#this is just one of 9000 things making me crazy on my job hunt

[sillimancer]

hey serious question how do you relocate to an entirely new city/state/country with no money and nobody to help you

[irishmacguirefucker]

Why and how did the gang start a ranch?

(So this got long as FUCK but please read it because oh my god i'm so so proud of it ok? Big thank you to @awesomeundertalelover3​ for proofreading and editing this for me, especially since I'm incoherent when I type.) The choice to start the ranch and stop being a “gang” was the result of a few things. First, it was the botched job in Blackwater. Dutch killed innocent Heidi McCourt, planting the first seed of distrust within the gang. Then in the escape, they lost Sean and the gravely injured Mac, and John, Davey and Jenny were both injured. Then Jenny died, of course, followed by Davey. The next big push into the decision was the time spent in the mountains. The cold and the difficulty of survival made many members of the gang think long and hard about their life as gang members, especially now that Hosea and Dutch seem to be fighting over whether or not Dutches plans will work out. 

At this point they are cold, they are tired, and they have lost what they assume is 4 members of their family. But they kept on. They gained Sadie Adler due to Micah’s stupidity and they gained Kieran. You all know how things go until they get to Horseshoe Valley. But this is where things start to change in my AU. 

Horseshoe Valley is good for everyone, they continue to commit crimes as usual. But Hosea is contacted by the elder brother of his late wife Bessie. He wrote that he feared he would die soon, and his property would be sold to the government since he had no other family left in the area. His daughter lives in new york and she doesn’t want it. He’s going to go live with his daughter and get to know his grandchildren before he passes. But he doesn’t want the ranch he and Bessie grew up on in anyone else’s possession so he asks Hosea to do what Bessie would do. Who Bessie would give the farm to. 

The deed was to 55 Acres of land in New Austin. A beautiful 3 story ranch house with all the facilities to keep cattle, chickens, pigs, sheep, and horses. The man had sold all his livestock so that he could make it to see his family and then give the money to his daughter as a gift for letting him live with her. Hosea never told anyone, he was going to keep the deed for a while and sell it when the gang was in need. 

The Van Der Linde gang was being hunted and they all knew it. However, they tried to ignore it and tried to believe in Dutch. But with the unfortunate loss of so many members of their family at once was weighing on them. They were having trouble getting money and getting food, and they knew that gangs all over America were being wiped out around them. Arthur and Hosea would talk about how bad it was getting, and more than once members of the gang would tell Hosea that they just want to be loyal. They want to be safe again but they would never leave their family. The final straw was at the fault of Micah. 

When Arthur went to retrieve Micah in Strawberry he ended up discussing the jailed outlaw with the sheriff. He was going to get the man drunk and then get Micah out Hosea style, but when he spoke to that drunk sheriff he learned a lot. The sheriff revealed that the Pinkertons had been by and spoke with him and that he was part of a famous gang. With further prompting, the sheriff dropped the bomb that Micah was a rat. The Pinkertons had come to Strawberry to take Micah away because they knew who he was but offered him a deal. They would let him wait here to be saved and then continue feeding Pinkertons information, or they could haul him off to Siska and hang him before the gang even noticed he was gone. And so Arthur thanked the wasted lawman for his time and left Strawberry without the rat. 

When he got back and talked to Dutch and Hosea, he shared that Micah had told the law everything he knew and planned to come back as a rat. They knew very well that Micah knew far too much and finally Hosea knew what he was going to do with that land. With Dutch and Arthur there, he explained everything about his brother in law, and then he let them know *his* plan.

Hosea wanted the gang safe, even if that meant not being a gang anymore. He had been the shoulder to cry on for Lenny, who missed young Jenny. For Karen, who drunkenly admitted that she might be in love with Sean but never told him. For Tilly, who was terrified her old gang would find her again and she would be back where she was when she was 12. And for many others, who felt so broken by the last few months. His plan was to start collecting as much money as they can and use it to pay off their bounties and move to the ranch. To buy a few heads of cattle, take their chicken, buy some pigs and sheep, and start that ranch up again. 

Dutch thought it was crazy. Arthur agreed, but the look of hope in the blonde’s eyes was enough to see what he really thought. Dutch was angry, he was so so angry that Hosea would suggest this after everything they had been through. He even threw it back in Hosea’s face that he had tried to live the regular life, that Hosea couldn’t do it. That insult was the last straw.

He told Dutch that if he didn’t do this, he was going to die alone on a hill made from the bodies of this gang. People were going to leave him behind because they all know that the age of gangs and crime is over. Or worse, they would be loyal to him and they would die for it. Dutch would be responsible for the deaths of everyone in this camp. And with Dutch still stunned by the older man’s outburst, Arthur spoke up. He thought they could do it, and he would follow Hosea if that’s what would secure the safety of his new family. That’s what finally drilled it into Dutch’s head that this is the only option. His orphan son, who he had rescued off the streets at fourteen, was willing to leave him behind for this new plan. 

The first person they let into the new plan was surprisingly Strauss. While Hosea was sure they could figure it out, he needed to know just how realistic he was being here. He knew they would need to figure out what their collective bounties were and how they were going to pay that off. Strauss did a little math and a little research. Dutch himself had a $5000 bounty in New Austin. Hosea had around $2000 on his head, and everyone else (including Arthur) altogether was around $2000 max. They were lucky that many of the members were unidentified, meaning they were without bounties. Strauss told them they would need to get around $9000 dollars, and then another $500-$1000 to get the ranch started based on his estimations.

Getting the money would be hard if they kept the plan to themselves. The next people the three men told were Susan and John. They would need to start brainstorming ideas on how to get the money. Arthur was going to enlist the help of Javier and Charles to track down every treasure hidden across the map. John would start asking around towns for small jobs, legal ones. People who needed help building things, finding people, etc. Susan would have the girls get as much information as they could about possible leads with fake stories about their deadbeat husbands needing jobs to support their children or stories about wanting honest work for themselves to avoid becoming a prostitute. Everyone would have to pitch in, the only issue with this is that they couldn’t tell everyone yet, lest something go wrong and they can’t do it.

As they were collecting the money and saving, the gang was beginning to get suspicious. They were all working far harder and far more than usual for no apparent reason. Dutch was sending them to do legal work which was extremely odd, and the money they were earning was just sitting around waiting to be spent. Dutch knew he would have to tell them what was happening eventually, but he didn’t know how. He would have to tell the gang that they were no longer going to be a gang. That he was ending the life of crime they knew but expecting them to follow him into a new one. 

When they found Sean again, alive, spirits were high. They had his welcome home party and everyone celebrated. But Dutch was the first to see the toll that months of time spent with the bounty hunters had done to the man. He had new scars that he was hiding from his family, he was missing a tooth that he definitely had when he left. He had been tortured for months, and no matter how well he hid it, Dutch knew it was time for his gang to be safe again. 

Not long after the welcome party, many of the individual members knew. Charles learned from Arthur, Sean overheard a discussion between Hosea and Arthur and eventually told Karen, Susan learned from Dutch, etc. Soon Dutch was ready to tell the gang. And then Arthur ran into the Pinkertons when he was fishing with Jack and it really was the right time to say it. They moved to the new spot near Rhodes at Dutch’s insistence, if it were up to Hosea they would have up and left for the ranch instead but there were still a few things to be finalized. Once they were safe once more, Dutch made a speech. Arthur had let everyone know that Mac was dead, but hadn’t ratted them out and that Micah was dead too and he had been a rat, not long after he found out. And then he nudged Dutch forward to tell everyone what their new life could be. 

Dutch told them the whole plan, told them that they would be safer and they would be happier, but they had to trust him. And if they couldn’t trust him, they could trust Hosea. The gang is loyal, many of them were saved by Dutch and even with their uncertainty, they chose to go with him to this new life. And so in the next 2 months or so, they had enough money to pay their bounties. The Pinkertons would have to leave them alone, provided they played by the law. So they all travelled to New Austin to live on a ranch, and become more of a family than a gang. Bill was there for a while, until one night he wasn’t. There was a note in his room claiming that they had all turned into a bunch of soft bellied do gooders and he was going to start his own gang. Nobody searched for him.

[mwolf0epsilon]

DBH - Nameless and Homeless

A quick one shot from the perspective of my AP700 android OC, Apollo, before he got his name and had his memory chip repaired.

The Android Revolution brought freedom to android-kind, but not every android was happy to lose what they had. A unique AP700 certainly didn't feel very grateful to Jericho or it's leaders...

---

    Model AP700 #281 020 180 could still remember the day his family had acquired him from the Cyberlife Store in Greektown.

The memory evaded him most days, but it always returned during charging cycles, when his thoughts would be less jumbled and easier to access.

It was a fine day. The Johnsons had come to the store on an foggy July morning, just after the end of a mild summer shower.

Although both parents were of the working class, at least from what his scan could tell him, neither of the mother’s or father’s jobs had a high enough income to justify purchasing an android. Most were above the regular pay grade of an average family, and the AP700s were still recent enough in their release that it justified a price of nearly 9000 dollars.

This of course was not a problem for this particular unit, as he was on an unusually high discount as it was.

 “That one. Why’s it so cheap compared to the others?” Mr. Johnson, had asked the customer service android that had been showcasing the newest models available for purchase.

 “AP700 Model Number 281 020 180 has been flagged by Cyberlife as being of faulty manufacture. The listed malfunctions include: Lack of social responses such as speech or visual contact, and a slight glitch in it’s memory chip which affects it's name registration program.”

Mr. Johnson had stared at him, as the android explained the intricacies of the damaged AP700’s malfunctions. Beside him stood his wife, Mrs. Johnson, who looked much older than her husband, but mostly due to the stresses of child-reering having taken a toll on her appearance. His scans did, after all, indicate she was a healthy young woman, even after having had three kids.

The children in question, were three energetic little ones that were running around the store looking at the display cases of the other android models.

There was a vintage rental PL600 with the old ‘Simon Says’ advertisements that used to air on tv, along with a unique green uniform, and a set of inquisitive green eyes to match.

There was an AX400 with bobbed raven hair instead of the standard long brown, discounted at about 100 dollars due to the AP700 line’s recent release.

There was an HK400 as well, but he doubted it would be sold anytime soon, as the AP700 had seen several patrons come in to replace their older models with his own line.

The release of the AP700 was, after all, the obsoletion of several older domestic androids.

 “Why are Cyberlife selling a broken android?” Mr. Johnson had asked, ever the diligent man that he was with seeking out loopholes.

He just needed to know these things so he didn’t later regret his decisions.

 “Although faulty, AP700 Model Number 281 020 180 is still a functioning android and will obey it’s owner's orders accordingly. As an added bonus to it’s purchase, Cyberlife has offered a care package, as well as optional customization to make up for the issues that come with acquiring this particular model.”

One of the Johnson kids, a young 8 year old girl with the brightest chocolate brown eyes he’d ever seen, had come to look up into his display case.

She smiled a huge gapped smile, from having lost her two front teeth, which was actually quite endearing. It certainly complimented the youthful and innocent gleam of her eyes.

He found himself smiling back.

 “Alright, seems fair.” Mr. Johnson said as he turned to look at his wife for an opinion on the matter. “Think it’ll be a good replacement for old Dimitri?”

Mrs. Johnson looked up at the AP700, then at her children who were all now looking up at his display case.

 “Yes dear, but I don’t want another Dimitri.” She replied. Dimitri must have been their previous android the family had owned. “This one will be different. We need to make him unique.”

And they certainly had.

As soon as they paid for the AP700, they’d asked for the optional cosmetic changes.

It hurt, the whole thing hurt, but he’d been made different for them...So in the end he didn’t mind. It meant they’d be happy with him.

    With a new hair color, a new shiny eye, and a height boost, the AP700 had gone home to his new family and he’d loved them with all of his heart.

Because he did have a heart.

It couldn’t be anything else if it fit all the love he felt for these people.

Even with his faults, they seemed to love him just as much.

They didn’t even seem to mind that he couldn’t quite register the names they tried to give him. The second youngest child, Calvin, had even made a game of it.

As a means of indulging him, the AP700 had responded to every single name that he came up with, and even became fond of some of the ones he’d been called.

‘Chirp’ and ‘Tulip’ were his most favorites. They were ones Calvin had picked after he’d noticed two particular interests of the AP700. Tending to the family garden, and birdwatching when he’d found a nest in the windowsill.

 “Ollie, can you help me with my homework?”

 “Richard, wash the dishes will you?”

 “Victor the dog hasn’t been walked yet, can you take care of it?”

 “Gustave, Molly needs a bath.”

 “Play with me Chris!”

The AP700 had a very busy life, but a happy one nonetheless. Everything was perfect...Until that fateful date, that is...

August 15th, 2038.

A PL600 went berserk, killing its owner and taking the child it was caring for hostage.

The AP700 watched the broadcast with his family, all having stopped what they were doing to stare at the live feed.

Despite the circumstances, the AP700’s heart ached for the child and the terrified android on the news. Especially when that other android came to negotiate...He’d never seen such cold calculative eyes on an android before, and it had honestly spooked the customized AP series model.

As soon as it had started, it had ended as well…

And not for the better.

The negotiator android hadn’t even had the heart to comfort the poor child after the PL600 was shot down by the SWAT team. The AP series found himself glaring, LED bright red, as he watched the android leave the scene, it's mission accomplished.

 “To think Dimitri could have done the same…” Mrs. Johnson had sounded scared.

The glare softened with concern, and the red LED spun yellow as the AP700 turned to observe his family.

They were all staring at him, they likely felt the same he did.

Apprehensive.

    Things changed after that day. There was a massive recall for all remaining PL600s after the one went crazy. He’d watched from the window as families drove their “dangerously faulty” androids to their respective Cyberlife stores, coming back with brand new AP700s as compensation. A reward for compliance to what the AP700 could only compare to mass murder born of fear blown out of proportion.

It didn’t feel right, watching those androids who’d done nothing but be loyal to their families, be taken to their doom when they’d been loving companions. Some of which he'd even crossed paths with before.

The neighborhood wasn’t the only thing that changed.

The Johnsons had as well.

The AP700 watched as they became less animated as they spoke to him, quieting down, calling him by less names and instead just telling him to do his chores.

It concerned him. But he didn’t have long to muse on their odd behaviour...Because Stratford tower was hijacked not too long after.

    Zero human casualties, one android fatality. Yet somehow a peaceful broadcast was made to look like a terrorist attack by the ever paranoid humans.

It had left a strange taste in the AP700’s mouth, something akin to bleach.

The Johnsons were scared, and he could tell they were. The humans were planting fear in their own kind and making his kind look like the monster under the children’s bed.

And the AP700 couldn’t understand why.

The freedom marchers were the last straw.

People began to evacuate.

One day, the Johnson's AP700 was asked to go to the store to pick up some dog food, and then when he returned, his family was gone.

He’d been left behind.

And that had been the first time the AP series had cried, truly cried.

The Johnsons had abandoned him because they thought he was a threat, when all he’d done was care for them. Somehow, he knew that this was what that PL600 had felt, and yet he had no desire for revenge against his masters. He just wanted to cry.

    The mass recall of androids made him run, run and hide where no one would think to look for an android. The Junkyard.

The AP700 became accustomed to seeing broken and dying androids, scavenging for biocomponents and thirium.

He learned to avoid the ones desperate enough to attack on sight.

His predecessor being one among many who tried so desperately to feed off of him. There was no familial bond or respect for their shared masters.

Dimitri, a once kind and caring PL600, now hunted and behaved like an animal, driven to insanity by desperation to survive and the rage of being rejected and abandoned. Consumed by the ruthless nature of the Junkyard. The AP700 learned to skirt around him, but never brought harm to the one he'd replaced.

Law of the jungle or not, he had a sort of respect for the older Android.

In the Junkyard he’d also learned to bury those that couldn’t hang on any longer, learned to respect them.

He learned to mourn the dead, and send them off feeling loved in a world where they’d been nothing more but tools to the cruel families and corporations they'd served.

And then the revolution came to pass, and the AP700 found himself walking the abandoned streets of Detroit, without a clear destination in mind. There was nothing out there for him. Freedom was nothing if not a cruel joke to him.

If he was free then why couldn't he be with his family? Why was it wrong to love them?

He spat on the ground whenever he caught others praise the Jericho leaders for bringing them the right to live their own lives.

Screw Jericho, screw Markus and his little friends, fuck all of them.

They'd ruined his life.

He'd not be another slave to their cause.

He'd wandered and stewed in his sadness and anger, until he found his little one.

Abandoned in an old warehouse, discarded by an unloving family, much like he had.

As soon as he'd picked him up, the baby had stopped wailing and the AP700 knew. It was destined, somehow, that they'd be each other's family.

He’d raise this baby to be a good human.

He’d feed and clothe him, wash him and love him. Teach him to be kind.

He’d never abandon Chance like the humans had abandoned them both.

The AP700 was nameless and homeless, but it liked the idea of one day being something else: A father.

[thesnhuup]

Hell’s Nerds, a Week in Arizona by Motorcycle

It has become commonplace for people taking motorcycle trips to make two observations: that riding a motorcycle is like meditation and that meeting “locals” across the country is a reminder that people are mostly good and kind, even when they seem so different than the rider.  Four friends and I just completed a 1400 mile, six day ride around Arizona and I’m about to expand a bit on those two aforementioned themes as I experienced them, so feel free to stop right here as I’ll add little new insight. But if you’re interested, or just want to see the pictures…

I’ve ridden motorcycles on and off since I was a teenager, part of a general love of all things motorized.  My current bike is a Ducati Multistrada 1200S, a sport touring bike that is beautiful and crazy powerful.  It has a sport bike monster of an engine with 160hp and 95.5 Ib-ft of torque, a throw-you-off-the-back-of-the-bike amount of power that isn’t even happy until it is over 4000rpm.  In other words, way too much bike for my more tepid riding style.

Two in the group were also riding Multistradas and, as experienced track riders, they put the bikes’ capabilities to good use.  Aside from the three Multistradas, we had a new Triumph T120 and a BMW R1200 GSA, the most refined and technically perfect bike in the group. The Ducatis are the partner you want for a crazy weekend in Vegas, the BMW is the stable, capable person you want to marry.

This was a week’s vacation on some of the best motorcycle roads in America, culminating in the famous old Route 666, the Devil’s Highway, on the final day. Arizona is a biker’s dream.  Once out of the cities, we enjoyed mile after mile of twisty and looping roads with few cars, across an array of stunning landscapes and elevations.  We tore across open plains and high desert in the heat, and then ascended to as much as 9000’, pulling over to add layers and turn on our heated grips.  We descended in and out of canyons, with 90 degree after 90 degree turn.

  We drove along the south rim of the Grand Canyon, stunning vistas wherever the trees opened up and the road closed in on the edge.  But the highlight was the Devil’s Highway (now route 190), maybe the most famous motorcycling road in America: 100 miles and 1100 turns.  Some of those turns were so tight, we had to drop into first gear and practically walk the bikes around them, others were wide sweeping arcs along vertigo-inducing drops offs, without a guard rail in sight.

There were no cars, no cops, and no help if you got it wrong.  So it required unwavering concentration and that is where the meditative aspects of motorcycles come in.

I’ve tried meditation and I’m just awful at it.  Within seconds of “emptying my mind,” I’m making grocery lists, worrying about work matters, and wondering if the Patriots will trade for a new offensive lineman before the trading deadline.  But when riding my bike, especially on the roads we experienced last week, there was not a single other thought than what was right in front of us.  More feel than thinking, the experience is simply speed, and line, and the apex of the turn, and lining up the next turn – over and over again.  It was exhilarating and tiring and completely restorative.  Even as the slowest rider in the group, the “flow” when one is finding the right line and speed, trusting the bike and (I know this is sounding really corny now) and feeling one with it, is like skiing when carving perfect arcing turns – it is smooth and feels effortless and takes on a rhythm that is almost soothing, even though the consequences of being lulled or inattentive are severe.  Having done a recent track day and receiving some technical instruction, it was also an exercise in trying to be disciplined about technique, sometimes trusting it over one’s gut, and other times letting instinct and a desire for survival decide what the next move should be.  All the bikes are so exquisitely engineered that they can do almost anything we have the courage to ask of them. There were moments when I could almost hear my bike saying, “Oh dear Lord, open up the throttle and let’s go.”

Ironic then, that my only mishap was going zero mph, when a combination of a hard front brake, a slight turn of the wheel, and a bit of gravel under the front tire sent my Ducati and me to the ground.  Basic law of physics here: make sure that your foot is firmly planted on the ground just before coming to a full stop or bad things happen.  My only injury was a bruised ego, whole some super glue and rubber bands took care of the bike.

Christian, our friend from the UK, was riding the Triumph on the Devil’s Highway and while the rest of us managed all 1100 turns, he did 1009, resulting in a slightly banged up bike and a slightly banged up rider, though modern protective gear does an amazing job.

  In both cases, locals commented that the damages gave the bikes a “bad ass” look.  They didn’t say that about us, mind you.  Though what can one expect when we dubbed ourselves the Hell’s Nerds biker gang?

Speaking of locals, let me turn to theme #2.  There is something about moving through country on a motorcycle that feels more “in” the place, where you get the smells and the air and the feel of a place better than in the iron and glass cocoon of a car. We certainly saw lovely Flagstaff and new age Sedona, and the rediscovered and artsy Jerome, but we also went through gritty mining towns like Globe and rural ranching and hunting/fishing towns like Alpine, and heartbreakingly bleak reservation lands for both the Navajo and Apache.  Along the way we chatted with people (the bikes often drew people to us) and found them to be warm and hospitable and helpful.

We had a great breakfast in chilly Alpine, waiting for the temps to rise a bit before heading out on Route 666. A whole corner of the Café is dedicated to framed photos and newspaper clippings of locals who fought in our wars, going back to WWII, Vietnam, and many for Iraq and Afghanistan.  More than one for someone who had been killed or wounded.  Our waitress was someone who wished for a blizzard so she could be snowed in for a few days, who shoots an elk each winter, and was quick with a story.  Her counterpart at the Tal Wi Wi Saloon, a terrific bar, was also helpful and friendly and gave me advice about navigating the road ahead, including, “If you get hurt there, it’ll be a long time before help finds you.”

I settled in there to do some work (there are few better places to do work, I find), a hunting show on the television behind me.  Cowboys came in later, with mustaches out of central casting, and a hunter came in with full camo, his rifle in the back window of his pickup, parked outside.  Every one of them looked like they could take care of themselves, no matter what the predicament.

It reminded me of how different is much of the West.  There is an independence and individuality that seems in the DNA.

I had breakfast with a truck driver early one morning, we finding ourselves the only two people in the Best Western breakfast room.  He is former Special Forces, living on a sprawling old farm outside of Houston.  He now owns 16 trucks and when I asked him about finding good employees, he says he only hires former Special Forces guys: “Guys who call you with the solution they came up with before they tell you the problem.”  He was flooded during the hurricane, but got his cattle to high ground and his trucks out of town, so has survived it reasonably well.  Not sure how it came up, but we talked about losing our mothers fairly recently and how much we both missed them and how lucky we were to have them so long (his had also passed in her 90s).  There was enough in the conversation to tell me we probably see a lot of political issues in very different ways, but we were instead talking about family and managing people and businesses and, of course, motorcycles (he was inspired to now buy one again), and while our worlds couldn’t be more different in some ways, I thought I’d be lucky to call someone like him my friend.

I guess in the end I am simply evoking that oft-repeated second theme: that if you spend time with people – even people whose world and political views are at odds with your own – you find that they are mostly pretty nice, that generalizations don’t hold up very well, and if you listen for a while, you learn some things.  Amanda Ripley had a wonderful piece in the WSJ earlier this year about the need for a domestic cultural exchange program. I was reminded of it last week.  More than ever, we could all spend some time with people different than ourselves and we might find out some things about them we never guessed and some surprising things about ourselves in the process.

http://ift.tt/2miFUW0 from President's Corner http://ift.tt/2miG5k8 via IFTTT

[beyondforks]

Playing Catch Up! Starling by Lesley Livingston

Playing Catch Up has really been helping me through my ever growing TBR list. I'd like to welcome all other blogs to participate too! If you do, be sure to post your links in the comments section. I'd love to see your Playing Catch Up Reviews, and I'm sure others would too!! *wink*

Want to know more about Playing Catch Up? I'll tell you all about it here!

Starling (Starling #1) by Lesley Livingston Genre: Young Adult (Mythology/Fantasy/Romance) Date Published: August 28, 2012 Publisher: Harper Teen

Mason Starling is a champion fencer on the Gosforth Academy team, but she's never had to fight for her life. Not until the night a ferocious, otherworldly storm rips through Manhattan, trapping Mason and her teammates inside the school. Mason is besieged by nightmarish creatures more terrifying than the thunder and lightning as the raging tempest also brings a dangerous stranger into her life: a young man who remembers nothing but his name—the Fennrys Wolf. His arrival tears Mason's world apart, even as she feels an undeniable connection to him. Together, they seek to unravel the secrets of Fenn's identity as strange and supernatural forces gather around them. When they discover Mason's family—with its dark allegiance to ancient Norse gods—is at the heart of the mystery, Fennrys and Mason are suddenly faced with a terrifying future.

Set against the gritty, shadowed back-drop of New York City, this first novel in award-winning author Lesley Livingston's epic Starling Saga is an intoxicating blend of sweeping romance and pulse-pounding action.

Starling is the first book in the Starling series by Lesley Livingston. The world has just turned upside down for Mason and her friends. I listened to the audio version, which was narrated by the author, and she did a wonderful job. I love when an author is comfortable and really knows how to read their story, and you're able to hear them say the lines how they are meant to be said. I think the mythology through this book is Norse or at least mostly Norse. I'm not as familiar with Norse mythology as I am Greek, so I found it to be interesting in that regard. The plot was intriguing with action and the tease of a romance. I'm very interested in the Fennrys Wolf.  He's still a mystery to me in many ways. Many of the characters are, including Mason herself. I feel like we have much to learn about this world. Then, you have that crazy cliffhanger ending, and well... I'm just going to have to hunt down the next book in this series pretty darn quick.

Mason shrugged angrily out of her brother’s punishing grip as Toby dragged him back a few steps. “Back off, Rory,” the fencing master said as calmly as he could. “Mason, what happened?” “I . . .” Now that she was safely on her feet, the horrible image flooded back into her mind. “I saw something. Out inthe storm. It was hideous—a face—all eyes and teeth and itwas screaming. . . .” “Bullshit,” Rory scoffed. “First you freak out and now you’re making things up. You’re always making stupid shit up—” “Toby said back off, Rory.” Calum stepped in front of him and put a hand on his chest. “You can’t talk to Mason like that.” “Screw you! She’s my sister and I’ll talk to her however I damn well want!” “Stow it, both of you!” Toby finally shouted.In the silence that followed, a sudden frenzy of sound came from overhead, like scrabbling animal claws and ear-splitting keening, somewhere high up on the roof. Mason flinched and looked up, even though she couldn’t see any-thing in the darkness. The unearthly howling floated over the rattle of the rain.

LESLEY LIVINGSTON is a writer living in Toronto, Canada. She is the author of twelve books to date. Her first novel, WONDROUS STRANGE, was winner of the CLA Young Adult Book of the Year 2010, a White Pine Honour Book, shortlisted for the Sunburst Award for Excellence in Canadian Speculative Fiction, and in 2015 was named one of CBC’s “100 YA Books That Make You Proud To Be Canadian”. DARKLIGHT, the second book in this series was a finalist for the Indigo Teen Read Awards. The concluding volume in the trilogy, TEMPESTUOUS, was a finalist for the Monica Hughes Award. These books have sold to more than ten countries to date, and WONDROUS STRANGE has been optioned for film/TV by Shaftesbury Films. Her other trilogies have both won the Copper Cylinder award for Young Adult fiction. In addition to her books for teen readers, Lesley is also co-author of a Middle Grade series with Jonathan Llyr called THE WIGGINS WEIRD. The first book, HOW TO CURSE IN HIEROGLYPHICS was shortlisted for the CLA Book of the Year for Children Award and was longlisted for the Canadian Booksellers Association’s Young Readers Book of the Year award. It was also chosen as one of the selections for the 2016 First Book Canada All-Star Reading Challenge. Lesley’s newest novel is a YA historical epic, THE VALIANT, which will be published in February 2017 by Penguin Razorbill (US) and HarperCollins (CAN) and tells the story of a 17-year-old girl’s journey from fierce Celtic princess to female gladiator and the darling of the Roman Empire. For almost three years, Lesley hosted weekly late-night movie marathons on the nationally broadcast television show, SPACEBAR, as the Waitron-9000, a sparkly holographic waitress with an encyclopedic knowledge of obscure B-movie trivia. For almost two decades, she was a principal performer with Tempest Theatre Group, a Toronto-based Shakespearean theatre company. To learn more about Lesley Livingston and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads and Twitter.