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minetteenfers · 4 years ago

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Gonna sneak peak you all the first chapter of this novel I’m working on because I’m having too much fun with it. lol

Until I Found You Excerpt:(I don’t think I need to preface this, but it’s an adult romance novel. You’ve been warned. LOL)

Tags: ABO, primalkink, werewolves, werewolf/human romance, contemporary romance, cursing, drinking

Chapter 1: Thaniel

I sat in my oxblood leather armchair in front of my stone fireplace, swirling my glass of whiskey in my hand. I always liked to look presentable. I was the Alpha, the top man in my pack and I couldn’t look to be anything but. Not that I really took my title seriously. I didn’t ask to be cursed by a damn vexing woman. She had played me, dragged me in and made me fall until she could put something in my drink. Most of us are here because of some sort of magic. Some corrupted witches that decided to not play fair. Some might call them selkies or sirens, we just call them vexing women. And mine played me hard.

I knew what my best attributes were and what my worst ones were, but it varied depending on the woman in my bed. One thing I knew for sure, I had a massive primal kink that could strangle a city. Most women found me to be terrifying, but a few were into it. It wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t control my urge to growl and pin a bitch to a bed. My urges to run my nose along their neck and take in their scent points behind their earlobes like a starved man that hadn’t partaken in his darkest vice. I craved it, needed it, but I wasn’t down for finding a mate. I enjoyed being alone. I enjoyed not having to worry about someone else. I just wanted to break my damn curse and not have to live this life. But everyone in this lifestyle knew one thing, there was no breaking it. Once a wolf? Always a wolf. You were a part of the pack until the day you were put in the damn ground like some forgotten sad soul. I was trapped. Trapped to become a wolf until the day I died and who knew how fucking long that would take.

I cleared my throat and focused on the crackling fire. I had been told that I had to find an Omega soon, but I hadn’t come across one that I liked. I had been to many parties, all fancy, but I had never found her. I had never found the right mate, not that I wanted to. Like I said, I lived for being alone and fucking whatever and whoever my heart desired. Fuck the other shit.

Daniel Thate, my Beta best friend and right-hand man, had been giving me shit for years about it. It wasn’t like it was my fault that women were scared of me. Most of them that is.

I sighed and a corner of my lips curled up to showcase a fang as I brought my glass of whiskey to my lips, taking a long sip. My fangs ached to sink into a woman’s neck, but I wasn’t in the mood to hunt.

I honestly don’t know what it is about me that is so intimidating. I mean I am a tall man and I have broad shoulders, and maybe I am a bit overly muscular, but I am a good man. A damn fine man if you ask me. But sometimes the outside outweighed the inside. If I’m honest, I’m lonely. I want to settle down and have a few kids. I’m thirty and by now most of my friends have settled down with a couple kids under their belt. And all I have to say for thirty is a lavish home and this damn glass of whiskey that is currently in my hand. God damnit.

“Hey, are you heading to this party with me over at Evie’s?” Daniel barged into the room and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

He was slightly less muscular and shorter than I. His medium toned brown hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and his shirt was a crimson red. His black leather pants had crisscrossing leather along the sides of them and his black ankle boots were loose.

“I’m serious, man. You need to come out sometime. Evie has some hot friends. I’m sure you’ll find your Omega there.” Daniel smiled at me with this shit-eating grin that only showcased how hard he was trying to get my ass out there in the playing field with him, even though the damn bastard was taken. I set my jaw and quietly growled as I brought my whiskey up to finish it. “C’mon man, don’t leave me hanging like last time…”

I sighed and threw my glass into the fire, causing it to flare up and shatter. I lacked all fucks at the moment. If he wanted me to go, fuck it, I’d go. I’d prove him wrong. No woman would really want to settle down with me. Fuck me? Sure. Settle down? Hell no. I was the type you took home to fuck, not bring home to your mother. I brought the black military styled boot that was resting on my thigh to the ground, as I grabbed onto the arms of the chair and pushed myself up to stand.

“Fuck it. You want me to go, I’ll go.” I walked out of the room and heard Daniel follow me out of the room.

“Thaniel. You’re gonna meet the right Omega. I’m telling you. Just give it time.” Daniel continued to follow me and while I loved the little shit, he annoyed me to death.

“I’m just going to humor you.” I sighed and got to my car, unlocking it with the key fob. “What club is it at?”

“Barbed Rose on Eve’s Street.” Daniel climbed into the passenger side and I slammed the car into gear. “You really think that no woman is gonna want that amazing body of yours? How many women you take home on the daily?”

I growled at him. It didn’t matter how many were in my damn bed. Not one single one wanted to fucking stay with my ass. It always ended in the girl leaving because I meant so little other than a quick railing.

“Who’s all going to be there?” I tried to focus on the road and not on my best friend, who was too excited for me to go to some party. I partially wondered if he had planned something for me there to surprise my ass. I hated surprises.

“Oh, ya know… the usual. Evie, Diane, Vix, Jason, Mike, Christian, more. The whole pack and their Chosens.” Daniel shrugged and I nearly slammed his face into the dash when I hit the break.

“Christian?” I hated him, absolutely despised the man. He was the biggest asshole of them all. One of those men that used women and felt they were his property.

“Chill. He won’t be trouble. He gave up on that years ago.” Daniel tried to calm me down, not that he could.

“To hell he won’t be. The man wreaks fucking trouble. Prove me wrong!” I shouted and pulled up to the valet parking at the club. “His ass so much as causes a scene among the human public so help me god.”

“Don’t worry, big shot. Jesus. Evie bought out the damn club. No humans will be within a twenty-mile radius tonight.” Daniel rolled his eyes at me and touched my forearm that wouldn’t stop flexing. The veins pressing against my skin about to bust.

“You better not be lying to me.” I growled through my clenched teeth, showing off my fangs and wolf-like golden eyes.

“Shit you not, man.” Daniel raised his hands in the air and my eyes shifted back to their normal warm brown color.

“I’m trusting you. One fuck up by Christian and I’m out.” I shoved my thumb over my shoulder with a jabbing motion.

That man was the worst Alpha to exist in our pack and I hated him with a fucking passion. The man could roast in fucking flames in the underworld with Hades for all I cared. He was sadistic and cruel. No bone in my body can appreciate a man that doesn’t appreciate a woman. Human or not.

I tossed my key to the valet and walked up to the club, adjusting my black silk button-down shirt’s rolled sleeves. I didn’t know why I had fucking decided to go here. Why did I want to be subjected to this? The bouncer at the front door was a friend of ours and Daniel fist bumped him before entering the joint. I gave the man a quick nod before getting engulfed by loud club music that bumped and vibrated off the walls.

“Sugar, you made it!” Evie ran up to her husband in six-inch heels that had my mind wandering how many surfaces they fucked on with them.

I shook my head and sighed, ignoring how my best friend gathered her up into his arms and made out with her like there was nothing better to do. Like I wasn’t in the damn room. I took my leave and made my way over to the bar, a place that I’d rather be. Drinking always made me feel better and made these parties more bearable.

I had barely gotten my beer in my hand before a hand clapped onto my back. I nearly spilled my drink as I jumped from the interaction with an unknown presence.

“Hey, how ya been, mate?” I recognized Jason’s voice with ease. He was from Australia and had been a resident for a few years now.

“Fine. Don’t you have something better to do than give me small talk?” I lifted my beer to my lips and took a swallow of it.

“Look, mate, I haven’t seen ya in ages. You don’t come out much.” He tapped the bar and ordered a dark lager.

“Not really my thing.” I shrugged and took another sip from my beer. It wasn’t as good as it could have been. I should have ordered something stronger.

“Yeah well, we missed ya.” Jason knocked his beer against mine before walking away.

It wasn’t until I heard a commotion behind me that I really cared about what was going on around me. I had barely even listened to Evie’s speech or to any of the other Omegas that had walked up to me. I was lost in my own thoughts about what I was even doing there. Why I was there. I could be sitting at home playing a game or watching TV. But one thing I could not ignore was the sounds of a woman struggling behind me. It was then that I knew I was going to get my ass in trouble.

“Let go of me! I’m not some plaything to be had!” A female voice echoed past the crowd of people talking and drinking, filling my ears with her voice alone.

It wasn’t a tone that I wanted to hear tonight. It wasn’t even something I wanted to ever hear. It was a woman in distress and the voice that accompanied it was one that I really, really, hoped wouldn’t be connected to it.

“C’mon, baby girl, let me show you what a real Alpha can do. You don’t know what it’s really like until you been in bed with an Alpha male.”

Changed his old ways my ass. Christian Alpine, the one and only asshole. A man that closely resembled a damn monster rather than a man. He was no Alpha male; he was an abomination. A mistake that deserved to be cursed. He had practically begged for the damn bitch to curse him. No normal, decent human would beg for a vexed woman to curse them.

“I don’t want you. I didn’t even want to come to this damn thing. You dragged me here against my will like you- like you owned me!” The woman struggled and tugged on the chain that was connected to a metal collar around her neck.

I wasn’t having this shit. I could just walk out right now like I had planned. I told my fucking best friend I’d walk if Christian pulled this bullshit again, but he had told me he had changed. Lies! The man was right there, tugging a woman around by a fucking collar and leash against her will. He had defiled a beautiful thing. A collar was meant to be something special. Something that meant commitment in some cases. A sentiment of love and respect. A symbol of something more. Not what he was using it for.

I sniffed the air and one word fell into my mind. Human.

Two of the songs on the playlist:

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#primalkink #abo #werewolf #werewolf/humanromance #romancenovel #novel #books #WIP #chapter 1 #Until I Found You

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scribeofmorpheus · 5 years ago

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Mark of the Wolf Part 12

Catch Up Here!

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Words: 5k

Warnings: For once... no violence in a MOTW chapter. But... maybe some poorly written rushed angst? I’m sorry... I just wanted to keep this story alive without having to wait a month in between updates... Oops!

A/N: Ayyy... Next chapter things are gonna heat up a bit.... and not just with our killer hunter tree people (Oh gawd, this sentence was stupid.) Enjoy meeting the family!

Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps ☺

The drive to the Homestead was filled with awkward silence, half snores and faint mumbles traded in for regular conversation. You had been resting against Derek's chest the whole drive, teetering between full-on sleep and temporal distortion from constantly zoning in and out -or at least, it felt like you were time travelling whenever you'd close your eyes for a second and then the next thing you knew, a whole hour had flown past.

Your dreams were foggy, hitting you vividly one moment then incomprehensible the next. Several symbols flooded your thoughts when your eyelids closed, so did Alyster’s hoarse voice, but you blocked most of that out. Through all the disorder within your brain, only one image presented itself clearly and repeatedly: the bow and shank of a golden key without a bit. You kept sketching it in your mind. Over and over and over again until you started tracing the outline of the shape on your thigh using your index finger. Derek noticed but didn’t say anything. You were grateful because you wouldn’t know what to say had he asked.

You knew instantly the moment you were close to home. The air smelled of pine and rain. The sound of chirping and crickets filled the night. You felt Derek's muscles uncoil as soon as that fresh forest air hit his nostrils. He took a long, deep whiff and that caused his chest to rise and the beating of his heart to accelerate. The sound was… calming.

A howl woke you from your half-slumber. You were greeted by a tense energy swarming inside the car. Markus chuckled before reassuring everyone it was simply your youngest brother, Jonah, alerting the rest of your family to your arrival.

The driveway was narrow and paved by pebble-sized stones in place of tar or cobble, the sound of tires rolling over stone was familiar yet odd. Out from behind a tall hedge was the old, two-story wood and brick style house and behind that was the cabin and shed. Your mother and father were standing on the porch, tight smiles on their faces diluted by the breezy way they waved their arms. Beside them stood your sister, Esme. She was wearing workout clothes, undoubtedly from spending her day training Jonah -who was nowhere to be seen.

"Home, sweet home," Markus said as he got out of the car and was promptly greeted by Esme's fist punching his side. "Oof! Why do both my sister's insist on punching me? Are hugs and handshakes no longer an acceptable form of etiquette amongst werewolves?"

Esme's brow was furrowed, she looked furious, "Werewolves, yes. Siblings, not so much.” She punched him again, “You had us worried."

You were certain she was ready to rip him a new one right there and then by scolding him with a wordy speech she had undoubtedly practised several times in the mirror, but it never came. In place of a tongue lashing, she completely blindsiding him with a strong hug. A relieved sigh leaving her full lips.

As soon as you stepped out of the car, you were nearly toppled to the ground by Jonah -who had no doubt picked up the same blindsiding habit from Esme- with one of his trademark sprint hugs.

"Y/N! I missed you! How's your new job? Saved any pups lately? Get bitten by any mean cats? What about your new house? Is it spacey? Do you have your own porch swing? I know how much you love porch swings. You probably noticed ours is gone, I kinda, sorta, maybe broke it. Anyway, what about your neighbours? Is it weird moving someplace where your nearest neighbours can hear it when you sneeze? You sneeze really loudly! Are they nosey or rude or--" Jonah rambled at a faster than lightning pace.

You were still winded from his surprise hug, you almost didn't know what was happening. You couldn’t even get a word in between each speed round of questioning he threw your way.

"I missed you too Speedy," You giggled as you patted his lithe back, he was taller and skinnier than when you last saw him. That worried you. "The real question is: 'What have they been feeding you?' You're practically all bone!" You gawked at your parents.

Your dad chuckled, pushing his glasses farther up his nose, "Don't look at us. He eats more than Esme and Markus combined."

"Hey squirt," Esme wrapped you in a hug after she released Markus from her stony embrace. After she peered over your shoulder with an arched brow at all the strangers currently disembarking from the cars. "I see you've brought guests. Good thing you called ahead of time to give us a heads up." She retorted.

"Oh tish, Esme. Don't be rude," your mom walked down the steps and welcomed the strangers at her doorstep. “Please, ignore her boorish manners. Any friends of Y/N are friends of ours. Welcome, welcome.”

Stiles fumbled a bit, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans before offering a handshake. Scott and Liam inched closer to offer their own introductions while Derek and Peter took in the sheer scope of the Homestead, the latter of whom let out a whistle before remarking, “We invested in the wrong kind of real estate...”

“We?” Derek huffed.

“We’re family. Family is always entitled to a ‘we’,” Peter pointed out.

“I think we are the exception to the rule,” Derek strode away from the insulted looking Peter and introduced himself to your parents. Theo had remained silent and guarded during the entire welcome wagon. The overly warm ambience threw him off. He stood out like a sore thumb. An uncomfortably sore thumb.

"How's the fiancé?" you asked Esme with a bright smile as you made your way inside the house. It was probably the first time you'd been able to smile freely ever since you moved to Beacon Hills.

It comforted you that the house still smelt the same: sandalwood and lavender. Sandalwood was your dad’s go-to scent, he used it to try and mask the smell of tobacco from your mother whenever he’d sneak a cigar. He was never successful in that endeavour. Lavender was the go-to scent of all the candles Maggie made from scratch. She was a dabbler in aromatherapy. Everyone else in the house would always complain about strong smells during Summer, that’s when she did most of her brewing and mixing and distilling like some new-age witch without the pointy hat or warty nose. Your wolf nose wasn’t as keen as everyone else’s, so it never bothered you much. Not unless she was working with jasmine, you couldn’t stand the smell of jasmine.

Esme rolled her eyes, "She's driving me up the wall. Who knew planning a wedding could be so… stressful."

You cocked your head to the side, "Wait, I thought Maggie wanted to elope?"

"She did, originally," Esme sighed in your mom’s direction before shooting you a small smile. "Mom talked her into having a traditional wedding instead."

"All I did was show her your grandmother's wedding dress and a few photo albums, Maggie is a grown woman, she is allowed to change her mind," Your mother winked in your direction.

Jonah darted around Derek and Scott, nose high in the air as he far-from-discretely investigated the new werewolves.

"Hey, Speedy, what is the general rule when you meet other werewolves?" Esme asked with a hint of exasperation in her tone.

Jonah huffed a sigh and pulled his lips into a pout, eyes cast down, "Never be too obvious…”

“And?” Esme pressed.

Jonah bit his lip, “And don't sniff the air… it's rude."

"And what were you doing?" Esme's hands were on her hips now.

Jonah kicked at the air, "Being rude."

You elbowed your sister when you saw your brother's pouting face pull lower, "Cut him some slack, E. He's allowed to fib a little. He’s still a kid. You all had a learning curve too." You held out your hands for Jonah and he dashed to your side and cradled under your frame as though you were his security blanket. He shot Esme a shit-eating grin. "Don't worry Speedy, I'll protect you from the big, bad wolf."

Esme snarled, her eyes turning blue for an instant and then she chuckled and ruffled Jonah's sandy curls, "You're lucky Y/N's here. But don't think for a second that you can use her to get out of morning training."

Jonah shone his golden eyes in a puppy dog manner and Esme simply smacked his face playfully, not having any of his younger sibling bullshit tactics. You laughed at the weird sound he made after Esme’s palm left his face.

You had been so caught up in just being back home and slipping back into comfortable habits that you had forgotten to introduce everyone. "Oh, how rude of me. I haven’t done proper introductions yet. Mom, Dad, Esme, Speedy, these are my… friends from Beacon Hills. That's Derek, his uncle Peter, Scott, Liam, I'm not sure who he is because we met two nights ago and we took separate cars and, of course, we all know Deaton. We had a seventh, but we left her in Mexico."

Theo smirked at your quirky way of saying you hadn't been introduced and gave a half-wave as he decided to handle his own introductions, "Theo."

Everyone gave a wave or a nod or an inaudible, 'Hello'.

"Everyone, these are my parents, Christian and Estella Markolf. The sour face over here is my sister Esme, you all met Markus and this little runt over here is Jonah.” You shook Jonah around like he was a ragdoll, prompting a giggle from him. “Our emissary, Maggie is… somewhere, though I'm not sure where."

"She headed into town early this morning, apparently a package arrived for her," Esme filled you in.

Jonah sniffed the air again, though not as subtly as he thought he was being. Then he turned and whispered to Esme, "Does he smell strange to you?" he set his eyes on Theo.

"Yeah, I'm not all werewolf, that's why. I'm surprised you picked up on it," Theo explained to him loudly.

Esme hid her embarrassment behind a scowl, “Speedy, we just went over this…”

Jonah ignored Esme’s protests and started up a conversation with Theo, "I have a condition that makes my wolf senses more excited than normal. It means I’m constantly running about or my nose picks up on strange smells from miles away. One time I smelt a campfire that was lit on the other side of the property line. Oh, and this one time I heard scratching in the house and it nearly drove me up the wall because it was so loud but no one else could hear it… turns out it was a rat in the basement."

"Ah, Chimera," Theo offered in explanation. "What's your…uh, condition?"

"ADHD," Jonah said simply.

Peter looked at your brother like he suddenly transformed into a peacock and you protectively glowered at him. Derek subtly stomped on Peter’s foot and he let out a hiss in pain. You bit back a laugh.

"Well," you father cleared his throat. "Now that we're all… acquainted, let’s see if we can make some room for all of you. And then after, we’ll let Markus explain what exactly he was doing in Mexico and why he and Esme never bothered to tell their parents they were planning on doing something stupid." he glanced between Esme and Markus with an inquisitive brow arched high. Both your siblings looked away like they’d been burned and shuffled awkwardly.

“Before you go on and tear Markus a new one, remember to mind your temper, your blood pressure is a whole thing now and I don’t need to tell you to keep a handle on it,” your mother patted your father’s chest lovingly before turning to her eldest son. “And you. March on upstairs and take a shower and a couple of aspirin. You reek!”

The house was full and bustling with energy. In every room there was a conversation to be had or a chore to be done. The only time the house had been this full was the time when Maggie had invited her extended family over from Ireland to visit over the holidays.

The house was already beginning to bud off into smaller groups. The youngest members gravitated towards each other. Jonah and Theo hit it off quite easily and it didn’t take long until Liam was pulled into their orbit. Before you knew it, they were outside roughhousing like teenagers -though, to be fair, Jonah was barely over eighteen.

Peter and Esme got to talking about her former pack down in Sao Paulo and Deaton, Scott and Stiles were in the study looking over several open books and notes Maggie had compiled about the hunters. Derek and Markus were outside somewhere talking in hushed whispers. Meanwhile, your dad was helping you and your mother set up your old room.

"It's good to have you home," your mother said as she unfolded the duvet cover. "Despite the circumstances."

You shrugged, focusing your energy on putting the duvet cover on the right way round.

"Though it is rather ironic," your dad chipped in as he brought several sleeping bags down from the attic. "You left to get away from all this werewolf business and somehow you come home with more werewolves. Next thing you know you’ll be marrying a werewolf."

"I get it, I'm a walking disaster with a magnet for the supernatural," you half-joked.

"That Derek boy and his uncle seem quite familiar to me," your mom's face scrunched up in thought. "He wouldn't be a Hale by any chance?"

"Y-yeah… how did you--?"

"I knew his mother, way back when, before I left my old pack." She interrupted you as she fluffed several pillows and took down several blankets from the wardrobe. "He looks so much like his mother..." her eyes glanced out the window and then back at you. “And quite handsome."

You tossed a pillow her way, "Very subtle."

She winked, "It's just an observation."

Your dad grumbled as he took the blankets out of her hands and headed out of the room, "I sure do hope that’s all that was."

“Ignore him, he’s only just gotten used to the fact that he isn’t alpha anymore, he’s a little more territorial than usual,” she snickered behind a quilt.

You heard the clinking of Maggie's chunky metal bangles and numerous pendants before you heard her footsteps when she barged in through the front door holding a cardboard box marked with a 'Royal Mail' stamp on it, "Hey, who are those two strange boyos with Jonah outside?"

She stopped with wide eyes when she saw you, arms spreading wide so she could squeeze your frame between her two plump arms. The frilly sleeves of her summer dress rolling up so you could see her tattoo sleeve in all its glory. You noticed she had gotten a new tattoo added to the collection.

"Aww, Y/N, I've missed you! I didn't think we'd be seeing you so soon after you left..." she studied your face and frowned when she noticed the dark circles under your eyes. "You haven't been sleeping at all. You got a bad dose of stress, don’t you? This won't do." Her strong Irish lilt was still very much present on her tongue.

"Hey, Maggie, I hear you aren't eloping anymore?" you asked and she blushed dotingly.

"What can I say, I decided I wanted the fairy tale wedding after all," She tucked her short hair behind her ear as a deep blush set on her freckled face. “I’m guessing those new additions amongst the garden gnomes belong to you?"

"Oh, I brought more," you nodded behind you where Derek, Peter, Scott and Stiles were all gathered.

"Who is that tall drink of water?" she whispered, but you knew they all heard.

You ignored her comment and glanced down at her parcel balanced between her arm and hip, "What's that?”

"Oh, it's a book my brother sent over," she used her shapely nails to rip open the box with little to no finesse. "Aha!" she cheered when she finally got it open. "It's the right volume too! I’ve gotta crack on with this sweets. We’ll hang properly later, yeah?"

You nodded and stood aside to let her through.

She trotted over to the study and immediately started flipping through pages after a short and sweet introduction to the rest of the pack. Maggie and Deaton got to catching up while Stiles, who was face timing with a pretty girl, pulled up a chair to join them with their studies.

Derek glanced your way while Peter rambled to Esme and Markus about something. He flashed a quick smile at you that caused the temperature in the room to grow much hotter. You hovered aimlessly for a second before seeking out something to do. You settled for sticking your head in the fridge to try and cool down.

Those words Alyster had spoken before kept fading in and out of your subconscious all day like a malfunctioning dimmer switch you could never turn off all the way.

That night, you, Esme and Maggie had curled up under your covers with a pint of lemon sorbet and an old boxset of Friends on DVD. Even though you enjoyed your time away from the madness and bloodshed and time being hunted to the ends of the earth, you never quite relaxed into the secure sanctuary of your bedroom walls.

The crappy TV in your room had the worst sound and you had spent most of the night pretending to watch the poor quality video while Esme and Maggie rotated between bridesmaid talk, the new pack of wolves you had brought home and how many muscles Derek was hiding under his shirt -that particular topic seemed to interest Maggie more that Esme, who simply made disinterested noises every time her better half brought up the topic.

"I mean… I bet his muscles have muscles..." Maggie ate her spoon full of ice-cream slowly, mind elsewhere. "He seems like the kind of guy who would work out shirtless."

"Come with us, and all this chaos can end. Come with us and I'll tell you the truth."

Esme sighed, "If you like him so much, marry him." her words weren't mean or unpleasant, simply the ramblings of a bored woman tired of hearing Maggie fawn over Derek's muscles.

"Come with us and you will learn of your importance to the Order... And the fate of the world."

"I mean… with your permission," Maggie said sarcastically before peppering what could only be cold kisses onto Esme’s cheek, smudging her rouge lipstick all over your older sisters face. Esme didn't mind it one bit.

"All we want is you."

"Easy there, future Mrs Quinn-Markolf," Esme wiped the lipstick smudges onto her t-shirt sleeve. "You keep smothering me like this and I may just have to rethink the, 'Till death do us part' clause in our vows."

Maggie snorted, "Yeah, you'll have to rethink it if you think I'm going to be known as Maggie Quinn-Markolf for the rest of my life."

"Your blood is special.”

Esme pulled away from Maggie, “What? Is Quinn-Markolf not euphonic enough for you? I thought our love was stronger than the clashing sounds of our hyphenated last names!” she retorted.

“Your lineage is special.”

Maggie scrunched her nose and gave a blunt, “Nah, you’d be sorely mistaken there, love.” Esme gasped and Maggie peppered her cheek with more kisses before she could escape from beneath the covers, “I am only codding ya!”

“You are special."

Despite the playful atmosphere, you were too distracted to enjoy the moment.

Esme noticed you had been absent from their conversations and she chalked it up to more than just exhaustion or anti-social behaviour, "You okay, squirt?" she nudged you with her shoulder.

You hummed, taken by surprise by the question. "Yeah, why?"

"Because you've been a little… distant tonight," Maggie finished her thought for her.

"I..." you wanted to say everything was fine. You wanted to put up a brave front and soldier on, but something in you cracked and you had to hold back a sob as you finally caved in, revealing everything that had happened to you since you saved Derek in the vet clinic. You even revealed the part about you almost agreeing to be the sacrificial lamb when Alyster was in your head.

Neither your sister nor her fiancé said anything, they just let you talk and talk until you passed out. It felt good to be open and truthful without the fear of sudden judgement.

The next day, when you woke up, you were squished between Esme and Maggie. Their soft snores waking you from the longest sleep you'd had in a long while. It felt good to get that off your chest. But for some reason, the atmosphere in the house changed. It grew a little more tense.

The days following your homecoming blended together. The pack had spent their free time doing research and trying to come up with a viable plan of action. Liam, Jonah and Theo began to form an odd bond over their werewolf otherness -Liam with his IED, Jonah with his ADHD and Theo with his being a Chimera. Together, they were one ingredient short of turning into some form of an incendiary device. Their energy was exhausting, as was their constant rough-housing. You couldn't fathom how Maggie managed to reign them in whenever they got too rowdy.

Things with Derek were different. He was more distant and whenever you did interact, he'd act pricklier than usual. He was giving you the cold shoulder. Most of the time, if he could avoid it, he wouldn't look you in the eye when he talked to you. His jaw would twitch every now and again as he spoke between clenched teeth. Peter delighted himself in watching your painful interaction. He’d always have a snide comment that would cause Derek to sigh or just walk away.

It was like Derek was being accosted by your very presence and that drove you up the wall. That was why you were storming into the woods at dawn in old combat boots and baggy pyjamas. This behaviour couldn’t continue. You wouldn’t allow it.

You found him in the middle of the meadow, he was shirtless and sweating. His biceps were straining as he dipped his body low in a single armed push-up. You were dazed for a moment, the first glimmers of daybreak causing his sweat slickened body to glisten. It seems Maggie was correct in assuming he worked out without a shirt. A flush burned at your cheeks and you bit your tongue in frustration. Damn him and his perfectly chiselled muscles.

"What are you doing out here so early?" he grumbled out without looking at you.

"I have a bone to pick with you. Didn't want to do it in front of the others," You placed your hands on your hips as though that would make you look more imposing. It didn't.

He stood and let out a strained exhale, bare chest heaving up and down as his midriff tensed and relaxed with every breath. He brushed a hand through his dark, sweaty hair and strode over, picking up his water bottle and spritzing himself with water in an effort to cool himself down.

You could have sworn you saw some of the moisture evaporate off his body. It made you gulp.

"Alright," he was panting, eyes dark. "What is it?" his jaw did that thing again and your face grew even redder. You hoped he'd chalk it up to anger.

"You've been acting… strange around me ever since we got here. Most days you don't even look at me. Usually, this wouldn’t bother me, but we’re supposed to be working together here and I can’t help but feel like maybe I did something wrong... Well did I?"

His eyes narrowed, "Did you do something wrong?" he repeated the question with a condescending tone and then laughed darkly. "Oh, I don't know. I'm usually elated whenever the person I'm trying to protect from sudden death flirts with the idea of giving themselves over to the homicidal maniac that's been stalking them across the country!"

You gasped, "You heard me?"

He rolled his eyes at you, "Of course I heard you! The whole house heard you! You live with a family of werewolves that have super hearing!"

You were growing antsy. What gave him the right to be so angry over something that didn't concern him? What gave him the right to eavesdrop on your private conversations with Esme and Maggie?

You were positively fuming now, "Well, since you took it upon yourself to listen in on my private conversation--"

"I wasn't listening in. I have supernatural hearing!"

You held up your hand to hush him, "Let me finish. Since your supernatural hearing picked up on my private conversation, then you obviously heard why I flirted with the idea of giving myself over to that homicidal maniac. He promised to let you live. I thought you were going to die… all of you."

"That doesn't make things better. He could have been lying to you for all you knew!"

"What if he wasn’t?

"He was!"

"What if he wasn't and all this madness would have ended once I gave myself up?"

"I don’t believe that! And neither should you. I can’t believe you were so reckless. Do you have any idea…" He ran a hand over his scruff roughly. “We promised to protect you. How do you think I would have felt if you wound up dead? Or how Scott would have felt? We chose to put our lives on the line. That was our choice.”

"If it comes down to me choosing between myself and everybody else, it’s simple math. It's my life! I never asked you to try and take it upon yourself to save me! I don't need your permission."

"Maybe you don't get a say in the matter!" Derek's eyes turned blue as he took a step closer to you. “Math isn’t all it’s about. It’s not all check and balance. Death isn’t permanent for everyone else who’s left behind. It just becomes an addition to their own equation.”

You were shaking now, voice going hoarse from all the shouting, "What gives you the right to presume to know what is and isn't best for me or what I can and cannot get a say in?" You finger poked at his chest repeatedly.

He wrapped his strong hands around your wrist, but there was no pressure, he simply used his hold over you to pull you closer so you could better hear his whispers, "Absolutely nothing."

Voice feather-light, you whispered back with a searching gaze, "Then why are you so mad with me for trying to do the right thing?"

"Because..." he tried to explain but gave up with a sigh and then dropped his water bottle.

Before you knew it, Derek's arms snaked around your body and his lips crashed onto yours in a heady kiss. His sharp canines grazed over your sensitive tongue and lips in a seductively dangerous manner. The kiss felt dangerous…forbidden. The perfect balance between pain and pleasure.

You gasped in shock when he deepened the kiss, his tongue coaxing yours to become as fervent as his -lapping, suckling and massaging tender flesh in sweet torment. A deep rumble emerged from his chest that caused your locked tongues to vibrate. Instinctively, he pulled you closer until you were pressed flush to his hot body. You moaned on reflex and felt blood rush to your head until your vision started to spin.

When he finally broke away, you stumbled and took a few breaths to try and gather your wits. Derek's wolfishly warm palms were cupping your face, forcing you to stare up into his deep green eyes. "Because you drive me insane." He finally finished.

"Oh..." a frog set itself in your throat and you had to clear it with a few awkward sounds, "I- Uhem! I, uh… didn't know that. I… I-"

You were flustered and in shock, your body burning with a sensual desire you hadn't had a second ago. All you could think about was how good his lips felt on yours. How soft and tender and deep the kiss was. How talented his tongue was.

You had to fan yourself to try and cool your skin. When that wasn't enough, you grabbed Derek's water bottle off the ground and sprayed yourself with the remnants inside.

With a shrill gasp, you turned to Derek, mustering what little dignity and authority you had left and spoke sternly at him, "That still doesn't excuse your behaviour. I'm glad we could resolve this like adults. I'll see you at the house. I have… things to do. Have a good… exercise."

You nodded to yourself and marched away, leaving the sounds of Derek's baffled chuckles behind. Before you reached the house, Jonah had appeared out of some unseen position and stopped you mid-stride. You shrieked from freight and frowned at him when he gave you an apologetic look.

"Jesus, Speedy! Don’t do that… Announce yourself next time or wear a bell," you steadied your breathing. "What is it?"

"Sorry, it's just, Maggie you know, she… uh, sent me with a message and told me to get to you as quickly as possible," Jonah rambled.

You placed a hand on his shoulder to slow him down, "Talk. Slower."

He nodded, a yawn deforming his smile, "She -Ah, good you're here, I don't have to run after you too. And, oh wow, you’re shirtless. I like running around shirtless too. Esme doesn’t like it though. She says I blind her with my pale skin. It’s not my fault that I can’t tan as nicely as the rest of the family," he spoke to someone behind you.

You turned and noticed Derek had run down from the meadow after hearing you scream. The flush from before threatened to return but you chose to focus on Jonah’s message and not Derek's intense stare.

"Right, okay, back to why Maggie sent me out here to look for you guys," Jonah continued. "She thinks she's cracked it."

"Cracked what?" Derek asked as he pulled his shirt over his shoulders.

"You know, the mystery behind the hunters who’ve been killing werewolves all over the place and what it is exactly that they want," Jonah smacked his palm on his forehead. "She thinks she knows what they are too, thanks to that book Caleb sent her –Caleb is her brother in Ireland– Deaton and that clumsy dude… Stiles, they helped her with everything. They spent all night translating this book with a girl called... Lyria? Lyra? I can’t--" he clicked his fingers repeatedly as though that would magically bring the name back to him.

"Lydia," Derek stated.

Jonah clicked his fingers once more before continuing, "Yeah, her! Anyway. Family meeting in five. Chop-chop. Before Maggie sends Esme after me… And I don't want that."

Jonah sprinted for the house and you were left a little winded by everything.

Derek placed his hand on the small of your back to urge you forward and you shuddered beneath his simple touch and he snatched his hand away as if your skin had electrocuted him.

Things just got complicated.

To be continued...

Next Chapter>>

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 5 years ago

Text

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 47: Faith and Lust

Presenting the next raw and unedited chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

Earlier chapters can be found here

Akaya Koda in Tears From a Stone

Akaya tossed a handful of seeds into the water and called out to them with her Quirk, causing the water plants to grow larger and more rapidly than they ever would if they had been left to their own devices. The water lilies large and strong, forming the perfect series of rafts between the sinking yacht and the Oki Mariner. Other members of the Oki Mariner crew, most of whom had aquatic Quirks, worked to help safely transport the yacht goers across.

Aunt Tsu—Froppy, when she was working, of course—directed the action like a consummate professional. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re in safe hands with my girls.” As always, her expression never seemed to change, unless you were familiar with her.

There’d been six people on the yacht, three adults, a young boy, and a pair of teenagers about her own age, a boy and a girl. The two parents were highly inebriated, the other adult, a butler, slightly shaken. The inebriation probably explained the fact that the yacht had dashed itself on rocks. The younger boy’s eyes were wide, quite taken with all the Heroes.

The teenagers, on the other hand, seemed more annoyed than anything else. No, annoyed and… disgusted? The looks they were giving her and the other crew members like Octo-Pod, Tera-Spin, and even Aunt Tsu, she hadn’t encountered such cold looks in some time. But they were frighteningly familiar all the same.

“Can’t believe we got rescued by the aquarium patrol,” the teenage boy said to his sister, sneering.

“Were all the other Heroes busy?” the girl asked, her haughty tone of voice carrying easily. “I don’t remember ordering sushi.”

“Or a rock garden,” the boy added. “Think she’s hard everywhere?”

“Don’t be gross,” the girl shot back. “Nobody ought to be thinking anything about any of these freaks.”

Akaya felt her face flush as she looked away. Meanwhile, Asuka Sakamata, the daughter of Gang Orca, and third year student at U.A., hauled her massive black and white bulk up onto the deck. She was Froppy’s Work Study student and the largest woman Akaya had ever seen, easily dwarfing her and even larger than Grandmother Koda. Despite her fierce appearance, Akaya had already come to know her bark was far worse than her bite.

Still, it did not take strong powers of observation to see the hurt in her eyes. She’d heard it too. Hurt that Akaya was certain was mirrored in her own eyes. Her own Quirk was, technically, an Emitter type. But she carried with her inherited mutations from an ancestor on her father’s side that had possessed the Quirk “Rock Skin” that had been passed along her bloodline in the form of changed appearances even as other Quirks had combined and mutated. It gave her her great size and perhaps some small measure of greater strength and resilience with it, coarsening her skin even still. Her moss like hair came from her mother’s side of the family, where plant-like Quirks and appearances were common.

She was well aware that she appeared to be something of a walking mountain range. Or perhaps a troll, as some of her middle school classmates had called her. She’d thought she’d buried such hurt long ago. But she was only fooling herself.

“Buncha ingrates,” Sakamata said, crossing her arms. “Shoulda just let them drown.”

“They are young and foolish,” Akaya said. “Perhaps they may yet learn in time.”

They watched as the parents avoided the touch of Cephalo-Squad and Rockhopper, the mother in particular shrinking away from Cephalo-Squad’s tentacles.

Sakamata grunted. “Looks like it ain’t just them. Bastards. Maybe we should just throw them overboard.”

Akaya only wished it were that easy.

***

Space aboard the Oki Mariner was at a premium, even with the improvements to the ship Aunt Tsu had been able to make to it during her rise to being one of the Top Ten Heroes. But Akaya was able to steal a few minutes in the cabin she shared with Rockhopper and Tera-Spin. She was grateful for the all-female crew, at least. But she appreciated the all-too-brief moment of privacy even more.

She got down on her knees, feeling the slight rocking of the ship beneath her, and folded her hands. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head. “Lord, grant me the strength to endure their slings and arrows,” she prayed. “I try not to listen to their words, but the hatred in their hearts does me great pain. I do not mean to question your plan, Lord…”

She opened her eyes and, as a tear fell down her face, found herself staring at her hands, with their wide palms, and thick, coarse fingers. Akaya folded them again and closed her eyes. “And I am not unhappy with who I am. I know this is but another challenge I must overcome… But I do know if I have that strength.”

Life, she knew, came in many different forms since the advent of Quirks. The nature of attraction itself had changed. But there were still many who perceived those with inherited mutations or Mutant-Type Quirks as less than human. And even within those who were open-minded and accepting, deviations from the norm were often scrutinized. Even before her… developments, she knew her dear friend Mika’s appearance had elicited far less shock and discomfort than Akaya’s own. Sero, Tokoyami, Shoji, even Ojiro, many of Class 1-A had unusual appearances. But even with his extra-arms, Shoji was considered quite handsome, and Sero cultivated his look in such a way that few people called him on it. Those with animal characteristics, like much of the crew here and Tokoyami, had their own problems to bear, but it was more varied. Her own younger brother Rikido appeared basically human, with only green hair to show for his differences, and thankfully did not endure what she had to.

She still remembered one of her first crushes, three years ago, a hasty and mumbled confession when she’s skewed up all her courage to ask him out. He’d been a friend. He’d said “I’m sorry, Koda, but I just don’t find you attractive.” Somehow, that had hurt far worse than anything else could have.

Her friends at U.A., both those she had grown up with and those she had made since starting at the school, at least, had no problems with her appearance. And many of them, Mika, Kana, Shiro, and even Aoyama, would be ready to “throw hands” in Shiro’s words, with anyone who had spoken to her as the people they rescued had. None of which made it hurt any less.

She was but as God had made her. Why did so many see that as wrong?

***

“Fuck ‘em all,” Sakamata said, as she and Akaya were on deck-swabbing duty. The events of the rescue still weighed heavily on Akaya’s mind, even though most of the other crew appeared to have moved on from it. For now, the Oki Mariner was docked in the harbor, much of the crew ashore getting dinner, with only a skeleton crew left behind. It still left them plenty to do.

Aunt Tsu had tried to be reassuring, but she could not understand, not really. For all that Frog was a Mutant type Quirk, Aunt Tsu’s deviations from baseline were fairly minor. She was a beloved Hero and a favorite of children, seen by many as cute. She could not understand.

Akaya regarded Sakamata for a moment. “That hardly seems the Christian thing to do,” she said.

The orca-woman pointed a finger at Akaya. “You gotta be you. Don’t apologize for it. Don’t let them tell you what you’re worth. You think I gave a shit what meatheads and dumbasses thought when I started transitioning? You think I give a shit what some bigot thinks of how I look?”

Sakamata was the daughter of a former Top Ten Hero and a rising star at U.A. One of the Big Three of her year, alongside Nejire Togata, and a Speed-Quirk user named Hayai Sokudo. Akaya had already seen how she threw herself into every task before her, the way in which she walked unapologetically through life. And yet, Akaya had already seen that she could be kind as well. She was not soft-spoken, but could be soft when it came to children or animals like dolphins and whales.

Truthfully, she reminded Akaya of Kirishima-Bakugo.

But there was something behind those red eyes of hers, the same pain Akaya had seen there earlier. “I think,” she said, “you care more than you let on. Or more than you would like to, at least.”

“…Yeah, okay,” Sakamata growled. “What can I say? People suck.”

“More people are good than not,” Akaya replied. “At least, so I chose to believe.”

“And when they’re not?”

“Then my faith sustains me. Or so I try. I pray for the strength to endure and I pray for their enlightenment.”

Sakamata snorted. “No offense, but what sounds like a lot of wishing.”

Akaya was used to such reactions when she spoke of her faith. Christianity was not common in Japan and not well understood. “None taken. But my faith sustains me when I feel like breaking.”

Sakamata gave her a skeptical look, but then shrugged. “Whatever works,” she said. “I’ve probably punched a few more people than I oughta have. Tossed a couple of ‘em around. Might be a reason for all the black marks on my record.

“But if you want me to, I can punch the next guy who says somethin’. Lots of bigots in this town.”

Akaya nodded as they resumed their work. “It is appreciated, but I will decline.”

There would always be those who were cruel and thoughtless, who judged others for matters beyond their control. But at least she had found someone else who knew how she felt. She remembered her mother’s words, that prayers were not always answered in the way you would think.

Sakamata lived her truth, unapologetically, with strength and courage. Akaya, truthfully, struggled at times with her appearance, especially when so many of her friends and classmates were so much more traditionally attractive. That she was from a long line of people who looked like her suggested it wasn’t impossible that someone would find her pretty, but some days, that seemed like a very far off possibility.

But perhaps she could find something worth following in Sakamata’s example. She just had to have faith.

***

Mika Mineta in A Lustful Morning

Mika had never been awake at 0500 hours before. She was pretty sure she hadn’t even been aware 0500 was an actual, for real, not made-up time before now. But Ingenium insisted upon an “early patrol” every Wednesday, in order to “remind people from all walks of life and occupations that Heroes will be there for them, every hour, of every day.” This explanation had been punctuated by significant hand waving.

How someone could be as attractive as he was—a little over two meters of pure, rock-solid beefcake—and be that big of a stick in the mud, she had no idea.

She’d only been here since Monday and she’d already worked harder than she ever had before, even in her Hero classes at U.A. Intense physical training, readiness drills, and so many manuals to read and procedures to memorize. Not to mention having been forced to make her bed in the Sidekick’s berth multiple times until she’d gotten it right. And there was the criticism of her costume, as “overly sexual” and “not fitting for a woman of your young age.” Just because Ingenium’s daughter ran around in full armor…

Ingenium ran a tight ship. Which was not to say everyone under him did. His brother, Tensei Iida (not to be confused with the Tensei Iida who was in her class), who lent his expertise as mission control, was a much more easy going individual. And several of the Sidekicks were more relaxed as well, though a few did try to model themselves after their leader.

Speaking of, she knew Team Iidaten had a lot of Sidekicks working for it, but seeing it in the flesh was quite another. Many of them had mobility-related Quirks, though not all of them.

“Ugh,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I’ve already been up thirty minutes. Why can’t I have coffee?”

Ingenium was standing before her and the four other Sidekicks selected for morning patrol. “Coffee is an addictive stimulant!” he said, waving his arms through the air in what seemed like random, but carefully controlled motions. “A Hero must always be prepared to function at their best, regardless of circumstances, and without artificial aides! While some coffee is acceptable in moderation, relying upon it as a jumpstart is unacceptable!”

“Okay, okay,” Mika said, rolling her eyes. Guy definitely didn’t do anything by half measures.

“And stand up straight!” Ingenium continued. He was wearing the helmet, but she could tell he was scrutinizing her all the same. And not in the way she liked to be scrutinized. Objectifying her was one thing, but actually judging her and trying to correct her faults? What was the world coming to?

There was a sudden rush and a red and gold blur suddenly arrived, seemingly out of nowhere, next to Ingenium. It resolved itself into a woman with long blonde hair, wearing tall red boots with yellow trim, a red and gold leotard, and long red gloves, likewise with yellow trim. Red trimmed goggles with yellow lenses completed the outfit. On her chest—yeah, she was looking—was a yellow lightning bolt symbol. “SorryI’mlate,” she said, tossing off a small salute to Tenya. “Hadtostopapursesnatcheronmywayhere. Don’tworry, I’llgetallthepaperwork filedbeforetheday’sover!”

Okay, Mika was reasonably certain those were words. But they’d come out way too fast for her to follow. And probably for Ingenium too, as his expression passed through irritation, confusion, and then acceptance.

“Flash-Step,” Ingenium said, cheerfully, “glad you could join us for this early patrol. And do not worry, your duty to the citizens of this city outweigh your duty to be on time. Just please remember to slow down before you file the paperwork.”

“Ofcourse,Boss,” Flash-Step said.

“Sorry,” she said, finally slowing down. “Was still going pretty fast there. Back to normal now.”

She shook her head, sending her hair cascading in a halo around her. Mika took a moment to take in everything, from her well-toned legs to her chest to an ass that looked like you could bounce small change off of to what looked like a six-pack under her leotard.

“Mineta,” Ingenium said, “please meet Hayai Sokudo, my Work Study participant, from U.A. She will be responsible for supervising you during this morning’s patrol.”

Maybe 0500 wasn’t so bad after all.

***

Mika’s hooves made a soft clip-clop on the pavement as she and Flash-Step walked through the streets of Hosu City. It had been pretty boring. According to Ingenium, crime never slept. Right at that moment, though, it felt like crime was sleeping in. Of course, she’d managed to nearly walk into three street signs, two mailboxes, and one phone booth (Why was there still a phone booth in this day and age?). So there was that.

She couldn’t help it. The view was incredibly distracting. Of course, Mika found most people distractingly attractive. But Flash-Step was really distractingly attractive. Like, on the level of Shinji distractingly attractive.

Speaking of her boyfriend, she surreptitiously took a picture of the Work Study student with her phone while she was speaking with a civilian, then sent it to Shinji.

Babe, look who I’m working with.

Sorry, right, it’s stupid early.

Hope I didn’t wake you up.

But, she is, like, super-hot.

Should I hit on her? Y/N?

Hot Boyfriend: Holy hurricanes!

Hot Boyfriend: She is nearly as spectacular as you!

Hot Boyfriend: I INSIST that you hit on her! To waste this opportunity would be criminal!

Babe, you are –the best-

Wait, crap. What if she’s straight?

Hot Boyfriend: You won’t know until you try!

Hot Boyfriend: But if she is straight, could you try and talk me up?

What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t?

Try and talk my boyfriend up to the hot girl that we’re both trying to hit on?

Of course I will!

An open relationship with a super-hunk worked out really well.

***

Flash-Step, as it turned out, possessed a Quirk called “High Gear.” It let her shift into super-speed for five minutes, but then required another five minutes to cool down afterwards. It also took the full five minutes to come out of it, as evidenced by the fact that she remained accelerated and fast talking if she finished whatever high speed task she’d set herself before that time was up.

“Saw you at the Sports Festival,” Flash-Step said, as they walked the streets. “They had Third years helping with security, but I caught your first match on my break. When the Boss said you were coming, I watched the rest.” She paused stuck a piece of gum in her mouth. “Don’t tell the Boss. Not supposed to have this, but I gotta get my oral fix.”

She blew a bubble with perfect lips and such breath control that it made Mika’s heart and other parts flutter. It popped, noisily, and she sucked the pieces back in.

“Oh yeah?” Mika asked. The pop had snapped her back to her senses, letting her formulate an actual response, instead of stuttering like a moron. “What’d you think?”

The older girl considered, chewing her gum. “Boss says you’re undisciplined and a trouble-maker.” Mika’s heart sank for a moment. Of course, that was what pretty much everyone thought about her, so she was used to that. Hell, most of the time, she encouraged it. Flash-Step shrugged. “Now, me, I think…”

“You take that back, you bastard!” the voice cut through the air and cut off any possible answer from Flash-Step. Mika followed the source of it, finding what looked like a bunch of high school boys, two groups of them judging by their uniforms, six in total, getting ready to rumble. Probably a good old fashioned school rivalry.

It was entirely too early for this kind of dumbassitude.

“You gonna make me?” one of the boys in the other uniform taunted. He’d activated his Quirk, idly tossing a fireball from one hand to the other. Next to him, most of the others were calling up their Quirks as well.

“I’ll beat it out of you if I have to!” the one who’d called out originally snarled. He raised a palm and a spikey ball of inky blackness appeared, floating around him like a miniature sun. Around him, his own schoolmates were activating their Quirks.

“We going to clobber them?” Mika asked.

“Not if we can help it,” Flash-Step said. “If this turns into a fight, we’ll have to call the police. It’ll go on their records, they might get charged with petty Villainy.” She frowned. “But we need to do something before they get tired of posturing.”

“So what you’re saying is we need to diffuse the situation without violence?”

“Yeah. Guess we could try talking to them…”

A grin spread across Mika’s face. Her time had come. “Let me handle this.”

“I shouldn’t…”

But Mika was already in motion.

“Heeeeey boys,” she called out, putting a little bit of extra swing into her hips as she approached. She bent forward entirely more than was necessary, giving them an excellent view of her cleavage. “Think you could break up your fight and spare a minute for little old me?” She gave them her best “airheaded beauty” look, the kind with pouty lips and half-lidded eyes.

This got all eyes on her. Good. That meant they were all straight, or at least bisexual. Being pan herself, she tried not to make too many snap judgements about other’s sexualities, even if her radar for that was very good. At least two of them were openly undressing her with their eyes.

She put a hand on her cheek. “I think I’m lost, any chance you could help me?”

“Sure,” the one who’d made the spikey black ball early said. “But what’s in it for me?” He was leering. Maybe in a slightly icky way.

“Dude,” one of the other ones said. “She’s a U.A. student! See the costume? Didn’t you watch the Sports Festival?”

“I did,” the fireball user said. “She’s the one who kept talking like a slut.”

Mika pushed down the urge to growl. She owned her own sexuality. To reduce it like that…! But she was playing distraction here. “Oh, tee-hee,” she said, forcing herself to giggle. “What do I know about anything like that?”

“You little boys down?” Flash-Step said, having gotten behind them while they’d been distracted by Mika.

“What?” “Huh” “Who’s..?” Various exclamations of surprise rang out from the six as they realized they were surrounded.

“Get to school, all of you!” Flash-Step shouted. “I’ve got all your faces recorded on my goggles! If you don’t get moving in five seconds or if I hear about you trying to fight like this again, I’m sending it to the cops and every Hero in the city!”

With a grumble, the boys dispersed. There were a few half-hearted “this isn’t overs” but the fight had clearly gone out of them.

“Bye-bye, boys,” Mika said, waving and blowing them a little kiss.

“Good job,” Flash-Step told her, after the boys had left. “Definitely not a strategy I’d have thought of.”

Mika grinned. “No? You could have pulled it off, real easy.”

“Maybe,” Flash-Step replied. If she’d picked up on the subtext Mika was radiating, she didn’t show it. “Still, nice distraction and non-violent escalation. Pretty sure the Boss wouldn’t approve, but he can be kind of a stick in the mud.”

“The stickiest,” she agreed.

They continued walking after that. “Anyway,” Flash-Step continued, “Nejire and I were talking about the Spots Festival. She was rooting for Midoriya, of course, but I was rooting for you. You’ve got guts, kid.”

Mika turned so Flash-Step wouldn’t see her frown. Kid? From somebody only three years older?

Ah, well. Win some, lose some.

#their hero academia #my hero academia #fan fic #fan fiction #my writing #tsuyu asui #tenya iida #akaya koda #mika (tha)

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spacepoetry · 6 years ago

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got tagged by @broken-till-you-mend-me, thanks honey :)

Rules: Answer 21 questions and then tag 21 people you want to get to know better.

Nickname: don’t really have one, you can call me Lea

Zodiac: capricorn

Height: about 175 cm i think?

Last movie I saw: watched the MIB movies bc i wanted to see MIB: International (Tessa Thompson.....) but i still haven’t done that

Last thing I Googled: Mitski - Strawberry Blond lyrics

Favourite musician: i’m just gonna list what i'm listening to recently: Abbey Glover, alt-j, Billie Eilish, Dodie, Halsey, Hozier, London Grammar, Mitski,......

i also like Christian Löffler and Lane 8 while studying

Song stuck in my head: now Strawberry Blond again dfhjkdg but before that Mumford & Sons - Woman

Other blogs: idk-ineedaname don’t @ me about the url pls,,, uh this is a blog for being Gay™ but i also abandon it every now and then oops

Do I get asks: sometimes but not really

Blogs following: exactly 300 but i’ve had this blog A Long Time now and my dash is dead,, i should unfollow all the inactive ones

Amount of sleep: hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Lucky number: i used to say 11 idk i why i liked that number? but i like 43 now bc if you write it down a certain way it looks like LB which are my initials lol

What I’m wearing: a red t-shirt with bees on it + underwear djfgdgj

Dream job: i would enjoy working in nature/outside or helping animals somehow idk

Dream trip: so my Big Dream is still to take half a year (or so) off and just travel from country to country...

Favorite food: since it’s summer and i haven’t rly eaten anything else this week i’m gonna say fresh fruit! but i recently ate really good vegan lasagna which was.....wow

Play any instruments: not anymore :(

Languages: german + english

Favorite songs: that changes so much like. i have songs i listen to 50x a day for 3 weeks and then not at all for months so... Jai Wolf - Lose My Mind, Billie Eilish - Six Feet Under, The Moth & The Flame - New Great Depression, Lo Moon - Loveless, BLOW - You Killed Me on the Moon, X Ambassadors - Confidence, Dodie - She, The Kills - List of Demands uuuuh yeah

Random fact: Gin tonic was invented when some army went to a place where malaria was a big problem. Quinine was known to help with malaria. To make the bitter taste better they mixed it with gin and water = Gin tonic

Describe yourself as aesthetic things: walking barefoot, forests, sunlight shining through trees, flowercrowns, seeing animals in unusual places, the kind of tired you become after spending the day swimming + in the sun, botanic gardens, carrying bees/moths on your hand, picnics in the middle of nowhere, sitting at a lake with your feet in the water

lowkey just described my perfect day oops

I’m tagging @misfitwings, @januaryhoney, @softalien-antics and @sunshine-wlw (i either talked to u ages ago or send u asks and u were nice so,, i hope this is ok. no pressure to do it!)

#i'm lowkey mad none of these were actual questions lmao #also if i @ed u and u don't know me i might've send asks on anon i don't actually remember dfhjkd #don't hate me #also...i just copied the whole thing and replaced my answers and erasing all the languages made me rly sad #you speak so many Mel! it's impressive #tag game

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gimmetheheadcanons · 7 years ago

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Sinners & Scapegoats 3/?

A/N: Beta'd by the lovely and always supportive @siancore. The heart and soul of the Richonne fandom we don't deserve. chapter 1 here, chapter 2 here

3. Worse

Rick abandoned his fruitless teddy bear rescue mission pretty soon after it began. All it took first was an unexpected phone call from his own son to put him to shame. Made impatient by his excitement and wanting to share a piece of news his mother had insisted could wait, Carl Grimes' determined dialling unwittingly drew his delusional dad back to the real world of professional boundaries and paternal promises.

"Carl what did I tell you about bothering your father at work?"

"But mom! I just wanna know when he'll be back!"

"In his own time."

In his own time.

Rick felt the slight from miles away. An attack on his fatherhood, his commitment to his duties. It was the first time Lori had brought their battle to the 'Carl front'. The humiliation of listening helplessly over the line was unbearable to Rick, a man who prided himself in his relationship with his boy, his entire world – the center of the universe

Propelled into action by his hurt and in a desperate bid to prevent any further sullying of his good name, Rick raced all the way home – driving with very little regard to the traffic laws he was charged with reinforcing daily. Halfway into his journey, the righteous anger he felt dissipated, and he was left with an uncomfortable truth – Lori wasn't wrong.

He had a son, a little boy of his own, and whilst Michonne was out there, earning her points as a parent, he had to be dragged back to his. It wasn't right, Rick thought angrily, cursing himself, and not Lori this time, for the situation he had gotten himself into. What was he going to do anyway? Kick down his front door in a fit of rage and proceed to throw down with the mother of his child in front of said child? Over what? A comment that may have been just that – a comment. Entirely harmless, except against his ego, thus rousing his defensiveness.

Rick was exhausted; he hadn't even walked through the door yet and he was already done with this. He thought back to little Sophia, caught up in a world of hurt by the state of her parents' marriage, and he shivered at the thought of ever inflicting a different kind of damage onto his own child.

As inexcusable as it was, sooner rather than later, the tension between him and his wife would overflow and impact Carl's blissful childhood existence. Rick could feel it in his bones, the breaking point approaching. The day he would slip up as a Christian and disrespect his once beloved bride by calling her a fucking spiteful bitch. And Carl would hear him and be forever changed by it.

Unless he put a stop to it first.

There it was again, slithering across his mind. A shameful snake of a thought telling him to go against all he promised before God and a congregation of witnesses.

Divorce.

Rick shuddered at the thought, at losing his family, at bailing on them when things got tough. At ever seeing his son look back at him with weary, world worn eyes instead of the innocent, twinkling blue ones that lit up every time Rick walked through the door.

"Dad!"

"Hey there, champ," Rick yelled back, the cheer in his voice overcompensating for a guilt that sought to choke him. "Heard you had a story for me?"

Carl was twelve, but that didn't stop him from jumping into Rick's arms with a jubilant smile on his young face. He was overjoyed to see his father back so soon after his phone call; not bearing an ounce of ill will for Rick being away for so long in the first place. Rick clung to his son, his perfect little boy, grateful for the hero's welcome he knew he didn't deserve and knowing to cherish it whilst it lasted. Over Carl's shoulder, loomed Lori looking less than thrilled by her husband's return.

"Sorry I'm late," Rick mouthed to her, half expecting the apology not to take, but it did.

Lori Grimes simply shrugged her thin shoulders before leaving for their kitchen. A begrudging acceptance of the situation was all she could muster for him, and Rick immediately knew why: She had been hoping for another hour without him. Rick sighed mournfully.

How did they get here and how does it end?

"Okay dad, you can let go now," Carl said, interrupting Rick's thoughts regarding the dark state of his marriage. The not-quite teen playfully squirmed free from the man who continued to cling onto him, completely unaware of his new existence as a sad relic of a once happy marriage. Embarrassed, Rick quickly apologized and ushered his son to tell his tale.

"My piece got picked for the gallery! Everyone's coming to see it and I need you guys to be free on Thursday. This coming one not the next. At seven."

That was all Carl said but Rick was already lost.

"The what now?"

"At school," Carl said, sounding frustrated with his father's inability to extract the relevant details that made up this supposed good news from the excitable ramblings. Rolling his eyes impatiently, Carl started from the beginning.

"We have a new art teacher. Ms. Anthony."

"Yes, son, that I'm aware of," Rick said, unable to help himself but careful not to betray anything further regarding Michonne.

"Yeah she's from New York and so cool and different. Like waaay more interesting than Mrs. Randal. Man was she a pain! Dad, we were painting bowls of fruit over and over and over again. Things were that bad."

"Hey now, don't be so harsh on old Mrs. Randal, Carl. She's a kindly old woman."

"Yeah, but I'm glad she retired, because if I had to paint one more apple – I would've gladly had a stroke too!"

Rick shamefully chuckled at Mrs. Randal's expense. His son's declaration was undoubtedly dramatic as old Testament damnation. But he was glad to hear Michonne brought some much needed vigor to her new role and ditched the cumbersome curriculum of her predecessor. Back at school, he was never a fan of art and he had a sneaking suspicion the blame lay at Old Lady Randal's feet then too.

"Anyway, Ms. Anthony is awesome. We started a new art project two months ago and she promised if all do great job we'd get to display our work in our own gallery – like the Metropolitan, but right here at Henry Ellis!"

Rick clapped his hands right on cue, signalling to his son how incredibly impressed he was. And in all honesty, he was, especially with how fast Michonne was working to make her stamp on this town. She really was something special.

"And when did your school get a swanky new space for the display of art?"

Carl laughed heartily at the way his father continued to feign ignorance just for his amusement, and Rick grinned back, pleased to make his son's face beam.

"It'll only be for one evening. We get to turn the gym into one with movable screens to divide it up, and then lights on like stands, so people can really see the art. Oh and there will be snacks, for the guests – the moms and dads."

"Wow! And you're saying your piece got picked for this event? That's amazing."

Carl's body shifted uncomfortably at Rick's praise. "Well – we all get to display our work because it's a class thing," he confessed finally, for a moment looking slightly embarrassed at exaggerating his own importance.

"I'm sure your piece will be the best one there," Rick said, reassuring his son, as a parent would, but acutely aware that knowing Carl, he would be proven right. The kid had talent; he had been drawing on any and all surfaces since the day he was big enough to pick up his first crayon. It used to drive Rick and Lori nuts, trying to keep Carl's artistic sensibilities within the confines of a sketchpad, but as the years went on, Rick was glad they never did anything to stop him.

His father's praise had a reinvigorating effect on the boy, and Carl returned to gushing about the upcoming event.

"Ms. Anthony did say mine had real potential. She said I get to put my piece in the center spot because she was so impressed with it."

"That's my boy! Up top!"

Lori walked back into the hallway just in time to witness the celebratory high five between the Grimes men, and Rick was pleased to see her approval. They shared a quiet moment of pure parental pride, glad to shower their son with love, for he was a tribute to the heights they could achieve when their partnership worked.

"We're all so proud of you, sweety," said Lori.

Carl thanked his mother with a hug and it was just as welcoming a sight to Rick as his high-five had been to her. This was worth fighting for, Rick reminded himself, determined to etch this image into his mind for the next time he would be overcome with doubt.

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Can I call Shane now that dad knows? You said I could tell him once I told dad."

Lori's face changed at Carl's request. There was an awkward pause before she answered with a tense smile on her face. "Sure baby."

"You know the number still?"

"Duh," Carl said sarcastically before correcting himself for fear of repercussions for his tone. "I mean yes, mom."

Lori sighed before laying out her terms. "Are you going to make sure to head straight up afterwards? Because I need you in your bed in fifteen minutes."

Carl happily agreed with his mother's request.

"Okay then, you can go call Shane," Lori said finally, dismissing Carl who dashed out the room the moment right after the first word and nod.

Left behind with his wife, Rick could feel the stillness in the air.

The mention of his best friend's name shouldn't have had this effect on them, and yet, Rick could feel something was hideously off. Lori looked back at him with brown uncertain eyes and Rick couldn't make sense of why. Or he didn't want to. He wanted to go back to the glorious picture of domestic bliss from mere moments ago.

"He expects us to attend this event. The both of us, together."

She spoke to him with none of that artificial sweetness she saved for him whenever Carl was in their presence.

"And Shane?" Rick regretted it as soon as he asked. His distressed heart cried out for him to stop pursuing this line of questioning.

"He said he'd ask him. I told him not to bother him," Lori said, arms folded over her chest a little too defensive to be casual.

Rick let out a small laugh. There was nothing funny about it. "Why Lori? He's family. Why shouldn't he attend his godson's art exhibition."

"Oh, don't Rick. Don't."

Lori turned on her heel, ready to retreat to the kitchen and leave the start of another argument. But Rick Grimes refused to be left behind.

"What, Lori? What is it that I am doing?" He demanded, following his wife into the kitchen and making sure to shut the door behind him.

Lori swung back around to face her husband, confronting him in a low angry whisper so as to not attract their son's attention. They were so well rehearsed in their bouts, they had specific modes. This was not to be one of their earth shattering "To hell with the neighbors, Carl is at school so bring your worst darling" clashes.

"This!" Lori hissed in a tactically low voice, carrying all the irritation or a much louder one. "You're making me feel bad for trying to spare you your feelings."

Rick let out an empty gasp to convey his utter surprise. "Since when? Also, what feelings?"

"It's not my fault that your son loves your best friend. You shouldn't have a problem with that!" Lori continued, serving up the outrage in tightly contained manner.

Again, none of this was making sense to Rick. He could barely follow the turn this conversation suddenly had taken.

"I don't have a problem with it, Lori," he said, answering honestly and somewhat calmly. "But you seem to. Why wasn't it okay for Carl to call his buddy Shane to tell him his good news? Why do you think that would bother me?"

Rick felt he made his question clear enough for his wife, and for a moment, with perhaps nowhere to hide, Lori Grimes was silenced.

He didn't relish in point scoring during arguments, especially when all he wanted was a sincere response. Lori seemed to agree with him. She ran her hands through her long, messy brown waves; her hair looking more and more frazzled these days to match the unkempt stubble on his chin. The toll of an unhappy home life was becoming apparent on their faces. Leaning against the kitchen counter, she finally answered.

"I don't know why, Rick, I don't know why anything bothers you anymore these days. It just does."

Rick bit his lip angrily at the disgraceful attempt at deflection.

"No Lori. You don't get that do that. Not this time."

The clatter of one unwashed pot against after that Rick sent it went flying into the sink shocked Lori for a moment. But then she let out a completely unironic cackle.

"Do what? Walk on eggshells?" Lori cried, barely able to contain her outrage pointing at her husband's behavior as another exhibit to enter into evidence.

Breathing heavily, Rick wiped the splash back of water droplets from his face. He wasn't angry, he told himself, knowing he was barely keeping it together.

"What's that? Missed my head?"

"Don't," Rick whispered the blood draining from his face.

She knew he would never but said it anyway.

How could she.

Needing a break after landing such a blow, Lori bowed over a little. Her hands resting on her knees and her face artfully hidden under a mess of dark hair instead of owning up to the cruelty of her comments. Rick could hear her sob a little, but was in no mood to comfort her.

"Fine. I'm the bad guy," he sighed, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. "What else is new?"

"No, I am. And I'll go on being the bad guy, Rick," Lori said, straightening up and staring Rick in the eye. She had a pathetic, exhausted look on her face but an iron will and a tone that matched. Lori had been done recharging her artilleries. "I'll be the bad guy. For caring about my husband. For wanting him not to be bothered at work until he's done. For making sure his son doesn't forget to tell his father news that matters first! A man he barely sees these days anyway!"

Rick took a step back, unprepared, he had been wounded by the accusation of neglect on his part.

"I know I've been busy," Rick admitted, feeling sorry for himself and his actions. This was an argument he had lost back in the car. There was no point in hiding that fact.

"You have," Lori replied, relentless in her criticism, not yet knowing she had overreached and Rick wasn't done.

"But that's not what's going on here," said Rick. He was ready to bring the argument back to his original point.

"And what is then Rick?" Lori asked.

After a pregnant pause, Rick decided to come out with it.

"You don't have to keep Carl from Shane."

Unless there is another reason.

But Rick was momentarily stunned into silence by his wife's speedy interruption. "Okay. I won't, but you don't have to keep forcing yourself to be here."

King of self-imposed amnesia, Rick Grimes ran with the subject change, no longer sure what he was getting at in the first place. Instead he decided that this would be the moment. One that called for a new kind of weapon – sincere openness.

"I'm not. Lori," he said softly, moving towards his wife slowly. "I want to be here, I want to be with my son."

Rick paused for a moment before adding the rest. "And I want to be with my wife, if she'll let me."

Lori did nothing to answer her husband's plea, flinching the moment her reached out to hold her hand. And it was enough for Rick to know that he was on his own in manning the scaffoldings that kept his marriage from falling. Lori would never leave him, but she would never stop trying to drive him out.

"I have to go check on Carl. Make sure he washed up before bed."

Both resigned to their fate for the only reason they could offer up, Lori made way towards the door.

Rick hesitated for a moment before calling out to his wife one more time.

"Lori?"

She didn't turn around to face him, but briefly stopped at the door regardless.

Never an inch.

Rick sighed and swallowed his true words for empty ones. "Tell him I'll be up in a minute to say goodn-."

She was gone before he had finished.

Rick waited until Lori returned downstairs before going up to see his son. He wolfed down the night's leftovers, unheated pasta straight from the plastic container in the fridge, before sprinting up the stairs and into Carl's room.

"Hey kiddo, you all tucked in?"

Carl groaned at his father's babying of him. Rick knew it must've looked strange having one parent enter the room, just as soon as the other left.

"You know I'm too old for tuck-ins dad."

Rick chuckled at his son's response. "Like heck you are."

"You can say hell."

Rick raised his eyebrows. "I know I can."

"But I can't," Carl grumbled, sinking further into his bed at the injustice.

"Yep and don't you forget it."

It was always a little disconcerting how quickly the boy in front of him changed. Less than an hour ago, he was flying into Rick's arms the way he always had. Here, they were embarrassing him at the mere thought of a tuck in and pushing his luck with curse words.

Rick wondered if Shane would let Carl swear around him. Maybe that's what made the kid idolize the carefree, cool cop when compared to stuffy straight and narrow old man. The thought irked him and led him down a rabbit hole he so desperately wished to avoid.

"Hey, by the way, what did Shane say when you called?"

"Not much. It was loud where he was but he said he would come."

The boy was downplaying how disappointed he was that his godfather didn't make a bigger deal about the news. But knowing his friend, Rick imagined the man was three beers in already and in the mood to do the kind of adult entertaining Carl's phone call was keeping him from.

It brought a small petty smile to his face; Carl may think the world of Shane and on the right day his godfather thought the same – but the boy only had one father and that was boring old Rick.

"Hey, proud of you son," Rick said, repeating himself but each time meaning it just the same. "Now I might not get the finer details of something as out there as art, but I know talent when I see it."

"Thanks," Carl replied with a look of genuine affection on his face for Rick's hammy, dorky dad act.

Rick looked at Carl's room, covered in a visual history of his son's artistic journey, from original comic book creations and creepy crawlers to sketches of friends, family and fellow townspeople. He had no idea where his son's artistic sensibilities had come from, it sure as hell didn't run in the Grimes family line. But unlike the men that came before him, Rick was supportive of his son's endeavour. Proud of his creative capabilities and his thoughtful, imaginative nature. As was Lori, and he was grateful to hear Michonne now too.

"So…Any hints as to what this masterpiece of yours is like?"

"You're just gonna have to wait until opening night, like everyone else."

"Wow, that's cold, son," Rick gasped, getting up from Carl's bed and stumbling to door in an exaggerated manner of a wounded soldier.

"Hey dad?" Rick heard Carl call out for him. He turned to face his son, completely serious and ready to attend to his needs. "Just don't make things weird for me at school."

Not knowing how to respond, Rick simply nodded before hitting the light switch off and leaving the room, his anxious mind wondering if Shane had received such a warning from the surly teen that was threatening to take his sweet son's place. Somehow, feeling every bit as wounded as he had pretended to be just a few moments ago, Rick Grimes knew the answer was no and all that did was make him want to take off his oldest friend's head with the dirty pot his wife thought was meant for her.

#fanfiction #richonne #twd #gimme: sinners and scapegoats #siancore

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trinitysmagick · 7 years ago

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The Witch Challenge

Saw this going around, figured I’d poke at it... keep it going with your own answers and enjoy!

1. Are you solitary or in a coven? Can I say both? I practice with my coven and I also practice as solitary - to better myself and for magick or intent that I cannot share with others.

2. Do you consider yourself Wiccan, Pagan, witch, or other? Pagan… witch...

3. What is your zodiac sign? Pisces (Sun and Rising) Sag (Moon)

4. Do you have a Patron God/dess? Yes, Cerridwen.

5. Do you work with a Pantheon? Yes - a couple actually. I work closely the Welsh/Celtic pantheon, but I also work with Greek and Norse gods as well. I’m eclectic at heart, so I am open to any of the god/desses that call to me.

6. Do you use tarot, palmistry, or  any other kind of divination? Yes - tarot, astrology, mediumship are my go to’s.

7. What are some of your favorite herbs to use in your practice? (if any) Rosemary, Cedar, Mugwort

8. How would you define your craft? Eclectic at heart, and it has morphed over the years. Right now, it seems to be a form of Celtic Shamanism with a dash of Strega (which surfaced over the past year as I started to study where exactly I came from).

9. Do you curse? If not, do you accept others who do? This seems a rather personal question and in my honest opinion, is only the business of the practitioner… that being said, I do accept others that do, as long as they do responsibly.

10. How long have you been practicing? Actively practicing, 10 years - although I did start dabbling closer to 20 years ago.

11. Do you currently or have you ever had any familiars? Yes… he’s a black and white ‘water’ cat - his name is Boo. :)

12. Do you believe in Karma or Reincarnation? Yes. Both.

13. Do you have a magical name? Yes, a few actually - know to most as Trinity, initiated as Cerridwen Cauldronborn in March of 2017 - and the other names are only know to those in my closest circle.

14. Are you “out of the broom closet”? Yeah, for the most part...

15. What was the last spell you performed? Feb. 16… well after ritual that night.

16. Would you consider yourself knowledgeable?

Yes, but with still countless things to learn.

17. Do you write your own spells? Yes.

18. Do you have a book of shadows? If so, how is it written and/or set up? Yes, have a family BoS and 2 personal ones. Family book is wood bound, personal one is leather and the other a 3 ring binder. Not all that organized except to the people who use them.

19. Do you worship nature? This seems like a silly question...

20. What is your favorite gemstone? Septarian

21. Do you use feathers, claws, fur, pelt, skeletons/bones, or any other animal body part for magical work? Yes - hair, feathers, bone, cat claws and whiskers - all naturally ‘given’.

22. Do you have an altar? Several.

23. What is your preferred element?

Water.

24. Do you consider yourself an Alchemist?

Yes.

25. Are you any other type of magical practitioner besides a witch?

As in what exactly? A witch is a magick practitioner - there are categories and types of magick, but if you practice magick, you’re some type of witch.

26. What got you interested in witchcraft? The husband - he grew up Pagan. And my folks never really liked him because he identified as a witch and, you know, that’s bad. So, after we got married, I figured, well he can’t be all that bad and did some research. Nothing has ever resonated more with me in my life!

27. Have you ever performed a spell or ritual with the company of anyone who was not a witch? No.

28. Have you ever used ouija? Yes, often.

29. Do you consider yourself a psychic? Yes.

30. Do you have a spirit guide? If so, what is it? A couple actually - my animal guide is an otter.

31. What is something you wish someone had told you when you first started? I don’t really know - don’t have an answer to this one.

32. Do you celebrate the Sabbats? If so which one is your favorite? Yes - the slope of Mabon/Samhain/Yule - those are my favs.

33. Would you ever teach witchcraft to your children? Yes, and I do.

34. Do you meditate? Yes.

35. What is your favorite season? Fall.

36. What is your favorite type of magick to preform? Invocative, Sympathetic, and Divinatory

37. How do you incorporate your spirituality into your daily life? Meditation, almost daily. I also have crystals/herbs and other magickal items placed throughout and outside of the house for various magick things. I also do a lot of candle work, at least once a week.

38. What is your favorite witchy movie? Mists of Avalon

39. What is your favorite witchy book, both fiction and non-fiction. Why? Nonfiction is a toss up between Crone Magic and Cauldronborn… fiction, I enjoyed Harry Potter and the Witch and Wizard series.

40. What is the first spell you ever performed? Successful or not. It was a banishing - and it was successful.

41. What’s the craziest witchcraft-related thing that’s happened to you? When I was researching Paganism, trying to decide if it was horrible or not, I put a call out to the Goddess - told her, if she wanted me, she would have to give me some kind of undeniable sign. That night, I woke three different times, to a woman’s voice yelling my name. My husband heard nothing. That’s when I decided to dedicate myself to the work of the Goddess.

42. What is your favourite type of candle to use? All of them, I’m really not prejudice ;) I’m a candle maker myself...

43. What is your favorite witchy tool? Again, all of them - I don’t use anything for my Craft that I don’t love.

44. Do you or have you ever made your own witchy tools? Yes.

45. Have you ever worked with any magical creatures such as the fea or spirits? Yes, all the time.

46. Do you practice color magic? Yes.

47. Do you or have you ever had a witchy teacher or mentor of any kind? Mostly books and experience - and the husband, who simply just let me explore.

48. What is your preferred way of shopping for witchcraft supplies? Shopping small biz!

49. Do you believe in predestination or fate? Yes, but I also believe it can be changed.

50. What do you do to reconnect when you are feeling out of touch with your practice? This usually happens when life gets busy and I don’t make time to meditate - and I need to just get back into it.

51. Have you ever had any supernatural experiences? Yes, quite a few actually

52. What is your biggest witchy pet peeve? The hypocrites… those who claim to be a witch just because it’s trendy or they’re a rebel. Those who walk around like they know everything there is to know, and and look down their nose at others because they’ve practiced longer/trained in whatever/older/younger/different path/etc.

53. Do you like incense? If so what’s your favorite scent? Yes, but I usually make my own - love frank and myrrh resins tho!

54. Do you keep a dream journal of any kind? Yes.

55. What has been your biggest witchcraft disaster? Doing magick during a voc moon - smoke alarms blaring at midnight, almost set ablaze my altar!

56. What has been your biggest witchcraft success? This is a tough one, and there’s a few that come to mind… but I think the biggest ‘success’ is me. As I get to know myself and better myself, the stronger I become, and with magick, that makes all the difference!

57. What in your practice do you do that you may feel silly or embarrassed about? Not really - I have my practice, you have yours. I don’t judge others, and could care less if they judge me.

58. Do you believe that you can be an atheist, Christian, Muslim or some other faith and still be a witch too? Indeed!

59. Do you ever feel insecure, unsure or even scared of spell work? I used to, not anymore.

60. Do you ever hold yourself to a standard in your witchcraft that you feel you may never obtain? I hold myself to getting better with every ritual/spell.

61. What is something witch related that you want right now? Tattoos… looking to get a Celtic knot cuff on my wrist and the bard symbol on the back of my neck with “Ní neart go cur le chéile” - There’s no strength without unity.

62. What is your rune of choice? Jera

63. What is your tarot card of choice? The Fool

64. Do you use essential oils? If so what is your favorite? Aromatherapist here! My favorite is clove.

65. Have you ever taken any kind of witchcraft or pagan courses? Yes - online and in person.

66. Do you wear pagan jewelry in public? Yes.

67. Have you ever been discriminated against because of your faith or being a witch? Yes.

68. Do you read or subscribe to any pagan magazines? Yes.

69. Do you think it’s important to know the history of paganism and witchcraft? Yes.

70. What are your favorite things about being a witch? Everything...the freedom to just be yourself.

71. What are your least favorite things about being a witch? The instant fear in someone’s face when they find out I’m a witch...and then the preaching that follows.

72. Do you listen to any pagan music? If so who is your favorite singer/band? Yes - Damh the Bard/Blackmore’s Night

73. Do you celebrate the Esbbats? If so, how? Yes - with coven when they have ritual and at home during the full moon. We light up the candles, make offering to the nature spirits, re-ward and cleanse the house, sit out crystals in the moonlight and sometimes sing to the moon herself.

74. Do you ever work skyclad? Yes, but only at home.

75. Do you think witchcraft has improved your life? If so, how? Yes - I’ve done A LOT of self work in my Craft, not that I’m anywhere near done! My confidence has improved greatly, ,my understanding of people and the world in general has shifted, I’m empowered, I’m a healer, and I am free, spiritually. I’m still working thru physical and mental health issues, but it’s easier now - and I have a family that supports my growth.

76. Where do you draw inspiration from for your practice? My daydreams, walks out in nature, and late nights - after a certain hour, I’ve found that I think and perceive things a little different… and I’m more comfortable with myself as well.

77. Do you believe in ‘fantasy’ creatures? (Unicorns, fairies, elves, gnomes, ghosts, etc) Yes.

78. What’s your favorite sigil/symbol? Triquetra

79. Do you use blood magick in your practice? Why or why not? Yes, and just began recently - not for just anything tho. It started because someone gave me an idea, so I did my research and tried it. Blood magick is a powerful tool and it works, so I use it when needed.

80. Could you ever be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t support your practice? No.

81. In what area or subject would you most like your craft to grow? Right now, my magickal goal is very personal.

82. What’s your favorite candle scent? Do you use it in your practice? See, I make candles, so this is a rough one :/ I have one called Witches Brew, which is a blend of amber and ylang ylang,,, that’s probably my favorite… and yes!

83. Do you have a pre-ritual ritual? (I.e. Something you do before rituals to prepare yourself for them). If so what is it? Bath or shower with salts/oils/incense

84. What real life witch most inspires your practice? I don’t really have one.

85. What is your favorite method of communicating with deity? Invocation/channelling

86. How do you like to organize all your witchy items and ingredients? Drawers and boxes - organized so that I know where everything is and disorganized enough so that others can’t ;)

87. Do you have any witches in your family that you know of? After a bit of research, I found a few on both sides of my family - but my family did a decent job hiding it, to the point where I’m not even sure my parents know about them.

88. How have you created your path? What is unique about it? Tbh, I believe everyone’s path is pretty unique - and yes, I do not follow a particular path because I’m eclectic. My path shifts and changes when the need arises… kinda like that river thing, you never step in the same river 2x because it’s always moving and changing? That’s kinda what my Craft is like.

89. Do you feel you have any natural gifts or affinities (premonitions, hearing spirits, etc.) that led you toward the craft? If so what are they? Empathy and premonitions are things I grew up with and evolved naturally into my practice. Spirit communication, energy healing and divination came very easy to me, once I woke up to them.

90. Do you believe you can initiate yourself or do you have to be initiated by another witch or coven? It’s a personal decision, really. I believe it can be done either way.

91. When you first started out in your path what was the first thing or things you bought? Candles

92. What is the most spiritual or magickal place you’ve been? Sedona, AZ

93. What’s one piece of advice you’d give someone who is searching for their matron and patron deities? Let them come to you - meditate and pray, keep an open heart and mind - then do your research!

94. What techniques do you use to ‘get in the zone’ for meditation? Not a lot, noise cancellation headphones work well tho (don’t even need the music, just the silence)!

95. Did visualization come easily to you or did you have to practice at it? Visualization comes very easy to me.

96. Do you prefer day or night? Why? Late night; it has been my experience that the mind works better the later it gets.

97. What do you think is the best time and place to do spell work? Dusk; outdoors

98. How did you feel when you cast your first circle? Did you stumble or did it go smoothly? Well, I clearly remember feeling the shift - whether or not it was ‘smooth’, I have no idea lol - but I considered it a success when I felt the shift.

99. Do you believe witchcraft gets easier with time and practice? Yes.

100. Do you believe in many gods or one God with many faces? Both.

101. Do you eat meat, eggs and dairy? Yes to meat, no eggs or dairy (mostly because I have crappy reactions to them)

102. What is your favorite color and why? It’s a toss up between midnight blue and forest green… and it’s just because I like them really.

103. What is the one question you get asked most by non-practitioners or non-pagans? How do you usually respond? So, what do you do exactly? And tbh, the answer all depends on who’s talking to me...

104. Which of your five senses would you say is your strongest? Toss up - hearing/smell. 105. What is a pagan or witchcraft rule that you preach but don’t practice? Are there really rules? And I try not to teach/preach things I don’t practice...and when I do, someone promptly throws my words back at me!

#pagan #wicca #witch #witchcraft #witchblr #magic #magick #goddess #knowthyself #aboutme #spirit #spirituality #spiritualgrowth

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billybangssteve-blog · 7 years ago

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(Harringrove Fanfic) Chapter one

Hawkins, Indiana

March, 1985

Chapter one - New beginning

“Are you sure this is the place? To me, this little family friendly town don’t scream our Billy,”

Bobby Ryan surveyed the street he drove by with an arched brow. This town, Hawkins, was way too clichè for Bobby: the cinema with the billboard of the movies on, the humongous, ancient library and the arcade just topped it all off. Reminded him of Florida. He sneered at the thought and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, Guinvivere White humming along to Attitude by Bad brains.

It was early morning. The sun that creeped up from the seam of the world breathed red into the purple-blue sky and the clouds glowed a hot pink.

“Well, we know very well that Neil don’t give a rat’s ass about Billy,” she stated unhappily, cupping her hand over her mouth as she lit her cigeratte.

“This is the place. Hawkins, Indiana. That’s what Miss Hargrove said,” Ginny added as she prompted her leather-booted feet on the dash board, the cancer stick bobbing in her chapped lips. Bobby gave a displeased look at the boots and shoved them off.

“Could you not ruin my whip, lint licker. And you have too much respect for Bonnie, you call her Miss Hargrove like she’s your damn English teacher,” Bobby commented, smirking as Ginny rolled her eyes and plucked out her cig, exhaling smoke like a Dragon.

“You know who is a lint licker, Thirstbucket Georgia from Texas,” she snickered snidley and Bobby cackled, slapping his steering wheel.

“Not saying it’s not okay to be a bent ruler, we have Billy for fucks sakes, but she goes out with some ratchet bitches,” by the time Ginny was done, Bobby had parked along the side walk in front of a diner because he was laughing so hard. He wiped his eyes and coughed up the last of his chuckles.

“Shall we gets some chow? I’m mad hungry,” Bobby suggested with a strained voice, a teeth showing grin stretching his lips and Ginny nodded as they jumped out the car. It was a purple Honda Prelude 1985, a Christmas present from Bobby’s brother, Sean, who was minted from an unknown job.

Bobby looked up at the diner, Debbie’s Diner was in orange bromello front above the double doors and faintly glowed. The inside was like a diner on the side of a destinationless highway. Black and white checkered floor, red leather booths and spinning stools at the wooden bar. They took a seat in the booth at the back.

“And of course I respect Miss-”, “Bonnie,” he corrected. “Bonnie. She’s wavy and Billy’s mom, and damn she’s been through some shit,” Ginny said strongly, Bobby nodded in agreement and a waitress came over. She was just as cliche. Slender, short black hair with a bow and she smiled sweetly at them with glossy lips. He could basically smell the strawberry flavour.

“What can I get you two today?” She questioned, note in hand.

“Two black coffees.” Ginny replied rudely, the waitress, who’s name was Delilah from the tag, looked a little shocked but shook it off and wrote it down. Ginny excused herself to the rest room and Bobby, adjusting his leather jacket, smiled at Delilah.

“Don’t mind her. She hates waitresses. It a personal thing,” he explained kindly and Delilah flipped her fringe out her face.

“Well you sound like you’re a long way from home, with those accents. You from New York?” She queried with a interested expression, he nodded and smirked.

“Indeed ma'am, Manhattan herself.” He clicked his tongue while Delilah gasped and bit her lip in excited, she lent over the table.

“What’s it like? Is it true it never sleeps? Always awake and loud and busy?” She queried curiously, pale green eyes wide and lips glistening. Pretty thing she was.

“Oh yes, never sleeps. Big and bright and, God bless the Statue of Liberty, almost as beautiful as mother Mary.” He proclaimed proudly and Delilah’s lips part open, revealing dazzling white teeth and she drew closer to him, more interested than before.

“You Christian?” She asks quietly, the smile shattered from his lips and Bobby licked them uncomfortably.

“Catholic…. but um, what about you? Delilah? Ever left this town before?” He changed the subject and Delilah noticed it, but didn’t press on and rolled with the question. She stood up straight again, dusting off her apron.

“Went to Paris when I was 14, saw the Eiffel tower and ate breadsticks all week with my sister,” she said with a happy smile, as she remembered the moment and stayed quiet for a moment. Bobby aloud her, because he did that a lot and hated it when people distured him. She snapped out off it, shaking her bouncy hair and clearing her throat.

“Anyway, what are you doing in little old Hawkins?” Delilah asked, and Bobby thought she was as curious as a cat.

“Looking for a friend, think you’d know him?” She nodded confidently with a hand on her hip.

“Everyone knows everyone in this small ass town,” she explained and he chuckled.

“Billy Hargrove? Moved he about 6 months ago? Tanned, long blonde hair and has a tendency to beat people up?” He described Billy to Delilah and she giggled at the last bit.

“Yeah, he’s dating Steve Harrington at the moment. Has been for a solid 5 months,” she explained with a smile, and Bobby would laugh and smile if it wasn’t for a terrifying thought: if the whole town knew, then Neil did as well. Bobby noticed Delilah’s smile fading.

“He lives with Steve. Both got fucking shit parents. Neil Hargrove used to beat Billy silly and Steve’s parents haven’t been in Hawkins for 7 months. Shit, half of Hawkins have never even met his parents,” She stated with a sour look out the window, as if they were all out there.

“That is some serious neglect,” Bobby added bitterly, they shared a pissed off look.

“Who is this Harrington? What’s he like?” Bobby tapped his fingers on the table.

“Oh he’s basically the babysitter of Hawkins, and all the kids say he’s a bigger mom than theirs. But he suffers from a lot shit, PTSD or something. Dunno from what,” Delilah informed and Bobby was about ask another question when a woman came storming around the corner. She looked unmistakably like Delilah, but her hair was a bit lighter and her green eyes weren’t as soft and were hard.

“Delilah you have people to serving! I don’t mind some conversation, but Mr Frow has been sat at the bar for 7 minutes!” The woman scolded angrily, pointing her finger bossily at Delilah and Bobby couldn’t help by snicker as he looked away.

“Where’s Annette and Harvey? They’re supposed to be working the bar today, not me,” Delilah retorted, agitated, and the woman pursed her lips as she sighed frustratedly.

“… sorry, I forgot. They’re on break. Could you work the bar for a couple of minutes?” The woman had seeming released all her rage in that steaming breath and Delilah rolled her eyes as she smiled, almost understandingly, at her.

“Of course, Diana,” Delilah replied softly, Diana strutted away and Bobby observed curiously.

“Sorry about my sister. She has really bad memory,” Delilah paused, looked around and lent into his ear, “Used to be a Cocaine addict,” she whispered and Bobby’s eyebrows rose, Delilah nodded.

“We used to live with our dad in Columbia, he’s Columbian and our mom American, and my sister got mingling with the, shall we say, wrong crowd. When she was 15 and I was 13, mom found out and took us away from him. Moved here,” Delilah ranted as she walked behind the bar and started the coffee machine, the wiring filled the diner and Mr Frow, an old, greasy man, looked up from his paper.

“You gonna serve me now, Delilah?” He asked in a rumbling voice, Delilah laughed and walked over to him as Ginny came sauntering back to the booth.

“Fuck were you doing in there? Pissing for America?” He interrogated playfully and Ginny plopped down in her seat, staring at the blank space where she expected her coffee to be.

“We were talking a bit too long, got carried away with introducing myself,” Bobby said as he crossed his arms, Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Of course you were flirting with the broad, what else was I expecting?” Ginny snorted and Delilah returned with two, steaming mugs that smelt strong and kicking.

“Here you go. Sorry, I didn’t get your name,” She said as she placed the drinks in front of them, Ginny sneered while Bobby grinned happily.

“Bobby Ryan, and that’s Ginny White,” he extended his arm and she took it, her hand soft but she had a firm grip.

“Delilah Armstrong.”

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #gay #stranger things

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igsy-blog · 8 years ago

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BBC 100 books (with commentary)

thanks for the tag @thegreatorangedragon As an English major I was compelled to read a lot of these, and I may only have skimmed/read chunks of some of them if I could get away with it....

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen: not my favorite Austen, actually (Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility are 1 & 2) The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien - OMG, SO many times. My siblings and I had rituals around the reading of LOTR.

Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte. Yes - it’s OK Harry Potter series - JK Rowling - Yes! My kids grew up to them and the experience was almost as good as the books. But I also really enjoyed watching Rowling mature as a writer over the course of the series. I don’t ask for perfection from my writers, but warmth and growth. :-) Also, they got my stubborn non-reader sons to READ. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee - like probably every other person who went to MS/HS in the US. The Bible - yes, and twice all the way through. once at about 10, and then more recently along with Slate’s Blogging the Bible (ok it was just the Old Testament). That was a stage on my journey to my current fallen-catholicness  Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte - yes, but prefer the Pat Benatar song :D Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell - yes and really need a re-read  His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman - No, keep meaning to. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens . Yes, and can I say I love Dickens - LOVE Dickens - but I hate this book. I think it’s always assigned because it’s shortish. I regularly reread the glorious messes that are Pickwick Papers, Bleak House, A Tale of Two Cities, and my fav, the insane Our Mutual Friend (but ONLY the Lizzie Hexam/Eugene Wrayburn segments). Little Women - Louisa M Alcott - and the sequels. I think Jo’s Boys might actually be my favorite. Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy . yes - I am pretty sure??? Catch 22 - Joseph Heller. read enough of it to count Complete Works of Shakespeare - William Shakespeare; yes! my mom was a Zefferelli Romeo & Juliet junkie - we had the album of the film - and I must have heard it 3 dozen times before I was 7. She bought a complete works and I read all of it over the years. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier. No  The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien - Yes. My husband’s favorite book. And I really liked the Rankin-Bass film, when I was young. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk No Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger - yeah The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger Realllly? This is a good book but I’m not sure it belongs on this list. First novel and feels fresh out of an MFA program. My other complaints I won’t say here because I tend to get very snarky about this book. (Another book I read around the same time [mid-oughts] was Then We Came to the End, the debut novel of Joshua Ferris - much better, like DeLillo without the air of self-importance.) Middlemarch - George Eliot; love me some Eliot (but prefer Silas Marner, mainly because of a very good tv adaption). Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell - Again: really? I read this book because I spent the summer between HS and college in a really small town with a teeny library and I basically read my way through the fiction stacks. Won’t say more than that, because I would get political. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald Yes, but not a favorite. Bleak House - Charles Dickens. A great, great book for which two amazing miniseries have been done in my lifetime. But rightly criticized, IMO, for the annoying tone of its first-person narrator, Esther. Dickens was dazzlingly, spectacularly wrong in writing about women. Not to mention other groups. But my god did he skewer institutions on behalf of the (British) poor - none better. This book wins for the Jo’s death scene and its sweeping, bitter, critique of church and state and society and everything - and so human. “Dead! And dying thus around us, everyday.” I was 12 when I first read that, recovering from chicken pox, and I sat straight up in bed. This is the book that made me a socialist. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy This is so horrible, but I haven’t! The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams. Yes, fun, but not a favorite. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh - No. I started to and have a copy at work, for some reason I don’t even remember. But not enough to county Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky No :( Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck. Yes, oh and my grandma’s family were Okies. Everyone in my family has a copy of the Sacramento Bee front page story sneering about the dust bowl immigrants arriving in town and my great-grandmother is mentioned by name (though they mistakenly think she is her widowed father’s wife). I love Cali, and Sactown, but we have a long history of being not-so-welcoming to everyone at certain times (was it in the 80s where the “Welcome to California, Now Go Home” bumper stickers were everywhere?).

Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll - yes The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame - yes but so long ago I don’t remember it at all Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy yes. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens. Yes, not his best by far. Another “easy” read like Great Expectations Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis - and many other of his works, when I was trying NOT to be an atheist - Mere Christianity, his sci-fi trilogy and Til We Have Faces, a retelling of my favorite myth, Psyche and Cupid. I like the more obscure books in this series best - The Silver Chair and The Horse and his Boy. Emma - Jane Austen Persuasion - Jane Austen - oh, here it is!

 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis .... uh, yes The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini - was a group read at work a couple of years ago. recommend. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres  Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne - yes Animal Farm - George Orwell - another book I want to re-read. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown - nope  One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez; YES A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving  The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins ... did I? I’m pretty sure. Or was it The Moonstone? Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery. YES. Anxiously awaiting the new adaption. Why is it so hard to get Anne of Windy Poplars on kindle? That is the funniest one. And Rilla of Ingleside so heartbreaking  Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy  The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood, yes and ever so long ago. Another book to re-read soon (haven’t started watching the series yet) Lord of the Flies - William Golding Atonement - Ian McEwan; LOVE this book and his writing in general. He also wrote the screenplay, and the movie and the book are a perfect match in tone.  Life of Pi - Yann Martel No, but on my list Dune - Frank Herbert - no Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons - yes, Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen - yay!  A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon  A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens - my intro to Dickens, though not his best Brave New World - Aldous Huxley - starting to get depressed at all this dystopian fiction that needs to be re-read as a primer for the present times  The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez - lives at my desk at work. Not even a favorite book of mine, but I love diving into his words every once in a while Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov The Secret History - Donna Tartt The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold - when I saw the movie it reminded me why I wasn’t into reading the book Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas - plot better than the story  On The Road - Jack Kerouac Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy - yeah, I had to read so much Hardy Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie - no, want to though  Moby Dick - Herman Melville; I can’t even think about this book without remembering our class discussion of the “circle jerk” chapter. I remember literally nothing else.  Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens - meh Dracula - Bram Stoker  The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett - an ALL-TIME favorite Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson Ulysses - James Joyce; all hail the master, and the bastard responsible for my sick dependence on the em-dash The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome Germinal - Emile Zola Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray - unfortunately, yes Possession - AS Byatt A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens; of course Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell The Color Purple - Alice Walker - excellent The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry Charlotte’s Web - EB White: yes The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Yes. I prefer Dorothy Sayers’ Lord Peter series hands-down, but despite her association with Tolkien, Lewis, et al, she got squashed between Conan Doyle and Christie. Her Gaudy Night is one of my top five books.

The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad - yeah The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery heck, yeah The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks Watership Down - Richard Adams yes A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole - my kids read this book in HS, so I have a copy lying around, but have never read it A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas Hamlet - William Shakespeare - yes, probably too many times. What are my favorite Shakespeare dramas? Maybe King Lear, Richard III? Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl. yes  Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

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goldentailedmermaids · 8 years ago

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Am I the only one who finds it absurd that apparently Björn and Rollo have not discussed Rollo's betrayal once during their trip? I always expected to see a scene of Björn asking Rollo why he did it and then Rollo trying to explain his reasons. According to Clive Standen he did it for love, for Gisla and finally founding his people.

I find it stupid too tbh, but i think that there are many things that needs to happen (like the Great Heathen Army), so Hirst hasn’t much time to develop this and he fast-forward. So he does not linger over what could have been a meaningful conversation between a man and his uncle about faith, destiny and love. That’s a shame, because we lose something that could have been an echo to Ragnar and Ecbert’s conversation abt religion and Floki’s doubts (to know more abt this, please read this ). Rollo could have told that another way was possible; that union and understanding was the way to the future and that it was a path he chose. He could have told Bjorn that he would welcome his people to settle in peace in Normandy under his protection. Because yeah, vikings and franks lived together. Of course, some converted, but Rollo and the next duke did not do anything to stop people to worship the old gods. Even under the conqueror’s rule, there still were some people who still believed in the gods.

The new preview shows Bjorn telling Rollo he can't come back to Kattegat because he'll have to kill him. So Rollo goes back to Normandy not because he wants to and misses his family but because Bjorn will not allow him to come back to Kattegat. Well, newsflash Björn: We in Normandy don't want him either, so just do us all a favor and just drop him in the ocean will ya? His storylone was a huge disappointment!

Preach it mate! Honestly, 4b Rollo is so OOC (except for some parts). I did not recognized Rollo at all. I did not even recognized s1!Rollo. That’s to say how bizarre it was for me to watch this stranger with Rollo’s body. It is not even historically accurate! Real Rollo never went to the Mediterranean! He stayed in normandy and fought the Britons, punished criminals so badly that at the time, Normandy’s crime rate was the lowest in Frankia and he had a complicated relationship with Charles the simple’s successor. If truly Hirst wanted to have Viking!Rollo back, he could have chosen to follow History and explored those possible storylines which had potential for an action-packed season.

But I guess I am stupid and that Hirst has a bigger and better plan. I just wish the form wasn’t that cringeworthy. That’s what he messed up this season: the form. He needs more writers and ideas.

What really repulsed me about Rollo in that harem room was the disgusting facial expressions he had before he raped that poor woman. The gif set from pricessgisla you posted a couple days before displays it perfectly. He was pretty much like "hey honey you ready for a rape?", "Aww yeah it's rape party time!". Yuck!. I sooo want Gisla to find out about this behavior & punish him for it. It would do no justice for her feminist character if she was ignorant of it or let it go!

Aint @princessgisla the best? She is so strong and brave and her gifsets are always a delight on my dash. I can’t wait to see the ideas she got in Normandy.

I agree with you. Gisla is fierce and proud, so I doubt she would welcome her husband like that. But, like someone noted to me on twitter, Christian folks did not really mind if their own raped and killed non Christian people. So she most likely not be as mad as we are regarding this. Nevertheless, she could be angry because of the political consequences of her husband’s actions. I mean, the dude’s a duke. He is one of the most eminent nobles in Frankia. Surely his actions would have consequences regarding Frankia and Al-Andalus’s relationship. This could mean war; something the kingdom cannot afford because it costs money and because they already have a lot to do with the vikings raids and the Eastern Frankish kingdoms which threatens them.

Imo, Gisla would be more angry at her husband’s foolishness and the way he betrayed her, than him raping a non Christian woman.

But with the writing this season, Gisla will probably be out of character and become bitchy because apparently all women are bitches in Vikings and because Hirst wants to please the fans who hated on Gisla the very second she appeared on screen. Honestly, this is so infuriating that Hirst villifies women on a show that did not do it before.

I just reviewed the cast list on IMDb website for episode 4x17. Morgane Polanski and the boy who plays William are listed to appear in the episode. Seeing this, I really hope Gisla doesn't full out forgive Rollo for leaving, especially after his despicable actions in the previous episode.

Neither do I. But I am sure Rollo will come back to two dead children. After all, their names were changed from History, weren’t they? It surely means they’ll die. So you’ll have Gisla crying over her children’s dead bodies and it would be a slap to Rollo from the gods. It would parallel what happened in season 3 when Harbard came and two boys were found drowned in the fjord. My guess is that Marcellus and Celsa will drown just as Siggy. But I might be wrong.

The mention of Rollo losing some duchy lands to the Bretons during his absence was an idea I thought of as well. Didn't the Bretons & the Franks have disputes on the Normandy/Brittany border? I hope Hirst will explore this with Rollo or adult William in future seasons. It would be nice to see the show's characters have contact with other cultural groups other than the Saxons & the Franks.

Yes indeed. Although it seems that Hirst does not really care for other groups than Vikings and Saxons (see the Frankish storyline which focused on Charles and power plays instead of the birth of Normandy; the first ‘stable’ settlment authorized by a Christian king under the supervision and rule of a Viking). Tbh I don’t think we’ll see Normandy again, even in season 5. Hirst doesn’t seem interested by this and it would feel strange if he suddenly cared and give Normandy’s storyline more than 2 minutes of screentime. Of course, he could go with William the Conqueror’s story, but there are so many plotholes and historical-holes that it could not be as good as it should be.

#vikings #i woke up with 5 asks this morning #i was like: whaaaaat???#vikings spoilers #?#Anonymous #ask

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avva-rm · 6 years ago

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Jean Seberg Talks Breathless–Back in 1968

Harry Clein May 28, 2010 8:30 am

Back in 1968, veteran Hollywood publicist Harry Clein recalls, he visited the set of big-budget musical Paint Your Wagon to interview young actress Jean Seberg (star of Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless, which is being reissued). A transcript follows, including a visit from her co-stars, Lee Marvin and Clint Eastwood (with whom Seberg denied having an affair).

As the Summer of Protest rocked the Chicago Democratic Convention and feminists stormed the Miss America Pageant, I was in Baker, Oregon reporting on the big-budget musical Paint Your Wagon as a leg man for Los Angeles Times columnist Joyce Haber. Like Jane Fonda, Seberg was on J. Edgar Hoover’s subversives list, due to her involvement with the Black Panthers. After I left Haber in the spring of 1969, Haber ran a destructive blind item that ruined Seberg’s life: The blond and beautiful “Miss A,” she wrote, was pregnant by “a prominent Black Panther.” At the funeral for her stillborn daughter, Seberg displayed the white baby in a glass coffin; her husband Romain Gary claimed the baby as his. After that, the fragile actress repeatedly tried to commit suicide, often on the anniversary of the baby’s birth. In 1979, at age 40, she was found dead of a prescription overdose in the back seat of her car in Paris, holding a suicide note.

But that dusty August day back in 1968, I was just a callow young man infatuated with the beautiful, sexy and worldly star of Breathless, who although she was my age, had already played opposite Belmondo, Beatty and Connery. Munching two green apples for lunch, Jean, in blue jeans and a red shirt, sat on the stairs to her trailer and harmonized on “My Funny Valentine” with a couple of hippie extras strumming a guitar and rubbing a washboard.

Jean Seberg: They come over for an occasional shower. I’d never deny that to any hippie. I do see a healthy movement among the scruffy young in the sense it is the first generation whose values aren’t material. But the whole drug scene is a drag. It’s a cop out. I’d rather see a friend run down by a car than on drugs like heroin or speed.”

Harry Clein: Breathless put you at the center of the French New Wave. Were you surprised?

JS: I was out of work and needed the money. The producer asked Columbia, which then owned my old Preminger contract, if I was available. He gave Columbia a choice of $12,000 or 50% of the world profits. With great foresight, Columbia took the $12,000. It was shot for $76,000 in five weeks. Most of the time we worked half days. We’d break and sit around in cafes. One day the producer saw us, it was his last card, and he got into a fistfight with Godard because we weren’t working.

HC: Why did the French fall in love with you?

JS: I know they loved the short hair. It was very daring then because of the concentration camp memories. Maybe they were happy because I married a French man [Romain Gary]. I’m just happy people think of me at all. I’m just happy to get jobs.

HC: What was it like making Saint Joan after winning the big talent contest?

JS: I didn’t do it. Some pimply-faced kid from Iowa did it.

HC: Are you still in touch with Otto Preminger, who discovered you?

JS: We nod across crowded commissaries.

HC: You also made Bonjour Tristesse with him. Was that a better experience?

JS: I was in it, but I was all tied up with that dashing young playboy [Francois Moreuil] who dashed away. I would have broken your heart. I was a pathetic soul. Everyone disapproved. Which naturally pushed me on. He was a good friend when I didn’t have good friends. He’s a very nice man, and when we were married, he was a very nice boy. I was a crazy girl. It was really a baby marriage, not even a childhood marriage. He did a foolish thing. He wanted to meet Romain Gary, the French Consul General in Los Angeles. We made a call on him with the beautiful eyes, who became the father of my son (Diego).

Lee Marvin and Clint Eastwood came over as junket reporters from Oakland and Charlotte trailed after them. Eastwood’s vocabulary to the press in those days consisted of pleasant hellos, yeahs and nos, and there was absolutely no indication he would become a two-time Oscar-winning director. Marvin and Eastwood had flown down the night before to Los Angeles for a party honoring Toshiro Mifune who had made Hell in the Pacific with Marvin.

Lee Marvin: You and Claudia Cardinale are Mifune’s favorite actresses!

JS: Toshiro Mifune likes me! If he comes up, I’ll bake him a Japanese pie. What was I doing here in Baker? I wish I had gone with you.

LM (playfully): “No. You couldn’t have. I paid for the plane.

JS (haughtily): That proves you’re not a star.

LM: I don’t have to take that from a runway starlet.

My Baker interview ended when the six actresses who played French whores made a sensational helicopter landing on the set. The hormone-stoked male crew and cast cheered as the voluptuous women stepped out onto the Oregon dust in their high boots and their lavender, orange and yellow micro-dresses.

JS: It looks like Raquel Welch hitting Viet Nam!

My interview continued on Election Day, November 5, 1968 at Jean’s rented pink California colonial house on Coldwater Canyon. By the backyard pool, Jean was barefoot, wearing a floppy gray hat, jeans and a red gingham shirt tied at the waist. But she was not as fancy-free as she had been on set. A darker more reflective mood had set in.

JS: Bobby Kennedy is the guy I’ll be thinking about most today. I found him very candid and, surprisingly, he didn’t think he had a hope in hell of getting the nomination in Chicago because of the Johnson-Humphrey machine. Politically, as they say on television, there’s a breakdown in communications between the electorate and the candidates. But this is still the country where people live the best, despite the gaping flaws. I’ve friends who live all over. But after they leave America, they realize it. They come back.

HC: Didn’t you go to a White House dinner when John Kennedy was president?

JS: Kennedy was a pragmatist. We can only speculate, but I think he would have seen earlier that there would be no military conclusion to the war. That would have saved the maimed and killed on both sides. My God, on television each night the body counts are like racking up scores for either side.

HC: Despite the problems on Paint Your Wagon, how do you feel about it?

JS: I’ve finished all my work. Lee and Clint took me out to lunch the other day. I was sobbing. It was kind of like leaving summer camp. I was a basket case. I had freedom by the end of the picture. Lee is hard to work with. He plays broad, but it doesn’t look that way on the screen. Working with Lee is like being in the Army for four years. He enriches your vocabulary so much. It’s turned into such a big picture. When the weather was bad in Oregon, there was the rumor Paramount was negotiating to buy God.

HC: Any other films on the horizon?

JS: I’ve a second commitment to Paramount. Jim Brown has asked me to do Lions Three, Christians Nothing (a love story about a black NFL quarterback and a white actress). But I’ve got to have a big powwow with him about it. It could say good things, but it’s a firecracker. There are strong truths in it that I’d hate to see sensationalized. I had a talk with Sammy Davis. We agreed it would be ten years before the right story of an interracial romance could be told as it is. The point being that when people are in love they are color-blind. But we’re so hung up on the black-white sexual obsession.

HC: Is Romain coming to Los Angeles while you’re here?

JS: Romain’s film Birds in Peru opens soon in New York. It’s breaking records in Paris. I hope it does well here. It’s about non-compassionate love. It’s a ritualistic dance of fate of a frigid woman who seeks a man who will be the key to awakening her. She has periodic crises of nymphomania. She has a pact with her husband that if her nymphomania happens again, to kill her. It may be shocking to some people. Romain’s work is very impressive. I was terrified working with him. I wanted him to do it with someone else. But he turned out to be more visual than I expected. He is a very sensitive director. I hope to work with him again.

HC: What is the state of your marriage?

JS: We reached an ideal with what marriage should be. But the pressures of our careers kept us from it. We remain the closest of friends. Loving friends. The three month period he was in Majorca and I was in Baker was a trial separation. He’s basically a loner. We can accept our relationship on every level but the marriage level. The marriage was over when I spoke to you in Baker…The French have a nice way of putting things. Whenever a man presents his woman, he refers to her as ma femme. It’s the same word for both mistress and wife. The French also say ‘never apologize, never explain.’ The French say an awful lot of dumb things…The superb thing about Romain was that he created this Frankenstein. He pushed me to develop my own tastes. This inevitably created conflict. I have this character flaw. I’m a ship without a rudder if there’s not a man there. It’s my nature to mold myself around a man.

HC: Have you ever thought of moving to Los Angeles?

JS: Only when I am very tired like right now, I say ‘why go, why not stay?’ This town… Los Angeles, Hollywood… I find beautiful. I’m overawed by the variety of plants and flowers. But I find the total preoccupation with the industry to be a drag. Since my son is raised as a European, I’ll spend time there. I made a oath to Romain that Diego would be raised in Europe. I feel as if I’m a cork in the middle of the Atlantic. When I come back here, I realize I’m so American. To the French, I am a French actress. But my roots are here in America. Even if I wanted to think they aren’t, they are very much so. Do you know the old story about the chameleon? Put the chameleon on green, he turns green; put him on black, he turns black; put him on red and he turns red. Place the chameleon on plaid, and he explodes.

HC: What’s next?

JS: This is a paid advertisement. Any man who sends me flowers every day can have me. No diamonds, no jets, no Bentleys. Also I am hooked on good manners. I don’t mean opening car door good manners, I mean opening of hearts good manners. But I’ve learned a little on the way. I’m a lot less selfish, more giving. And if he’s someone who wants children, I’m now prepared to have piles of them. Maybe it’s a biological thing. Maybe the career just means less at a time when it should mean more. That, too, is a paid advertisement.

The next time – and unfortunately last time – I saw Jean Seberg I took her a single white rose.

#Jean Seberg #Breathless #Paint Your Wagon #Harry Clein #Actress #Interview #1968 #IndieWire

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tango-uniformed · 6 years ago

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Viv vs A Road Trip

Yes this sucks I still don’t know how to write these characters and I forgot how to write

The distance between the Kennellys’ small town in East Tennessee to Los Angeles, California, was 2150 miles and change.

This translated to over 33 hours of driving time. Over 33 hours of driving time, cross country, in Bobby Kennelly’s horrible 1998 Chevy pickup-truck. They did not stop at landmarks, nor did they sleep in motels at night; the three of them simply rotated between shifts of driving and then dozing off in the cramped backseat. There were times that they stopped for food, or stopped at rest stops to stretch and use the bathroom, but those were kept minimal. It was utterly inhumane and the worst travel experience in Viv’s life. By the time they made it to Southern California (less than 48 hours after they left Tennessee) he was already trying to repress every memory he had of this ‘road trip’ made with two people he had known for less than a week.

The trip had not been without incidents.

The night of their hasty departure (a less optimistic person might call it ‘flight’) from Jepthah, Tennessee, they had barely made it through Nashville before the first incident. And of course it was in Nashville, considering the subject of that first road trip hiccup.

Just a few hours in. The road around them was nearly empty since it was nearly 3 AM. The lights of Nashville shone invitingly, promising music venues and acoustic guitar lessons. In another life, one where he was not driving across country in search of his brother’s mysteries, Viv would have made a day trip of the city. He’d always wanted to visit, if only to check out the ‘Grand Ole Opry House’ and Ryman Auditorium. Country music wasn’t his thing, but he had an appreciation for its history.

Viv pulled his phone out of his pocket with the intention to listen to some music that was his thing. He figured that the Kennellys wouldn’t mind. It would keep them all awake and it would introduce them to a little bit of culture that he was sure they would learn to appreciate.

“Do you have an auxillary cord?” he asked, eyeing the sound system that most certainly had not been installed in 1998.

Bobby, in the driver’s seat, kept his eye on the road. “No.”

Arlene was playing Candy Crush on her phone with her long legs propped up on the dashboard. “We lost it a year back, last time we cleaned out the truck.”

The truck had been cleaned a year ago? The detritus of fast food wrappers and empty beer cans seemed to say otherwise. The pathological stereotype in Viv’s mind for smart, particular guys like Bobby Kennelly was synonymous with ‘neat’, but he didn’t want to make any offensive assumptions.

“You wanna listen to the radio?” Arlene asked him.

“No,” said Bobby again.

“I can play my music on my phone-- I have Spotify premium.”

Arlene turned around so that she could look at Viv. She looked pretty put-together for a woman who had just blown up the side of a building with her mind less than 5 hours ago. Her wavy brown hair appeared more unkempt than it had that evening and there was a smudge on her nose, but apart from that? Viv had seen more magical damage on a kid from his theatre who had attempted to levitate part of the set. Arlene probably had a much stronger inherent ability. Her expression was not curious and he could tell that she was not interested in what he had to say. She was just making conversation with him because it was the polite thing to do, even in the middle of the night after they had all almost died. Viv didn’t know if that put him at ease or disturbed him. “You pay for that?”

“I do. I don’t like the stuff on the radio, I’m particular about what I listen to.” Viv started to pull up his carefully tended playlists.

“Because you went to music college?”

‘Music college’. Viv smiled tightly. “Sound design at Boston University, but yeah, kind of. It’s more that my mom really nurtured an artistic environment for me and my brothers when we were kids and we were exposed to so much music from--”

Bobby Kennelly cut him off by honking loudly at an 18-wheeler in front of him that was going too slow. He swerved sharply into the other lane in order to pass it. Both Viv and Arlene were jostled in their seats, and Arlene quickly took her cowboy-booted feet off the dash.

What a dick.

Without thinking too hard about it, Viv selected ‘Seasons of Love’ by the original cast of Rent and pressed play. And then, because it was what he naturally did when he was in a car and a musical was playing, he began to sing along.

Within 10 seconds the atmosphere in the truck felt like the inside of a space shuttle that had been depressurized. Arlene’s politely disinterested expression turned into one that resembled that of a woman who had just eaten a large bug. Bobby looked over his shoulder in shock and almost crashed into the car ahead of them.

“What the hell are you doing?” said Bobby. He corrected his course then looked back over his shoulder. “Turn that off and quit singin’.”

“In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of-- come on, don’t you guys know Rent?” Viv shimmied his shoulders while making eye contact with Bobby, who looked away to focus on the road. Arlene, still staring at him, smiled uncomfortably. “You know, Rent? Based off Puccini’s opera? La vie boheme? Come on guys, you know Rent. Hey, we could listen to the whole album tonight if you haven’t heard of it before.”

“Yes, we fucking know what Rent is,” Bobby snapped. “So turn it off, I’m tryin’ to drive here, I need peace and quiet on account of, if you don’t recall, almost gettin’ blown to hell this evening!”

Viv turned the song off. It wasn’t fun to mess around like he normally did during road trips if Bobby was going to have a nasty attitude. He sighed.

“So...was that like, Glee or something?” asked Arlene.

Viv looked out the window at the flashing lights of Nashville as they passed him by. Whoever Levi Monday was, he had better be a good lead on Christian if he was going to drive joylessly across the country to get to him. It had been a struggle enough to get the Kennellys to help him, but it had not been difficult, not in the way he had thought it would be. After all, he had only blackmailed 2 drug dealing rednecks into giving him the information he needed. After that, their assistance on his ‘mission’ had sort of fallen into his lap due to their mutual interest of not getting murdered. Chances were, Monday was a different breed of criminal. Christian’s dossier had labeled him as an ‘enforcer’-- whatever that meant in real life, Viv wasn’t sure.

He drifted off to sleep in the silence of the backseat.

In the morning, a bit after 7, they reached Memphis, and Viv woke up to a brand new discomfort about to start.

Bobby pulled up to a McDonalds and parked. He got out of the truck without saying anything, and stalked inside without looking back. Viv sat up and rubbed his eyes. The truck’s door shutting had been what had woken him up.

“What’s going on?” he asked blearily. “Where are we?”

The sun had barely risen. All he could see was a bleak McDonalds parking lot.

“Memphis,” said Arlene glumly.

Viv did not know anything about Memphis, and his brain was too tired to contribute a snappy remark or small-talk. He hadn’t taken his contacts out before going to sleep, so he started rummaging around inside the meager bag of possessions he still had for saline solution. “Is your brother getting us some coffee?” he asked. The saline solution was nowhere to be found. He must have left it at the motel along with his toothbrush, deodorant, and everything else that was necessary for a human being to function. “Hey, we need to stop at the next gas station to pick up some hygiene products, I just realized I grabbed my headphones but left every basic necessity. Talk about priorities, am I right?”

Arlene shrugged. “We’ll get some stuff, I guess. Truck stop or something. I didn’t grab anything except my purse. Bobby’s got shit in his bug-out-bag but it’s, well, not exactly necessities.”

That meant guns. Viv didn’t want to think about it. He rubbed his eyes some more, wondering why he hadn’t had his vision corrected like Christian did when he had the chance.

“You get any sleep?” he asked conversationally, but not really caring. “Are you driving next?”

“No,” said Arlene. “I mean, yeah.”

“Which one?”

“I didn’t sleep but I’m drivin’ next. Just to Little Rock, not far.”

Viv nodded amiably. He watched the parking lot for any sign of Bobby and hoped that he would bring back some egg Mcmuffins along with the coffee. That was the thoughtful thing to do, right? Was Bobby Kennelly that thoughtful?

“Are you going to use the restrooms?” Arlene asked him.

Viv laughed. “Yeah, after I drink my coffee.”

“Do you mind going now? It’s just I could use some privacy.”

“Why?” Viv, like most people, found that coffee made him have to use the toilet rather urgently and preferred to wait. He didn’t expect a complex answer; if she wanted to smoke a cigarette or something she could just go outside, not him.

Arlene didn’t look at him. “Oh, I’m like, going to call my sponsor to let her know I left town and that I won’t be back anytime soon.”

“Your--” Viv froze. The word ‘sponsor’ had several meanings that his brain cataloged frantically but in this context she could only be referring to the awkward one. His hand scrambled for the door handle. “Oh, sure, totally, totally, totally. Cool. Yes. I’ll go in and check on the egg Mcmuffin situation going on, you want anything?”

“Milkshake would be nice.”

“You got it!” Viv practically jumped out of the door and slammed it, cursing when his feet hit the pavement because his legs had fallen asleep. He power walked across the parking lot, too uncomfortable to wonder whether the people of early morning Memphis would judge him for wearing beat up old sweats from the day before.

It felt very, very hot and the sun was not even up.

A few things had suddenly fallen into place. Viv sat down on a bench outside, which was sticky with condensation. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to hurriedly type a few notes-- what was a story, even in a journalistic capacity, without conflict and character development? Was that exploitive? And if it was exploitive, was it really so bad if he got thousands of subscribers out of the story.

Even if he didn’t find Christian, even if he didn’t get to the bottom of that particular mystery, what he had been through and experienced so far was good enough to produce hours of engaging material that people would eat up.

And then he shook himself. ‘Even if he didn’t find Christian’-- then what was the point of all this? The boundaries between personal and professional couldn’t get twisted up in his mind like that. He couldn’t be like...well, like what Bobby Kennelly was shaping up to be.

Viv stuffed his phone back into his pocket and stood up, entered the McDonalds. It was nearly empty and looked exactly like the McDonalds he went to in Baltimore. Two old African-American men sat near the door with their coffees and newspapers and they looked up at him and nodded when he walked by. Again, Viv felt like an outsider and it frustrated him. He saw Bobby up by the registers, taking a bag and a tray of three coffees from the cashier. He hurried up to him.

It looked like Bobby had washed his face and put water in his hair while in the bathroom, because the dark curls that stuck out beneath his hat hung limply. “You’re awake,” he said blankly.

“Yeah.” Viv knew he sounded hostile. Bobby scowled at him.

“You take cream and sugar? Probably, I was thinkin’. No offense.” He said ‘no offense’ in the way that someone says it when they mean to offend you.

The cashier had turned away to tend to her other duties and the old men by the door were chatting. Viv took one of the coffees and began pouring little containers of cream into it; he took 3 creams and 3 sugars. “Is your sister ok?”

“What the hell you asking me for?”

“I mean, is she in NA or something?”

Bobby’s eye narrowed. He grabbed the paper McDonald’s bag off the counter again with a sudden ferocity and held it close to his chest. He sniffed, adjusted his hat with his free hand. “Yeah,” he said. “Until you showed up.”

Viv could not think of how to respond to that. All he could think of was the profound wave of dislike that washed over him as he looked at Bobby Kennelly in front of him, puffed up and preemptively denying blame. He shrugged. “Whatever man,” he said. “I’m getting a milkshake.”

Nobody said much until they got to Little Rock and stopped for gas.

At the Shell Station they stopped at, high above their heads, there was a single billboard. It was blank and white, save for the center where a bright blue nazar symbol stared out at them. Underneath of the nazar was a simple inscription, a Bible verse: Matthew 18:9.

“Reminds me of The Great Gatsby,” Viv commented, gazing up at it. He doubted that they would get the Gatsby reference, but said it anyway because it made him feel smart. “I’ve actually seen some of these things back home too, and there was one in Miami last summer when I went to visit family. Wonder what it’s advertising.”

“Church,” said Arlene. She stretched and touched her toes. Her short shift of driving had been more pleasant than her brother’s; she didn’t honk every 15 minutes like he did. “What’s that verse say, Bobby?”

Bobby, who seemed entirely focused on filling his tank up with gas and had not looked up at the nazar, didn’t answer. He tapped the pump’s rapidly climbing numbers as if that would make the gas come faster.

“He used to know all the Bible verses back when we were little,” explained Arlene. Viv saw Bobby keep tapping on the gas pump. “We’d go to Sunday school and he’d get prizes every time and our Mama--”

The gas pump clicked mercifully. It put a natural end to a conversation heading down the inevitable road toward discomfort, and Viv was grateful for that. It was his turn to drive and he didn’t need the added distraction of learning about what he could guess was a childhood marked by poverty and absence.

He drove through the Ozarks for hours while Bobby napped fitfully in the passenger seat and Arlene curled her long body up in the back. From time to time he glanced at them, wondering how these two people had gone from strangers to accomplices in his life so quickly. The bottom line was that they had nothing to lose. As he passed the foreign rock formations and plant life of a land that he had never thought he’d find himself in, Viv felt his throat grow dry as he realized just how little he had to lose as well.

Usually Viv needed music to drive, but he passed this time in a daze. He found himself thinking about Christian, and how little he actually knew him. Whatever had happened to his brother before he left the military had changed him, but in a different less palpable way than it had changed their father.

Their father talked about his time...doing whatever it was he did...like it had been the best time of his life despite the clear physical toll it had taken on him. The last time Viv witnessed someone ask Christian about his service had been a couple years ago during the last Christmas the whole family had spent together. Will’s (now ex) wife innocently asked Christian about what kind of food he and his buddies ate while over there. It had not been one of Jennifer’s worse faux-pas, but a faux-pas nonetheless. And Christian had just laughed his loud fake laugh and made a joke, but the tension had been there for everyone to see and nobody talked about it.

Because nobody ever talked about anything in his fucking family.

Viv didn’t know if normal families talked. Probably. He wondered if Bobby and Arlene talked to each other about important shit, but doubted it.

He reached Oklahoma City a little after 1 in the afternoon and almost didn’t want to stop since the Kennellys were sleeping so peacefully and the hours he had spent driving were the most peaceful ones he had experienced in what seemed like a hundred years. But he was hungry and knew that they would be as well.

After some debate, they settled on ordering Chick-fil-a, and ate in the parking lot. Viv thought about saying something about how unethical he found the company to be, but didn’t want to rock the boat too much more than he had to. They already knew he was gay, didn’t they?

It was a good chicken sandwich and he hated that it was good.

Bobby ate his sandwich faster than Viv had ever seen anyone eat one, then he finished off his fries in a heartbeat. And then he ate Arlene’s fries. “Tell me about this Levi Monday fella,” he said. He was back in the driver’s seat, seemingly fine after only 5 hours of sleep. Sure, he was a variant, but how was this guy functioning? “Apart from him bein’ a criminal who your brother may or may not have been involved with.”

“Oh, Christian was involved with him alright.”

“The way he was ‘involved’ with us?” Bobby shook his head. He had since changed out of his camo and into one of the t-shirts they had obtained from a nearby gas-station. It was too big for him (like most things were bound to be) and read ‘OKC basketball’. “No. There’s a connection we ain’t seein’. Maybe you’re hunting your brother, but he’s hunting someone else. Maybe it has to do with whoever laced my product with fentanyl and got that guy, his buddy, to OD. If his other dead friends were in L.A. and Boston, same as Monday and the Calderon girl, I’m betting they got set up just like us.”

Viv shrugged. “Maybe. Except the guy from Boston, Blue, he isn’t dead. Calderon attacked him a few years ago and put him in the ICU, but she’s incarcerated now and he’s fine.”

“I bet he isn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Viv snapped. He didn’t put much stock in the ‘drug dealer getting framed by mysterious bad guy’ theory, but thought it very likely that Christian was hunting someone or running from someone. “All I have are the Google Docs he sent me the night before he went missing, ok? I’m working off of that and it’s not like meeting you two provided much new information other than how all the shit I saw on Justified is real life. Levi Monday is an enforcer for a small criminal organization in LA, he had connections to one of my brother’s friends, I have his address, and that’s it. That’s all I know.”

“How’s a man with a name like ‘Levi’ get to be muscle for a gang in LA?” muttered Bobby. He took a long sip of his soda. “Sounds like he should be laundering money instead.”

“Oh my God, don’t say that,” said Viv, acting shocked when he had been thinking the exact same thing.

“I’m just sayin’, all the guys I met in prison who were named shit like ‘Levi’ were all a buncha j--”

Arlene saved the day from any potentially anti-semitic microaggressions by leaning up from the backseat with her phone. “Think I found him on Instagram,” she said. “Want to look?”

Both men tried to grab her phone to look first, but Viv was slightly closer and had the advantage of not having hands covered in chicken grease. He looked down at Monday’s instagram profile and froze.

Levi Monday was the most attractive man Viv had ever seen. Beautiful, even. All he could do was stare at one of his selfies, spellbound. The picture was lit softly, romantically, with the subject gazing at something off camera. It was only of his head, neck, and shoulders, but even from that it was evident that he was a broad, well-muscled man. Monday had dark skin and a mass of naturally textured dark hair, kept out of his face in a pony tale, with a few softer curls floating down to frame his high cheekbones. In the picture he was smiling gently, and his sharp incisors spoke of him having some small variance. His eyes were heavy lidded and green, with long lashes. He wore a few necklaces, but they hung too far down on his chest to see.

A single picture of this man took Viv’s breath away. For a second, all he could think about was whether or not Levi was into guys, and if so, would he have a chance with him once they got to LA…

Bobby grabbed Arlene’s phone away from Viv and peered down at it suspiciously. He put his funny broken glasses on in order to see it better. “What the hell?” he said. He started to scroll through other pictures. “What’s wrong with this guy?”

“Let me see!” Viv tried to grab the phone again but Bobby swatted his hand away. Arlene craned herself around and over the seats to stare at Monday with her brother.

“This is the wrong guy,” said Bobby, with finality. “You found some guy named Levi Monday, Arlene, but he ain’t our guy. This is one of them California liberals who do fuck all except do yoga and take selfies of themselves drinking smoothies.” He held up a picture of the alleged Mr. Monday posing in vriksasana in front of a yoga studio.

Seeing Monday in yoga pants made Viv feel sweaty. He had to look away.

“Not a criminal,” said Bobby, with finality. He handed Arlene’s phone back to her and looked at Viv like he had done something wrong or made a mistake. “Either there’s a different Levi Monday at the address, or your brother was wrong about the guy and we’re about to go talk to this idiot about something he knows nothing about.” He paused heavily. “Or, your brother was wrong entirely and we’re on a wild goose chase here.”

The same anxiety, thick and ugly, had churned in Viv’s stomach since he started searching for answers in the first place.

“No,” he said, not fully believing himself. “Christian was always good at hunting. He’s never wrong about stuff like this, stuff like finding people.”

“Or he was,” said Bobby, who clearly did not understand how his statement lacked basic human empathy and social skills because Arlene jabbed him with one finger immediately. “What? I’m just sayin’. Guy like that disappears, it means he’s dead.”

Viv put his new, cheap, gas-station headphones in, leaned back in the passenger seat, and closed his eyes.

He slept until they reached Albuquerque.

They were at a truck stop again. The desert air was cool and dry and unlike anything he had ever breathed before. Viv stepped out of the car to stretch his legs and decompress. He sat down on the curb, looked up at the night sky.

Bobby and Arlene were arguing about something by the truck. Bobby pulled his huge duffel bag out of the back and dug through it, looking for something. Whatever he had in there wasn’t good. He’d brought his gun, which while uncomfortable, was fine because of his concealed carry permit-- if he truly had one as he had claimed. Why did he need a gun anyway, if his sister could blow things up with her inherent abilities? Viv suspected that Bobby Kennelly had at least one other firearm with him, and likely a small amount of methamphetamine which he intended to sell now that he was without income and on the run for his life.

It would be very, very bad if they got pulled over by the police.

Viv spent a frantic minute typing questions into his phone, looking for answers about whether or not being around someone who possessed a felony amount of illegal substances counted as a felony. Then he remembered that he had been an accomplice to someone who blew up part of a house the day before.

If he got in trouble, real trouble, he just had to pray that his father had some of his connections and could pull him out of it. That’s what happened when his RA found weed in his dorm during his freshman year. Was this so different.

Yes. It was.

He stopped watching the Kennellys do whatever-it-was they were up to and texted Will. He hadn’t talked to his brother since he went to Tennessee. Baltimore had a 2 hour time difference, putting it at about 5 AM, when Will woke up to freak out over his blood sugar anyway.

>u awake?

A few seconds later, Will’s read receipts popped up, but he didn’t seem to be answering. Viv tried again.

>omw to LA. I’ll call you when I get there. Some new shit’s come up, I know u dont want to hear it but its important.

No read receipts this time. What a prick. Will acted like he didn’t care whether his family lived or died, like they had ruined his childhood, his marriage, and his future. He had actually been to therapy for it. As if he didn’t understand that he had sabotaged his own life without any help from anyone else.

Viv went into the truck stop and bought several cans of pringles, some gummy worms, and ginger ale. He went to the restroom to splash some water on his face and freshen up. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw his tired, scruffy reflection and all he could think about was how ugly and out of place he was going to be in California if he didn’t get a shower the second he got there.

He got back in the truck, sat in the backseat, and ate pringles as he waited for the Kennellys to get themselves together and get back on the road. It hit him that he was eating pringles at 3 AM, on a road trip he hadn’t planned for, with people he was not sure he liked or even tolerated. Viv got the urge to laugh but restrained himself, since it would have made him look like an insane person larping as a journalist. He typed that note in his phone and could only hope that his subscribers on Patreon would eat this up by the time it was all finished.

800 miles to go.

He could only hope that this was all worth it.

#writing

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anavoliselenu · 8 years ago

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Creighton chapter 11

BILLIONAIRE’S BRIDE FLYING COACH?

Selena Wix, newly married to billionaire Justin Karas, was spotted on a commercial flight from NYC to Nashville, and our sources say she was flying coach. Is there trouble in paradise already? With a fleet of three Gulfstreams, you’d think the billionaire could have arranged a classier ride for his bride. We’ll be reporting back when we have more on the latest match to rock Music City.

The cab ride to the airport took the rest of my cash, and I’m lucky that I’m getting paid next week, because the last-minute flight maxed out my own credit card. I left my new Amex Black Card on the kitchen counter of my new husband’s Fifth Avenue penthouse.

Big sunglasses hide the circles under my eyes, and hopefully my identity. I thought I saw a guy on his phone staring at me a little too long, but I’m not worrying about it. I shouldn’t be that recognizable. This town is full of one-hit wonders, and I haven’t even had a chart-topping single yet. Plus, without all my stage makeup on and my hair in a messy braid, I just look like your average Midwestern girl.

I stretch, trying to work out the knots in my back after sitting through the flight with my arms practically tucked around my body. My middle seat in coach put me right between two very large men who smelled strongly of garlic. I thought about writing, but I didn’t want to move, let alone get my notebook out and have them stare at what I was doing. So I kept myself immobile, which explains the knots in my back.

Anyway, my thoughts were probably too jumbled to do anything more than massacre the song ideas I jotted down today while I waited for Justin. I know I have a good one percolating, but it’s still just out of reach. I can’t find the right words quite yet, which might be to blame on my mental state.

But the upside is I’m back in Nashville, and Tana’s Range Rover is idling at the curb when I step out of the sliding glass doors of the airport.

The window slides down as she waves me over. “Get your ass in here before I get towed!”

I smile, relieved to feel a little of my shitty mood slipping away. Opening the door, I slide inside.

“Your luggage get lost?” She surveys the one small bag I shove down by my feet.

“Nope. This is it.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, please God, tell me that he made you go naked and that’s why you have no clothes other than the ones you probably wore when you flew to New York on New Year’s Eve.”

Tana was aware of every intimate detail of my trip, and disagreed with my choice to bring nothing but myself.

I smile at her expression. “No naked rule. I just . . . felt like traveling light.”

Her eyebrows fall back into their normal position and her smile slips into a frown. “Please don’t tell me this has something to do with your mom and her hooking up with every man in town and letting them pay her way.”

And that’s the joy of having a friend who has plied you with enough wine to spill your whole life story. But in this instance, she’s not exactly right. The reasons I left New York are a lot bigger than that.

“Tana—”

“Damn it, Selena. I knew this was going to happen. I knew it.”

I really don’t want to have this conversation now, because Tana will want to dissect not only what happened with Justin, but why I’m acting the way I am. I’m too worried about missing the bus to play along while she psychoanalyzes my actions in light of what she knows about my past. I love her, but I just can’t right now. So I tell her the truth.

“Can we hold off on this conversation until I’m not on the edge of being late for a tour bus leaving? I really, really just want to get to my apartment and grab my stuff so I can get on the bus and forget about everything but the music.”

“You’re not missing the friggin’ bus. I’ll get you home as quick as a cab would.” She gives me a side-eye. “But you’re gonna talk while I drive.”

I sigh and stare straight ahead as she pulls away from the curb and waves to the security guy eyeing her car suspiciously. Her head jerks toward me before she focuses once again on navigating through airport traffic.

“Talk, woman.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That your husband knows exactly where you are, and you’re not a runaway bride.”

“Har-har. I’m hardly a runaway bride. That requires running away before the vows, I think.”

She cuts through my bullshit answer. “Does your husband know where you are?”

I fix my stare on the red light as we slow. “I left a note.”

“Which said?”

I should have known Tana wouldn’t drop it. She’s a damn bulldog about getting the details. If she weren’t my closest and possibly only friend, I’d tell her to back off. But instead, I tell her the truth.

“It said good-bye.” My reply is a mumble, because I know I’m about to get a verbal bitch-slapping.

Her screech, which is oddly melodic, fills the cabin of the Range Rover. “Why would you do that? Did he hit you?”

I swing my head to face her. “No! Of course not!” I can’t believe she’d even ask that.

She glances back at me before her eyes go back to the road, and we accelerate. “So then, what happened? He’s a billionaire, so maybe he was into that kinky Christian Grey stuff? Did he have a Red Room of Pain? Oh my God, he did, didn’t he? Did he spank you? Bring out his riding crop? Shit. That’s hot.”

I cover my face with my palm. I don’t even know where to start, but I have to say something or she’ll keep going. Her imagination is just getting fired up. And God knows I don’t want her to actually hit on the truth.

But how do I answer that? He did spank me, and I loved it. And then the . . . other stuff. Kinky billionaire, indeed.

“He didn’t get out a riding crop, and there was no Red Room of Pain.”

Thankfully, the answer stops her tide of kinky questions.

Shaking her head, she replies, “Well, that’s just damn disappointing. So, are you just crazy? Who walks out on a billionaire with a note that just says good-bye? Oh, and doesn’t bring anything with her? That’s evidence of crazy right there, if I’ve ever seen any.”

I decide that the truth is all I can offer in my defense. “Look, you know I need to be on that bus or I’m screwed. I couldn’t wait any longer, so I did what I had to do.” I turn and look at her. “I did exactly what you would’ve done in my shoes—what was best for my career.”

“I would’ve hitched a ride on a private jet, that’s what I would’ve done. Girl, you’ve gotta learn to use what you’ve been given to your best advantage.”

Her words crack something open inside me and the truth spills out.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly hop a ride on the private jet because he forgot about me.” At her look of shock, I continue. “Yeah, that’s right. My husband forgot about me. Told me when he’d be there, and he wasn’t. And not only was he not there, he didn’t answer my calls or texts, so finally I got through to his number-two guy and basically got the blow-off speech. So that’s what happened. End of story.”

“Oh shit, honey. I’m sorry. That ain’t cool at all.” Sympathy coats her every word.

“Well, it’s not like I’m the most important piece on the chessboard he calls an empire.”

Tana looks at me sideways as we merge onto the highway. “But, honey, you’re his queen. I don’t know jack shit about chess, but is there a more important piece on the board to the king?”

A sick feeling settles in my stomach. “I guess to Justin, he’s the most important piece on the board, and everything else can be sacrificed for the good of the king.”

Tana’s face falls. “I’m sorry, hon. That sucks big hairy balls. So I guess that means you’re not going to call him and let him know you made it, despite not having a fancy jet to fly on, huh?”

I consider it again. I mean, if I were a real wife, I’d probably tell him I made it. But honestly, what are the odds that Justin has even noticed I’m gone yet? He couldn’t step away for thirty seconds before.

And then there’s the mulishly stubborn part of me holding on to some thin thread of hope that maybe Justin will call me. And then what? Apologize for blowing me off? Tell me he misses me, and he’s on his way because he can’t stand to be away from me?

Each possibility seems more unlikely than the last.

Tana doesn’t ask any other questions as we navigate the traffic and finally pull up in front of my apartment. It’s a far cry from the giant mansion on a sprawling estate behind fancy gates like Tana lives in. But that’s life as a new kid on the block trying to make it big.

My contract with Homegrown might have sounded impressive when I won the show Country Dreams, but “a million-dollar recording contract” doesn’t go very far when you consider how much it costs to produce an album. For the hours I put into practicing, writing, doing press, radio spots, and everything else, I barely make minimum wage. On top of that, my cut from concert ticket and album sales is laughable.

Even though it was a rude awakening to find out exactly what I signed with such stars in my eyes, it doesn’t bother me as much as you might think. Most of the people I know who didn’t get into the business on one of those make-me-a-star TV shows lived in crappier accommodations for a time before they hit it big.

Some even lived in their cars—provided they didn’t get repo’d. Jason Aldean’s song “Crazy Town” was based in truth. You just never know when or if you’re going to “make it.” You really could be losing everything one minute and then be getting a fat paycheck the next. It’s the game we’re all playing and hoping to win. There are no guarantees for any of us.

“Thank you for the ride, babe. You know I appreciate it.”

“Of course. You sure you don’t want me to stick around?”

I shake my head. “I just need to grab a few things and find out where the bus is parked.” Glancing at the time on the dash, I realize I’ve got less than an hour. “I better get going.”

“All right, hon. You break a leg on that stage, hear me? And when that man comes crawling back to you—because if he knows the kind of woman he’s got, he’ll be doing exactly that—give him a chance.”

I swing my head to stare at her. “Give him a chance? I thought you were going to tell me to rip him a new asshole. Why—?”

Tana’s blue eyes are sympathetic. “You’ve got a lot of mistrust built up because of your ma, and you have to realize you’re not her. Your life is what you make of it, and I’m still holding out some hope that this guy is worthy of you. Give him a chance to grovel. A man’s character has a tendency to get really fucking clear when he’s groveling because the best thing that ever happened to him is on the line.”

I try to summon a smile, but I can’t quite do it. “I guess we’ll see if he comes groveling at all.” I lean over the center console to hug her. “See you soon.”

“Knock ’em dead, hon,” Tana says as I slip out of the car.

Hurrying, I adjust my purse over my shoulder and hustle up to my apartment. The first thing I see when I open my door is my old battered guitar case tucked under my coffee table.

My first ever. I fried thousands of onion rings and tater tots in order to buy this guitar from Super Pawn. It took me almost a year to save up, and then when I finally had the cash in hand and went to the pawnshop, the owner offered me a disgusting back-office discount.

Furious, I threw the bills on the counter, not bothering to haggle, and told him to give me the damn guitar before I reported him to the cops for soliciting sex with a minor. It was so much less than what I wanted to do—namely, grab the baseball bat from behind the counter and swing it at his head. I left minutes later with my very first guitar and never looked back.

A million years ago, it seems. Just look how much has changed.

I’m halfway down the tiny hallway to my bedroom when my phone buzzes in my purse. Justin is my first thought. My hand shakes as I dig inside to pull it out.

My heart—my stupid heart—falls when I see the text is from my manager.

Chance: Where the hell are you? You better be on your way. BT is almost ready to head out.

Shit. I run into my bedroom and grab a suitcase from my closet, and stuff handfuls of underwear and bras in it. A few pairs of yoga pants and some T-shirts and jeans, and I’m pretty much packed.

I reply to Chance.

Selena: Just finished packing. On my way. Where’s the bus?

Chance’s answer makes me cringe.

Chance: At BT’s. I left your name at the gate.

Double shit. BT is Boone Thrasher—the headliner of the tour I’m currently on. His place isn’t in one of those fancy neighborhoods behind a regular gate like Tana’s. No, he lives out in the boondocks where he can shoot skeet off his back porch, ride his dirt bikes on his own track, and his dogs can run wild and bark at everything in sight.

If I’m going to get to his place on time, I’ll need every minute I’ve got. I’ve been there once before, when he invited me out to meet him before agreeing to have me on his tour. He wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to be—in his words—some whiny-ass bitch who would make him miserable. We hit it off when I kicked his ass at bowling in his basement lane. You can take the girl out of the bowling alley . . .

Time to get my ass in gear and hustle, but my phone buzzes again.

Chance: Good news. He wants to rehearse that duet you talked about before Christmas. Get your ass here and make it happen.

I toss my phone on the bed and do a little fist pump before tearing off my jeans and blouse to throw on something clean and get the hell out of here. This duet would mean getting to go back out onstage during his set where I can feel the energy coming from his fans when they’re all whipped up and excited for him.

As the first act, I generally play to a less-than-full stadium, when people are a little more concerned about making sure they have full beers than they are about paying attention to my music. Well, except for the fans who actually come to see me.

But this is where everyone starts, I remind myself, and I’m crazy lucky that I’m on tour with Boone Thrasher to begin with. And the duet? That’s huge.

I spend thirty seconds freshening up my makeup and shoving my toiletries in my makeup bag before slipping into the battered brown-and-black cowboy boots I bought for my eighteenth birthday. Which was the fourth birthday in a row that my mama didn’t even bother to send a card.

Pushing that thought away, because it was just one more piece of baggage that Tana was talking about when she dropped me off, I grab my jacket and head for the door.

Despite his badass reputation, Boone’s a good guy. A really good guy. His tiny, gorgeous, chart-topping girlfriend is a lucky lady. But from what I’ve seen of her, I’m not so sure she’s aware of that fact. She’s actually kind of a bitch. And by kind of, I mean, she’s a total Grade-A, possessive, catty bitch.

Not that I’d ever tell Boone that. These lips don’t do the gossip thing. One negative word to the wrong person, and I’d be screwed. So I just keep my opinions to myself. The world of country music isn’t so different from high school.

I lock my apartment door behind me and hoof it down the stairs and out to the covered parking where my 1998 Pontiac Firebird waits for me. And yes, I’m completely aware that what was cool in 1998 is not quite so cool now. Which means that I got a killer deal on it when my 1988 Fiero kicked the bucket just before I got my golden audition ticket for Country Dreams.

I suppose I could buy a little bit newer car with the semi-regular paycheck I get now, but the Firebird still gets me from A to B, and I prefer to save my money for a rainy day. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned about this town, it’s that everything can change in a moment.

Thirty-five minutes later, I pull up at the gates of Boone’s place, and a man built like a brick shithouse comes out of the guard shack and bends down to my window. I open the door—because the window doesn’t work anymore—and he smiles.

“I got the same problem with my Grand Prix. Fucking Pontiacs,” he says.

“You got that right. I’m Selena—”

“Yep. Know who you are, sweet thing. They’re waiting on you. Buses are here and ready to go too.” He backs away from my car and activates the gate opener.

I swing my door shut and drive through. Sure enough, two tour buses are parked in front of the house set off from the road by almost a mile-long driveway. I pull into a small parking lot-size area beside the garage and shut off my car.

I need to get in there and find Chance and make sure he reports in that I wasn’t late before someone at the label starts checking, looking to boot me off. As soon as the thought hits my brain, the man in question knocks on the window of my car and opens the door.

“You need to replace this piece of shit, girl. And why the hell didn’t you answer your phone?”

I frown at Chance. “What are you talking about? I answered your texts.”

He pulls me out of my car by the hand. “Well, you didn’t answer when I called you five times to ask you to pick me up some Johnny Walker on the way. The bus is out, and Boone wants some for the road.”

“Crap. I must’ve had my radio on too loud. It’s on vibrate.” I reach back into my car to grab my purse and start rooting through it to find my phone.

“Your suitcase in the trunk?” Chance asks.

I nod, not looking up from my task, and he reaches around me to pop the trunk. By the time he has my suitcase in hand, I’m starting to panic.

“Where the hell is my phone?” I mumble. “I had it.”

“Come on, girl. Let’s move it. We won’t get to San Antonio with you standing here digging through your purse.”

I jerk my head up and stare at him. “San Antonio? I thought Dallas was next.”

Chance shakes his head. “Nope. That’s why we’re leaving early. Boone signed up to do a last-minute charity gig, and you’re along for the ride. Dallas is after that, so it’s not that far off.”

Dropping my purse on the ground, I bend over and look between the seats and the console to see if my phone slid down. Chance, clearly impatient with me, calls it. I wait, but there’s no telltale buzz or vibration.

“Shit. I must’ve left it in my apartment.”

“No time to go back for it, so you’ll have to have someone get it for you and overnight it to you. I’ll get the hotel address.”

I huff out a long sigh. Shit. I don’t even know if I have Tana’s number to ask her to go back to my place and grab it . . . but then again, I bet Chance or Boone does. Between the two of them, they seem to have everyone’s number in this town.

“You ready to rehearse?”

“What?” I ask, my mind still on how to retrieve my phone.

“The duet. ‘That Girl.’ Boone wants to play some acoustic stuff on the bus, so you’re riding with him. I made sure you’ve got a guitar on there already. Now come on, let’s go.”

Chance leads me by the arm up to the house to say hi to the guys before we all climb up the stairs. All my worries slip away once I let myself fall into the easy bullshitting and name-calling with the guys. And once I’m on the bus with Boone, I let myself go in the music.

It’s a couple of hours and who knows how much whiskey later when we stop so the guys can grab a smoke. I stumble onto my own bus—one that I’ll be sharing with my band and maybe the other opening act, if they don’t have their own bus. No one has seen fit to share that detail with me yet. But because it’s out of my control, I don’t waste any more time thinking about it.

Some drunk hope makes me think that maybe I missed my phone in my search of the purse, so I dump the entire contents out on the kitchenette table.

A handful of tampons. A dozen or so lip glosses and lipsticks. A lighter—not sure where that came from, since I don’t smoke. My wallet. My car keys. My songwriting notebook. My smaller backup songwriting notebook. Six pens, in all different colors. Two pencils. Gum. Gum wrappers. Loose change. Lint.

Still no phone.

Before I left Boone’s bus, I asked Chance for Tana’s number, just in case. He wrote it on my palm in Sharpie with big block letters saying Call Me above it.

I make my way up to the bus driver’s seat.

“Hey, Chaz?”

“Ma’am?”

“Told you to call me Selena a dozen times, Chaz.” Maybe more than a dozen, if I’m being honest.

“Yes, Ms. Selena.”

“Can I borrow your phone?”

“Sure thing.” He grabs it from the pocket in the side of his seat and hands it over, all without ever taking his eyes off the road.

“Thanks.”

I stumble back to the couch and position my thumb over the number pad. I glance down at my palm, and I know the person I should be calling instead of Tana is Justin.

But you didn’t merit a phone call from him, the hurt inside me protests. It’s true, but still.

I drop my head to the back of the couch when it hits me that even if I wanted to call Justin, I don’t know any of his numbers by heart, and it’s not like I can just call Information or something. I could google Karas International, but what is the likelihood they’ll ever put me through to his personal line? Even when I had that number, his secretary didn’t believe that I was me at first.

My best bet is getting my phone back.

I punch in Tana’s number, and she answers after I call her three times in a row.

“Hello?” Her voice is suspicious as shit, and I realize she doesn’t recognize the number. Plus it’s almost midnight.

“It’s me. Selena. Sorry for calling so late.”

“Oh, hey, hon. No worries. You know I’m up at all hours anyway. What’s up? The man come track you down already?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Hell, even if Justin wanted to track me down right now, I think even he’d be SOL. I’m on a bus on a highway headed for a tour stop not on my tour list.

But then again, I guess I don’t know what kind of resources he has at his disposal, or if he’d use them to come after me. The hope rising in my chest, the hope that started blossoming that night we ate Sixteen Candles style on the dining room table, wants desperately for him to come chasing after me with an apology.

“Selena?”

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