#augustine montgomery

[durrandons]

hidden legacy | augustine montgomery

"augustine had a sense of humor. who knew?"

[brittanybwrites]

so none of y'all was gonna tell me about Augustine Montgomery, right? I was just supposed to let him come in and whisk me away in his shark-like building?

[thebirdandhersong]

I think one day I might re-read A Room With A View and Understand it, but my heart simply did not understand it back in 2020 when I listened to the audiobook while cooking lunch and dinner daily mid-pandemic

[emylilas]

Mostly characters who suffer. And not because I feel protective of them. But for some reason their pain (and if they are trying to hide it, it's even better) is what drawns me to them.

They look fine and composed but behind the layers they're hiding so much pain!

Always something I like asking bc I think it’s fun to see people’s reasons for liking characters

[longliveblackness]

Martin Luther King Jr. was Arrested 29 times for these so-called crimes. Here are just a few occasions when he was arrested and why:

January 26, 1956 — He was arrested in Montgomery, Alabama as part of a "Get Tough" campaign to intimidate the bus boycotters. Four days later, on January 30, his home was bombed.

March 22, 1956 — King, Rosa Parks and more than 100 others were arrested on charges of organizing the Montgomery Bus Boycott in protest of Parks' treatment.

September 3, 1958 — While attempting to attend the arraignment of a man accused of assaulting Abernathy, King is arrested outside Montgomery's Recorder's Court and charged with loitering. He is released a short time later on $100 bond.

September 5, 1958 — King was convicted of disobeying a police order and fined $14. He chooses to spend 14 days in jail, but is soon released when Police Commissioner Clyde Sellers pays his fine.

October 19, 1960 — He was arrested in Atlanta, Georgia during a sit-in while waiting to be served at a restaurant. He was sentenced to four months in jail, but after intervention by then presidential candidate John Kennedy and his brother Robert Kennedy, he was released.

May 4, 1961 — He was arrested in Albany, Georgia for obstructing the sidewalk and parading without a permit.

April 12, 1963 — He and Ralph Abernathy were arrested in Birmingham, Alabama for demonstrating without a permit.

During his time in jail, he he wrote what is now known as his historic "Letter from Birmingham Jail."

June 11, 1964 — He was arrested for protesting for the integration of public accommodations in St. Augustine, Florida.

February 2, 1965 — He was arrested in Selma, Alabama during a voting rights demonstration, but the demonstrations continued leading to demonstrators being beaten at the Pettus Bridge by state highway patrolmen and sheriff's deputies.

Legendary civil rights activist Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. spent a night in the jail on a trespassing charge after he and others were arrested after they attempted to eat in the Monson Restaurant on June 11, 1964. The arrest was reported in The St. Augustine Record and is included in the state legislative committee's investigative report, "Racial & Civil Disorders in St. Augustine," February 1965.

•••

Martin Luther King Jr. fue arrestado 29 veces por estos supuestos “crímenes”. Estas son sólo algunas ocasiones en las que fue arrestado y el por qué:

26 de enero de 1956: Fue arrestado en Montgomery, Alabama, como parte de una campaña "Get Tough (Ponerse Firme)" para intimidar a los boicoteadores de autobuses. Cuatro días después, el 30 de enero, su casa fue bombardeada.

22 de marzo de 1956: King, Rosa Parks y más de 100 personas más fueron arrestados acusados ​​de organizar el boicot a los autobuses de Montgomery. Esto en protesta por el trato que recibió Parks.

3 de septiembre de 1958: Mientras intentaba asistir a la lectura de cargos de un hombre acusado de agredir a Abernathy, King es arrestado frente al Tribunal de Registro de Montgomery y acusado de holgazanería. Poco tiempo después fue liberado, luego de pagar una fianza de 100 dólares.

5 de septiembre de 1958: King fue declarado culpable de desobedecer una orden policial y multado con 14 dólares. Eligió pasar 14 días en la cárcel, pero pronto lo liberan luego de que el comisionado de policía Clyde Sellers pagara la multa.

19 de octubre de 1960: Fue arrestado en Atlanta, Georgia, durante una sentada mientras esperaba que lo atendieran en un restaurante. Fue sentenciado a cuatro meses de cárcel, pero tras la intervención del entonces candidato presidencial John Kennedy y su hermano Robert Kennedy, fue puesto en libertad.

4 de mayo de 1961: Fue arrestado en Albany, Georgia, por obstruir la acera y desfilar sin permiso.

12 de abril de 1963: Él y Ralph Abernathy fueron arrestados en Birmingham, Alabama, por realizar una protesta sin permiso.

Durante su estancia en la cárcel, escribió lo que ahora se conoce como su histórica "Carta desde la cárcel de Birmingham".

11 de junio de 1964: Fue arrestado por protestar por la integración de alojamientos públicos en St. Augustine, Florida.

2 de febrero de 1965: Fue arrestado en Selma, Alabama, durante una protesta por el derecho al voto, pero las protestas continuaron y los protestantes fueron golpeados en el puente Pettus por patrulleros de carreteras estatales y agentes del sheriff.

El legendario activista de derechos civiles, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., pasó una noche en la cárcel acusado de invasión de propiedad privada después de que él y otros fueran arrestados después de intentar comer en el restaurante Monson el 11 de junio de 1964. El arresto fue informado en el periódico The St. Augustine Record y está incluido en el informe de investigación del comité legislativo estatal, "Desórdenes Civiles y Raciales en St. Augustine", febrero de 1965.

[the-ill-omen-of-hope]

Castle (Caskett): Season 4 Episode 23 (Always) Review

Because I love you. But you already know that, don’t you? You’ve known for a year.

Four years, I've been right here! Four years just waiting for you to just open your eyes to see that I'm right here! And I'm more than a partner! Every morning I... I bring you a cup of coffee, just so I can see a smile on your face. Because I think you are the most... remarkable, maddening, challenging, frustrating person I've ever met. And I love you Kate, and if that means anything to you, if you care about me at all, just don't do this.

Keep it. I quit

What do you want, Beckett? You

Literal goosebumps.

I rewind a lot watching Castle. Sometimes for the sake of a good screenshots, sometimes because Castle was looking particularly dashing/handsome/cute and I want to soak it in a little. This episode required a whole re-watch because I just couldn’t pause or rewind on first watch. It was simply so mesmerising and heart-wrenching. Castle was near tears like 3 times. This and the Montgomery’s episode are my two ultimate favourite Caskett plot so far.

—————

I also love how simple the love confession was. I often give TV shows shit for its less than literary acclaimed dialogue, and I’m so happy to stand corrected every day.

Because sometimes the situation calls for it, and Castle knows when. If love gets boil down to its core, it’s always the unexplained - it’s a cup of coffee, it’s a smile, it’s a span of years that feel like a lifetime. It makes me remember this quote for some reason:

“I watch him in the kitchen and I think of how much it hurts to love somebody. How deep the hurt is, how almost unbearable. It’s not the love that hurts; it’s the possibility of anything happening to the object of your love” - Augustin Burroughs, Magical Thinking

It feels very Romeo and Juliet to love the fair skin and the silky hair as boundless as the sea and say it. I’m not much older than them, nor wiser, and I love Shakespeare, but to be loved as “the most remarkable, maddening, challenging, frustrating person”? 3/4 of the words being usually of negative connotation? It feels right. It feels like the way I want to be loved.

[flagwars]

Heraldry and Emblem Wars Bonus Round

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

"This is a paradox, of course, as Augustine, Luther, Edwards, Pascal and others have pointed out. When individuals rebel against God, they don’t achieve freedom. They fall into bondage, because rebellion is sin, and sin is a tyrant. On the other hand, when men and women submit to God, becoming his slaves, they become truly free. They achieve the ability fully to become the special, unique beings that God created them to be." – James Montgomery Boice

[linnielinnielinnie]

100 random songs i quite like

time lapse lifeline - maria taylor

rewind - goldspot

two weeks - grizzly bear

don't call me whitney bobby - islands

fountain - sara lov

you on my arm - leith ross

simple song - the shins

it's only time - the magnetic fields

insomniac - memo boy

forest whitaker - bad books

when the devil's loose - aa bondy

are you ok - wasuremono

hey beautiful - the solids

heaven - the walkmen

what's in the middle - the bird and the bee

if the hudson overflows - goldspot

soft shock - yeah yeah yeahs

anchor - mindy gledhill

there she goes - the la's

sunday - the cranberries

limang dipang tao - barbie's cradle

dancing in the moonlight - toploader

landslide - liam titcomb

ho hey - the lumineers

in the bosom - sweet after tears

from the ground up - sleeping at last

moral panic - y la bamba

break the rules - ruen brothers

it never stops - bad books

rebirth - vancouver sleep clinic

the gilded hand - radical face

the longest time - billy joel

call off the hunt - lowpines

lost here - fauntella crow

half light - fossil collective

tongues and teeth - the crane wives

monument - fossil collective

promised land - the milk carton kids

the fold - ivan and alyosha

freight train - sara jackson holman

broken brights - angus stone

when the morning comes - jon allen

just like heaven - the cure

harness your hopes - pavement

1983 - neon trees

close your eyes - split screens

trouble - cage the elephant

paul - big thief

overjoyed - matchbox twenty

melancholy astronautic man - allie moss

heaven knows (this angel has flown) - orange and lemons

from eden - hozier

figure me out - the cocanuts

i wake up - the glorious

july bones - richard walters

what am i - lola marsh

put it together - langhorne slim

into the mystic - van morrison

time - angelo de augustine

therese - maya hawke

pyotr - bad books

petite mort - bad books

no sides - bad books

no reward - bad books

friendly advice - bad books

ambivalent peaks - bad books

42 - bad books

lost creek - bad books

the after party - bad books

buddy holly - weezer

boys don't cry - the cure

tears over beers - modern baseball

evergreen - richy mitch & the coal miners

it's okay to think about ending - earlimart

out of the blue - john lennon

almost home - moby

baba o riley - pete townshend

street lights - the cocanuts

the afer you - miakoda

cool about it - boygenius

germany and rome - the ridleys

everybody wants to love you - japanese breakfast

handclap - fitz and the tantrums

two wuv - tally hall

my heart is buried in venice - ricky montgomery

snow - ricky montgomery

cabo - ricky montgomery

explode! - mother mother

sweet talk - saint motel

still feel - half alive

loretta - ginger roots

do it all the time - idkhbtfm

odoriko - vaundy

unti-unti - up dharma down

flowers - the red pears

after hours - the velvet underground

tim i wish you were born a girl - of montreal

this december - ricky montgomery

i'll be your mirror - the velvet underground

savage good boy - japanese breakfast

[represseddilfs]

𝚃𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜

Indie role play blog featuring mainly older male OCs. Smut based. Dark and triggering content will be present and not tagged. Exploration of older, typically repressed married men. OC and canon friendly. Semi-selective, low to medium activity. Dash only. Written by Murdock, 29+ NB.

Use the links below for more information. Mobile friendly list of muses below the cut.

Muses

Rules

Kinks

Wanted opposites

Wishlist

Starters

Arthur Dawson: Mechanic, 53, dominant (JR Bourne)

Richard Winston: Bar owner, 55, dominant (Jeffrey Dean Morgan)

Santiago Mendez: Detective, 48, switch (Pedro Pascal)

Forest Martin: Rancher, 46, dominant (Ian Bohen)

Alexei Volkov: Arms dealer, 43, dominant (Charlie Hunnam)

Marshall Teller: Personal trainer, 40, switch (Alan Ritchson)

Brandon Harris: Crooked cop, 45, switch (Tom Hardy)

Dominic Ricci: Surgeon, 56, dominant (Joe Manganiello)

Thomas Grant: Motorcycle street racer, 42, dominant (Ryan Gosling)

Nicolas Pederson: Band manager, 42, dominant (Chris Pine)

Carlos Alvarez: Professor, 49, switch (Danny Pino)

Cameron Davis: Baker, 42, switch (Chris Evans)

Dante Branson: Stock broker, 50, dominant (Anson Mount)

Jason Parker: Retired boxer, 54, dominant, (Hugh Jackman)

Elias Hoffman: Soldier, 43, switch (Luke MacFarlane)

Liam Abrams: Retired porn star, 55, dominant (Frank Grillo)

Rowan Montgomery: Gym owner, 45, dominant (Jon Bernthal)

Sebastian Richards: Author, 47, dominant (Liam O'Brien)

Ryan Cho: Theatre actor, 54, dominant (Daniel Dae Kim)

Dylan Cromwell: Tailor, 52, switch (Ewan McGregor)

Joshua Conelly: Stay at home dad, 40, switch (Henry Cavill)

Lance Priest: Construction site manager, 47, dominant (David Harbour)

Andrew Weeks: Lawyer, 45, dominant (Pablo Schreiber)

Oliver Velasco: Musician, 44, switch (Oscar Isaac)

Silas Perez: Outlaw biker, 45, dominant (Santiago Cabrera)

William Reichheld: Bounty hunter, 55, dominant (Tim Olyphant)

Joel Beckerman: Firefighter, 40, dominant (Sebastian Stan)

Bartholomew Walsh: Distiller, 47, switch (Cillian Murphy)

Nathaniel King: Security specialist, 54, doominant (Josh Brolin)

Dimitri Volkov: Arms dealer, 43, dominant (Joel Kinnaman)

Augustine Nelson: Casino owner, 58, switch (Keanu Reeves)

Caspian Fitzgerald: Hippotherapist, 42, dominant (Jake Gyllenhaal)

Max Berry: Contractor/house flipper, 53, dominant (Skeet Ulrich)

Zane Weisman: Wrestling coach, 33, dominant (Aaron Taylor-Johnson)

Deacon Abbott: Assassin, 52, dominant (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau)

Wyatt McNabb: Repossession specialist, 34, switch (Ryan Corr)

[fusionnukacola]

fo4 companions favorite songs? thank u <333

Thank you for the request! I'm doing just all songs, not just Fallout 4 type songs if that's alright! And I kind of branched out into the music they like, also.

Cait: Naturally, Cherry Bomb by The Runaways. She likes Lil Peep.

Curie: Soldier, Poet, King by The Oh Hellos. Yes, yes, I know it's a popular song because of the quiz but it just makes me think of her.

Codsworth: Just sticks to the classics, the typical Fallout music style. But his favorite is definitely I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire by The Ink Spots.

Paladin Danse: I don't care what you say I REFUSE to acknowledge the fact that he only likes country. Lady Macbeth In Chains by Sufjan Stevens and Angelo De Augustine. I just think he'd really like it.

Deacon: WAP by Megan Thee Stallion and Cardi B. Likes the soundcloud rappers, ironically.

Hancock: Likes soundcloud rappers, unironically. Would also listen to Megan Thee Stallion, but instead he branches out. His favorite is Tuned In Freestyle. Honestly though, really rocks with Labrinth.

MacCready: Surf Curse, 100%. His favorite is In My Head Till I'm Dead by Surf Curse, but also likes some other songs like Black Out Days by Phantogram.

Nick Valentine: His favorite song of all time is La vie en rose by only Louis Armstrong. Likes classical music more than anything. Refuses to listen to rap.

Piper: Definitely likes Current Joys and Lorde. Her favorite is A World Alone by Lorde. Sometimes listens to new music, but she prefers to stay with what she has.

Preston Garvey: Mr. Garvey my beloved, I know for a fact you listen to Mr Loverman by Ricky Montgomery and To Build A Home by Patrick Wilson late at night.

X6-88: Honestly, I think this guy would love phonk-style music. Like Lost by Crim3s. Sole made him listen to Cpr by cupcakKe once. Never looked at them the same after that.

EXTRA

Elder Maxson: Unashamedly listens to Viva la Vida by Coldplay on repeat.

[clairelutra]

cuprous chloride (a Sapphire Blaze rewrite) (1/?)

Fandom: Hidden Legacy series - Ilona Andrews Relationships: Catalina/Alessandro, Catalina & Runa, Catalina & Leon Rating: M Chapter Length: 7.8k (7.8k cumulative) Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Discussed and Attempted Suicide Additional Tags: For Want of a Nail, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Casefic, Action & Romance, Friendship, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Smart Catalina Baylor Notes: CATALINA!! DESERVED!! BETTER!! MUCH MUCH MUCH BETTER THAN BOOKS THAT READ LIKE SECOND DRAFTS!!! she's MY BLORBO now. i'm breaking out of my hiatus for this because i love what ilona andrews wanted her to be so much and it physically pains me to read books where she is Distinctly Not That. my blorbo now. m i n e. 😭 Read on SquidgeWorld

My dreams had been stressed out even before I was woken up. A perfect aquamarine ocean stretched out in front of me, looking like Florida but somehow I knew I was in Italy. I bobbed along in the water, unaided as it pulled me back to sea. There were fish chasing my hair, brightly colored and curious.

I knew that I had to stay very, very still, or their little mouths would open to reveal great big teeth. I'd already been bitten once, my arm stung with the injury just above the bicep. Just stay still and they won't bite, just stay still and they won't bite, just stay still, still, still...

BOOM!

I had a brief, powerful vision of the plane with my sister and brother-in-law it pitching into the water, and woke up with a gasp.

Heart pounding frantically, I scrabbled at the sheets, pain lancing through my chest as I took in the room around me—the loft room that had once been my sister, Nevada's, but was mine now because she wasn't here anymore.

In quick succession, I remembered that she wasn't here because she moved in with her husband and therefore wasn't dead, and then that she and said husband were out of the country for a funeral, and then that I, Catalina Baylor, was Head of House Baylor because she had stormed out less than a week ago.

A second stab hit my heart as I remembered her face, a mask of chilly stoic fury as she signed the rights and responsibilities of House Head over to me, witnessed by the Keeper of Records.

That feel when you disappointed your big sister so hard she just packed her bags and left, leaving you in charge of five people who'd never once in their lives thought of you as an authority figure? Hurt like hell.

I scrubbed my hand over my face, then realized there was another person in the room with me.

Or, rather, the head of another person in the room with me.

Arabella, my younger sister, was watching me from the doorway.

Habitually, I opened my mouth to tell her to get out, then shut it as I registered her expression. She was flushed, her blonde hair sticking up at odd angles—but her honey eyes were wide and alert, irritated and worried.

"You up?" she rasped.

No. But Heads of Houses didn't get to tell their sisters to fuck off, so I blearily nodded instead. My chest still hurt.

"Augustine's here."

That woke me up in a hurry. "Augustine Montgomery?" I croaked. It was still dark outside, and I had gone to bed at one A.M. after several hours of reviewing our business records. The alarm clock on my nightstand told me it had been only an hour or so since I had crashed.

Augustine Montgomery had come up in a lot of those papers, because technically, he owned our business. He was the Head of House Montgomery, and when we sold our business to pay for our late father's experimental cancer treatments, it was Montgomery International Investigations that bought us. We had it mortgaged on a 30 year plan, and Nevada, who supported our family after Dad died, had been whittling it down as much as she could... but there was still a solid one mil on the warehouse alone.

And she had left it to me to finish.

It was my job to keep the agency in good shape so we could do that, and my job to deal with the National Assembly politics, and my job to deal with any House matters that came to our table—which would be a lot more now, since our House was officially three years old and the protections afforded us as we found our feet were officially over.

Nevada had some timing.

And, unfortunately, she had left me to deal with Augustine too.

Sometimes, I really hated my big sister.

"Yeah. He's downstairs. He said he wants to talk to you. It's an emergency."

My first thought was, what could he want with me? and my second, sinking thought was, oh, he's here for the the Head of House Baylor.

Which was me, Catalina Baylor, the new Head of House Baylor.

My chest throbbed with a dulled pain, and I gave my younger sister a distracted nod. "Gimme five."

She bounced, no doubt jiggling that enviable figure; the genes for nice tits and a cushy ass had skipped right past me. "Hurry. Mom's with him in the conference room right now and she looks ready to shoot."

Mom especially wasn't particularly fond of our leash-holder, which meant I needed to get there fast.

Arabella snapped the door shut behind her and I flailed out of bed, the very image of grace and authority.

There was no time for anything I'd have liked to do when being faced with our scary, scary not-boss, but I staggered up to my childhood vanity and flicked on the rows of bare bulbs and viewed myself.

Oversized I <3 sleep tshirt over tawny stick-thin limbs? Check. Sleep-puffed face in desperate need of cold water? Check. A horribly tangled mane of dark brown hair? Check. The pock of a purple bruise on my left bicep from my fight with the cast iron skillet last night? I poked it and winced. Check.

I snatched up my hair brush and attacked my hair, mouthing the seconds to myself. It took 53 seconds to get it to a workable state and another 17 to get it into a messy but respectable bun. My shirt was shucked, my bra snatched off the bedpost, yesterday's jeans (miraculously unstained) pulled up over my ass, and a flowy white shirt that I saved for special occasions was snapped off a hanger in my closet. I stumbled out of my room and towards the bathroom with 116, 117, 118 on my lips.

Pressing cold water to my face and taming the strands of my hair that refused to put art into their messiness took me the better part of the next hundred seconds, but it tamed the flush and made me look (and feel) more awake.

No time for real makeup, but a brush of good concealer for the slight spots present on my face made me look a little less fresh out of bed, and a smidge of extremely careful eyeliner made my blue eyes seem a whole lot less groggy.

I was counting through the 250s as I took myself in.

Grandmother Victoria would have told me that if awoken between 11 P.M. and 5 A.M., I should be tall, regal, wearing a flattering silken bathrobe, with my eyeliner on fleek and a bit of rouge on my lips to perfectly project lady of the household, annoyed by your continued existence, don't test her.

Instead, I got professional 20-something after a long workday spent imbibing too much coffee, now trapped like a deer in headlights.

It was better than lazy teenager staggering out of bed on a Saturday afternoon, so I'd have to take it.

Though I should probably do something about the deer look.

I stopped counting for a few precious seconds, taking a deep breath to find my center (I was terrible at it, but sometimes it helped), then pictured what a Head of House should be—what Victoria Tremaine's granddaughter would be—and opened my eyes to the world, one hundred percent done with everyone's shit.

Good enough, I guessed.

(Nothing felt 'good enough' after Nevada left, but I couldn't give up before I began. My family was depending on me.)

My hands still trembled as I left the bathroom, counting 281, 282, 283 under my breath. I steadied them as I walked through the rehabilitated warehouse we called home.

The warehouse was where we had moved after selling our house to pay for Dad's treatment. The original plan had been to turn the whole thing into a comfortable house on the inside, but that was expensive and we had been broke (in more ways than one), so, predictably, walls and structures had been built as they were needed, and strolling through the main area that everything had been plugged into usually felt like strolling through a picked-over section of Ikea, if Ikea sold their showcases in blocks.

I found my family in the warm glow of the media room just as 300 left me.

Everyone was there except Mom. My brawny nerd cousin, Bern; his dark and wiry younger half-brother, Leon; my birdboned grease machine grandmother Frida with her halo of platinum curls; and, of course, small, full-figured and blonde Arabella.

They all looked even groggier than I had been, and they all were watching what looked like security footage.

The back end of a car was rolling through our gates, and one guard was saying to the other, "...a Bentley?"

The other shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe it was a birthday present."

"Dumbass," Arabella growled. I noticed then that the rest of my family looked distinctly pinched.

"Who? What?" I asked—and was glad I did, because it would have been terrible if Augustine heard me croak like that. I cleared my throat. "What happened?"

"Our security sucks," Leon announced. He said it lightly, but his hackles were up, his dark eyes flinty.

Grandma Frida's lips thinned, a rare look of condemnation on her laugh-lined face. "He didn't even knock. He pretended to be you and strolled right through the gates. And they—" She gestured harshly at the guards. "—just let him in."

A chill ran down my spine. If I had been more awake, a pit would have opened below my feet.

"What?"

Bern hit rewind and showed me someone who looked exactly like me passing the retina scan and the guards not so much as glancing at the logs that would show I was already home, and the person gliding through the gates was a fake.

Our three year grace period as a new house was officially over, painting a massive target on our backs that said fresh meat, and our staff didn't even double-check to make sure we weren't being infiltrated by an illusion Prime.

Nausea churned in my gut.

They had to be removed and replacements found ASAP. It wasn't reasonable to keep them on the payroll. The point of security was to keep the bad actors out, and for all we knew, these two would invite them in for tea and biscuits.

Mom wasn't going to like that.

"Try to look a little less like you swallowed a mouse," Grandma Frida advised, "and get in the conference room. Your mother is in there with that ass and a .50 Desert Eagle, and she'll put a bullet between his eyes any second now if there's no one to stop her."

She looked a bit mouse-inflicted herself, but she was right. I took a deep breath, fighting for my unimpressed and aloof cloak, and left the room.

I had been Head of House for three days, and twenty one for just as long. This would be my first interaction with another Prime as Head of a House, and Augustine was a shark in a multi-thousand dollar suit.

I couldn't fuck this up.

You are Nevada Rogan's sister, Penelope Baylor's daughter, and Victoria Tremaine's granddaughter. You can do this.

I walked across the hall to where the light could be seen shining through the frosted glass of the conference room window, bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, and strode into the room.

The two adults sat on opposite sides of the table; Augustine swiveled to the door to watch me ener, while my mother watched him like a coiled cobra, focused as a sniper on duty with her right hand below the table, doubtlessly fingering the Desert Eagle just out of sight.

They were a study in opposites when you looked at them like this. Augustine Montgomery always looked like a marble statue of some Greek god who thought it could Clark Kent with a pair of wire specs, and my mother was an ex-military mixed chick with a bad leg and nerves-slash-balls of steel.

Both of them could kill you faster than you could blink, and Mom looked like she was very, very close to that edge right now.

House business, House business, House business, I chanted to myself as I sidled over to Mom. As reassuring as it was to have a gun trained on the shark in a multi-thousand dollar suit, it would look horrible if my first meeting with a Prime as a Head of House ended with the other guy dead.

"Mr. Montgomery," I said. My voice didn't shake, nor did I sound half asleep. Score!

I looked at Mom and silently begged her to look at me. When she didn't, I said, "Mom, Grandma Frida was looking for you," and caught her eye as soon as she glanced at me. After a tense moment of me trying to ask her to let me handle this with my gaze alone, she nodded and withdrew, clicking the gun into her holster as she left.

Turning back to our... guest, I said, "Mr Montgomery, you know you're always welcome in our home, but it's the middle of the night."

He almost looked apologetic—or, at least, His Holiness was trying to look apologetic, which was as close as he came—and said, "It's an emergency."

I cocked my head.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a phone, and showed me the screen. On it, there was a teenage boy with short, bright red hair and a mischevious grin—the kind of grin that seemed to lurk on Leon's face at all times, just ready to be whipped out on a moment's notice. There was something about the shape of his face that tugged hard on my memory, but I couldn't place it.

"This is Ragnar. He's fifteen. He has a dog named Tank. He likes detective books and the Sherlock Holmes show." Passingly, I wondered if he meant BBC, Elementary, or some new one I hadn't heard of yet. "He plays a Ranger in Hero Tournament. Two days ago, his mother and sister died in a fire."

My gut wrenched, even as a logical corner of my brain pointed out that all this was coming from Augustine Montgomery and there was absolutely no reason he would be showing me this unless he wanted something from me. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because right now he's standing on the roof of Memorial Hermann Hospital. He's thinking of jumping."

"Why are you telling me this?" I repeated around the lump in my throat. I couldn't look away.

"He's a Prime. Nobody can get to him. If we don't hurry, his broken body will be the leading story in the morning news."

I knew it would be broken, because I had been to Memorial Hermann Hospital all too many times myself. It was the place they told us that there was no hope left for Dad. It was far too many stories tall for little boys and girls who didn't want to be here anymore.

...If we don't hurry...

"Augustine, you know that's not what we do," I said quickly, but I knew it was too late. I was already praying I made it in time. "I've never pulled someone off a building before. We investigate insurance fraud, not..."

"But you can do it." He looked right at me. "It is within your power." When he saw my hesitation, he added, "Your sister asked me for a favor once. I'm calling it in. From one Head of House to another. He has one sister left. Right now, she's at the hospital praying he doesn't fall to his death."

It was within my power. If I walked away here and went back to bed, forget looking my reflection in the eye, I'd never sleep again.

"Okay." I straightened and wished I had something to fiddle with. "Let me grab my coat."

Augustine stood, a flicker of something that seemed terribly like genuine gratitude passing through his eyes as he stood. "Thank you."

---------

I turned the conversation over in my head as Augustine's driver took the silver Bentley through the empty streets at breakneck speeds, taking the two of us to the hospital.

Since when had Augustine Montgomery, leader of MII, CEO made of smoke and mirrors and ice, grown a conscience? Did Ragnar mean something to him? Did his sisters and-or mother? Who—or what—was worth waking him up at 2 A.M. and making a drive to a secondary agency to personally fetch a siren?

He had come to us.

There were a thousand halcyons out there. A careful poison specialist could immobilize him. A telekinetic could stick a wall in front of him. Why me? What game was he playing?

He had broken into our home, showed us our most glaring security weak points, and pulled all the pathos levers to get me to come with him. Pathos, not strength, not intimidation, not money. Just pathos. He'd called in a whole favor for it. I'd drink my favorite liquid foundation in a single shot if he'd done it out of the goodness of his heart.

God, House politics were exhausting, and I was still barely out of bed.

(What would Nevada think of all this? I wondered with a prick of pain in my chest. I wished I could ask her.)

"How do you know the family?" I asked. Might as well start with the basics.

"Ragnar's sister contacted MII in regard to her mother's and sister's deaths. She doesn't think the fire was an accident."

Which answered exactly none of my questions, and left me with several more. It didn't escape my notice that he had neatly sidestepped giving a House name—if they even were a House now. Ragnar was a Prime, and that was all I knew. Well, that, Tank, his preferred character in some video game, and his taste in fiction.

"Was it?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the details."

So, that's a yes. And Baylor Investigative Agency was, as the name stated, an investigative agency. I'd drink the rest of my liquid foundations if he didn't plan to pawn this case off onto us.

That still didn't explain why we'd started with the suicidal teenager and not a formal meeting in his shark aquarium office.

"Did you take the case?" Do I get a say in the contract or not?

"She knows our rates."

"You turned her down." I didn't bother to keep the disgust out of my voice. As much as I appreciated being able to write my own contract, the thought of a heartbroken and desperate young woman getting the patented Augustine Montgomery treatment made my gorge rise.

"I'm not running a charity." He glanced at me in the rearview, clearly annoyed. "If I'm going to put my people in danger, I have to properly compensate them. You, of all people, should know how much is at stake when one looks into a Prime's death."

A Prime, singular. That meant it was a family of four, with at least two Primes. One dead Prime, one dead not-Prime, one living-but-suicidal Prime, one person of unknown magical strength. They were almost definitely a House. I still didn't know their last name. Or what happened to their father.

I did know that the mysterious sister was rich enough to get into Augustine's office, but not rich enough to hire him. Which meant she was likely rich enough to make our bills easier to pay and would still be on the lookout for investigators. Just $1,039,055.54 left on the mortgage.

I caught myself there and swallowed. Two people were dead and one more might be soon if we didn't get there in time, and I was thinking about the bills. God dammit.

I rubbed my forehead. "Did you at least tell his sister what to expect if I have to use my magic?"

"I told her the boy would have to be sedated."

Good enough.

The car pulled into the parking lot and a Hispanic man met us at a near sprint. He didn't bother with the front doors; he ripped mine open and subjected me to the sub-thirty temperatures. Thank god I had picked my windbreaker for this trip.

"Did he jump?" Augustine beat me in asking by a single breath.

"No, sir."

"Come on," he said, and jumped out of the car with me hot on his heels.

The gloriously warm air of the hallway beat back the icy chill of the outdoors. A group of people waited by the bank of elevators, some in scrubs and some in suits, all wearing the same panicked expression.

Apparently, they had been waiting for Augustine, because they saw us and scattered, leaving behind a single redhaired woman.

I knew that redhaired woman.

Runa Etterson.

I had met her at Nevada's wedding, when one of the many enemies of House Rogan (the House of her husband) had poisoned the cake. The only reason any of us were alive now, Augustine included, was because Runa had purged the toxins before the cake had arrived. She was a Prime Venenata, a poison mage.

Now, I could hardly recognize her. Her bombastic personality was muted; that vibrancy that could fill a room had been doused like a flame. Her pretty face was red, tearstained, and puffy. Her clear grey eyes were clouded over with fury and despair. She had grown since I'd last seen her, and shrunk again in the worst way.

Just looking at her was enough to make my chest ache so powerfully I couldn't breathe.

She looked at me like and a fire lit in her eyes. A blaze of hope.

I knew then that I would die before I let her down.

"Catalina?" she rasped.

"Catalina, there is no time," Augustine said, cutting off my reply. He strode into the open elevator, then turned and waited for me, and my feet obeyed.

The last thing I saw as the doors closed was Runa looking at me like I was the answer to all her prayers.

--------

The elevator hummed, carrying us upward, brightly lit and perfectly normal. In the mirrored wall, I could see the Heads of Houses Baylor and Montgomery standing side by side in the mirror.

At least I looked the part, even if I didn't feel like it. My bronzed complexion did me the favor of not looking too sallow, and my eyeliner made my eyes look more alert than they were. I took my thick, dark hair out of its bun and let it cascade over my shoulders—people liked that look.

Maybe it would buy me a few seconds.

Despite the older windbreaker and jeans, I could be considered a well-to-do young lady. Poorer than the painfully expensive suit beside me, but somewhat dignified. My eyeliner hadn't smudged yet.

If Nevada wasn't so pissed at me, she'd probably be proud of me.

I had a few answers now, at least. Augustine had likely rushed to get me because he had people inside the building, and a Prime Venenata completely losing it because she lost her last living family member would be more destructive than a sudden biobombing; as heartless as Heads could be, they often looked after their own with ferocious dedication. He had heard Runa out because he owed her a favor, and come to get me personally because he had a favor of his own to burn, free of charge.

Runa's little brother was going to commit suicide.

"You didn't say he was from House Etterson." If he was a Prime poison mage then that explained why that detail had been gently elided, but that didn't mean I couldn't be a little sour about it.

"Was it pertinent information?"

Yes. We owed Runa too, after all. Even more than he did. "That means he's a Prime Venenata."

"I told you he wouldn't let anybody get to him."

I could imagine. I was not looking forward to trying my luck.

"Has he killed anyone?" I asked. Distressed poison mages had been known to do that from time to time.

Augustine sighed. "He's a gentle child. He made them sick enough to turn them back, but he didn't inflict permanent damage."

I didn't show my wince. People I used my power on were not always so kind. Let's hope his nature held true.

The numbers on the digital display crawled up past the oncology floors. I had never been this high up in the building.

"When the doors open, turn left," Augustine said. "Go to the door marked 'exit', and up one flight of stairs. There will be a metal door that will give you access to the roof."

"And once I'm there?"

Augustine was too dignified to shrug, but he would if he hadn't been. "Have a talk with him, poison mage to siren."

"That's a terrible plan," I informed him sourly.

"Ragnar will hesitate to hurt you. If he does, I'll be there, and I'll help."

It wasn't me I was worried he'd hurt—or, at least, not primarily so. And Augustine being there could only make it worse. "If he sees you—"

"He won't."

Okay then.

The elevator doors opened, and I took the path at a half-run, heart in my mouth. The passage smelled overpoweringly of vomit, the stairs showing a hefty coating of chunky substance.

Okay, I could deal with a bit of unprompted food poisoning. Probably. It might make it hard to sing, though.

I took a deep breath, regretted it, and pushed through the door onto the roof.

Ragnar stood at the opposite end, a lone figure in a hoodie and jeans. The lights of Houston outlined him in their multicolored glory; he was young and small and far away.

Quietly, I took a few steps onto the gravel, then a few more. It was loud on the streets below, but not up here. Up here it was cold and dark and so very, very lonely.

The only thing worse would be to go back to the white walls and uncaring cacophony of the hospital below. To sit in that place that brought nothing but news of loss and pain.

"Hey," I said, just loud enough to carry, weaving the smallest amount of power into my voice as I could manage. The last thing I needed was for him to rocket over the edge because he felt me coming.

"You're not going to stop me either," said Ragnar. His voice was that high-low mess of puberty and terribly determined.

My heart pounded on my throat; I tasted copper. I wove a stronger thread into my voice as I said, "Why would I stop you?"

"Because people are stupid," he bit out. I took another few steps forward. "You don't understand."

"Runa—"

"Tell her I'm sorry."

I breathed through the lump in my throat and blinked my stinging eyes. I could hardly feel the wind. "That's not what you want to tell her."

Puzzle him. Make it so that if he jumps, he'll never know the answers.

Ragnar snapped around to glare at me. "What the fuck else would I say?"

"You want to tell her 'you're welcome'."

"...Excuse me?"

I shoved my hands in my pockets and gave him a wan smile. I pulled the power out of my voice again. I wanted him pissed off, not placid. "That's it, isn't it? Mom isn't here anymore. You're Runa's responsibility now. She's barely an adult herself. If you jump, she won't have to worry about you. All she'll have to worry about is herself. You know you'll be a mess, and she isn't any better off than you are; why would you want to drop that weight on her?"

It was what I thought about whenever I passed through the oncology office's waiting room. I remembered sitting there in one of those hard plastic chairs, nine years old, doing the math for how many mouths Nevada would have to feed all alone, and then subtracting myself and doing the math again. It would have been so much worse if it had only been the two of us. So, so, so much worse.

Ragnar stumbled away from the ledge, not wanting to fall by accident while he was processing that.

"No," he said, looking deeply disconcerted, "not that, I didn't mean— I didn't... wasn't..."

"My dad did chemo in this hospital," I continued. He focused on me again. "It wasn't working. My mom is disabled, and the rest of us were kids. My big sister was the only one who could take the hours needed to support us. She was seventeen."

The conversation had officially been deemed interesting enough; he took a few more steps back from the ledge and dropped into a sitting position like a discarded marionette. Thinking about Nevada hurt, but my pain wasn't for nothing.

I closed the distance, sitting a distant but companionable seven feet away, careful not to reveal how much I wanted to cry in relief. He wouldn't jump. "How much easier do you think her life would have been without me? Without us?"

"Lots." He was too raw and bitter to dress it up.

For a long time, that was what I had thought too.

"I don't think so," I said, and he shot me a flat, dubious, tearstained and empty look. I gave him another smile and a weak shrug. "You see, my sister is... responsible. She takes responsibility for things, and then she toughs it out. She would die for each of us, and she would live for us, too. I don't think she'd have kicked the bucket if she was the last one, but..."

Ragnar stayed warily silent, letting me search out the right words.

"She got married three years ago to a man she loved," I finally said. "Without us, she wouldn't have done that—definitely not this soon. With no one left to live for, she would still be fighting to get out of bed, not looking forward to her first baby." I held Ragnar's eye while blinking icy tears back from my own. "I don't know your sister that well, but I know family. If you jump, you'll save her the trouble of taking care of you. You'll take from her the will to live, survive, and thrive, too. You're the very last thing she has left."

Ragnar's mouth compressed, then stretched. He was absolutely furious with me, but too busy with his own heartbreak to do anything about it. In his heart of hearts, he knew I was right.

I had severed his way out.

I rested on the heels of my hands and dropped my head back to stare at the sky. Barely any starlight managed to prick through the pollution, but I admired what I could see. My fingers were well and thoroughly numb, and starting to burn with the chill, but I ignored that.

Healthy sobs from the lungs of a teenage boy wading through the worst night of his life came from a very mysterious source that I knew better than to seek out.

He wouldn't jump.

-----

By the time the noise had finally stopped for good, the rest of me was numb too.

I glanced down and found Ragnar a wreck, so burned out he looked like he was about to pass out.

I'd like to pass out myself, personally, but that seemed like a bad idea, especially when I couldn't feel my feet. That's what the little matchstick girl did, and look at how well that turned out for her.

With difficulty, I stood, and then I walked over to Ragnar and offered him a hand. He wiped his hands on his jeans and accepted—only to overbalance and drag me and my horrible footing down with him. Somehow, I managed to avoid kneeing him in the balls.

"Oops," he rasped into my windbreaker. Somewhere in all the pain, there were faint traces of humor. That was a good sign, probably. I hoped.

I patted his head, and together, we managed to get ourselves upright. Neither of us could stand alone, so we ended up supporting each other back to the door, and then down the stairs (they seemed to have been cleaned since I last saw them), and then into the elevator.

Augustine was waiting there, utterly impassive, to operate the elevator.

I didn't let go of Ragnar, and he didn't let go of me. With a stomach-turning bump, the elevator began its decent.

"Ms. Etterson will be thrilled to see you both in good health," Augustine said blandly.

I hummed an acknowledgement, gave Ragnar a squeeze, and waited out the rest of the trip in silence.

My eyeliner hadn't survived and now rimmed my eyes like a wannabe panda, but it felt more like a badge of honor than a failing.

When the doors opened, I caught exactly one flash of Runa's huge gray eyes and disastrous red mane, and then she was tackling her brother with a ferocity that made me ache inside.

Ragnar mumbled, "I'm sorry," and Runa started bawling, huge sobs of relief, too far gone for words.

I busied myself trying to rub some feeling back into my legs so that I could escape the elevator without falling flat on my face. Mostly I just got waves of pins and needles for my pathetic efforts.

Next to me, Augustine cleared his throat, and when I looked up, he offered a suited arm.

I grabbed onto it, and crushed back a smile when he stumbled under my sudden weight. Always nice to see an asshole taken off guard.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy in scrubs approach with a needle. I tugged at Augustine's arm pointedly. "He doesn't need it. He's fine. I didn't use my power." Or, at least, not enough to need fixing.

Augustine halted the man with a wave, then gave me the side eye from behind his wire specs. "I seem to remember bringing you here to do just that. What was that about never having pulled someone off of a roof before?"

"Well, it's not like I pulled him," I muttered, only aware of how lame that sounded when it hung in the open air. "He came back on his own."

"For you."

"Details," I replied, then remembered I was supposed to be the dignified Head of the noble House Baylor, and shut my mouth again fast.

Augustine led-slash-supported me further away, until we were at an intersection where the bustle of activity would cover anything we said.

"From one Head to another, you should have used your power," he said quietly. "It would have made all of this much neater."

"My power is temporary," I said, "and suicidal tendencies linger. If I had used it, he may well have jumped as soon as I removed it again. If anything, it would've made things much messier." He knew why he had to live now, and that would last much longer than the glow of infatuation.

"I can't decide if you are abominably stupid, or very clever," Augustine mused conversationally. He didn't look away from the throngs of medical personnel. "The state of your security leaves me inclined to the former."

I tilted my head in acknowledgement, even as my cheeks burned. There was no point in denying it.

"Now House Etterson owes you a favor they'll never forget," he continued, "and one ally is better than none. Even if their House consists of two Primes alone."

I nodded and suppressed a yawn. I didn't point out that while they may have the bare minimum number of members in their House to continue qualifying as a House, they were poison specialists, and active ones at that. The number of people who owed Runa their lives started at the hundred plus member guest list from my sister's wedding and only stretched on from there.

There was a good chance they were critically isolated now, and could use all the friends they could get. Especially if the fire that killed the other two wasn't an accident.

"The reprieve granted to your house has just expired," he said under the sound of foot traffic. "People will be coming for you and yours. You're powerful but inexperienced, and because of your sealed records, you are an unknown quantity. Unfortunately, being unknown isn't enough of a deterrent."

"Thank you for the heads up," I said, and smothered another yawn. God, it must be well past 3 A.M. now. I should've been in bed. And I still needed to hitch a ride back somehow. I didn't put it past Augustine to not just leave me here, and I didn't want to impose on the obviously grieving young duo. "Never would have guessed that the ancient and noble houses of Texas tended to be bold about offing the newcomers."

I wasn't an empath, but I could still feel Augustine's tick of annoyance. It wasn't his fault that the fatality rate of new Houses was something I was intimately familiar with.

"Have you put due consideration into the connections you'll forge?" he asked. "Your sister has been very careful to untangle your House from her husband's enemies, but little to none in building your own friendships."

This was not necessarily true, but we were too busy trying to pay the bills to wine and dine properly. All our potential allies remained at a vague 'maybe'. I dropped to massage my calves again; the pins and needles were getting really bad now. "Got suggestions for us?"

"More than that—I have an offer."

There it was.

I glanced up and over my shoulder, hands not quite pausing on my leg; his Greek statue face was as impassive as ever. I probably shouldn't let him know I knew he had made Nevada 'an offer' no less than three times before, and that she had turned him down every time. "Go on."

"I offer a strategic alliance between House Montgomery and House Baylor. Occasionally, cases which are uniquely suited to the talents of your family cross my desk. I'd like you to handle them. In return, I offer generous financial compensation, access to MII's resources within the scope of those particular investigations, and the benefits of an association with my house."

To his credit, it didn't sound overly rehearsed.

I massaged the tendon above my heel, wincing. Why couldn't teenage boys pick nice summer nights to attempt suicide? "Do those benefits include better security?"

"As needed," he said.

On the tail end of Nevada leaving me in charge of House Baylor out of nowhere, I almost wanted to agree out of spite. If she wouldn't help us, why shouldn't we run into the arms of someone who would? And we genuinely, desperately needed security.

But Nevada had had her reasons for repeatedly spitting on the offer, and they weren't all because she was a hopeless daddy's girl who poured her heart and soul into maintaining the agency Dad had left to us.

"We would make nice arm candy for MII, wouldn't we?" I mused. A secret elite taskforce, and we looked good too. With good security. I switched legs and swallowed a pained hiss. My voice came out strained when i said, "How long would this arrangement last?"

"Ten years under these terms. Future iterations will be negotiable."

Yeah, no. No way.

I nodded slowly, and continued working my leg. My whole lower half was a blaze of pain, and my arms weren't much better. It made it hard to think.

Still, I managed.

If Nevada were here, it would be the money that drew her in, and a need for independence that pushed her out. If Mom were here, it would be protection that drew her in, and her own integrity that pushed her out. If Grandmother Tremaine were here, it would be information and influence that drew her in, and obstinate pride that pushed her out.

I agreed with all of them and none of them.

"Then let me make you a counter offer," I said slowly, turning the pros and cons over in my mind. "Keep your dimes. We won't become a subsidiary. We will provide MII with one thousand billable hours of our services—with stipulations—to a maximum of twenty hours every week, free of charge. In exchange, you'll give us three months of your best security, and publicly take me, Head of House Baylor, under your wing as a protegee for one year, affording me social protection and access to your connections through you."

If Augustine had an opinion on it, he was reserving judgement. "And the stipulations?"

I stopped rubbing in order to count off my fingers. "One, if there's a conflict of interest with a preexisting client, the client comes first. This courtesy will likewise be extended to you; we won't be bought. Two, we will not break the law for you. That is final. Three, we will neither aid nor turn a blind eye to hate crimes, harm to children, human trafficking, rape, death of uninvolved civilians, or mass destruction."

My sisters, cousins, and I had spent a while hammering out what, exactly, 'being able to look your reflection in the eye at the end of the day' entailed when we were stuck in the house and bored, and I was very glad we had. We had all agreed that there were always special cases, but those six covered most of them.

Hopefully none of them would hate me too much for this.

Augustine gave me a narrow look.

I smiled innocently. "You did say you would compensate us generously." I knew he had quoted Nevada at something like a hundred thousand per month the first time, and it had only risen from there as she proved herself. "Isn't this a steal?"

"I suppose it is," he allowed. His mouth slanted in something that could be considered a smile, if only by the farsighted. "Your sister was quite concerned with separating your names from ours. You don't share her reasoning?"

I shrugged, tested the stretch of my leg, swallowed a pained whine, and kept rubbing. "She doesn't want us to get swallowed up, but we're never going to get established as a House if we don't make friends."

Some other emotion flickered across his impassive face—entertained? "Am I a friend to you, Ms. Baylor?"

I opened my mouth; 'oh hell no' and 'well, you haven't wanted us dead in a while' ran into each other and went boom. Eventually, I said, "No, but I know you, and if you screw me over, my family knows where you live."

And then I yawned for real. Dammit.

"I see," he said gravely. He pushed away from the wall and offered me a gentlemanly hand. "This seems like a good time to conclude our business. I will think on your offer and call you for the details of the contract should I find it acceptable."

I grabbed his hand, and then clung to it for dear life. The state of my legs was so much worse now that I had woken them up. So, so, so much worse.

Disappointingly, he was expecting it this time, and wound my arms around his left bicep, letting me koala on him for the short walk to the Ettersons.

"Let me give you a small piece of advice, prospective mentor to prospective protegee," Augustine breathed to me as we walked. His breath was surprisingly warm and human over my ear; somehow, I had expected him to breathe like an air conditioner. "Do not become involved in the Etterson case. I know exactly what you're up against. It is no place for a young House. Sometimes when you search the night, you'll find monsters in the dark. You are not ready."

I felt myself smile wryly even through the pain. "Message received."

He knew we were all bleeding hearts; that 'warning' was as good as thumping a stuffed file and a quote on my office desk.

Runa stood by Ragnar, the boy pale and exhausted but alive as he slumped on the sterile white bench, the young woman hovering with ghosts in her eyes.

She saw me and broke into a mask of gratitude and relief so intense it looked like it hurt. She lunged for me, barely giving me the time to let go of Augustine before she swept me into a bone-crushing hug.

"Thank you," she croaked into my hair, clutching me tight enough to make both of our skeletons creak. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you..."

I held her close and stroked her hair. It was a knotted wreck. I wondered if she had a hairbrush wherever she was staying, or if personal hygiene had fallen to the wayside in the wake of her tragedy. "I'm just glad you're both okay."

She clung to me with trembling ferocity.

"Where are you staying?" I asked her softly. "I heard your home had been burned, but not much more... Home? Friends? Hotel?"

A twitch ran through her, like I had struck a raw nerve, and she jerkily shook her head. "Hotel."

I squeezed her gently. "That's no place to try to find your bearings from." Pulling free, I grabbed her shoulders, gave her a little shake, and caught her hopeless gray eyes. "Come on. We've got a guest bedroom and hot chocolate. It's good hot chocolate, I promise."

Her face crumpled; I drew her into a much gentler hug as she broke down sobbing.

"Shh, shh, shh... It'll be okay, I promise... Shh..."

Augustine looked at me over her head, flatly unamused. I rolled my eyes—like this wasn't exactly what he had wanted us to do anyway—and rubbed my cheek on the top of Runa's head.

"C'mon... Let's sit down."

Once we were sitting on the bench with Ragnar, Runa's face still in my shoulder and the boy looking at me like he hadn't decided if I was friend or foe, I pulled out my phone to text Leon, careful to keep the screen tilted away from the two Ettersons.

How're we feeling about two grieving unstable poison mages?

depends on the poison mage

Ettersons. They need a place to stay. I offered.

dear god... you make her head for one week........ shes gone MAD WITH POWER........

Mad with the power of squaring away life debts, yeah. You gonna get fam up to receive us or not?

Leon sent me a picture of a good-natured white man with a scruffy beard pointing a finger and saying, 'You got me there!', and then yeah i gotchu, and then need 2nd drvr?

"Did you drive here?" I asked Runa quietly. When she nodded, I rubbed her upper arm and typed, Yeah. Get Bern.

on it and then, after about twenty seconds, he added, eta is 15 mins

I let out a long, slow breath, locked my phone, and leaned into Runa, grateful for lots of things, but above all, grateful for the slight abatement of the pain in my legs.

[libraryofjoy]

Books read in September of 2023

Nights of Plague by Orhan Pamuk. Fiction: historical. A fictional island in the Ottoman Empire inhabited by a Muslim and Greek Orthodox population is left to fend for itself after a plague becomes uncontrollable. This book was long and intricate. Despite the historical setting, the dysfunctional government and religious conflict exacerbating the damage of a plague felt a little too close ot home.

The Confessions of St Augustine. Nonfiction: autobiographical, religious. Augustine's life story and theology. A lot more about time than I would've expected. Sometimes I think he's overdramatic or unhelpful, but then sometimes I'm amazed at his devotion and love for God. Augustine is early enough and influential enough that he's probably going to be vaguely relevant to my studies at some point, so it made sense to read the Confessions.

When We Were Sisters by Fatimah Asghar. Fiction: contemporary, maybe a bit of poetry? This book tells the story of three orphaned sisters who have to make a life for themselves, under the neglect and abuse of their guardian uncle, negotiating issues like the immigration status of their family members, gender and sexuality, and living as Muslims when their access to Muslim community is restricted.

The Memory Police by Yoko Ogawa. Fiction: speculative, dystopian. On an island where things keep disappearing, people who don't forget the disappearing items face persecution from their government. As life gets bleaker and more mundane, the characters of this book resist in small, subtle bursts of color and joy.

Where Reason Ends by Yiyun Li. Fiction: autobiographical, contemporary. A mother has a conversation with her dead teenage son after he commits suicide.

The Age of Wood by Roland Ennos. Nonfiction: history, nature. This book traces how wood has been used throughout history. This book paired well with Teaching the Trees by Joan Maloof, which I read earlier this year.

The Blue Castle by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Fiction: romance. When a 29-year-old woman is told that she only has a year to live, she decides to defy her relatives' expectations and live on her own terms. I found Valancy so deeply relatable that it was a delight to see her crafting the life she wanted. The plot twists in this book are ah... big and melodramatic. I don't think this is LMM's tightest work from a craft perspective, but it was a really enjoyable book and I'd recommend it to my fellow lonely spinsters (with the caveat that it is a romance :/ )

Kibogo by Scholastique Mukasonga. Fiction: historical, contemporary, postcolonial. This book follows a Rwandan village through several generations of religious developments in response to Christian missionaries. This book is critical of missionary colonization in ways that are similar to Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe or The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. I thought the various ways in which characters made sense of Christianity in light of their largely banned yet profoundly present preexisting belief stories was really remarkable.

Oranges by John McPhee. Nonfiction: agriculture, travel. There was a lot of fascinating information about how oranges get to consumers, albeit probably a few decades out of date.

No god but God by Reza Aslan. Nonfiction: history, religion. This book traces the origins and history of Islam. It was published in 2009 and does make some conscious effort to be an apologetic for Islam to a hostile post-911 society. This is one of the books I'm reading to make up for the Islam in America class I had to drop from this semester.

The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri. Fiction: contemporary. When their newborn son's prospective name is lost in the mail, a Desi couple living in New England resort to naming him after Russian author Nikolai Gogol, a decision that shapes the trajectory of their son's life.

When I Was a Child I Read Books by Marilynne Robinson. Nonfiction: religion, sociology, economics. This is a collection of essays. I really appreciate the way Marilynne Robinson writes about the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible. I highly recommend this book for Christians who would like to avoid inadvertent antisemitism.

Bee Season by Myla Goldberg. Fiction: contemporary, speculative? This book follows a loving but dysfunctional family of four, each of whom wrestles with religious identity and purpose. There are spelling bees, kaleidoscopes, Jewish mysticism, and the inescapable strain of parent-child relationships caused by individual exploration of faith.

I'm happy to give content warnings for any of these! I really tried to push myself this month, and I feel like it paid off. I managed to get a few books off the really dusty and abandoned depths of my TBR list.

Fiction: 8

Nonfiction: 5

Total books this month: 13

Total fiction this year: 30

Total nonfiction this year: 36

[selfless-desires]

UPDATED CHARACTER LIST ,

decided to make a seperate post for all the character I write / would be interested in writing from different fandoms since there are a LOT and updating carrds take some time ... this document will be updated whenever needed . always open to new prompts being sent my way , and my DMs are open for questions or further discussions when it comes to threads / replies / characters ! some of these characters may be used as crossovers, such as the Stranger Things / Texas Chainsaw Massacre appearing in the realms of Dead by Daylight (ask if interested) . COLOR / SYMBOL MEANINGS , red : primary muse (experienced) blue : secondary muse (have some experience) black : new (never wrote them before) ★ : eager to write / in the mood ☆ : kinda in the mood / willing

STRANGER THINGS , ➳ Steve Harrington - ★ ➳ Eddie Munson - ☆ ➳ Billy Hargrove - ★ ➳ Jonathan Byers ➳ Nancy Wheeler ➳ Tommy Hagan ➳ Jason Carver - ☆ ➳ Demogorgon ➳ Henry Creel (Vecna)

TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE , ➳ Leland (River) McKinney - ☆ ➳ Johnny Slaughter - ★ ➳ Connie Taylor - ☆ ➳ Sonny Williams ➳ Danny Gaines ➳ Sissy Slaughter ➳ Bubba Sawyer

DEAD BY DAYLIGHT , ➳ Frank Morrison (Legion) - ★ ➳ Danny Johnson (Ghostface) - ★ ➳ Ji-woon Hak (Trickster) ➳ Evan MacMillan (Trapper) - ☆ ➳ Philip Ojomo (Wraith) ➳ Feng Min ➳ Jake Park - ☆ ➳ Renato Lyra - ☆

OVERWATCH , ➳ Lúcio Correia dos Santos - ★ ➳ Ramattra - ★ ➳ Hana Song (D.Va) - ★ ➳ John Francis "Jack" Morrison (Soldier 76) ➳ Sloan Cameron (Venture) - ☆ ➳ Jean-Baptiste Augustin (Baptiste) - ★ ➳ Niran PruksaManee (Lifeweaver) - ☆ ➳ Mauga Malosi - ☆ ➳ Kiriko Kamori ➳ Hanzo Shimada ➳ Genji Shimada ➳ Cole Cassidy ➳ Bastion

RESIDENT EVIL , ➳ Leon Scott Kennedy - ☆ ➳ Carlos Oliveira ➳ HUNK

DETROIT BECOME HUMAN , ➳ Connor RK800 ➳ Hank Anderson ➳ Marcus RK200 ➳ Gavin Reed ➳ Elijah Kamski ➳ 'Nines' RK900

OTHER FANDOMS , ➳ Michael Munroe (Until Dawn) ➳ Matthew Taylor (Until Dawn) ➳ Montgomery Gator (FNAF) ➳ Foxy (FNAF) ➳ Crewmate (Lethal Company) - ☆ ➳ Bracken (Lethal Company)

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS , ➳ Richard Collins (TCM/ST/DBD) ➳ Nathaniel Brooke Collins (TCM/ST/DBD) ➳ Tyler Moore (ST/DBD) ➳ Finley (Flynn) Cooper (TCM/ST/DBD)

. . .

[limbobilbo]

Hello Gay People in my Phone I am going to tell you about some characters I have played in theatre productions.

Big Hat Whiskey: the dictatorial mayor of a small western town (named towncityville) with literally seven inhabitants (including a cult leader named agatha and her only follower, her adult male adopted son, sun.) He wore a tiny hat that no one was allowed to talk about,

Ba’althacraz of the 5th circle: a very shitty demon from the 5th circle of hell who came to earth to take over and possessed a toaster. He was eventually taken to an island of living appliances run by a creature called the leg dolphin (a dolphin with legs)

Montgomery Carlisle Augustine Celestine Carlisle Montgomery XIV XII: a super rich real estate investor originating from the country of old south wales where he was the apprentice to a man named Maurice. Montgomery XIV (as he goes by) is basically a not-vampire. He’s also over 100 years old because he’s so rich he has lost empathy, which is what makes you age in the universe of that play. He also likes comedically large steaks from comically small cows.

[keendaanmaa]

my old/beautiful book collection

the pretty books shelves

my Tolkien collection

vintage fiction

antique and vintage Bible study books

I have very few truly old books, but more than I remembered are from the early 20th century. List of titles and more details under the cut

pretty books shelves

Reader’s Digest editions: Little Women (Alcott), Tales from the Arabian Nights, Emma & Pride and Prejudice (Austen), Jane Eyre (Brontë), The Last of the Mohicans (Cooper), The Adventures of Robin Hood (Creswick), Two Years Before the Mast (Dana), David Copperfield, Oliver Twist & A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens), The Robe (Douglas), The Adventures, The Further Adventures, The Memoirs, & The Return of Sherlock Holmes (Doyle), A Passage to India (Forster), The House of the Seven Gables, The Scarlet Letter & Twice-Told Tales (Hawthorne), Kim (Kipling), The Sea Wolf (London), The Song of Hiawatha and other poems (Longfellow), Anne of Green Gables (Montgomery), A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Smith), Kidnapped (Stevenson), Uncle Tom’s Cabin (Stowe), A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court & Innocents Abroad (Twain), A Journey to the Centre of the Earth & Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (Verne)

The Confessions of Saint Augustine—E. B. Pusey translation, Franklin Library edition. This was a Christmas gift from my parents and @bluesidedown​ has the same one

The Pilgrim’s Progress (Bunyan)—CBN University Press Christian Classics. I don’t actually remember where I got this one but most likely from my dad.

Through the Looking Glass (Carroll)—Heritage Press edition with slipcover and illustrations by John Tenniel. Again, probably from my dad but not 100% sure (he gives me a LOT of books).

The Complete Canterbury Tales (Chaucer)—F. H. Hill translation, Arcturus books with slipcover and illustrations by Edward Burne-Jones and William Morris. Another Christmas gift where Blue and I got matching copies from our parents.

Heretics & Orthodoxy (Chesterton)—Hendrickson Christian Classics. Again, a Christmas gift from my parents.

Nemesis & The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side (Christie)—Heron Books. Another one I can’t remember the origin of.

The Prairie (Cooper)—Easton Press collector’s edition. From my parents, Christmas this year. This is pretty much the handsomest book I own.

Great Expectations (Dickens)—Chatham River Press. Based on the inscription on the flyleaf this belonged to my dad first. Probably I got it as a gift or in his thinning of his collection.

The Scarlet Pimpernel (Orczy)—International Collector’s Library. Another of unknown origin.

Quo Vadis (Sienkiewicz)—International Collector’s Library. It amuses me that in organizing these books alphabetical by author’s last name, these two matching editions still ended up side by side.

Treasure Island (Stevenson)—Children’s Classics, illustrated by Milo Winter.

Treasure Island–Prince Otto–Strange Case of Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde–Kidnapped–The Black Arrow–The Master of Ballantrae–David Balfour (Stevenson)—Canterbury Classics omnibus. I actually have most of these in other editions, but I keep this for the ones I don’t have elsewhere.....and keep the other editions too because I am a book-dragon.

The Prince and the Pauper (Twain)—Portland House Illustrated Classics, illustrated by Franklin Booth. Not sure where I got this one.

The Greek Myths (Graves)—Folio Society, two volumes in slipcover. These were a Christmas gift from my parents a couple years ago, because I collect fairy tales and folk tales and suchlike.

Tolkien

These are mostly newer Houghton Mifflin or HarperCollins editions. The Silmarillion has Ted Naismith illustrations; Children of Húrin has Alan Lee illustrations, as do the covers of LotR; The Hobbit and LotR have Tolkien’s original illustrations and maps, and Roverandom has cover art by him as well; and Bilbo’s Last Song, Farmer Giles of Ham, The Adventures of Tom Bombadill, and Smith of Wooton Major are all illustrated by Pauline Baynes.

vintage fiction (top down, left column first)

Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur—Norwood Press, 1911

Stalky & Co. (Kipling)—Macmillan and Co, 1927. Completely leatherbound with gilt spine and seal on the front cover

The Master of Ballantrae & The Black Arrow (Stevenson)—Everyman’s Library, 1938

Popular Fairy Tales (Andersen)—Blackie and Son. No date, but google tells me it’s from sometime in the 30s/40s/50s based on the binding style

Jo’s Boys (Alcott)—The Children’s Press, 1965

Around the World in Eighty Days (Verne)—Dean and Son. No date, but I’m guessing mid-twentieth century

Three Cheers Secret Seven (Blyton)—Brockhampton Press, 1960

The Burgess Animal Book for Children—Little, Brown, and Company. Copyright 1948, though likely printed later

At the Back of the North Wind (MacDonald), The Little Lame Prince (Mulock), King Arthur and his Knights (Frith), All the Mowgli Stories (Kipling)—Junior Deluxe Edtions. Illustrations are copyright 1956, no print dates

The Door in the Wall (de Angeli)—Doubleday. Copyright 1949, no print date

Freckles (Porter)—Grosset & Dunlap, 1916. Very beat up and mostly held together by packing tape on the spine

The Call of the Wild (London)—Grosset & Dunlap, 1910. It has a very faded picture glued to the front cover as part of the original binding, as well as illustrations throughout. Quite worn, with many pages about to or falling out

Kilmeny of the Orchard (Montgomery)—Ryerson, 1947. This was actually printed before the Anne series was entirely published, as the list of Montgomery’s works in the front only includes the first three books in the series

Captains Courageous (Kipling)—Thrushwood Books. Date uncertain, but google tells me probably 1950s

Heidi (Spyri)—Collins, 1958. While this did originally belong to my dad, it’s the copy I read as a kid and has been on my shelf for a long time

The Mark of the Horse Lord (Sutcliff)—Oxford University Press, 1965. I learned in making this list that my copy is probably a first edition, albeit rather beat up from being a school library copy.

Warrior Scarlet (Sutcliff)—Oxford University Press, 1966. I also have a 1973 copy that still has its dust jacket.

Robinson Crusoe (Defoe)—Dent/Dutton, 1966. A beloved favourite copy that I read many times

Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (Verne)—Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1953. Another beloved copy that I read many times, I flatly refuse to part with this one despite having a less faded and beat-up edition because 1) I am dreadfully sentimental and 2) the illustrations in this edition are much better than in the RD edition.

King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table (Lanier)—Illustrated Junior LIbrary. Illustrations copyright 1950, no print date

antique and vintage Bible study books

Young’s Analytical Concordance—per a pencil note on the title page this was published circa. 1937, and it definitely looks the part

The Bible as History in Pictures (Keller)—Published in 1964, this is definitely outdated in terms of archaeological evidence of Bible events but it still fascinates me to see

The New English Bible: New Testament—as a Library Edition, I don’t think this strictly counts as a first edition, but it is definitely an early edition as it was printed in 1961 when the NT translation was completed (OT translation of this version wasn’t completed until 1970)

Exposition of Genesis (Leupold)—Wartburg Press, 1942

The Epistle to the Hebrews (Brown)—Banner of Truth, 1961

Luke the Physician (Ramsay)—Baker Book House, 1956

The Gospel in Ezekiel (Guthrie)—Adam and Charles Black, 1857 (or MDCCCLVII if you prefer). This is the oldest book I own, and while is is now quite beat up - the spine is 80% tape and the front cover has come off completely and been replaced with cardboard - I can tell it was a very handsome book when it was new. The spine is bound in dark blue and brown leather, with gilt lettering and decoration, and the edges of the pages have beautiful multicolour marbling on them.