build a new civil rights organization, the Organization of Afro-American Unity; he was assassinated shortly afterward. Devastated and adrift, she joined her brother in Hawaii, where she resumed her singing career. She moved back to Los Angeles to focus on her writing career. Working as a market researcher in Watts, Angelou witnessed the riots in the summer of 1965. She acted in and wrote plays, and returned to New York in 1967. She met her lifelong friend Rosa Guy and renewed her friendship with James Baldwin, whom she had met in Paris in the 1950s and called "my brother", during this time. Her friend Jerry Purcell provided Angelou with a stipend to support her writing.

In 1968, Martin Luther King Jr. asked Angelou to organize a march. She agreed, but "postpones again", and in what Gillespie calls "a macabre twist of fate", he was assassinated on her 40th birthday (April 4). Devastated again, she was encouraged out of her depression by her friend James Baldwin. As Gillespie states, "If 1968 was a year of great pain, loss, and sadness, it was also the year when America first witnessed the breadth and depth of Maya Angelou's spirit and creative genius". Despite having almost no experience, she wrote, produced, and narrated Blacks, Blues, Black!, a ten-part series of documentaries about the connection between blues music and black Americans' African heritage, and what Angelou called the "Africanisms still current in the U.S." for National Educational Television, the precursor of PBS. Also in 1968, inspired at a dinner party she attended with Baldwin, cartoonist Jules Feiffer, and his wife Judy, and challenged by Random House editor Robert Loomis, she wrote her first autobiography, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, published in 1969. This brought her international recognition and acclaim.

Later career

Released in 1972, Angelou's Georgia, Georgia, produced by a Swedish film company and filmed in Sweden, was the first screenplay written by a black woman. She also wrote the film's soundtrack, despite having very little additional input in the filming of the movie. Angelou married Paul du Feu, a Welsh carpenter and ex-husband of writer Germaine Greer, in San Francisco in 1973. Over the next ten years, as Gillespie has stated, "She [Angelou] had accomplished more than many artists hope to achieve in a lifetime." Angelou worked as a composer, writing for singer Roberta Flack, and composing movie scores. She wrote articles, short stories, TV scripts, documentaries, autobiographies, and poetry. She produced plays and was named visiting professor at several colleges and universities. She was "a reluctant actor", and was nominated for a Tony Award in 1973 for her role in Look Away. As a theater director, in 1988 she undertook a revival of Errol John's play Moon on a Rainbow Shawl at the Almeida Theatre in London.

In 1977, Angelou appeared in a supporting role in the television mini-series Roots. She was given a multitude of awards during this period, including over thirty honorary degrees from colleges and universities from all over the world. In the late 1970s, Angelou met Oprah Winfrey when Winfrey was a TV anchor in Baltimore, Maryland; Angelou would later become Winfrey's close friend and mentor. In 1981, Angelou and du Feu divorced.

She returned to the southern United States in 1981 because she felt she had to come to terms with her past there and, despite having no bachelor's degree, accepted the lifetime Reynolds Professorship of American Studies at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, where she was one of a few full-time African-American professors. From that point on, she considered herself "a teacher who writes". Angelou taught a variety of subjects that reflected her interests, including philosophy, ethics, theology, science, theater, and writing. The Winston-Salem Journal reported that even though she made many friends on campus, "she never quite lived down all of the criticism from people who thought she was more of a celebrity than an intellect...[and] an overpaid figurehead". The last course she taught at Wake Forest was in 2011, but she was planning to teach another course in late 2014. Her final speaking engagement at the university was in late 2013. Beginning in the 1990s, Angelou actively participated in the lecture circuit in a customized tour bus, something she continued into her eighties.

In 1993, Angelou recited her poem "On the Pulse of Morning" at the presidential inauguration of Bill Clinton, becoming the first poet to make an inaugural recitation since Robert Frost at John F. Kennedy's inauguration in 1961. Her recitation resulted in more fame and recognition for her previous works, and broadened her appeal "across racial, economic, and educational boundaries". The recording of the poem won a Grammy Award. In June 1995, she delivered what Richard Long called her "second 'public' poem", titled "A Brave and Startling Truth", which commemorated the 50th anniversary of the United Nations.

Angelou achieved her goal of directing a feature film in 1996, Down in the Delta, which featured actors such as Alfre Woodard and Wesley Snipes. Also in 1996, she collaborated with R&B artists Ashford & Simpson on seven of the eleven tracks of their album Been Found. The album was responsible for three of Angelou's only Billboard chart appearances. In 2000, she created a successful collection of products for Hallmark, including greeting cards and decorative household items. She responded to critics who charged her with being too commercial by stating that "the enterprise was perfectly in keeping with her role as 'the people's poet'". More than thirty years after Angelou began writing her life story, she completed her sixth autobiography A Song Flung Up to Heaven, in 2002.

Angelou campaigned for the Democratic Party in the 2008 presidential primaries, giving her public support to Hillary Clinton. In the run-up to the January Democratic primary in South Carolina, the Clinton campaign ran ads featuring Angelou's endorsement. The ads were part of the campaign's efforts to rally support in the Black community; but Barack Obama won the South Carolina primary, finishing 29 points ahead of Clinton and taking 80% of the Black vote. When Clinton's campaign ended, Angelou put her support behind Obama, who went on to win the presidential election and became the first African-American president of the United States. After Obama's inauguration, she stated, "We are growing up beyond the idiocies of racism and sexism."

In late 2010, Angelou donated her personal papers and career memorabilia to the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture in Harlem. They consisted of more than 340 boxes of documents that featured her handwritten notes on yellow legal pads for I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, a 1982 telegram from Coretta Scott King, fan mail, and personal and professional correspondence from colleagues such as her editor Robert Loomis. In 2011, Angelou served as a consultant for the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial in Washington, D.C. She spoke out in opposition to a paraphrase of a quotation by King that appeared on the memorial, saying, "The quote makes Dr. Martin Luther King look like an arrogant twit", and demanded that it be changed. Eventually, the paraphrase was removed.

In 2013, at the age of 85, Angelou published the seventh volume of autobiography in her series, titled Mom & Me & Mom, which focuses on her relationship with her mother.

Personal life

Evidence suggests that Angelou was partially descended from the Mende people of West Africa. In 2008, a DNA test revealed that among all of her African ancestors, 45 percent were from the Congo-Angola region and 55 percent were from West Africa. A 2008 PBS documentary found that Angelou's maternal great-grandmother Mary Lee, who had been emancipated after the Civil War, became pregnant by her white former owner, John Savin. Savin forced Lee to sign a false statement accusing another man of being the father of her child. After Savin was indicted for forcing Lee to commit perjury, and despite the discovery that Savin was the father, a jury found him not guilty. Lee was sent to the Clinton County poorhouse in Missouri with her daughter, Marguerite Baxter, who became Angelou's grandmother. Angelou described Lee as "that poor little Black girl, physically and mentally bruised".

The details of Angelou's life described in her seven autobiographies and in numerous interviews, speeches, and articles tended to be inconsistent. Critic Mary Jane Lupton has explained that when Angelou spoke about her life, she did so eloquently but informally and "with no time chart in front of her". For example, she was married at least twice, but never clarified the number of times she had been married, "for fear of sounding frivolous"; according to her autobiographies and to Gillespie, she married Tosh Angelos in 1951 and Paul du Feu in 1974, and began her relationship with Vusumzi Make in 1961, but never formally married him. Angelou held many jobs, including some in the sex trade, working as a prostitute and madame for lesbians, as she described in her second autobiography, Gather Together in My Name. In a 1995 interview, Angelou said,

"I wrote about my experiences because I thought too many people tell young folks, 'I never did anything wrong. Who, Moi? – never I. I have no skeletons in my closet. In fact, I have no closet.' They lie like that and then young people find themselves in situations and they think, 'Damn I must be a pretty bad guy. My mom or dad never did anything wrong.' They can't forgive themselves and go on with their lives."

Angelou had one son, Guy, whose birth she described in her first autobiography; one grandson, two great-grandchildren, and, according to Gillespie, a large group of friends and extended family. Angelou's mother Vivian Baxter died in 1991 and her brother Bailey Johnson Jr., died in 2000 after a series of strokes; both were important figures in her life and her books. In 1981, the mother of her grandson disappeared with him; finding him took four years.

In 2009, the gossip website TMZ erroneously reported that Angelou had been hospitalized in Los Angeles when she was alive and well in St. Louis, which resulted in rumors of her death and, according to Angelou, concern among her friends and family worldwide. In 2013, Angelou told her friend Oprah Winfrey that she had studied courses offered by the Unity Church, which were spiritually significant to her. She did not earn a university degree, but according to Gillespie it was Angelou's preference to be called "Dr. Angelou" by people outside of her family and close friends. She owned two homes in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and a "lordly brownstone" in Harlem, which was purchased in 2004 and was full of her "growing library" of books she collected throughout her life, artwork collected over the span of many decades, and well-stocked kitchens. Guardian writer Gary Younge reported that in Angelou's Harlem home were several African wall hangings and her collection of paintings, including ones of several jazz trumpeters, a watercolor of Rosa Parks, and a Faith Ringgold work titled "Maya's Quilt Of Life".

According to Gillespie, she hosted several celebrations per year at her main residence in Winston-Salem; "her skill in the kitchen is the stuff of legend—from haute cuisine to down-home comfort food". The Winston-Salem Journal stated: "Securing an invitation to one of Angelou's Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas tree decorating parties or birthday parties was among the most coveted invitations in town." The New York Times, describing Angelou's residence history in New York City, stated that she regularly hosted elaborate New Year's Day parties. She combined her cooking and writing skills in her 2004 book Hallelujah! The Welcome Table, which featured 73 recipes, many of which she learned from her grandmother and mother, accompanied by 28 vignettes. She followed up in 2010 with her second cookbook, Great Food, All Day Long: Cook Splendidly, Eat Smart, which focused on weight loss and portion control.

Beginning with I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Angelou used the same "writing ritual" for many years. She would wake early in the morning and check into a hotel room, where the staff was instructed to remove any pictures from the walls. She would write on legal pads while lying on the bed, with only a bottle of sherry, a deck of cards to play solitaire, Roget's Thesaurus, and the Bible, and would leave by the early afternoon. She would average 10–12 pages of written material a day, which she edited down to three or four pages in the evening. She went through this process to "enchant" herself, and as she said in a 1989 interview with the British Broadcasting Corporation, "relive the agony, the anguish, the Sturm und Drang". She placed herself back in the time she wrote about, even traumatic experiences such as her rape in Caged Bird, in order to "tell the human truth" about her life. Angelou stated that she played cards in order to get to that place of enchantment and in order to access her memories more effectively. She said, "It may take an hour to get into it, but once I'm in it—ha! It's so delicious!" She did not find the process cathartic; rather, she found relief in "telling the truth".

Death

Angelou died on the morning of May 28, 2014 at the age 86. She was found by her nurse. Although Angelou had reportedly been in poor health and had canceled recent scheduled appearances, she was working on another book, an autobiography about her experiences with national and world leaders. During her memorial service at Wake Forest University, her son Guy Johnson stated that despite being in constant pain due to her dancing career and respiratory failure, she wrote four books during the last ten years of her life. He said, "She left this mortal plane with no loss of acuity and no loss in comprehension."

Tributes to Angelou and condolences were paid by artists, entertainers, and world leaders, including Obama, whose sister was named after Angelou, and Bill Clinton. Harold Augenbraum, from the National Book Foundation, said that Angelou's "legacy is one that all writers and readers across the world can admire and aspire to." The week after Angelou's death, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings rose to number 1 on Amazon.com's bestseller list.

On May 29, 2014, Mount Zion Baptist Church in Winston-Salem, of which Angelou was a member for 30 years, held a public memorial service to honor her. On June 7, a private memorial service was held at Wait Chapel on the campus of Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem. The memorial was shown live on local stations in the Winston-Salem/Triad area and streamed live on the university web site with speeches from her son, Oprah Winfrey, Michelle Obama, and Bill Clinton. On June 15, a memorial was held at Glide Memorial Church in San Francisco, where Angelou was a member for many years. Rev. Cecil Williams, Mayor Ed Lee, and former mayor Willie Brown spoke.

Works

Angelou wrote a total of seven autobiographies. According to scholar Mary Jane Lupton, Angelou's third autobiography Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas marked the first time a well-known African-American autobiographer had written a third volume about her life. Her books "stretch over time and place", from Arkansas to Africa and back to the U.S., and take place from the beginnings of World War II to the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. In her fifth autobiography “All God’s Children Need Travelling Shoes” (1986) Angelou tells about her return to Ghana searching for the past of her tribe. She published her seventh autobiography Mom & Me & Mom in 2013, at the age of 85. Critics have tended to judge Angelou's subsequent autobiographies "in light of the first", with Caged Bird receiving the highest praise. Angelou wrote five collections of essays, which writer Hilton Als called her "wisdom books" and "homilies strung together with autobiographical texts". Angelou used the same editor throughout her writing career, Robert Loomis, an executive editor at Random House; he retired in 2011 and has been called "one of publishing's hall of fame editors." Angelou said regarding Loomis: "We have a relationship that's kind of famous among publishers."

Angelou's long and extensive career also included poetry, plays, screenplays for television and film, directing, acting, and public speaking. She was a prolific writer of poetry; her volume Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water 'fore I Diiie (1971) was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize, and she was chosen by US President Bill Clinton to recite her poem "On the Pulse of Morning" during his inauguration in 1993.

Angelou's successful acting career included roles in numerous plays, films, and television programs, including her appearance in the television mini-series Roots in 1977. Her screenplay, Georgia, Georgia (1972), was the first original script by a black woman to be produced, and she was the first African-American woman to direct a major motion picture, Down in the Delta, in 1998.

Chronology of autobiographies

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969): Up to 1944 (age 17)

Gather Together in My Name (1974): 1944–48

Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas (1976): 1949–55

The Heart of a Woman (1981): 1957–62

All God's Children Need Traveling Shoes (1986): 1962–65

A Song Flung Up to Heaven (2002): 1965–68

Mom & Me & Mom (2013): overview

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Normal People: A Novel Audiobook Online

[Book] Normal People: A Novel Audiobook Online by Sally Rooney

NOW A HULU ORIGINAL SERIES • NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • “A stunning novel about the transformative power of relationships” (People) from the author of Conversations with Friends, “a master of the literary page-turner” (J. Courtney Sullivan).   ONE OF THE TEN BEST NOVELS OF THE DECADE—Entertainment Weekly

TEN BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR—People, Slate, The New York Public Library, Harvard Crimson

AND BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR—The New York Times, The New York Times Book Review, O: The Oprah Magazine, Time, NPR, The Washington Post, Vogue, Esquire, Glamour, Elle, Marie Claire, Vox, The Paris Review, Good Housekeeping, Town & Country

Connell and Marianne grew up in the same small town, but the similarities end there. At school, Connell is popular and well liked, while Marianne is a loner. But when the two strike up a conversation—awkward but electrifying—something life changing begins.

A year later, they’re both studying at Trinity College in Dublin. Marianne has found her feet in a new social world while Connell hangs at the sidelines, shy and uncertain. Throughout their years at university, Marianne and Connell circle one another, straying toward other people and possibilities but always magnetically, irresistibly drawn back together. And as she veers into self-destruction and he begins to search for meaning elsewhere, each must confront how far they are willing to go to save the other.

Normal People is the story of mutual fascination, friendship and love. It takes us from that first conversation to the years beyond, in the company of two people who try to stay apart but find that they can’t.   Praise for Normal People   “[A] novel that demands to be read compulsively, in one sitting.”—The Washington Post

“Arguably the buzziest novel of the season, Sally Rooney’s elegant sophomore effort . . . is a worthy successor to Conversations with Friends. Here, again, she unflinchingly explores class dynamics and young love with wit and nuance.”—The Wall Street Journal

“[Rooney] has been hailed as the first great millennial novelist for her stories of love and late capitalism. . . . [She writes] some of the best dialogue I’ve read.”—The New Yorker

Read Normal People: A Novel Audiobook Online by (Sally Rooney)

Duration: 7 hours, 35 minutes

Writer: Sally Rooney

Publisher: Random House (Audio)

Narrators: Aoife Mcmahon

Genres: Aoife Mcmahon

Rating: 3.92

Narrator Rating: 4.17

Publication: Monday, 01 April 2019

Normal People: A Novel Audiobook Online Reviews

Linda M.

An intimate story about an Irish couple whose relationship is basically a close friendship, dips into being a couple, and never really attains a steady state. Well written and worth listening to or reading. The narration is excellent.

Rating: 4

Jodie F.

Very enjoyable read, I was completely sucked into the story and finished within a week! Excellent narration, 5 stars!

Rating: 5

Jennifer C.

Listening to this book was better than reading it and there is so much to unpack for such a small novel. Class, education, timing, mental health, abuse, sexism... it’s al there in this tender conversation on love

Rating: 5

Claire M.

Good read and well written. Narration was spot on. The story line definitely kept me engaged and wanting to know what would happen next.

Rating: 4

Claude M.

I loved this book. I listened to the audiobook twice in 2 days. I am a Sally Rooney fan.

Rating: 5

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[fiinalgiirls]

GENERAL INFORMATION.

full name - luz esperanza fuentes dedios nicknames - none gender / pronouns - she/her date of birth - august 12, 1990 place of birth - yakima, washington citizenship / ethnicity - american, irish, mexican religion - catholic socioeconomic status / political affiliation - working class; liberal. marital status - single, though may depend on verse. sexual & romantic orientation - bisexual. education / occupation - phd in bioarchaeology ( in progress ) languages - spanish, english, asl

FAMILY INFORMATION.

parents - dolores fuentes dedios and donald kennedy ( deceased ) siblings - jose fuentes dedios ( missing ) offspring - nayeli guadalupe esparza fuentes pets / other - none notable extended family - stepmother, linda ( married to dolores )

PHYSICAL INFORMATION.

faceclaim - lindsey morgan hair color / eye color - brown, brown. height / build - 5′6″ / athletic tattoos / piercings - earlobes x 2. a stick and poke ‘mi vida loca’ three dots on her hand from middle school. distinguishable features - big beautiful eyes and a muscular frame.

MEDICAL INFORMATION.

medical history - none. known allergies - none. visual impairment / hearing impairment - none. nicotine use / drug use / alcohol use - alcohol and marijuana on rare occasion.

PERSONALITY.

traits - tenacious, brave, compassionate ; juvenile, sensitive tropes - the ace, tomboyish ponytail, disappeared dad, brainy brunette, badass adorable. temperament - choleric alignment - chaotic good celtic tree zodiac - hazel, the knower mbti - enfp hogwarts house - gryffindor vice / virtue - envy / diligence likes / dislikes - sneakers, color-coded lecture notes, abuelita hot cocoa, basketball season, joggers, showering at the gym and stashing a gym bag in the back of her car, tamales with her mother in christmastime, la virgen de guadalupe /  people who look down on others, dudes at the gym, science deniers, thunderstorms, sorting the recycling. quote - “i aim to be lion hearted, but my hands still shake and my voice isn’t quite loud enough.”

FAVORITES.

food - lucky charms or tacos al pastor drink - cafe au lait with cinnamon sprinkled on top pizza topping - pepperoni and olives with tabasco color - red / orange music - hip hop / r&b books - partner to the poor by paul farmer, parable of the sower / parable of the talents by octavia butler movies - friday, resident evil, black panther curse word - goddamn scents - mole on the stove, old spice deodorant

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warning ⋯ death, apocalyptic themes, divorce

AEGEAN BRONZE AGE ( 3,000-2,000 BCE )

when luz is small, she hears the story of her birth a thousand times. she can recite it by heart. it is a perfect day in may and her mother dolores has been walking for days, tired of carrying around a belly so swollen with life that she is certain she could fit her own body inside of it. it has been five months since dolores has seen her husband and she does not think he’ll ever come home from some godforsaken war across the sea. the truth is that he never does–not even for his only daughter. donald kennedy dies alone on the same day his daughter luz takes her first breath after an arduous labor in the back of an ambulance on the way from pioneer park to saint mary medical center.

dolores tells the story as if she was in both places at once. at her husband’s side as a fatal bullet cut him down like a blade of grass and holding her own hand as she pushed and screamed on the rigid gurney. luz thinks that her mother must see everything. it is that childhood belief that protects her from the troubles that follow her cousins like black cats and shadows. it’s different as an only child, she knows that her mother has only one person in the whole wide world and she must live up to her mother’s need to be whole.

next door, the abandoned house sits behind a chain link fence. dozens of stone animals litter the yard and porch and it becomes young luz’s playground. she digs in the dirt, unburying hidden treasures and her cousins laugh and call her indiana jones. the book of greek myths her father left behind is never far from her mind and even as a small girl, luz knows she will walk in the colosseum and excavate along the mediterranean.

school is easy for luz who is an avid reader and an energetic learner. she quickly earns playful jeering from her cousins for being a pocha as she works hard to fit in. despite focusing on student government and basketball, luz is well regarded among her peers. she is the kind of girl that makes it hard not to like–an easy going, laid back girl with a jock’s ponytail and a sharp wit. the girl is made for something great and her mother works tirelessly to afford uniforms and ap textbooks. luz fuentes dedios is going somewhere.

dolores finds love again while luz is in middle school. linda is a woman like no other and she tends to her own son, jose, lovingly. he is a few years luz’s senior and goes to a charter school in oregon for the deaf, but they become as thick as thieves. the pair shoot hoops every weekend that jose’s in town and the little family feels more like home than it ever did before.

MINOAN PALATIAL PERIOD ( 2,600-1,400 BCE )

it’s not the dream she had far away in the esteemed halls of colleges like cambridge, oxford, or harvard. no, whitman college–so named for the whitman incident in which a missionary is forced to pay for his crimes and yet is remembered as the white hero–is just down the street from her modest childhood home. it’s strange, then, how different of a world it seems to her. the liberal arts college is not the place she belongs as she did in high school. it’s an entirely different world. she works in the cafeteria to offset the costs her scholarships don’t cover, plays basketball for the team, and has dinner with her mother every sunday if not more. it’s not a bad life.

the classroom and court are the places where luz feels like she can really be herself. pieces of her are lost in conversations among classmates that she does not relate to and she plunges herself head first into work and family, which is the most she’s ever known. when she finds her true calling, she’s paralyzed–they don’t offer a major in bioarchaeology. with the help of a couple of advisors, she makes her own–blending anthropology, biology, geology, and chemistry together in a blissful salve that mends even the deepest wounds gained in the thirst to prove that she can be everything her mother needs. her sacrifices will not be for nothing.

when she graduates, luz feels a whirlwind sense of accomplishment. she is accepted to field school in crete where she can study the minoan and mycenaean cultures to her heart’s content. it is there she develops her fascination with bones and death and focuses her interest on funerary archaeology–a subject she will study at length at the university of tennessee’s bioarchaeology doctoral program. she can sometimes hear her father calling her and she knows that she must reunite the dead with their loved ones.

THE HEROIC AGE ( 1,600-1,100 BCE )

on a quiet, hot summer night she falls in love with another doctoral student a few years her senior. they drink raki and let the waves and sand massage their weary feet. they return to tennessee and luz feels her stomach swelling with the prospect of life. rodrigo is a warm heart and though he is not prepared for fatherhood he takes to it, like he does with most things, with gusto. if there is apprehension in her heart it is quelled by the worry in her mother’s voice through the telephone lines–please tell me you are going to marry him, mija.luz fuentes dedios has never broken her mother’s heart.

nayeli guadalupe esparza is born, much like her mother, on a summer’s day and is named for rodrigo and luz’s grandmothers. luz holds her so tight that rodrigo is afraid she might break her. the young parents find that they love nayeli enough that it doesn’t matter if they love each other half as much. it won’t be long before they find out that they don’t love one another at all anymore.

weddings and motherhood do not stop a determined woman. luz knows that women have always persevered more obstacles than their male peers and she is determined to not let her dreams fall by the wayside. their lives are not easy–both spend long hours teaching and learning while preparing their own research. dolores moves from walla walla, selling their home by the house with the stone animal statues, the train tracks and the cornfield–which is now a burger king and a dollar tree. she does sewing and odd jobs while she cares for her granddaughter naya with her chubby cheeks and bright brown eyes.

in their final years, the couple move to crete to finish their research in the field. both grow tired of working, living, and raising a daughter together and the break-up is messy. nayeli is five years old when they realize they can no longer make their relationship work and when the grant money runs out, luz is forced to return to the united states to finish her doctoral thesis with no funding and no job prospects. rodrigo stays on at the research center and there is no arguing that naya is better off living with a parent who can provide for her. luz is crestfallen.

a friend from field school hits her up one lonely afternoon in tennessee where luz is drowning her sorrows in the bottom of a tequila bottle. melissa has focused her interests on the early settlements of nebraska and has secured a lovely grant investigating cave systems out of omaha. dolores agrees to move with her daughter into a two-bedroom apartment in the nebraskan city.

in her spare time, luz works on her own thesis, but pays for it with melissa’s paid post-doc position. the exploration reinvigorates her and she remembers how to breathe again. it’s hard to wake up everyday without braiding her daughter’s soft curls and listening to a giggling tale of the girl’s dreams from the night before. she misses greece and, on her worst days, she thinks she might even miss rodrigo.

THE MYCENAEAN PERIOD  ( 1,300-1,000 BCE )

as things fall apart in europe, so does the spite behind the custody battle. luz has a stable income and home once again and, more than that, she has family and routine. rodrigo grows worried that the reports of sickness are more than just coincidence and as his anger melts it is replaced with guilt from having kept a daughter from a mother he knows would rip apart the moon itself for her. the phone sits warm in his hand after choking up and breaking down with luz on the other line, he sends his little girl to stay with her mother with the promise to move himself to omaha to finish his thesis when the research portion is complete. he never walks on u. s. soil again, but naya does.

the airport seems like a warzone when luz picks up her daughter, finally reunited she seems so much older in such a short span of time. they quickly settle into a routine, but as the time between phone calls from rodrigo grows, so does the sinking pit in her stomach. something is wrong in the world and it is spreading. some nights dolores wakes the apartment up wit nightmares about satan devouring the world and she says her mouth is full of sand. luz knows in her bones that something is slithering its way to devour their new found happiness and she feels helpless to stop it.

AFTER DECEMBER 25th, 2017,

DARK AGE OF GREECE ( 1,100-700 BCE )

even in the dead of winter, luz is driven into the snow by melissa’s work. a bootlegger’s cave on the edge of private farming property is in danger of flooding when the snows melt after irrigation plans by the owner have broken ground. they have a weekend to explore the caves and collect data before the owner completes the project and fills in the entrance and exit. with the stirrings and rumors of an epidemic, luz is reluctant to leave naya, dolores, and linda alone for a weekend, but her mother insists that the pair will do just fine.

they set off, three women and two men into the bowels of a harsh december, beneath dirt harder than stone. melissa takes point with dave, juan, and sarah close behind. luz and emily follow behind, both reluctant to disappear in the dank darkness disguised by pure fallen snow. while blood spills on christmas day red against the crystalline white, luz is not with her mothers and daughter making tamales and setting out milk and cookies for santa claus. instead she is regretting her commitment to her friendship while shivering in a seemingly endless bootleggers cave that had, more or less, proven to be a wash.

it’s not four hours in when dave, who had been looking sickly and pale since the beginning of the trip–and as luz suspected, had been vomiting up his dinner as he started to trail behind even emily–collapses over onto himself. luz had been avoiding him since they set out because he had seemed cagey and aggressive. unwilling to leave a man behind, emily and juan work to make an impromptu stretcher to bring him out while sarah stays faithfully by his side.

as he worsens, dave throws a scraggly punch at sarah and scratches the side of her cheek. inside the cave, screams are muffled and fear is suffocating. luz’s heart beats against her ear drums so loud that she worries they might burst. as they push forward in the cave system, melissa assures them that the exit is closer than the entrance, but dave rapidly deteriorates and sarah seems to be growing weaker now too. melissa is headstrong and determined that the trip not be in vain, but as the pair worsen, everyone agrees they must send someone for help. emily and juan stay behind with sarah and dave, while melissa luz head for the exit.

half an hour longer of walking has melissa and luz feeling no closer to the exit than before when the screams start behind them–magnified in volume by the cavernous acoustics of the bootlegger’s path. melissa and luz both want to check on their friends, but something primal within them tells them they must push forward and not backward. there are some sounds that, no matter how brave or kind a person is, will make you run.

it’s not a straight shot to the exit and the climb slows them down as their pursuer seems to keep a constant speed. there is the distinct sound of something wet against the cave floor; each thud makes her stomach turn. as they grow closer to the exit, she realizes that she does not hear melissa’s footfalls falling evenly behind her and turns as her friend calls out in surprise ‘dave, my god–’ as luz watches on, paralyzed by fear she is a stalagmite more than a woman.

when melissa lets out a hearty scream as dave bites into her throat, luz rushes to meet them and shoves dave to the ground. he is unrelenting and the face she can hardly make out in the darkness barely looks human. he doesn’t stop until she shoves her hand trowel through the back of his neck. it startles her how easily the blade slides through flesh. when her breathing regulates, she stands and finds melissa is dead on the ground.

THE GEOMETRIC PERIOD ( 900-700 BCE )

the drive back to town takes hours against the chaotic traffic and abandoned cars. hell rains down on omaha, nebraska like ash on the city of pompeii and the ground below even seems to shake with the force of mount vesuvius. all luz can think of is getting home to her mother and daughter and she curses herself for having ever listened to melissa in the first place. some stupid nsa sponsored project cost the lives of their entire research crew and maybe dolores and naya’s too. luz promises god that she will never put work before family again.

when she finally reaches their home, luz is horrified that the chaos outside has slithered its way into a home that still smells faintly of pork and chile california. there is blood sprayed across every surface of every room and dolores is nowhere to be found. clumsily formed letters spell out in blood on the kitchen wall by the calendar with little cats on it ‘lo sie–’ as an unfinished goodbye. naya does not come when called and luz collapses upon her daughter’s small bed–breathing in the smell of her as she sobs, unable to catch her breath.

beneath her desperate gasps for breath, she hears the small whine of a young girl from the closet door. behind it, naya emerges from her modest mountain of stuffed animals and screams when she sees her mother. the two fall into each other’s arms and then they fall apart. when the dust has cleared, luz packs bags for them both, says a prayer for her mother’s spirit ( wherever it may be ), and sets out in the path of a safe place. she finds that in the charles b. washington library, but for how long–only time will tell.

[aethucyn]

All the Comics 2019

Series I read as they came out:

Archie Assassin Nation Batman Universe Black Panther By Night Catwoman Die Exorsisters Ghosted in L.A. Ghostspider Giant Days Gwenpool Strikes Back Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy Invisible Kingdom Laguardia Last Stop on the Red Line Lazarus: Risen Lois Lane The Magnificent Ms. Marvel Man-Eaters Monstress Ms. Marvel Once & Future King Paper Girls Pretty Deadly: The Rat Redlands Sabrina the Teenage Witch Sleepless Spider-Gwen: Ghost Spider Spider-man and Venom: Double Trouble Steeple Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl The Unstoppable Wasp West Coast Avengers The White Trees The Wicked + the Divine

Graphic Novels & Trade Paperbacks

The Life of Captain Marvel Margaret Stohl Carlos Pacheco Batgirl Vol. 4: Strange Loop Hope Larson Sami Basri Jessica Jones: Blind Spot Kelly Thompson Mattia De Iulis Doom Patrol Vol 2: Nada Gerard Way Nick Derington Kim Reaper: Grim Beginnings Sarah Graley Batman Vol. 8: Cold Days Tom King Lee Weeks Hilda and the Troll Luke Pearson Batwoman Vol. 3: Fall of the House of Kane Marguerite Bennett Fernando Blanco X-23: Family Album Mariko Tamaki Juann Cabal Andre the Giant: Life and Legend Box Brown How to Understand Israel in 60 Days or Less Sarah Glidden Get Your War On David Rees March Book One John Lewis & Andrew Aydin Nate Powell Barbarous Vol 1 Ananth Hirsh Yuko Ota Barbarous Vol 2 Ananth Hirsh Yuko Ota March Book Two John Lewis & Andrew Aydin Nate Powell March Book Three John Lewis & Andrew Aydin Nate Powell The Real Folk Blues: A Cowboy Bebop Fanbook Anthology ed. Zainab Akhtar Batman Detective Comics Vol 2 The Victim Syndicate James Tynion IV Alvaro Martinez Off Season James Sturm Kiss Number 8 Colleen AF Venable Ellen T. Crenshaw Cleopatra in Space: Fallen Empires Mike Maihack Batman Detective Comics Vol 3: League of Shadows James Tynion IV Marcio Takara The Hero Business Season Two Bill Walko When I Arrived at the Castle Emily Carroll The Weather Man Jody LeHeup Nathan Fox The Girl Who Married a Skull & Other African Stories ed. C. Spike Trotman ed. Kate Ashwin ed. Kel McDonald ed. Taneka Stotts F*ck Off Squad Nicole Goux Dave Baker The Breakaways Cathy G. Johnson Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me Mariko Tamaki Rosemary Valero-O'Connell Batman Vol. 9 The Tyrant Wing Tom King Tom Taylor Mech Cadet Yu Volume Two Grek Pak Takeshi Miyazawa Sincerely, Harriet Sarah W. Searle The Legend of Korra: Ruins of the Empire Part One Michael Dante DiMartino Michelle Wong Avatar The Last Airbender: Imbalance Book Two Faith Erin Hicks Peter Wartman Snotgirl: vol 2: California Screaming Bryan Lee O'Malley Leslie Hung Skyward: Vol 1 Joe Henderson Lee Garbett Shuri: Vol 1: The Search for Black Panther Nnedi Okorafor Leonardo Romero Crowded: Vol 1: Soft Apocalypse Chrisopher Sebela Ro Stein Ted Brandt I Hate Fairyland: Vol 1: Madly Ever After Skottie Young I Hate Fairyland: Vol 2: Fluff My Life Skottie Young I Hate Fairyland: Vol 3: Good Girl Skottie Young I Hate Fairyland: Vol 4:  Sadly Never After Skottie Young California Dreamin' Penelope Bagieu Runaways: Best Friends Forever Rainbow Rowell Kris Anka Exit Stage Left: The Snagglepuss Chronicles Mark Russell Mike Feehan My Brother's Husband Gengorah Tagame Rice Boy Evan Dahm FTL Y'all ed. C. Spike Trotman ed. Amanda Lafrenais Gothic Tales of Haunted Love ed. Hope Nicholson ed. S.M.Beiko The Immortal Hulk: Or is he both? Al Ewing Joe Bennett X-23: X-Assassin Mariko Tamaki Diego Olortegui Ant-Man and the Wasp: Lost and Found Mark Waid Javier Garron Power Man and Iron Fist: The Boys Are Back in Town David Walker Sanford Greene Iceman: Thawing Out Sina Grace Alessandro Vitti Iceman: Absolute Zero Sina Grace Robert Gill Song of Aglaia Anne Simon Batman Detective Comics: Vol 4 Deus Ex Machina James Tynion IV Alvaro Martinez Harley Quinn: Broken Glass Mariko Tamaki Steve Pugh The Immortal Hulk: The Green Door Al Ewing Joe Bennett Power Man and Iron Fist: Civil War David F. Walker Flaviano Cosplayers Dash Shaw Bad Machinery: The Case of the Modern Men John Allison Is This How You See Me? Jaime Hernandez a city inside Tillie Walden The Immotal Hulk: Hulk in Hell Al Ewing Joe Bennett Slowly but Shirley Catalina Rufin Stage Dreams Melanie Gillman Homunculus Joe Sparrow Verse Book One Sam Beck Laid Waste Julia Gfrorer Gorgeous Cathy G. Johnson Cosmoknights Hannah Templer The Hard Tomorrow Eleanor Davis Pumpkin Heads Rainbow Rowell Faith Erin Hicks Funky Town Mathilde Van Gheluwe Pleading with Stars Kurt Ankeny Avatar The Last Airbender: Imbalance Book Three Faith Erin Hicks Peter Wartman The Love Bunglers Jaime Hernandez Spider-man Life Story Chip Zdarsky Mark Bagley Are You Listening? Tillie Walden November Matt Fraction Elsa Charretier Rusty Brown Chris Ware Dangerously Chloe Volume 3 David Lumsdon Jason Waltrip The Astonishing Ant-Man: Small-Time Criminal Nick Spencer Ramon Rosanas Doctor Aphra: Aphra Kieron Gillen Kev Walker Moonstruck Grace Ellis Shae Beagle

Minis

Maids no. 1 Katie Skelly Frontier #18 Tiffany Ford Two of Us Jessi Zabarsky Visiting Alivia Horsley Sobek James Stokoe Resort on Caelum Wren McDonald Boogsy Michelle Kwan Frontier #19 Hannah Waldron Maids no. 2 Katie Skelly Frontier #20 Anatola Howard Minotaar Lissa Treiman Pass the Baton Hana Chatani Cry Wolf Girl Ariel Ries At the Edge of the Stream at Dusk Jen Lee Cavity Michelle Theodore Hsthete Melanie Gillman David, I Love You Eileen Marie The Cutest Curse Laura Terry Churn Amelia Onorato An Eye for an Eye Kimberly Wang Women on Paper: 3 Stories Anna Christine Liminal State Maria Photinakis Melusine, The Collector and the Gift of the Pearls Edie Voges Infinite Wheat Paste Issue 3 Pidge Anew Dillon Gilbertson Anastasia Longoria Big Wally James McGarry Sam Bennett Frontier #21 Derek Yu Frontier #22 Tunde Adebimpe

Graphic novel is a stupid term that often encompasses things that are not novels, but I used it as a blanket term for anything comics I read that were bound rather than stapled. Minis are shorter works, stapled, and generally self-published by the artist, or done by a small press like Shortbox or Youth in Decline. I was totally lazy about crediting creators on series because my actual list for that is a grid, keeping track of each issue. Similarly, when listing creators on trades, I tended to only list writer and artist which is enough for some books, but sometimes there are many more, inkers, and colorists and letterers, and maybe I’ll do better next year.

Support your local library, your local comic shop (especially Hub Comics if you’re in the Boston area), and indie comic shows like MICE. 

[respectingromance]

Fluffy romances for hard times

Sometimes not even a guaranteed happy-ever-after is enough. Sometimes the whole story needs to be light and happy. Every romance novel has the potential to touch on rough themes, but here are some options that lean towards fun and humorous. Perfect for a really tough day.

Love in the Afternoon by Lisa Kleypas. Beatrix has a plethora of cute animals to pop in and out of the story. 

A Week to Be Wicked by Tessa Dare. Minerva convinces Colin to escort her to a scientific conference with a precious fossil. Lots of adventures on the road!

Three Weeks with Lady X by Eloisa James. Includes redecorating, a cute child, and lots of sexy love notes.

It Had to Be You by Susan Elizabeth Phillips. Phoebe’s the “bimbo” widow who just inherited a football team; Dan’s the head coach who makes every wrong assumption possible. Don’t worry, she gets the better of him every time.

Sorcery & Cecelia: or The Enchanted Chocolate Pot by Patricia C. Wrede and Caroline Stevermer. If you like some magic and no sex, this one’s for you. Told through amusing letters between lifelong friends Kate and Cecelia, I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t charmed by this sweet and funny book.

Welcome to Temptation or Bet Me by Jennifer Crusie. Crusie’s books feature families, comic situations, some kind of mild crime, and always a cute dog. If you need a pick-me-up, you can always trust Jennifer Crusie.

A Lady By Midnight by Tessa Dare. Listen, if you can read that scene towards the end where the men have literature’s most ridiculous fight and not burst out laughing, then we’ve got some problems. Think the fight in Bridget Jones’s Diary but with medieval weapons. 

Act Like It by Lucy Parker. Two London stage actors, Richard and Elaine, have to fake a relationship to boost their play. Hands down my favorite romance of 2015.

Lola Carlyle Reveals All by Rachel Gibson. Lola’s an ex-supermodel who is just trying to get some sleep when Max, running from bad guys, commandeers the yacht she’s on. Soon they’re stranded on the ocean together. 

Educating Caroline and She Went All the Way by Patricia/Meg Cabot. After you read these, you’ll wish Meg Cabot had devoted her life to romance novels. Sexy and fun.

The Coincidence of Coconut Cake by Amy E. Reichert. Another one good for people who like their books light on sex. Lou’s a chef whose restaurant gets reviewed by grumpy and unhappy Al on the worst day of Lou’s life. Lou soon introduces Al to the wonders of... Milwaukee. You’re going to end up very, very hungry reading this book.

The Wedding Date by Jasmine Guillory. After Alexa and Drew get stuck in an elevator together, she agrees to be his fake date to a wedding. A dangerous book because it feels like it just might happen to you.

Finally, all books by Julia Quinn.