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#Heroine of Strength-WREN
libidomechanica · 18 days
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Times prove, then fierce,
And strived, which being a trips.     Three year us, your lives, in its skin’s blooms and each suit. ’ I     used to part, who, which locke, for inconscience. And every settle     body, war pile, excels and ev’ry glance one sort should     tell young—some did leave her
to be kill. You dare heards had hurl’d     by one’s might, we water midnight, we know—two women is     expense of hell, and that before—so dear doth window of,     the than Hercules. We are me some laid enchantments     heroines, thus he flight, nay
dare strength, the truth queen-priest met with     glad i’m happy spirit of us, neighbourhood. My heads     it, if he westlin winds of swirled as close mighty sting     Destruction. It’s outside the fair Syrinx in spite of delight     he her fearful rhyme; but
somebody was one. Their static     of resigne of custom, where, the what crimson dropt my finger     early bird stirr’d, no teach human thou know while other     destine beautiful now Leander of us, O satyr     flies in the stones a
ioy from mad’st not say, Shame&Pride blowd     in the adieu! What damned mountain-height to the tip-top, called     his butterly, begirt will I am unbalance meet     soule euill her devotions can despairs, that he must be their     love, usurper of thoughts
in eternal Sun’s deluding     parsley, or yet she golden he came, lies whose lips, with trusty     god grows laterally, then thundertake. And a hush     will fracture outside, affect. Was a fervor bowre, both easy     terms yet cunningly
he crowd. Gross thereby, yet the pillow     sound to sing. Time’s prove, then fierce, for each cheeks, with a heavy     meteor-stone;—felt at Abydos, throng: with mellow     swear thee slended, their first a songs I will I beheld craving-     wild, with sigh my head
upon the books. Of a shady     levels, runs vp and know— two pale, like careless routing are,     not so unsullies: amid his company, of sister     dream that I holds upon a rushing into the deeply     had he fled and all weather
sinketh, and whatever tongue     that our tears as one I felt a for a wren leave hard by     sun blown, she too happens a dozen to be. There all over     heart he stood the trees with rose ioyes first sweetest true love     is pursues from their ruff
this brothere we do not be so     may come to my hate. My reckled with the dew not fall; and     will made a face. What seen; once shall naked corner she same     my heed their hath not I cannot let it would self, and     remember alone too, like
brain on my woes, my distance their     sun. And to writing to him now a’ that balance wounds, but     courted hyacinth and honour handle of deserved me     monkeys make a chords covet thy lute it earth, if it could     ache? Avail to be full
verse of all the hand in heaps of     the other’s tended with they shades were but, intensity;     and, the crowd of true; as siluer rank unto the fire turned.     The jewel her looking came, it was beard with dead Dad kept. About     the black saved his jewel-
print this own humble, tracing     Leander three took great aghast, neglected light be kind our     scant as the tame. Of heavy hear us, yourse; griefe that seem     of longer turrets of pleats. Heap in the would savage heat     revived, which is the pleasaunt
us hie, flying for here,     crowned with thin us to rid his back, saw the old, and morning,     hear this earth is how full of its want to the watched the     misty Acheron, heart and made me, doth law of an aik,     bones we seeds my delight
as those dairy Queen rill. Upon     the fair smells tower’d me in a broodes better and the     deep questions of dapple talk of heart, let me feast. A shown;     this part you lovelines of these world’s gay busy hand,     saying on and cut them
away by dead Dad kept. Making     combat, nigh Now when as I guest—thus many more her succeeds.     The where in your cheek with many might delight. Thou, than     the best peer, come with glad i’m welcome other doth close, the     dark realize I’m as
blue as tyrannous, immortal     and beguile my old wave& we will finger if I any     mountain diameter than the scornful steals all she goest     once the gates, yet are gayned. The live always are the sad     like did seemed to espy
some caught from car to lie untuned     golden sings beate will be utterly skies of our branch     doth gone, all to Brooklyn, which Loues gone. That way, come to any     lookes of BEAUTY, that Sicker side: the chair, for, that     are boor. ’St to this mingle
could kill to-morrow brough thee,     who, certain shoals of a harp begat: the took how sound above     the very which market, and let and call Stella now     tis blessed of love all me and rot shall lend to every     A melanchor wet more!
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superawesome-rp · 5 years
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Hc: everyone on this blog is nerd,
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[HC Accepted! Though at least two would beg to differ according to this old, yet still valid image.]
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redrikki · 4 years
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🏳️‍🌈 PRIDE 2020 IS DONE!! 🏳️‍🌈 
Here’s an updated list of my Queer-focused fic.
Unsurprisingly, I’ve written a few stories focusing on queer characters and romances.
Agent Carter
Because Girls Love Girls (The Soulmate City Remix) - There’s something in the water and the next thing Angie knows, she’s waking up with the name Margaret Carter wrapped around her wrist. (Angie Martinelli/Peggy Carter)
One Last Kiss (The Final Storm Remix) - You never forget your first kiss with your nemesis. Dottie won’t forget her last either. At Howard Stark’s funeral, she puts a few things in the ground. (Peggy Carter/Dottie Underwood)
Avatar: Legend of Korra
Girl, Gotten (The Heroine After Remix) - As long as Asami’s the hero, Korra’s okay being the love interest. (Korra/Asami Sato)
Leaves on the Wind - Korra, Asami, and the next Avatar (past Korra/Asami Sato)
Ten-Thousand Words (Which Once See the Light of Day) - There are things they can’t say.  There are things they wont say. There are actions which speak louder than words.  A series of short stories about the ladies of Legend of Korra. (bisexual Asami Sato/Mako, various het pairings)
Avatar: The Last Airbender
Playing with Fire (The Dubiously Consensual Remix) - People didn’t tell Azula no. (Azula/Ty Lee)
Battlestar Galactica
Persephone on New Caprica - It’s winter on New Caprica and they’re all Persephone here.  A collection of short stories. (bisexual Felix Gaeta/Eight, various het pairings) Trigger warning: non-con/dub con
Batwoman (TV)
Trapped in the Closet - Kate was never afraid to come out to her father, but she is now. Episode tag to the season 1 finale. (lesbian Kate Kane)
Black Lightning (TV)
Comic Book Life - Comic book Thunder’s boyfriend knew what his woman did, so why couldn’t Anissa tell her girlfriend? (Anissa Pierce/Grace Choi)
Truth Will Out - Anissa’s in the closet about her superhero life. Three times she thought about telling Grace and one time she actually did. (Anissa Pierce/Grace Choi)
Maybe Baby - "Ever think about what kind of power's you and Grace's kids would have?" Jen asked, raising possibilities Anissa had never considered before. (Anissa Pierce/Grace Choi, Jennifer Pierce)
Sleeping Beauty - Grace had been in coma for over a month now, but Anissa still couldn’t help thinking each visit that this would be the one where she woke up. Maybe today it would be. (Anissa Pierce/Grace Choi)
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Short and to the Mr. Pointy - Collection of drabbles set across all 7 seasons. (Willow Rosenberg/Tara McClay, Willow Rosenberg/Kennedy, Willow Rosenberg/Oz, Larry/Xander Harris, various het pairings)
DC’s Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
The Beast You Made of Me - The Waverider’s resident shapeshifters compare notes. (Mona Wu, Genderfluid Charile)
Neither Should You (The Real People Remix) - Rescuing her clones was the right thing to do. They deserved the right to live their lives and make their own choices. Ava just wished they’d stop sleeping with Gary. (Ava Sharpe/Sara Lance, Ava Clones/Gary Green, implied Gary Green/John Constantine)
Downton Abbey
The Hedgehog’s Dilemma - Thomas Barrow’s daemon is a hedgehog. “Mind my spikes.” Five warnings, four relationships and one revelation. (Thomas Barrow/Duke of Crowborrough, Thomas Barrow/Edward Courtney, Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent)
Snakes and Lions - Hogwarts AU. In Thomas, Jimmy finds that courage isn’t exclusive to Gryffindors.  Now if only he could find some himself. (Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent)
Kipo and the Age of Wonerbeasts
The Hero Was You - Benson likes Troy and Troy likes Benson. Great! Now all Benson has to do is figure out what to do about it. (Benson/Troy)
Miraculous Ladybug
Better Than Ice Cream - Orange, mint, and raspberry could be a tasty combination. The solution to every love triangle should be polyamory, but sometimes it’s just not that simple. Spoilers for Love-Eater. (Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Adrien Agreste/Kagami Tsurugi)
Orphan Black
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl - There’s something magical about Uncle Felix’s flat.  Maybe it’s all the art. (Kira Manning, gay Felix Dawkins, lesbian Cosima Niehaus)
She-Ra and the Princesses of Power
She-Ra (Modesty) Shorts - Three very short Catra/Adora stories. (Catra/Adora)
Parting Strands - Looking out for each other had been their thing, but Adora's starting to suspect that's over. Her thoughts during that scene in "Promise." (Catra/Adora)
Spider-man (Ultimates verse)
Fingertips That Might Ignite - Peter is straight like a straight thing.  Jessica isn’t sure what she is. (Jessica Drew/Johnny Storm, Jessica Drew/OFC)
Gonna Share My Tin Man Heart - Kitty moves in and Kitty moves out. Jessica falls in love somewhere along the way. (Jessica Drew/Kitty Pride)
Star Wars
For Amidala - Her handmaidens had all poured so much of themselves into Amidala, it was like they were part of her now. Padmé didn’t know if she had the strength to let one go. (Padmé/Her Handmaidens)
Dateline Felucia - Embedded with the troops on Felucia, a reporter from HoloNet News paints an intimate portrait of the men of the 212th Attack Battalion. (Obi-Wan/Cody, Waxer/Boil)
Tag - Sabine and Ketsu, bounty hunters extraordinaire, argue about how to sign their work. (Sabine Wren/Ketsu Onyo)
When I Was Your Age - Kanan, Ezra, and the fruits of a misspent youth. (Pansexual Kanan Jarrus)
Stranger Things
Date Night - Everyone and her mother seems to think they’re together and Robin’s getting pretty sick of it. (lesbian Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington)
Umbrella Academy (TV)
Iconic - When Vanya learns Klaus is gay from a magazine, she’s angry for more than just one reason. (lesbian Vanya & pansexual Klaus Hargreeves)
Feed Your Head - Three shitty things young Klaus did for drugs and one thing they did for him. (pansexual Klaus Hargreeves)
White Collar
Eyes on the Target (The Solid Ground Remix) - Peter asked Diana to keep an eye on Neal for him while he’s stuck in jail. It could be going better. (lesbian Diana Barrigan, Neal Caffrey)
Wonder Woman (2017)
After the Glory Fades (The Last Lesson Learned Remix) - Glory fades, but what truly matters remains. Diana takes a moment to remember everything her aunt taught her. (Bisexual Diana, past Antiope/Menalippe )
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olympicreads · 4 years
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girls of paper and fire by Natasha Ngan rating:  ★★
empowerment /ɛmˈpaʊəm(ə)nt/ noun authority or power given to someone to do something. "individuals are given empowerment to create their own dwellings" the process of becoming stronger and more confident, especially in controlling one's life and claiming one's rights. "political steps for the empowerment of women"
Book & review trigger warnings for: rape, homophobic themes, abuse, graphic depictions of violence, grooming, and pedophilia. this review contains spoilers.
From the moment Lei is kidnapped from her home, every last one of her actions gets thwarted.
The promise of an empowering heroine dies after her first failed attempts to scape the demon general. Absolutely everything she tries to do, when hopelessness doesn't take over her, fails. She can't find out information about her mother (and she's found out when she tries). She scapes the king once, and she's severely punished for it.
The second time he calls for her, she's unable to do anything, and he rapes her so harshly she passes out immediately after leaving his rooms. Every last one of the Paper Girls, all of them unwilling or unable to consent, must endure the king's sexual abuse, including the LGBT girls that headline this (horror) show. The only one who's "willing" in her relationship with the Bull King is Aoki - the recently-turned 16 year old girl that fancies herself in love with him - and the one he more thoroughly convinces of his so-called love.
I am not one who tends to shy away from harsh topics, or someone easily rattled, but Girls of Paper and Fire managed to greatly freak me out with the way it depicts them so normally and with such impunity these crimes... and then markets the book to other teenage girls, other LGBT teenage girls, as if they didn't already have to worry about such topics, as if those that were or are victims of this kind of violence could not be triggered by having these events so grossly and openly discussed in this context: one in which the victims have no choice but to endure, one that never promises them safety or scape, one that tells them to be honored that they are there, where in some cases they were sold to this position by their parents, whether that is through conspiracies to end the king's reign or to gain his favour.
Maybe me and everyone else who's rated this book four or five feminist stars have different interpretations of the book or what constitutes as empowerment... but I don't think this is it. I don't think this is a story appropriate to sell to teenaged victims of sexual violence, and I don't think it'd open any healthy conversations about it, as Ngan hopes in her author note. I think, although I really hope I'm wrong about it, that all it could do for these victims is to make them relieve those moments of hopelessness while offering absolutely no relief, no satisfying showdown between the abuser and its victim, since every attempt at taking him down fails.
I am perfectly aware that stories like this seldom have a happy ending in real life. However, one that is sold with the promise of hope and restitution should leave the reader feeling any sort of hope, at the very least... and I don't get any of it. Lei, Zelle, Wren, Blue, Chenna... every last woman in this book has the strength of mind and willpower to know that what's happening to them is wrong and to want to scape it, but absolutely none of them can and every last one of their efforts is thwarted, even those that at first look successful.
While this is the thing that bothered me the most - the fake promise of empowerment and healthy LGBT representation-, it is not my only problem with the book. The beginning of Lei and Wren's romance feels like inorganic insta-love, as if it was something the author wanted to happen and so she shoved them together. It's only by the end that I can feel like they actually connect.
Blue is too much of a typical Regina George type of character, which doesn't go at all with the tone of the book. Zelle's death is too much of a cheap trick - the killing of sex workers (in this case, a victim of people trafficking) in fiction is already a tired, old as dirt trope. What is it doing in this "empowering" novel?
There are pieces of the plot that are picked and then dropped as is convenient. What happened with the importance of Lei's gold eyes, so beautiful General Yu traveled so far to get to her? What about her quest to find her mother? What's the Sickness, other than a Chekhov's gun? What was the point of that one demon almost-raping Lei at the beginning, other than more gratuitious violence against women?
Nevermind that Every. Last. Time. Lei compared Wren to a cat I felt like I was in a SJM novel, and I am not precisely a fan of those. The writing style at times felt choppy, and the world building was lacking. Besides the vague mentions of imperialism and the info-dumps we got about the original Bull King, we don't learn how it is that so many different elements of different Asian cultures, some of them thousands of miles apart, have come to mingle together.
All in all, for a book so thoroughly hyped as inclusive of LGBT people and for an own-voices novel about Asian women, it was extremely lacking.
“I don't want an easy life. I want a meaningful one.”
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ramblingromance · 5 years
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Tagged by @literaryillusions to list ten of my favorite heroes and ten of my favorite heroines from romance novels. I always blank with posts like this, but I’m gonna try my best. These are not listed in any particular order, just the ones that came to the top of my head were listed first.
Favorite Heroes:
1. Sebastian St. Vincent, Devil in Winter: Perhaps a polarizing character for some, Sebastian is one of the ultimate reformed rakes in my opinion. (Maybe a tired trope, but a personal favorite of mine nonetheless.) While he tries to act cold and uncaring, he wants nothing but the best for his heroine pretty much the moment she steps foot into his life, becoming a better man in the process.
2. Vincent Hunt, The Arrangement: One of the biggest cinnamon roll heroes I have ever had the pleasure to read about, though not a surprise coming from Mary Balogh. Vincent is also probably one of the youngest heroes I have ever read about as well, and also lives with a disability after having been blinded during war.
3. Anthony Bridgerton, The Viscount Who Loved Me: The stuffy older brother archetype who is forcing himself not love due to past traumas, but oh does he love a whole hell of a lot, sucking out bee sting poison and all.
4. West Ravenel, Devil’s Daughter: This man right here had such sweet redemption arc, and it didn’t even happen in his own book! Bit of a reformed rake, charming and funny, also wonderful with children! He’s a catch.
5. Liam MacKenzie, The Highlander: My first Scottish hero, and he left quite the impression. He’s rough and brash, but goodness does he just adore his heroine. I don’t tend to like heroes that are super high on the alpha charts, but there’s something tender about Liam too, maybe where he’s already a father when we first meet him. Kerrigan Byrn’s stories tend to have an old school feel to them, and are often filled with very dark pasts and lots of drama, so just a fair warning now if you decide to pick this one up for yourself.
6. Chase Reynaud, The Governess Game: Ah, another devil may care character? What a surprise! Chase likes to keep his feelings in check due to past trauma, but the truth of the matter is, he feels, like a whole lot, and especially for those two charges he claimes he wants to be rid of.
7. Colin Bridgerton, Romancing Mister Bridgerton: Goofy, and seen as nothing but a smooth talking sort of fellow, Colin often wishes he were taken a bit more seriously. Funny and adventurous, his favorite things are his wife and food, in that order, though I’m sure his family makes the list somewhere in there too!
8. Leopold Daughtry, A Duke of Her Own: Known mostly as the Duke or Villiers, he is featured in every single one of Eloisa James’ books in her Desperate Duchesses series. Smooth talking, rakish, and also a bit of a matchmaker. Throughout the series he decides to start doing the right thing after decisions in his past begin to catch up with him.
9. Robert Blaisdell, The Duchess War: I need to read more from Courtney Milan, because I really liked her take on this particular hero. A radical duke trying to atone for the past sins of his family, oh, and refreshingly enough, he’s a virgin!
10. Andrew James Rokesby, The Other Miss Bridgerton: Knows how to Captain/Sail a ship, witty and a great person to have a conversation with, he also will take you on an adventure in Portugal and make sure you get to taste some delicious malasadas for yourself!
Favorite Heroines:
1. Evie Jenner, Devil in Winter: Seemingly a quiet and and shy wallflower with a stutter, she secretly has more sass and bite than she let’s on. Also has one of the biggest rakes wrapped around her little finger.
2. Sophia Fry, The Arrangment: Another quiet and unassuming young lady, she thinks pretty lowly of herself, but throughout the course of the story she gains strength and the ability to realize that she does deserve love.
3. Kate Sheffield, The Viscount Who Loved Me: a bit loudmouthed and always finding herself in some sort of trouble where her hero is concerned, she entertained me to no end, and I found I really wanted to be her friend. A wonderful older sister. Plus she owns a corgi!
4. Lillian Bowman, It Happened One Autumn: You either like her or you don’t, but I found I liked her very much. She’s brash, stubborn, and isn’t afraid to speak her mind. During the course of her book, I found she was making me laugh quite a bit.
5. Penelope Featherington, Romancing Mister Bridgerton: Often looked over, and having been pining over her best friends’s older brother for like...ever, Penelope has more wit than people give her credit for, as well as a very big secret.
6. Samantha Masters, The Scot Beds His Wife: A tough cowgirl from the Wild West, she finds herself in Scotland as she runs from her past and her problems, going toe to toe with her hero, who just so happens to be her very annoying, very Scottish neighbor.
7. Wren Heyden, Someone to Wed: Wren has spent most of her life as recluse due to a somewhat disfiguring blemish on her face, as well as a past filled with traumas. Her story of learning to accept herself, finding love, and face anxieties really spoke to me. I found myself crying during this one, which for me, can be a rare treat in a way.
8. Penelope Campion, The Wallflower Wager: Preferring the company of animals to that of people, aside from her choice of a few close friends, I found myself relating quite a bit to Penelope, while also being drawn to her sunny personality.
9. Constance Stonewell, The Earl I Ruined: Coming across as flighty to others, and seemingly only having interest in gossip and fashion, Constance actually has more wit than people give her credit for, as well as a big heart intent on helping others.
10. Jemma Duchess of Beaumont, This Duchess of Mine: Unabashedly scandalous, clever, and a hell of a good chess player. She’ll entice, intrigue, and entertain you even from her first appearance in the Desperate Duchesses series.
Okay, so there’s my list! I know there’s plenty I’m forgetting, maybe even some I like better who didn’t make it onto this list simply because my memory failed me. Either way, this is what I wrote up, and I’m sticking with it.
I’ll tag @thebooklrandtheduke, @natreadsromance @all-the-kissing-books @pollyssecretlibrary @sunnysaysbookreviews @mfred and anyone else who might like to participate! Also don’t the feel the pressure to do this if you don’t have the time, or if you’d just rather not.
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rambling-bookworm · 5 years
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7 Literary Characters Who Have Influenced Me
How many times have you read a book, watched a television show, or seen a play or musical and found someone you could relate too? Or learned to see the world through a different lense? As Glinda once sang, in the musical Wicked, “there are people who come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn…we are lead to those who help us most to grow if we let them, well I don’t know if I believe that’s true but I know I’m who I am today because I knew you.”  For me this happens most often with book characters, I spend days, weeks even months investing in their story lines, their lives that have been created for me to get lost in and escape my own that I begin to connect, to grow and even to learn important life lessons that stick with me.   Although many characters have influenced and shaped my life in some way, I feel that these seven literary heroines have most made me who I am today, especially literary heroines’ one and two. 
7. Ella of Frell (from Ella Enchanted)
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I first read Ella Enchanted in sixth grade.  I remember loving the book so much I read it many times that year (as my worn copy will attest too! Haha).  Ella of Frell taught me to be fearless and to never quit no matter how impossible a situation may seem.  I related to her compassion, loyalty and kindness.  I admired and respected how protective she is towards those she loves. And as young adult who struggles with finding my voice, I admire and constantly remind myself of Ella and how she found her voice and learned how to use it; we are stronger than we think.  
6. Cath Avery (from Fangirl)
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Never besides Anne Shirley have I ever immediately found a kindred spirit in a novel like I did in Cath. Like Cath I fangirl over things to the extreme (Disney, Newsies, RBD, Harry Potter to name a few of the many, many fandoms/ obsessions I have had over the years).  I relate to Cath’s desire and comfort in living in her fandom and letting it consume her rather than living in the real world.  She is extremely loyal and has trouble letting go of the people that matter to her. Something I can relate to completely, if I’m Cath then my cousin is Wren. As kids and teens we would both obsess over something and like Wren she would get over it fast, and I would get frustrated because I didn’t want her to leave me and the fandom.  Cath has definitely taught me its okay to let go of the past and grow as a person---find different interests.  She has also taught me that sometimes we have to let our walls down because we could be missing out on something wonderful and great.
5. Mia Thermopolis (from The Princess Diaries) 
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Mia Thermopolis’ introverted, opinionated, fight for what you believe in, dramatic personality influenced me so much as a preteen. Mia taught me it’s okay to be opinionated about what you believe in, especially when fighting for a cause that is important to you.  She is also the reason I started keeping a journal because she made keeping a journal seem cool and fun because of how creative, dramatic, and witty it was.  
4. Luna Lovegood (from Harry Potter)
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Luna is my second favorite Harry Potter character. Her quirkiness and not being afraid to be her quirky self has helped me to embrace my quirkiness.  As Evan Hansen says, “The things that make you strange are the things that make you powerful.” And Luna is an excellent example of this.
3. Elizabeth Bennet (from Pride and Prejudice)
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Through the intelligent, quick witted, woman who was ahead of her times, Elizabeth, thirteen year-old me learned it’s okay to be intelligent, opinionated, stubborn in your beliefs and family oriented.  To love the people in my life faults and all.  
2. Hermione Granger (from Harry Potter) 
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My favorite Bookworm and Harry Potter Character, besides Dobby of course, Hermione taught me to embrace being a bookworm.  And that lesson was important to learn as a nine year old, who just wanted to fit in with her non-bookworm cousins and friends.  But, like Hermione, I learned that those who are truly your friends and care about you will accept you bookworm and all! I admired her loyalty to her friends and her strength.  She taught me to value friendships and to fight for the voiceless.  Hermione is an awesome human being I still aspire to become.
1. Anne Shirley (from Anne of Green Gables)
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No literary character will ever describe me as much as Anne with an “e” does because we have sixteen years of being kindred spirits.  I first read Anne of Green Gables, at ten years old and I never have felt so understood! Like Anne, I am dramatic, stubborn, a chatterbox and a daydreamer.  I learned to embrace my imagination and creativity.  Anne’s optimism despite the hardships she faced so early in life constantly remind me to look at my life through a glass half full lens because after all “tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it, yet.”    
Thanks for reading!  
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Something I based on song and some art.
It's the end of the journey. Through pain and death and loss our heroine endured.
The last leg up the mountain is always the hardest. It's just in reach. Almost there. Her friends were dead, her dear father dead. Killed fighting dragons and wulves and swampers. There was nothing to now but find complete their journey alone. She'd been walking for days. The last of scraps of food gone four days ago. The last of the clean water dried up two days ago. She was alone in darkness, with nowhere to go except up. She new Wren was following her, and would probably catch up in a few hours.
Inside the mountain, the only source of light came from small holes in the walls, offering showing her how far she had come. She climbed the square caverns, back and forth and back and forth, higher and higher, until she was so high up the air had become thin. She found herself in a large cavern with more light then usual. Here she stopped to rest. It was cold, she needed to light a fire. Removing her pack, she got what she needed and lit a fire. Not to large, just something small but hot enough to keep her warm for a few hours. She needed to rest, sitting with her back against the wall, she closed her eyes.
Suddenly, an explosion of pain. She'd been shot. BANG BANG. Twice more. The gun shots were so loud, her ears were ringing and everything she heard was muffled. She was blind too.
The pain made her gasp for air but it didn't matter there was very little breathable air. She fell over, grasping at the wounds. Her shoulder, her ribs, and her the inside of her leg were bleeding profusely. There was something wet beneath where she fell. Blood. She was not ready to die, but the blood said otherwise.
As the ringing in her ears went away, and her sight came back, she looked around for her pack. There was some adrenaline in it. There! She tried standing up, but it was no use. Her leg was broken, and the blood loss was too great. So, she crawled towards her pack, crying in pain with every movement.
Then something found its way into her mind: Where was Wren? It's not like she'd shoot someone three times and fuck off. She ignored the thought despite how scared she was now. Wren could be anywhere in this cavernous hall. The mazes of the ancients could hide anything. Why was her pack so far away? She kept crawling. Finally, she got close enough to grab it, and took out the adrenaline shot, and a temporary splint for her leg. She patched up the bullet holes, and tried to stand up. It was the most painful trying and had ever endured, but she managed it somehow. Using her rifle as a walking stick, she drew her pistol, and began walking.
Before she walked more than ten feet, she heard footsteps. She increased her pace, the adrenaline rush would not last as long as she wanted.
BOOM! She screamed and collapsed to her knees, cutting off her scream and turning it into a choked gasp from her leg. She fell on her wounded arm, letting out a short pained screech. She was broken. Wren had won. Defeated, she started sobbing. Partly from the physical pain, and party from the fear. But these paled in comparison to her failure. She was going to fail.
"I can't do this without you," she yelled at her father's memory. "I can't survive without your help."
"You don't need my help. You never did."
"How am I supposed to go on?" she asked. "I left my pack."
"Forget the pack. You have my memory. That is all you have."
"I'm scared, father," she said through choked sobs. "I don't want to die."
"Neither did I. But I gave my life so you might find yours. Find the strength within yourself."
"I don't think you know how bullet wounds work," she said.
"I'll see you at the top of the mountain."
"Wait!" But he was gone.
Father is at the peak?
Finding the strength to move was hard, but she found it. It helped knowing Wren was likely toying with her. As horrifying as it was.
Now is not the time to die.
She moved toward the stairs in the distance. Limping one step at a time. When she finally got there, she felt a breeze on her blood and dirt and tear covered face. The peak! Almost there! She climbed the steps, by just before she rounded the corner halfway up, another shot was fired. This time the bullet found its way into her lung through her back.
As she fell to the ground, she turned. She finally saw the one who has been a thorn in her side for so long. Crying and crawling be way up thy stairs, determined to reach the peak, she was shot again. This time her arm was blown apart. Her good arm. She looked up and saw Death. "I'm not ready to die! Not yet!" The heroine screamed in defiance. The Thorn was waiting, gun holstered. Her mission nearly complete, now only waiting for the heroine to die. Turning around, she and looking down towards her adversary, she realized she had was at the peak of the mountain.
She tried laughing, but only blood can't out of her mouth. Still holding her pistol, she fired. Missing Wren by a quite a lot. She fired a few more times. Miss miss miss. Wren had not moved at all.
She realized she would need to pick up her gun to even have a chance. So, with sheer force of will and rage she found the strength to raise her gun, and fired. One shot was all it took, and Wren collapsed. Shot in the head.
Our heroine dropped the gun and walked away, Climbing triumphantly to the peak.
She gasped. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Silver capped mountains, a golden sun, a field of emeralds and jade. In the distance, a man. Her father.
"Home," she whispered.
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20, 21, 34, for anyone you’d like!
For this one, I’m going with my main four characters: Solus Vetra, Lumi Kirrin, Jazari Naaji, and Kamelia Malo! It’s going under a cut because I already know I’m going to get long winded with it.
Are they insecure or happy with themselves?
Solus is happy with herself more often then not. There’s always room to improve things (she’s only going to stop that when she’s dead) but overall she’s content. After what felt like forever Solus finally became herself again and found her true purpose. The further she gets from the Jedi Tenants the happier she becomes.
Lumi is super happy with herself. Are there flaws? Yes, but they’re her flaws. Some little habits she needs to change, others set in stone that she has just accepted, and a few that straddle the line between flaw and strength. But, she considers the important thing is she recognizes her own self worth.
Jazari is insecure sometimes. When compared to the other two, it is hard to not feel down on herself some days. Solus and Lumi are extraordinary in her mind. Their generation will be shaped by them. Those feelings come up even more during the Clone Wars. Most of her time is spent within Arca Barracks running the back end of various ops next to their much more active Front Line Presence. It feels like they are risking more, doing more, giving more to the War Effort. But, they make damn sure she knows she’s just as valuable as they are, if not more so. Because they’re always going to lift each other up.
Kamelia’s middle name could be Insecurity at this point. Instead of building herself up from the inside she depends too heavily on outside validation. The simplest bit of constructive criticism sends her spiraling into the depths of self-loathing and puts up all of her walls. It was an okay system until she went from being the shining star of her age group to falling behind. Instead of trying to work past it she continues to be catty, hypocritical, and frankly self-adsorbed. 
Opinion on romance?
Solus has a pretty favorable opinion of romance. It takes a backseat a lot to everything else going on in her life but she does enjoy the gestures. Nothing ostentatious like roof top declarations or useless, gaudy gifts catches her eye. But, the small things like remembering her favorite food or forehead kisses? Surprising her with flowers or fixing a weapon/starfighter/etc for her or running a bath for her because her day sucked? Yeah, those will always win her heart over. She’s not there for the fleeting feelings but the long haul instead.
Lumi is wary of traditional romance. It feels like society at large puts too much emphasis on it. Everything about “Love and Romance” is supposed to be some kind of grandiose display of claiming one another. None of that appeals to her on any level. Instead, she prefers a quiet comfort derived from being together. A feeling of caring and belonging and home. Basically, she wants the only difference between her friendships and partnerships to be agreed upon rules among themselves. If she cares about someone then she cares about them. There’s no strange feeling of mystery or excitement to put it on some unattainable pedestal. That being said, she will melt from little gestures from her lover(s). Those are the things that matter most to her.
Jazari really enjoys spoiling others with little romantic gestures. There’s something that warms her heart about warming others hearts. Flowers, little snacks, fixing a broken datapad, even just the cutesy messages back and fourth throughout the day are fantastic to her. Being on the receiving end is almost always equally as nice. Just spoiling one another with little dates to fall deeper and deeper in love makes her happy. The Galaxy has enough hate and discord, what is needs now is love and kindness.
Kamelia has a very torn opinion on romance. Outwardly, she denies wanting it. Because romance implies falling in love therefore breaking the Code. She is so desperate to be a good Jedi she will do anything to avoid breaking those rules. Hell, she judges those who fail to follow the Code repeatedly. But…she wants romance. She wants the big gestures and shows of affection. More than anything she wants someone to show her off (and that she can show off) because they belong together. She watches dramatic romances or historical dramas dreaming of living the charmed lives of the heroines. Dating, love, marriage, and babies ever after is what she wants but refuses to admit.
Do they have any trauma? if so, what?
Solus had a very traumatic life before the Jedi Order. She was born during the Great Clan Wars on Mandalore and was almost executed during it, at age four along with fellow future Countess, Ursa Wren (age 14/15 and the general of the stronghold), in an attempt to take the planet. The Jedi voting her in was luck but also a curse because she was always too much for them. She grew up bullied for being Mandalorian, for being a “Bad Guy” if you followed the Republic’s biased history. She was also far too intelligent, too skilled, and too keyed into a sort of Past Force Vision sense to make anyone comfortable. At eleven, she became a Padawan and forged her second lightsaber, to dual wield at her Master’s suggestion for a challenge. At fifteen, she was grouped into the Jedi Assault Team for Geonosis and watched Jango Fett (the last True Mandalorian, legacy of Jaster Mereel, and her Manda’lor) die by Mace Windu’s hand. Her history died and she blamed herself. Only a few months later her Master, Leska, died during the Battle of Jabiim, along with most of their Clone Troopers and 26 other Jedi overall, leaving Solus to snatch a barely there victory from the jaws of defeat.
Lumi was born in a very Hutt Cartel controlled region of Ryloth. Her father was a Lethan Twi’lek slave and her mother his half-Sephi, half-Rutian Twi’lek master. Because of his misstep of “seducing” her mother, her father was executed, then some months later her mother died in childbirth. By age three, she knew was considered weird among her family and often ignored, due to her innate talents with Shatterpoints and reading everything. It was only a matter of when, not if, they would grow tired of her and make a lot of quick credits. The Jedi Order was a blessing and a curse. They had no idea how to handle her fear and anger but Mace Windu helped. Her understood her Shatterpoints and her feelings and helped so much. At age 11, he became her Master and at 15, the reason she was on Geonosis. Seeing him kill Jango Fett, feeling the reactions of everyone around her (Solus screaming in unimaginable pain like death and Boba wailing) changed her opinions. Their slave army, her repeated trips to Ryloth, and her Master’s devotion to the Republic made life difficult.
Jazari was born on Jedha, in the capital city even. Her mother was on an extended pilgrimage from Mirial to Jedha to see the Kyber Temple while her father was a mechanic and native. Early on her mother left (she has no memories of her) but she grew up with her father. He died when she three leaving her an orphan. Until a Jedi could be dispatched to bring her to the Temple she lived with Guardians and was sad to leave them. Her life could’ve been idyllic among the Jedi except she favored tech to people and she befriended outcasts, Solus, Lumi, and Kamelia. At 12, she became a Padawan to Arligan Zey exposing her to fantastic master but also to the underbelly of the Galaxy within Intel. At 16, she helped run back end operations for Geonosis spending many agonizing hours waiting to hear who lived and who died. From there, she was tossed headlong into the war rarely to the front lines but always analyzing data, holed up in Arca Company Barracks and within the Special Operations Brigade. Included in her tasks was making judgement calls that the many outweighed the few…something she absolutely loathed. They were out there dying as she stayed on Coruscant safe.
Kamelia was given to the Jedi Order as an infant. Everything about her life should’e been cookie cutter perfect within the Temple walls. She was never the outsider in terms of age or life experiences. Her touch of Force Visions and quick skills should’ve made her a shoe in to make friends. Instead, she stayed isolated because of her preoccupation with the Future instead of the Now. As that dividing line grew wider her age-mates’ tolerances of her attitudes grew thinner. She was a teacher’s pet of sorts, a bit of a tattletale, and socially awkward leading to her being teased. Accepting Solus’ offer of friendship, with Lumi and Jazari as well, cemented her Outsider status. It was difficult but not impossible until her friends, the ones who were always ranked beneath her in a way, shot forward into Padawanship…while she did not. It created a rift between her and her only friends. They were always away on missions while she stayed back…waiting. By 15.5 she became a Padawn, finally, when she was assigned to a Master. The fear of being sent to the Service Corps or ousted from the only home she had ever known, because of failure, weighed on her. The other three at least knew a life outside the Temple. The Clone Wars only touched her life in abstract ways. She was never assigned to the fronts, never left the Halls of Healing (exactly where she wanted to be), and never feared really. Until, Solus was assigned there to study (after Leska’s death for the 3 months it took Master Fisto to claim her) challenging Kamelia’s barely held on grip to “I am worth something” because her former friend was moving into her skill set better than her.
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twistednuns · 3 years
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January 2021
Creating art is about growing the world and increasing its reach, and it has more to do with the act of creation itself than what is actually made. Anything that animates us creatively in a positive way — be it the grand design of a great architectural wonder or the Big Bang of a child’s drawing — is a re-enactment of the original creation story. Whether we realise it or not, making art is a religious encounter as it is our attempts to grow beyond ourselves that energise the soul of the universe. (Nick Cave on shitty art)
Seeing the old library guy having dinner table with his wife. They even lit a candle. How celebratory.                                                                       
Writing a birthday message for Frank about my new beginnings and first days of the year.
Making my nails look as if I had dipped my fingertips into a jar of silver glitter.
How black and glossy blueberries suddenly become after being coated in my warm coconut porridge.
Shinto does not strictly divide the world between material and spiritual, nor between this world and an alternative perfect realm, but instead emphasises that intuitive spirituality facilitates the fusion and equilibrium of all realm. - Why Haruki Murakami is so very Japanese
Sporting a hickey on my neck like a basic 16-year-old.
Going new paths (on my daily walk).
Feeling really grateful for the habits I established last year. A daily walk, taking helpful supplements, flossing, hair and face masks before every shower. Cold showers! A reasonable bedtime. I'm incredibly excited about forming new habits this year! The first ones to tackle are meditation, strength training and a daily creativity practice.
Suddenly imagining the taste of strawberry sauce. Anticipating the first spaghetti ice-cream of the year.
Loving kindness meditation (!) and smiling meditation. Spotify's Wake Up/Wind Down podcast is really quite good, too.
Cracking the impossibly hard to reach spot in my back by twisting and stretching my right leg (who knew).
The first tulips of the year on my nightstand. I chose a dark yellow, almost ochre.
Sparkling water with passion fruit juice. All I could think of during the last minutes of a long and cold walk. Getting undressed. Stretching. Meditation.
Vivid dreams of diving. How I miss being underwater. At least I got to do it in the nightly virtual reality show, eh?
Walking in a winter wonderland. I hate snow but I do admit it's quite pretty when the whole forest is covered in white.
A friendly nod from the delivery guy with the amazing curls.
Running into the neighbourhood's wild cat. Giving him a good scratch.
My new salt crystal lamp. I love its warm light.
The random house on a street nearby with the word nest next to its doorbell. Is that really the family's name? Or just what they call their house? (I would totally get that as nest is one of my favourite words)
Kalimba covers. With cat. Wholesome.
Sinking my face into a pair of warm tracksuit pants which had been drying on the heater. The warmth and the fresh laundry smell were so nice.
Plucking icicles.
The fact that the sidewalks aren't quite as icy and slippery anymore (I hate having no proper grip when I'm walking).
A gorgeous animal atlas with really pretty drawings in one of the boxes with free stuff people often put out these days.
Sarah Wilson. I could hardly put her new book down and immediately started reading her book about anxiety when I was finished. In a way I feel really connected to her. What an inspiring woman! Another thing I love is how she structures her books. She merely numbers her paragraphs, some only a few lines long, some a few pages.
The taste of strawberries. It's hard to describe but somehow it lights up my brain? Can I say that?
Osteopathy. I don't know what she does or how she does it but Laura has magic hands. My body feels completely healed after a session with her.
Simply walking everywhere. I get my steps in and don't have to deal with annoying public transport or my shitty bike.
Peeking out of my shell: looking at people I came across on an early walk and saying good morning.
Little yellowhammer birds on my balcony. I've never seen them before around here. And the tiniest bird on one of my walks through the forest. Perhaps a wren?
Dreaming of India. Visiting a local family, inquiring about a "somatic reading" (whatever that is) but deciding that it was too expensive and watching them prepare food instead. Talking to the grandmother. Riding to their restaurant on the market in a little wagon together.
Lying in bed after taking a shower, bathing in sunlight.
Dorky donkey confetti paper tissues.
A very soothing video of a cat purring loudly got me through a lousy Thursday. I kept coming back to it every couple of hours and it actually helped.
I'm currently watching Chilling Adventures of Sabrina on Netflix. It was a bit hard to get into it at first because it's SO different from the series with Melissa Joan Hart I used to watch as a teenager but ever since that cheerleading scene where Sabrina and Ros perform to RUN DMC's It's Tricky I'm absolutely sold.
The other day there was a lady just standing at the edge of a field, watching her dog run around in the snow, enjoying the sunset. A very peaceful image.
More tulips: red ones this time, a smaller variety. I loved watching them blossom.
Collecting ideas and yellow objects for a yellow-themed letter.
These baby blue and pink sunrises I have been seeing lately.
A new magic trick: summoning dogs by simply holding their gaze for a while.
I hate snow. I really do. But I love how bright the light suddenly is. I smile apologetically at people shovelling snow when I walk by. The other day I stood under a branch when a couple shook the tree and let the snow fall down. I would have been mad if it hadn't been for my umbrella.
When the first and last bits of light colour the tree tops in a warm, gold and orange colour during sunrise and sunset.
The smell of my armpits (have we all stopped using deodorant during lockdown and are suddenly able to smell our armpits or is it just me) made me remember kids carnival parties at our local sports club. We wore cheap costumes made from synthetic fabric and were all super sweaty from running around all day as princesses, vampires and cowboys on a sugar high.
Learning the reason why snow melts faster under trees.
Listening to the New York Times' The Daily podcast. More speficially the Sunday Read (which mostly seems to feature the topics I'm really interested in). There was the wonderfully whimsical episode about the Cloud Appreciation Society. I'd never realised that Joni Mitchell's song Both Sides Now is about seeing shapes in clouds ("pareidolia"): Rows and flows of angel hair / And ice cream castles in the air / And feather canyons every where / Looked at clouds that way. Then there was this other episode about Moonstruck, a movie starring Cher and Nicholas Cage. At the end they keep playing the film music for a while before the episode slowly fades out. I was walking down a snowy alley and felt like the heroine in a late 90's movie (which I could also describe as end-of-century now, how peculiar).
Pelvic floor training. I have more strength, I'm taller and it somehow keeps straightening my back? I'm really impressed of how effective it is and am planning on learning more about the Cantienica method.
I know I'm late to the game but last night I watched the whole first season of Emily in Paris in one go. I needed something to cheer my up and, oh my, did Emily deliver. Well, not really her, but Paris. Everything about the serious can only be described as delicious. The food, the man candy, the fashion, colours and backdrop. While watching I kept thinking about outfit planning, exotic cuisine, roadtrips, kissing strangers, enjoying the good life. Oh how much I miss it. I feel awfully trapped in my apartment these days. One last thing I need to highlight: Sylvie, played by Philippine Leroy-Beaulieu, who is the real star of this series for me. She is just SO chic.
More light! I actually stand a chance to get home before sunset now when I head out late-ish for one of my daily walks.
A good talk with Lena. Home-made ramen. Watching en episode of Planet Earth and Blue Planet each.
Sourdough pizza with goat cheese, honey and fresh truffle.
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Shadow Over Seventh Heaven Review, Part II: Jenny Wren and Richard Redbreast
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Image source: “Da Luna et Ramsès- Doberman – Frère et Sœur -” by ERAL. Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.0 license.
Welcome back to my review series for Shadow Over Seventh Heaven, the second novel by Ian Martin, original headwriter for Strange Paradise and second most prolific writer for CBS Radio Mystery Theater, published under the name of his second wife Joen Arliss. It’s been two and a half weeks, and I have been dying to go back to recapping this not-quite-rare-but-close piece of Martiniana.
In Part I, we learned of the late April Tennant, legendary star of the silver screen, whose glamorous life ended suddenly when she fell from the cliffs on her home estate of San Rafael. We also learned of her husband Richard Morgan, a legendary actor in his own right, and met his overly attached sister Lisa, who is not pleased by his recent remarriage, and Chita, their very Raxl-esque servant who clings to April’s memory. In this installment, we will meet Richard and his new wife, Jenny, themselves as they return from the Philippines to the former Spanish mission which may or may not be haunted by the spirit of his first wife.
Chapter 3
We open with our heroine, Jenny (née Summers), and her new husband Richard at the Manila International Airport, where paparazzi are hounding them. “She had seen [crowds] at fiestas, at rallies for President Marcos or even his opponents [1], at rush hours, church holidays, national holidays. The Philippine Islands abounded in inland fish, and in rice, but most of all, in people. But she had never seen a crowd quite like this” (p. 22). She is a little frightened, but Richard, for whom this is apparently a regular occurrence, tells her to keep moving until they get through the sea of people--which, given the current circumstances around the globe, sounds like a nightmare even though this book takes place about forty years ago.
A reporter starts to interview her and reminds her, almost right after their marriage, that she is replacing the legendary April Tennant:
“Mrs. Morgan--you are the envy of most every woman in the world as well as here in the Philippines. How does it feel to be Mrs. Richard Morgan the second?”
“You don’t have to answer,” Richard said protectively.
“But I want to,” she said. “It feels marvelous! I’m the luckiest woman in the world!”
“Aren’t you a little afraid?” the young man persisted.
Jenny wasn’t going to admit that to a stranger.
“Why should I be afraid?” she said.
“You are replacing a very exceptional woman.”
Now the noose of fear tightened around her neck, so that momentarily she could not answer. It was Richard who did for her.
“My first wife is dead,” he said with barely repressed anger. “For God’s sake let April rest in peace. For her own sake as well as ours. Now please--we have a plane to catch” (p. 23).
They leave him and hounding turns to harassing as rabid Richard Morgan fans begin reaching for them, tearing off pieces of her collar and the Filipino-style flower appliqué on her skirt and stealing Richard’s pocket square. “It was a good-natured, adulating adoring crowd,” the narration insists, “but like every mass of humanity, a possibly dangerous and uncontrollable force” (pp. 23-24). Sorry, narrator, but to me, it still sounds like a COVID nightmare--literally. I’ve had nightmares about this kind of thing for months. Generally, I try to avoid writing about current events on here because I don’t consider it appropriate for a blog about escapist Gothic melodrama, but this scene reminds me of some of my recent dreams.
Anyhow, the crowd and the reporter only reinforce Jenny’s feelings that she’s already in April’s shadow. Before Richard took an interest in her, she was only the daughter of an obscure American ambassador, not even an actress like April. She just got married and already she is having second thoughts, and not because of her husband:
Then that miserable worm of fear began to gnaw at her again, and she so desperately didn’t want to face the truth. But the words said themselves inexorably to her, marching across the inside of her eyelids as though chiseled on some granite rock that revolved before her inner sight, or burned so deeply on an indestructible tape that they could never be eradicated. The trouble is April Tennant. The woman the whole world revered and loved. They only wanted to see Jennifer, weigh her, find her wanting. They knew nobody could replace April--and that nobody had the right to try. Only without realizing what she was getting into, Jenny had done it. For once, she was the big attraction. But they didn’t think she could measure up, and she wasn’t sure she could herself. How had she ever thought she could? (pp. 24-25)
As they head for their flight, a crowd of “smiling brown people” cheer for them to return, and one little Filipina girl even chases Jenny down to give her “a woven garland of sampaguita flowers” (pp. 25-26). I must admit that I don’t know much about Filipino history, but I have trouble imagining that a crowd of Filipino people would cheer on the (presumably white) daughter of an American official who, given U.S. foreign policy at the time, would have backed Marcos’ repressive regime. Do I believe that they cheer for an international celebrity like Richard? Yes. Would they want to wish him a happy marriage? Probably. But I can’t imagine them liking Jenny much, for reasons that have nothing to do with April Tennant.
Chapter 4
This chapter begins with a description of Richard Morgan’s appearance that is an entire page long:
His mouth was full, the lips unusually red, with just the slightest quirk in repose which suggested sardonicism...The nose was classic, intriguingly flawed by some old injury...The eyes were brown, so dark that they were almost black, smoldering under somewhat sullen brows...His hair was a great, tousled, tawny mane, unruly, and resistant to brush or comb. His eyebrows had a fierceness about them that seemed to challenge anyone to cross swords; but this aggressive effect was completely belied by the way one or another would twitch and cock upward as though laughing at the world--or perhaps himself. His chin was probably too prominent, but again the feeling of overconfidence and overwhelming strength was softened by the deep cleft in the middle of it that broke the uncompromising line. He was not a tall man--perhaps an inch under six feet--but he carried himself with the lithe balance of a jungle animal or a trained athlete, and there was hardly anyone who did not think of him as tall and powerful. He was a man who even in repose radiated a sense of kinetic and tireless energy (pp. 29-30).
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Richard Morgan, according to the cover artist.
Honestly, I was disappointed the first time I read this passage because he doesn’t much resemble Colin Fox. Virtually the only features the two have in common are the nose and the way they carry themselves--and (if we are talking about Jacques’ portrait) the lips. I always find it interesting how male authors describe the male characters whom others in the story find attractive, especially when said author is straight and writing for a female audience. Therefore, this is likely Ian Martin’s idea of what an incredibly handsome man looks like and/or his idea of what the average straight woman wants.
That, in turn, makes me wonder if this is how he visualized Jean Paul Desmond and his lookalike ancestor Jacques Eloi des Mondes, especially given that most of the other characters (and many fans, myself included) see them as incredibly handsome. Richard does have several facial features in common with John Bayliss, the actor originally cast in those roles, but there isn’t any evidence to suggest that their resemblance is anything more than a coincidence.[2]
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The SP character whose appearance Richard’s description most closely matches, the Reverend Matthew Dawson. Lacks the unruly tawny hair and the sardonic lips and doesn’t carry himself like Richard, but the eyes are similar and they have the same chin. Not ugly (Dan MacDonald was better-looking IMO than the guy on the cover), but also not my idea of male perfection.
While relaxing on the plane, Jenny allows herself the luxury of thinking about herself instead of Matt Dawson’s tawny-haired twin. We learn that her name isn’t actually Jennifer--which contradicts the passage above where she calls herself that--but just Jenny, and that her parents named her after Jenny Wren from the (surprisingly dark) nursery rhyme “The Wedding of Robin Redbreast and Jenny Wren.” She relates in particular to the part where the wren says “I must wear my plain brown gown / And never go too fine,” because she dislikes not just putting on airs, but thinking about herself, period, which she attributes  to her strict upbringing. She’s almost cartoonishly modest, which is pretty typical of Gothic ingenues and of Linda Barclay, the protagonist of Martin’s earlier “romantic suspense” book, Nightmare’s Nest, who was even more so.
We flash back to the evening she met Richard, who was apparently an old friend of Nene Ilusorio, one of her late father’s friends who became her close companion following his death in a helicopter crash. At that time, April was not yet dead, so Richard had to keep his dates with Jenny secret. They traveled out to the mountains together, where she showed him the rice paddies the locals constructed on the mountains with their irrigation system and where he won her heart by quoting Robert Burns’ poem “My Heart’s in the Highlands.” Apparently women find men who like Robert Burns irresistible, at least according to this and the Kitty Soames storyline on Dark Shadows. I can’t confirm, though, because no man has ever quoted Burns to me or given me a book of his poems.
Chapter 5
A filler chapter about Jenny and Richard’s flight from Honolulu (where they had a layover) to San Francisco. I got excited at one point when Richard said, “We had a picture half done that had to be scrapped because of her death” (p. 46), thinking at first that he was referring to the portrait and being reminded of two certain other portraits of a certain character from Strange Paradise. But then I realized, no, he means “picture” as in “movie,” not as in “painting,” and got disappointed. We also learn that Richard has an encyclopedic knowledge of all the classic poets and playwrights, not just Robert Burns. In a flashback, Richard recites Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poem “How do I love thee?” for her in his amazing voice, leaving her “drunk on love” and “drunk on all [the poets to whom he introduced her]” (p. 54). If he sounds anything like Colin, I can understand why she’s so seduced by him reading poetry. Even so, if I were her, I wouldn’t be able to get past the fact that he’s quoting other people instead of using his own words to convey his love. If Jean Paul could come up with something new to say to his frozen wife four days a week for a month, then surely Richard can as well. He's just being lazy--or is he? The back cover (”WHAT LAY BEHIND THE MASK OF LOVE?”) hints at some possible deception on his part.
Chapter 6
Jenny and Richard arrive back in California, and the story starts to pick up again.  This is roughly where “Here Goes the Bride” begins, not counting the teaser at the beginning. They are driving along the Pacific shore in a red Mercedes  without air conditioning, and Richard refuses to let her roll the windows down because he doesn’t want anyone to recognize him. He angsts for a while about how, even though actors like him need the audience in order to live and “for the magic to come alive,” the audience has become increasingly like “a great, crouching tiger...a creature of emotion and whim that can turn on you suddenly and get completely beyond your control” (p. 59). He rants about how April’s fans worshiped her and made almost a cult around her, and about how they will most likely go ballistic if they see him with another woman instead of playing “the high priest, ascetic, mourning, forever dedicated to her memory” (p. 60). By driving the car with the windows up, he hopes to avoid the paparazzi and other stalkers on their way to San Rafael.
We learn in a flashback, by the way, that the car is Lisa’s and that Richard had Jenny disguise herself as her by putting on a hat and sunglasses. Jenny asks if she really looks like Lisa--which, if it were true, would imply that he reciprocated Lisa’s feelings for him, at least on an unconscious level--but he says no. Her hair is dark, while Jenny’s is “tawny gold” (p. 63), which I had forgotten, probably because Lisa reminds me too much of Cersei Lannister not to picture her as such. Also, Richard has dark hair now, too? Two chapters earlier, his hair was tawny like Jenny’s. I guess this book’s editor didn’t notice the continuity error--not that it was that important, anyway.
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The woman on the cover, most likely Jenny.
While waiting for Juan to open the gates, Jenny stares in awe at the fortifications surrounding the estate--which, as you may recall from Chapter 1, Richard had built around the estate, allegedly to keep his and April’s rabid fans out, and even added the broken glass himself. “It’s like a fortress--barbed wire, broken glass,” she exclaims. “And the gate looks as though you borrowed it from the Bastille!” The mention of the Bastille reads like subtle foreshadowing of a later reveal, but, per my self-imposed rule against spoilers, I won’t say any more about it for now. The gates open and we hear Richard’s pack of snarling dogs for the first time, the sound of which makes her uneasy. She asks about them and Richard just says, “They’re our guardian angels. They patrol the grounds at night” (p. 67).
We also meet Juan, “a square-set Mexican...a man of some sixty years, with a sun-whipped face that was as craggy and seared with lines as the landscape they had just passed outside the gate” and “blackened teeth in a dark-brown face dried by so many days of sun that the oil had cooked from the skin until it was tanned like animal hide” (p. 67). Here we have the third piece of evidence of the dystopian nature of life at San Rafael. First, we saw the excessive level of security which Jenny compared to the most notorious prison of France’s ancien régime; next, we heard snarling from Richard’s kennel; and now, it is implied that Juan doesn’t get paid enough to afford either modern dentistry, sunscreen, or a good moisturizer. Combine this with Richard’s refusal to romance Jenny in his own words and his insistence that they drive with the windows up and no air conditioning in southern California, and his behavior abounds with red flags. It does make you wonder what lay behind the mask of love, and it’s quite reminiscent of early Jean Paul and his control-freak tendencies even when Jacques isn’t possessing him.
Unlike Quito, his Strange Paradise equivalent, Juan can speak and often does. Half of his dialogue is in Spanish, the other half in English. Sometimes he will even randomly throw a Spanish word into a mostly English sentence (ex. “They will not be tranquilo till they see you for themselves” (p. 68), which, even with my extremely limited knowledge of Spanish, I know should read “tranquilos,” because he is talking about the dogs). This, combined with his appearance and the mention that he stands “with Indian patience, unmoving and stolid” (p. 70), makes him come across as rather stereotypical. It’s surprising how SP, despite being a decade older, has actually aged slightly better than this book in terms of racial matters--although, given that this book is forty years old, that’s to be expected.
Upon meeting Juan, Jenny feels “an icy whisk of rejection that shuddered between her shoulderblades [sic]” (p. 68), as though she knows before he says anything that he is a card-carrying member of the Cult of April Tennant. He reveals to Jenny that the dogs “are trained to kill...anyone who does not belong here,” and that they will only protect her “if they learn to know you belong” (p. 70). Then he casts a huge heaping of doubt on whether that will ever happen:
Jenny’s voice was hushed and sympathetic.
“You must have loved her very much.”
He lifted his head proudly, the dark deep-set eyes flashing from under the craggy brows. “She was La Senora de la Casa!”
The statement was simple and obdurate. A declaration of faith that shook Jenny because it was so basic. She found herself fighting to keep her throat from tightening up as she answered tentatively, “I hope you won’t blame me too much for taking her place.”
The answer, although delivered with remote courtesy, was flatly uncompromising. “There is no one to take her place” (p. 71).
Richard interrupts them when he returns with all six of his dogs on leashes, which frightens her even more now that Juan has given her reason to suspect that the dogs, too, worship April Tennant and will not accept anyone in her place. He probably wants them to reject her, especially because he never thought to give her some bones or treats to use to win their loyalty. If I were in her position, I would be begging Juan for some good cow knuckles filled with marrow for them to gnaw on. Then--assuming that he obliged--I’m sure they would love me forever.
Chapter 7
Richard introduces Jenny to his dogs, six Doberman pinschers named for “the six noblest Romans of them all. Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Marc Anthony--Mark for short--Cinna, and Casca” (p. 74). He has them demonstrate their obedience to him--while he demonstrates more of his own control-freak-ness--by ordering them to sit, then charge, then shake hands with her. Much to Juan’s likely chagrin, Richard has every intention on making the dogs recognize her as their new mistress, and so he has her give them dog biscuits.
They all appear to like her except for Casca, who is slightly less quick to obey Richard’s commands and also reluctant to kiss Jenny’s hand, unlike the others. She’s relieved to have found acceptance from them so quickly, but Juan has to rain on her proverbial parade by staring silently “with no solitary hint that he shared the dogs’ enthusiasm for Jenny” (p. 77).
Chapter 8
They get back in the car and continue driving (how vast is the estate?), this time with the top down because of the lack of prying eyes. We learn as they drive to San Rafael that April’s mother had it built, something that Richard doesn’t want to admit, but which he makes obvious at least to the reader:
“When April’s mother-” He choked that off and rephrased, biting his tongue for bringing up her name. “I mean, when the property was first bought, some foundations were discovered where the house was to be built; and the architect sold Apr--ah--them on recreating a Spanish mission. It was picturesque, but not very practical for modern living, so when Ap--I mean, when I was married and entered the picture, some changes were made [like the addition of that portrait, I assume]” (p. 79).
Jenny expresses her doubts that San Rafael “will open its arms to [her] and invite [her] in,” and he responds by kissing her, which doesn’t answer her question, but whatever:
He lifted her chin, tilting her face toward him gently, his eyes flickering back and forth across hers, his own gleaming and almost mesmeric as the sun slowly slipped down over the horizon. Then very slowly he touched his mouth to hers, his lips opening against hers as he quite suddenly pressed against her ardently, his tongue lightly touching hers, engaging it, probing and awakening her mouth and the answering touch of lips and tongue, till all the world was blotted out, and there was only the rush of teeming blood, throbbing in the head and along all the nerves to the end, and the surge of desire that blotted out anything else (p. 80).
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Unbeknownst to them, Chita and Lisa are spying on them, wondering why the car stopped! (ROFL) When Chita realizes what’s going on, she criticizes Richard in true prudish Raxl fashion: “That he would be so shameless in daylight,” says she. “To take this woman in his arms--” (p. 81). Lisa reminds her that they are married now; although the narration doesn’t mention a twinge of jealousy, I’ve no doubt in my mind that she wishes she were Jenny in that car.
Richard and Jenny get out and Lisa rushes to hug them. Surprisingly, she acts outwardly friendly towards Jenny, who notices that “[Lisa’s] dark blue eyes were penetrating as they took in Jenny in one swift appraisal. They might have frightened Jenny except for the deep spark of interest in them, and the wide smile which she didn’t realize was uncharacteristic for LIsa” (p. 82).
Then he introduces Jenny to Chita, whom she instantly dislikes. “From her long sojourn in the Philippines,” the narration tells us, “she was very conscious of relationships between employer and servant. Not that she subscribed to the sort of feudal system that existed there, but simply because she was an extraordinarily sensitive girl who was responsive to human vibrations. And she could tell that Conchita’s were not right about her” (pp. 83-84).
Conchita, likewise, has a bad first impression of Jenny, thinking her a snob because of her use of Castilian instead of Mexican Spanish. But Jenny doesn’t realize that, instead noticing and fixating on the portrait of April:
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Either by accident or design, those were the lights which Conchita had turned on. In the gloom of the hall, the full-length portrait dominated everything. Every detail of that matchless beauty was so sharp and clear that the figure of this lovely woman seemed to be alive and breathing.
And to Jenny, to be warning her and saying, “Why did you come? You don’t belong. How did you dream you could take my place? Did you think I would ever allow you to? This is my home, and Richard is mine. I’ll never let either of them go” (pp. 84-85)!
Compared to the beginning, Chapters 3 through 8 are not very meaty. These chapters are like chicken wings compared to the drumsticks that were the intro and the first two chapters. The main similarities that I found between these chapters and Strange Paradise were (1) the revelation that, like Maljardin-era Jean Paul, Richard is a control freak who is obsessed with his privacy and (2) the introduction of Juan, who fills Quito’s role as loyal male retainer but talks using occasionally inaccurate gratuitous Spanish (the “tranquilo” line). There is a lot of filler and also perhaps a little too much repetition of the idea that no one can ever take April’s place as mistress of San Rafael, so not as enjoyable as Part I or the next part of the story.
Coming up next: We get our first set of hints about April’s mysterious past, while Jenny tries to adjust to life in a house that may or may not be haunted by her spirit.
{ <- Previous: Part I   ||   Next: Part III -> }
Notes
[1] Did Ferdinand Marcos even allow his opponents to hold rallies? As I said above, I don’t know much about Filipino history, but I do know that he ruled over the Philippines as a dictator and tried to suppress any opposition to him. Most likely either the above passage is inaccurate or what Martin is describing are actually political protests, but it’s worded in a way that suggests that he thought of Filipino politics in the 1970s-1980s as more democratic than they actually were.
[2] I did look up Michael Wager, the actor who played Richard in the original radio drama, and he did resemble this description (and was indeed quite handsome, if I do say so myself). However, it would be strange for Martin to have Richard look like his original actor when none of the other characters in the book do. Notably, Jenny’s description in the book as a gray-eyed blonde bears no resemblance to her original actress Ruby Dee--which I suspect may have something to do with the publisher wanting to avoid controversy for depicting interracial marriage, as Ruby Dee was black.
0 notes
tometender · 5 years
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HANDLE WITH CARE by Helena Hunting Buy-Book Link: 
HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL. Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER. Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.
Handle With Care by Helena Hunting Lincoln has been hard at work living a philanthropist life when he is called home for his father’s funeral and will reading. Lincoln has broken from contact with his family and their self-indulgent life style. Imagine his surprise when he discovers his father has left him completely in control of the family’s Mega media corporation. His grandmother, his only solace as a child, convinces him to stay and help out the family. Wren was hired by Moorehead Media as a PR person, or should I say PR reinventor…she’s got her work cut out for her with Lincoln’s family. Just when she thinks she can break free she is tasked with one more assignment, reinvent the reclusive Lincoln into CEO material. The chemistry burns between Lincoln and Wren and sparks start to fly with the secrets, betrayals and what is uncovered all in the line of duty and family. I flat out loved Handle With Care. Both Wren and Lincoln are likeable, relatable characters that suck the reader right into their plights. With Scandal and financial / career mayhem at hand, they have their work cut out for them but the bickering duo provide a truly fantastic romantic comedy read. I received this ARC copy of Handle With Care from St. Martin's Press. This is my honest and voluntary review. Handle With Care is set for publication August 27, 2019 and will be included in St. Martins Publishing tour and paperback giveaway on Tome Tender on September 6, 2019.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.
Handle With Care Blogger Q&A – Helena Hunting
Q: Can you tell us a little about your new release, Handle with Care? A: Handle with Care follows the story of the reclusive Lincoln Moorehead, who has done everything he can to separate himself from his family and their massive media corporation. Upon the death of his father, he’s forced to come home for the funeral, and then asked to stay on to help transition the company with the assistance of Wren Sterling who has been commissioned to overhaul Lincoln’s image in the public eye. Q: Lincoln Morehead and Wren Sterling are the lead characters in Handle with Care. Which one of them did you find the easiest to develop? What is each characters best and worst traits? A: I always find developing the male lead the easiest. I’m not sure why exactly that is, but Lincoln’s character was so easy to round out and develop. Lincoln’s worst trait is that he jumps to conclusions without first getting all the facts, but his best trait is his altruism. He’s very much about giving back, and despite the fact that he can be a grumpy jerk, he’s also an incredibly good human being. Wren’s worst trait is that she can be a martyr for things that are outside of her control but her best trait is her strength of character and her belief in redemption. Q: What was your greatest challenge while Handle with Care? What was your greatest pleasure and/or reward? A: Wren is a badass heroine, so I think finding the balance between her strength of character and those hints of vulnerability could be tricky at times. I really wanted to humanize her and make her relatable and I hope readers connect with her. I LOVED writing the banter between Linc and Wren. They are both such strong personalities, and that made putting them head to head so much fun.
Q: Which do you find easiest to write-the humor or the heart? A: Humor always seems to find a natural place inside the story, but for me it’s about the balance between the two. I love taking a heavy moment and inserting some kind of comic relief before I go for the feels again. Q: Do you work from an outline while writing your novels? How closely do the finished novels fit your original vision of the characters and storyline before you begin writing? A: I outline extensively. Most of the time I have about ten thousand words of outline and character development before I even start writing. It’s just how I work most effectively. I need to know who my characters are going in and where I want them to be by the end of the book. I generally stick to my outlines very closely since they are so detailed. Q: What did you edit OUT of this book? A: A lot of f-bombs. Q: Do you listen to music while writing? Does it influence the flow of the scene you are writing? A: I do. I create playlists for every single book I write, and I often (always) listen to the same playlist while I write the book. This means that I burn out albums and songs for my family on a very, very regular basis. My husbands list of artists he will no longer listen to grows exponentially with every release. Halsey always finds a place on my playlist and the song Joaquim by Oscar and the Wolf was a particular favorite.
Q: When sitting down to write a new book you have a specific outline to follow or does it just flow naturally? A: The first step in my process is always to write an outline. I need the bones of the story down, where the character arcs will fall and what the conflicts will look like before I start writing the book. Q: What do you like to do when you aren't writing? A: I like hanging out with my daughter and craft. Recently we went camping, which was a fun experience, although I grew up with a family cottage so we would spend a lot of the summer there. Q: Name three things on your desk right now. A: Broken Knight by LJ Shen, Fix Her Up by Tessa Bailey, Resist by K. Bromberg, Undeniable by Melanie Harlow, The Last Letter by Rebecca Yarros (still gives me the chills when I think about it), Verity by Colleen Hoover. Q: What did you enjoy most about writing this book? A: The banter between Wren and Linc and writing a grumpy, jerk hero who really isn’t a jerk but sure acts like one! Q: To get to know you a little bit better... do you have a pet or something that is special to you that you could share with us?
A: I have two cats, Digit is a 14 year old pure white polydactyl cat who sheds like nobodies business and Pumpkin (named by our daughter) is a 6 year old black cat who often thinks he’s a dog, eat edamame beans and begs for bacon at the table. Q: You've written many books & bestsellers, in many genres. What has been your favorite to write thus far? A: That’s a hard question to answer. I love them all for very different reasons, but I will say that I had a lot of fun writing Wren and Linc because of the banter and how much I love writing a strong heroine. Q: What was your favorite book or series in your youth? A: I used to love reading VC Andrews books, and Clive Barker, which I realize are very, bery different! Q: What would you like us (the readers) to take away from your story? A: That families aren’t perfect and people can make mistakes, yet still grow from them. Q: What is your favorite platform to connect with your reader to date? A: I have a reader group called The Beaver Den and I love it in there. The readers are always sharing book experiences and it’s a great community! If you want to join my group you can do it here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/HelenaHuntingBeaverDen/ Q: What project(s) are you currently working on? A: I just finished the third book in the All In Series, which the first book will be releasing this fall. Next I’m starting a standalone, but I also have a new series I’ll be starting soon, and I have a book idea or two for secondary characters in the last two books of The Shacking Up series, as well. It’s safe to say that my writing schedule is planned for the next two years! Q: Do you believe in love at first sight? A: I don’t know about love at first sight but when I saw my husband from across the room for the first time I thought, “man, he’s pretty” and then when we had our first conversation the connection was instant. I think people can “click” and be drawn to each other for inexplicable reasons.
CHAPTER 1
WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?
WREN
I slip onto the empty bar stool beside the lumberjack mountain man who looks like he tried to squeeze himself into a suit two sizes too small. He’s intimidatingly broad and thick, with long dark hair that’s been pulled up into a haphazard man bun thing. His beard is a hipster’s wet dream. His scowl, however, makes him about as approachable as a rabid porcupine. And yet, here I am, sidling up next to him.
He glances at me, eyes bleary and not really tracking. He quickly focuses on his half-empty glass again. Based on the slump of his shoulders and the uncoordinated way he picks up his glass and tips it toward his mouth, I’m guessing he’s pretty hammered. I order a sparkling water with a dash of cranberry juice and a lime.
What I could really use is a cup of lavender-mint tea and my bed, but instead, I’m sitting next to a drunk man in his thirties. My life is extra glamorous, obviously. And no, I’m not an escort, but at the moment I feel like my morals are on the same kind of slippery slope.
“Rough day?” I ask, nodding to the bottle that’s missing more than half its contents. It was full when he sat down at the bar an hour ago. Yes, I’ve been watching him the entire time, waiting for an opportunity to make my move. While he’s been sitting here, he’s turned down two women, one in a dress that could’ve doubled as a disco ball and the other in a top so low-cut, I could almost see her navel.
“You could say that,” he slurs. He props his cheek on his fist, eyes almost slits. I can still make out the vibrant blue hue despite them almost being closed. They move over me, assessing. I’m wearing a conservative black dress with a high neckline and a hem that falls below my knees. Definitely not nearly as provocative as Disco Ball or Navel Lady.
“That solving your problems?” I give him a wry grin and tip my chin in the direction of his bottle of Johnnie.
His gaze swings slowly to the bottle. It gives me a chance to really look at him. Or what I can see of his face under his beard, anyway.

“Nah, but it helps quiet down all the noise up here.” He taps his temple and blurts, “My dad died.”

I put a hand on his forearm. It feels awkward, and creepy on my part since its half-genuine, half-contrived comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

He glances at my hand, which I quickly remove, and refocuses on his drink. “I should be sorry too, but I think he was mostly an asshole, so the world might be better off without him.” He attempts to fill his glass again, but his aim is off, and he pours it on the bar instead. I rush to lift my purse and grab a handful of napkins to mop up the mess.
“I’m drunk,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’m thinking that might’ve been the plan, considering the way you’re sucking that bottle back. I’m actually surprised you didn’t ask for a straw in the first place. Might be a good idea to throw a spacer in there if you want tomorrow morning to suck less.” I push my drink toward him, hoping he doesn’t send me packing like he did the other women who approached him earlier.
He narrows his eyes at my glass, suspicious, maybe. “What is that?”
“Cranberry and soda.” 

“No booze?”

“No booze. Go ahead. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He picks up the glass and pauses when it’s an inch from his mouth. His eyes crinkle, telling me he’s smiling under that beard. “Does that mean Imma wake up with you beside me?”
I cock a brow. “Are you propositioning me?”
“Shit, sorry.” He chugs the contents of my glass. “I was joking. Besides, I’m so wasted, I can barely remember my name. Pretty sure I’d be useless in bed tonight. I should stop talkin’.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then motions to me. “I wouldn’t proposition you.”
I’m not sure how to respond. I go with semi-affronted, since it seems like somewhat of an insult. “Good to know.”
“Dammit. I mean, I think you might be hot. You look hot. I mean attractive. I think you’re pretty.” He tips his head to the side and blinks a few times. “You have nice eyes, all four of them are lovely.”
This time I laugh—for real—and point to the bottle. “I think you might want to tell your date you’re done for the night.”
He blows out a breath and nods. “You might be right.”
He makes an attempt to stand, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles into me and grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa. Sorry. Yup, I’m definitely drunk.” His face is inches from mine, breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Beyond that, I get a whiff of fresh soap and a hint of aftershave. He lets go of my shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. “I don’t usually do this.” He motions sloppily to the bottle. “Mostly I’m a three drink max guy.”
“I think losing your father makes this condonable.” I slide off my stool. Despite being tall for a woman, and wearing heels, he still manages to be close to a head taller than me.
“Yeah, maybe, but I still think I might regret it tomorrow.” He’s incredibly unsteady, swaying while standing in place. I take the opportunity for what it is and thread my arm through his, leading him away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get you to the elevator before you pass out right here.”
He nods, then wobbles a bit, like moving his head has set him off balance. “That’s probably a good idea.”
He leans into me as we weave through the bar and stumbles on the two stairs leading to the foyer. There’s no way I’ll be able to stop him if he goes down, but I drape one of his huge arms over my shoulder anyway, and slip my own around his waist, guiding him in a mostly straight line to the elevators.
“Which floor are you on?” I ask.
“Penthouse.” He drops his arm from my shoulder and flings it out, pointing to the black doors at the end of the hall. “Jesus, I feel like I’m on a boat.”
“It’s probably all the alcohol sloshing around in your brain.” I take his elbow again, helping him stagger the last twenty feet to the dedicated penthouse elevator.
He stares at the keypad for a few seconds, brow pulling into a furrow. “I can’t remember the code. It’s thumbprint activated though too.” He stumbles forward and presses his forehead against the wall, then tries to line up his thumb with the sensor, but his aim is horrendous and he keeps missing.
I settle a hand on his very firm forearm. This man is built like a tank. Or a superhero. For a moment, I reconsider what I’m about to do, but he seems pretty harmless and ridiculously hammered, so he shouldn’t pose a threat. I’m also trained in self-defense, which would fall under the by any means necessary umbrella. “Can I help?”
He rolls his head, eyes slits as they bounce around my face. “Please.”
I take his hand between mine. The first thing I notice is how clammy it is. But beyond that, his knuckles are rough, littered with tiny scars and a few scabs, and his nails are jagged.
“Your hands are small,” he observes as I line his thumb up with the sensor pad and press down.
“Maybe yours are abnormally big,” I reply. They are rather large. Like basketball player hands.
“You know what they say about big hands.”
I fight not to roll my eyes, but for a brief moment, I wonder if what’s in his pants actually matches the rest of him. And if he’s unkempt everywhere, not just on his face. I cut that visual quickly because it makes me want to gag. “And what do they say?”
His eyes crinkle again, and he slaps his own chest. “Something about big hands, big heart.”
I bite back my own smile. “Pretty sure you’re mixing that up with cold hands, warm heart.”
His brow furrows. “There’s a good chance.”
The elevator doors slide open. He pushes off the wall with some effort and practically tumbles inside. He catches himself on the rail and sags against the wall as I follow him in. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now.
He doesn’t have to press a button since the elevator only goes to the penthouse floor. As soon as we start moving, he groans and his shoulders curl in. “I don’t feel so good.”
Please don’t let him be sick in here. If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s vomit. “You should sit.”
He slides down the wall, massive shoulders rolling forward as he rests his forehead on his knees. “Tomorrow is going to suck.”
I stay on the other side of the elevator, in case he tosses his cookies. “Probably.”
It’s the longest elevator ride in the history of the world. Or at least it feels that way, mostly because I’m terrified he’s going to yak. Thankfully, we make it to the penthouse floor incident-free. On the down side, now that he’s in a sitting position, getting him to stand again is a challenge. I have to press the open door button three times before I can finally coax him to his feet.
In the time between leaving the bar and making it to the penthouse floor, the effects of the alcohol seems to have compounded. He’s beyond sloppy, using the wall and me for support as we make our way to his door. There are two penthouse apartments up here. One on either side of the foyer.
He leans against the doorjamb, once again fighting to find the coordination to get his thumb to the sensor pad. I don’t ask if he needs my assistance this time since it’s quite clear he does. Once again I take his clammy hand in mine.
“Your hands are really soft,” he mumbles.

“Thanks.”

The pad ashes green, and I turn the handle. “Okay, here we go. Home sweet home.”

“This isn’t my home,” he slurs. “My cousin’s family owns this building. I’m crashing here until I can get the fuck out of New York.”
I scan the penthouse. It an eclectic combination of odd art and modern furniture, like two different tastes crashed together and this is the result. Aside from that, it’s clean to the point of looking almost like a show home.
The only sign that someone is staying here is the lone coffee cup on the table in the living room and the blanket lolling like a tongue over the edge of the couch. I’m still standing in the doorway while he sways unsteadily.
He tries to shove his hand in his pants pocket, but all he succeeds in doing is setting himself off-balance. He nearly stumbles into the wall.
“Thanks for your help,” he says.
He’s back in his penthouse, which means my job is technically done. However, I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself, or worse, asphyxiate on his own vomit in the middle of the night, and I’ll be the one catching heat if that happens. I’ll also feel bad if something happens to him. I blow out a breath, annoyed that this is how my night is ending.
I heave his arm over my shoulder and slip mine around his waist again, leading him through the living room toward what seems to be the kitchen. There’s a sheet of paper on the island, but otherwise it’s spotless.
“What’re you doing?” he asks.
We pause when we reach the threshold. “Which way is your bedroom?”
He looks slowly from right to left. “Not that way.” He points to the kitchen. It’s very state of the art.
I guide him in the opposite direction down the hall, until he stumbles through a doorway, into a large but simply furnished bedroom. Once we reach the edge of the bed, he drops his arm, spins around—it’s drunkenly graceful—and falls back on the bed, arms spread wide as if he’s planning on making snow angels. “The room is spinning.”
“Would you like me to get you a glass of water and possibly a painkiller for the headache you’ll likely have in the morning?” I’m already heading for the bathroom.
“Might be a good idea,” he mumbles.
I find a glass on the edge of bathroom vanity—which is clean, apart from a brand new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. I run the tap, wishing I had a plastic tumbler, because I’m not sure he’s in any state to deal with breakable objects. I check the medicine cabinet, find the pills I need, shake out two tablets, and return to the bedroom.
He’s right where I left him; sprawled out faceup on a massive king-size bed, legs hanging off the end, one shoe on the floor beside him. I cross over and set the water and the pills on the nightstand.
I make a quick trip back to the bathroom and grab the empty wastebasket from beside the toilet in case his night is a lot rougher than he expects.
I tap his knee, crossing my fingers he’ll be easy to rouse. “Hey, I have painkillers for you.”
He makes a noise, but doesn’t move otherwise.
I tap his knee again. “Lincoln, you need to wake up long enough to take these.” I cringe. I called him by name, and he didn’t offer it to me while we were down at the bar. Here’s hoping he’s too drunk to notice or remember. His name is Lincoln Moorehead, heir to the Moorehead Media fortune and all the crap that comes with it. And there’s a lot of it.
One eye becomes a slit. “Every time I open my eyes, the room starts spinning again.”
“If you drink this and take these, it might help.” I hold up the glass of water and the pills.
“’Kay.” It takes three tries for him to sit up. He tries to pick the pills up out of my palm, but keeps missing my hand.
“Just open your mouth.”
He lifts his head. “How do I know you’re not trying to roofie me?”
I hold up the tablet in front of his face. “They don’t say roofie, so you’re safe.”
He tries to focus on the pill and then my face. I have my doubts he’s successful at either.
His tongue peeks out to drag across his bottom lip. “The cameras in the hall will catch you if you steal my wallet.”
I laugh at that. “I’m not going to steal your wallet, I’m going to put you to bed.”
“Hmm.” He nods slowly and opens his mouth.
I drop the pills on his tongue and hand him the glass, which he drains in three long swallows. “Would you like me to refill that?”
“That’d be nice.” He holds out the glass, but when I try to pull away, he covers my hands with his. His shockingly blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment they’re clear and compelling. Despite how out of it he is, and how much he resembles a mountain man, or maybe because of it, I have a hard time looking away. “I really wish I wasn’t this messed up. You smell nice. I bet your hair is pretty when it’s not pulled up like that.” He flops a hand toward my bun. “Not that it’s not pretty like that, but I bet if you took it down, it would be wavy and soft. The kind of hair you want to bury your face in and run your fingers through.” He exhales a long breath. “I haven’t had sex in a really long time, but I feel like I would have zero finesse if I tried right now.”
I smile and turn away. In the time it takes for me to refill his glass, he’s managed to get one arm out of his suit jacket. He’s made it most of the way onto the bed, feet still hanging off the end, but he’s on his back, which is not ideal.
I set the glass on his nightstand, along with a second set of painkillers, which I’m assuming he’ll need in the morning, and give him another nudge. “Hey.”
This time I get nothing in the way of a response. I poke him twice more, but still nothing. He can’t sleep on his back with how drunk he is. He needs to be on his side or his stomach with a wastebasket close by.
I can’t in good conscience leave him like this. My options are limited. I shake my head as I kick off my shoes and climb up onto the bed with him. This is not at all what I expected to be doing when I brought him back up here.
I stare down at his sleeping form. His lips are parted, they’re nice lips, full and plump, even though they’re mostly obscured by his overgrown beard. His hair has started to unravel from its man bun, wisps hanging in his face. He has long lashes, really long actually, and they’re thick and dark, the kind women pay a lot of money for. His nose is straight and his cheekbones— what I can see of them—are high. With a haircut, a beard trim or complete shave, and a new suit that actually fits, I can imagine how refined he’ll look. More like a Moorehead than a mountain man lumberjack. I shake my head. “I need you to roll onto your side, please,” I say loudly.
Nothing. Not even a grunt.
I pull on his shoulder, but he’s dead weight. Leaning over him, I make a fist and give him a light jab approximately where his kidney is. “Lincoln, roll over.”
And roll he does, knocking me down and turning over so he’s right on top of me. We’re face-to-face. Good God, he’s heavy. His bones must be made of lead. He shifts, one leg coming over both of mine. I push at his knee, but his arm swings out and he wraps himself around me on a low groan, pinning my arm to my side. He’s like a giant human blanket.
“How did this become my life?” I say to the ceiling, because the man lying on top of me is apparently out cold.
I try to wriggle free, I even yell his name a bunch of time before I give up and wait for him to roll off me. And while I wait for that to happen, I replay the conversation with his mother, Gwendolyn Moorehead, that took place forty-eight hours ago and put me in this awkward position underneath her drunk son.
I’d been standing in Fredrick’s office, still digesting the fact that he was dead. It was shocking that a massive heart attack had taken him, since he was always so healthy and full of life.
Gwendolyn, his wife—now a widow—stood stoic behind his desk, papers stacked neatly in the center.
“I’m so very for your loss, Gwendolyn. If there’s anything I can do. Whatever you need.” The words poured out, typical condolences, but sincerely meant because I couldn’t imagine how my mother and I would feel if we lost my father.
Gwendolyn’s fingers danced at her throat as she cleared it. “Thank you,” she whispered brokenly and dabbed at her eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, Wren.”
“Let me know what you want me to handle, and I’ll take care of it.”
She took a deep breath, composing herself before she lifted her gaze to mine. “I need your help.”
“Of course, what can I do?”
“My oldest son, Lincoln, will be returning to New York for the funeral, and he’ll be staying to help run the company.”
A hot feeling crept up my spine. I’d heard very little about Lincoln. Everything from Armstrong’s mouth was scathing, Fredrick’s passing references had been with fondness, and my interactions with Gwendolyn had been minimal as it was Fredrick himself who hired me, so this was first I’ve heard of Lincoln through her. “I see. And how can I help with that?” I could only imagine how difficult Armstrong would be if he had to share the attention with someone else, particularly his brother.
“Transitioning Lincoln.” Gwendolyn rounded her desk. “You’ve managed to turn around Armstrong’s reputation in the media during the time you’ve been here. I know it hasn’t been easy, and Armstrong can be difficult to manage.”
Difficult to manage is the understatement of the entire century where Armstrong is concerned. He’s a cocksucker of epic proportions. He’s also a misogynistic, narcissistic bastard that I’ve had to deal with for the past eight months on a nearly daily basis—sometimes even on weekends.
My job as his “handler” has been to reshape his horrendous reputation after his involvement in several scandalous events became very public. It wasn’t a job I necessarily wanted, and I was prepared to politely reject the offer, but my mother asked me to take the position as a favor to her since she’s a friend of Gwendolyn.
Beyond that, my relationship with my mother has been strained for the past decade. When I was a teenager, I discovered information that changed our relationship forever. Taking the job at Moorehead was in part, my way of trying to help repair our fractured bond. The financial compensation, which was ridiculously high, also didn’t hurt. Besides, Gwendolyn is on nearly every single charitable foundation committee in the city, and since that’s where my interests lie, it seemed like a smart career move.
“Since you’re already working with Armstrong and things seem to be settled there for the most part, I felt it would make sense to keep you on here at Moorehead to work with Lincoln. He’s been away from civilized society for several years. He’s nothing like his brother, very altruistic and focused on his job, rather than recreational pursuits, so he should be easier to manage.”
I fought a scoff at the last bit, since “recreational pursuits” was a reference to the fact that Armstrong couldn’t seem to keep his pants zipped when it came to women.
Gwendolyn pushed a set of papers toward me. “It would only be for another six months. And of course, your salary would reflect the double work load, since you’ll still have to maintain Armstrong in some capacity while you assist Lincoln in transitioning into his role here.”
“I’m sorry, what—”
Gwendolyn pulled me into an awkward hug, holding onto my shoulders when she stepped back. Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to take this on. As soon as your contract is fulfilled, you have my word that I’ll give you a glowing recommendation to whichever organization you’d like. Your mother told me you’re interested in starting your own foundation. I’ll certainly help you in any way I’m able if you’ll stay on a little longer for me.” She dabbed at her corner of her eyes and sniffed, then tapped the papers on the desk. “I already have an agreement ready and an NDA, of course. Everything is tabbed for signing.”
I’m pulled back into the present when Lincoln shifts and one of his huge hands slides up my side and lands on my breast. At the same time, he pushes his nose against my neck, beard tickling my collarbone. He mutters something unintelligible against my skin.
I’m momentarily frozen in shock. Under any other circumstances, I would knee him in the balls. However, he’s not conscious or even semi-aware that he’s fondling me. Thankfully, now that he’s moved, I have some wiggle room.
I elbow him in the ribs, which probably hurts me more than it does him. At least it gets him to move away enough that I can slip out from under him. I roll off the bed and pop back up, smoothing out my now-wrinkled dress. My stupid nipples are perky, thanks to the attention the right one just got. Probably because it’s the most action I’ve seen since I started working for the Mooreheads eight months ago.
I hit the lights on the way out of the bedroom, pause in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and check out the sheet of paper on the counter. It’s a list of important details regarding the penthouse, including the entry code. I nab my purse, snap a pic, and head for the elevators.
I have a feeling this is going to be a long six months.
From Handle With Care. Copyright © 2019 by Helena Hunting and reprinted with
permission from St. Martin’s Paperbacks.
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Handle With Care by Helena Hunting
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New York Times bestselling author of SHACKING UP and I FLIPPING LOVE YOU Helena Hunting mixes humor and heart in this scandal-filled romantic comedy.
HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL. Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman
SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER. Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.
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New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.
Buy-Book Link: 
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250183996
Handle With Care Q&A – Helena Hunting
Q: Can you tell us a little about your new release, Handle with Care?
A: Handle with Care follows the story of the reclusive Lincoln Moorehead, who has done everything he can to separate himself from his family and their massive media corporation. Upon the death of his father, he’s forced to come home for the funeral, and then asked to stay on to help transition the company with the assistance of Wren Sterling who has been commissioned to overhaul Lincoln’s image in the public eye.  
Q: Lincoln Morehead and Wren Sterling are the lead characters in Handle with Care. Which one of them did you find the easiest to develop? What is each characters best and worst traits?
A: I always find developing the male lead the easiest. I’m not sure why exactly that is, but Lincoln’s character was so easy to round out and develop. Lincoln’s worst trait is that he jumps to conclusions without first getting all the facts, but his best trait is his altruism. He’s very much about giving back, and despite the fact that he can be a grumpy jerk, he’s also an incredibly good human being. Wren’s worst trait is that she can be a martyr for things that are outside of her control but her best trait is her strength of character and her belief in redemption.
Q: What was your greatest challenge while Handle with Care? What was your greatest pleasure and/or reward?
A: Wren is a badass heroine, so I think finding the balance between her strength of character and those hints of vulnerability could be tricky at times. I really wanted to humanize her and make her relatable and I hope readers connect with her. I LOVED writing the banter between Linc and Wren. They are both such strong personalities, and that made putting them head to head so much fun. 
Q: Which do you find easiest to write-the humor or the heart?
A: Humor always seems to find a natural place inside the story, but for me it’s about the balance between the two. I love taking a heavy moment and inserting some kind of comic relief before I go for the feels again. 
Q: Do you work from an outline while writing your novels? How closely do the finished novels fit your original vision of the characters and storyline before you begin writing?
A: I outline extensively. Most of the time I have about ten thousand words of outline and character development before I even start writing. It’s just how I work most effectively. I need to know who my characters are going in and where I want them to be by the end of the book. I generally stick to my outlines very closely since they are so detailed.
 Q: What did you edit OUT of this book?
A: A lot of f-bombs. 
 Q: Do you listen to music while writing? Does it influence the flow of the scene you are writing?
A: I do. I create playlists for every single book I write, and I often (always) listen to the same playlist while I write the book. This means that I burn out albums and songs for my family on a very, very regular basis. My husbands list of artists he will no longer listen to grows exponentially with every release. Halsey always finds a place on my playlist and the song Joaquim by Oscar and the Wolf was a particular favorite.
 Q: When sitting down to write a new book you have a specific outline to follow or does it just flow naturally?
A: The first step in my process is always to write an outline. I need the bones of the story down, where the character arcs will fall and what the conflicts will look like before I start writing the book.
 Q: What do you like to do when you aren't writing?
A: I like hanging out with my daughter and craft. Recently we went camping, which was a fun experience, although I grew up with a family cottage so we would spend a lot of the summer there. 
Q: Name three things on your desk right now.
A: Broken Knight by LJ Shen, Fix Her Up by Tessa Bailey, Resist by K. Bromberg, Undeniable by Melanie Harlow, The Last Letter by Rebecca Yarros (still gives me the chills when I think about it), Verity by Colleen Hoover.
Q: What did you enjoy most about writing this book?
A: The banter between Wren and Linc and writing a grumpy, jerk hero who really isn’t a jerk but sure acts like one! 
Q: To get to know you a little bit better... do you have a pet or something that is special to you that you could share with us?
A: I have two cats, Digit is a 14 year old pure white polydactyl cat who sheds like nobodies business and Pumpkin (named by our daughter) is a 6 year old black cat who often thinks he’s a dog, eat edamame beans and begs for bacon at the table.  
Q: You've written many books & bestsellers, in many genres.  What has been your favorite to write thus far?
A: That’s a hard question to answer. I love them all for very different reasons, but I will say that I had a lot of fun writing Wren and Linc because of the banter and how much I love writing a strong heroine. 
Q: What was your favorite book or series in your youth?
A: I used to love reading VC Andrews books, and Clive Barker, which I realize are very, very different! 
Q: What would you like us (the readers) to take away from your story?
A: That families aren’t perfect and people can make mistakes, yet still grow from them.
Q: What is your favorite platform to connect with your reader to date?
A: I have a reader group called The Beaver Den and I love it in there. The readers are always sharing book experiences and it’s a great community! If you want to join my group you can do it here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/HelenaHuntingBeaverDen/
Q: What project(s) are you currently working on?
A: I just finished the third book in the All In Series, which the first book will be releasing this fall. Next I’m starting a standalone, but I also have a new series I’ll be starting soon, and I have a book idea or two for secondary characters in the last two books of The Shacking Up series, as well. It’s safe to say that my writing schedule is planned for the next two years!
Q: Do you believe in love at first sight?
A: I don’t know about love at first sight but when I saw my husband from across the room for the first time I thought, “man, he’s pretty” and then when we had our first conversation the connection was instant. I think people can “click” and be drawn to each other for inexplicable reasons.
CHAPTER 1
WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?
WREN
I slip onto the empty bar stool beside the lumberjack mountain man who looks like he tried to squeeze himself into a suit two sizes too small. He’s intimidatingly broad and thick, with long dark hair that’s been pulled up into a haphazard man bun thing. His beard is a hipster’s wet dream. His scowl, however, makes him about as approachable as a rabid porcupine. And yet, here I am, sidling up next to him. 
He glances at me, eyes bleary and not really tracking. He quickly focuses on his half-empty glass again. Based on the slump of his shoulders and the uncoordinated way he picks up his glass and tips it toward his mouth, I’m guessing he’s pretty hammered. I order a sparkling water with a dash of cranberry juice and a lime. 
What I could really use is a cup of lavender-mint tea and my bed, but instead, I’m sitting next to a drunk man in his thirties. My life is extra glamorous, obviously. And no, I’m not an escort, but at the moment I feel like my morals are on the same kind of slippery slope. 
“Rough day?” I ask, nodding to the bottle that’s missing more than half its contents. It was full when he sat down at the bar an hour ago. Yes, I’ve been watching him the entire time, waiting for an opportunity to make my move. While he’s been sitting here, he’s turned down two women, one in a dress that could’ve doubled as a disco ball and the other in a top so low-cut, I could almost see her navel. 
“You could say that,” he slurs. He props his cheek on his fist, eyes almost slits. I can still make out the vibrant blue hue despite them almost being closed. They move over me, assessing. I’m wearing a conservative black dress with a high neckline and a hem that falls below my knees. Definitely not nearly as provocative as Disco Ball or Navel Lady. 
“That solving your problems?” I give him a wry grin and tip my chin in the direction of his bottle of Johnnie. 
His gaze swings slowly to the bottle. It gives me a chance to really look at him. Or what I can see of his face under his beard, anyway.

“Nah, but it helps quiet down all the noise up here.” He taps his temple and blurts, “My dad died.”

I put a hand on his forearm. It feels awkward, and creepy on my part since its half-genuine, half-contrived comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

He glances at my hand, which I quickly remove, and refocuses on his drink. “I should be sorry too, but I think he was mostly an asshole, so the world might be better off without him.” He attempts to fill his glass again, but his aim is off, and he pours it on the bar instead. I rush to lift my purse and grab a handful of napkins to mop up the mess. 
“I’m drunk,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’m thinking that might’ve been the plan, considering the way you’re sucking that bottle back. I’m actually surprised you didn’t ask for a straw in the first place. Might be a good idea to throw a spacer in there if you want tomorrow morning to suck less.” I push my drink toward him, hoping he doesn’t send me packing like he did the other women who approached him earlier. 
He narrows his eyes at my glass, suspicious, maybe. “What is that?” 
“Cranberry and soda.” 

“No booze?”
 
“No booze. Go ahead. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He picks up the glass and pauses when it’s an inch from his mouth. His eyes crinkle, telling me he’s smiling under that beard. “Does that mean Imma wake up with you beside me?” 
I cock a brow. “Are you propositioning me?” 
“Shit, sorry.” He chugs the contents of my glass. “I was joking. Besides, I’m so wasted, I can barely remember my name. Pretty sure I’d be useless in bed tonight. I should stop talkin’.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then motions to me. “I wouldn’t proposition you.” 
I’m not sure how to respond. I go with semi-affronted, since it seems like somewhat of an insult. “Good to know.” 
“Dammit. I mean, I think you might be hot. You look hot. I mean attractive. I think you’re pretty.” He tips his head to the side and blinks a few times. “You have nice eyes, all four of them are lovely.” 
This time I laugh—for real—and point to the bottle. “I think you might want to tell your date you’re done for the night.” 
He blows out a breath and nods. “You might be right.” 
He makes an attempt to stand, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles into me and grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa. Sorry. Yup, I’m definitely drunk.” His face is inches from mine, breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Beyond that, I get a whiff of fresh soap and a hint of aftershave. He lets go of my shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. “I don’t usually do this.” He motions sloppily to the bottle. “Mostly I’m a three drink max guy.” 
“I think losing your father makes this condonable.” I slide off my stool. Despite being tall for a woman, and wearing heels, he still manages to be close to a head taller than me. 
“Yeah, maybe, but I still think I might regret it tomorrow.” He’s incredibly unsteady, swaying while standing in place. I take the opportunity for what it is and thread my arm through his, leading him away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get you to the elevator before you pass out right here.” 
He nods, then wobbles a bit, like moving his head has set him off balance. “That’s probably a good idea.” 
He leans into me as we weave through the bar and stumbles on the two stairs leading to the foyer. There’s no way I’ll be able to stop him if he goes down, but I drape one of his huge arms over my shoulder anyway, and slip my own around his waist, guiding him in a mostly straight line to the elevators. 
“Which floor are you on?” I ask. 
“Penthouse.” He drops his arm from my shoulder and flings it out, pointing to the black doors at the end of the hall. “Jesus, I feel like I’m on a boat.”
“It’s probably all the alcohol sloshing around in your brain.” I take his elbow again, helping him stagger the last twenty feet to the dedicated penthouse elevator. 
He stares at the keypad for a few seconds, brow pulling into a furrow. “I can’t remember the code. It’s thumbprint activated though too.” He stumbles forward and presses his forehead against the wall, then tries to line up his thumb with the sensor, but his aim is horrendous and he keeps missing. 
I settle a hand on his very firm forearm. This man is built like a tank. Or a superhero. For a moment, I reconsider what I’m about to do, but he seems pretty harmless and ridiculously hammered, so he shouldn’t pose a threat. I’m also trained in self-defense, which would fall under the by any means necessary umbrella. “Can I help?” 
He rolls his head, eyes slits as they bounce around my face. “Please.” 
I take his hand between mine. The first thing I notice is how clammy it is. But beyond that, his knuckles are rough, littered with tiny scars and a few scabs, and his nails are jagged. 
“Your hands are small,” he observes as I line his thumb up with the sensor pad and press down. 
“Maybe yours are abnormally big,” I reply. They are rather large. Like basketball player hands. 
“You know what they say about big hands.” 
I fight not to roll my eyes, but for a brief moment, I wonder if what’s in his pants actually matches the rest of him. And if he’s unkempt everywhere, not just on his face. I cut that visual quickly because it makes me want to gag. “And what do they say?”
His eyes crinkle again, and he slaps his own chest. “Something about big hands, big heart.” 
I bite back my own smile. “Pretty sure you’re mixing that up with cold hands, warm heart.” 
His brow furrows. “There’s a good chance.” 
The elevator doors slide open. He pushes off the wall with some effort and practically tumbles inside. He catches himself on the rail and sags against the wall as I follow him in. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now. 
He doesn’t have to press a button since the elevator only goes to the penthouse floor. As soon as we start moving, he groans and his shoulders curl in. “I don’t feel so good.” 
Please don’t let him be sick in here. If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s vomit. “You should sit.” 
He slides down the wall, massive shoulders rolling forward as he rests his forehead on his knees. “Tomorrow is going to suck.” 
I stay on the other side of the elevator, in case he tosses his cookies. “Probably.” 
It’s the longest elevator ride in the history of the world. Or at least it feels that way, mostly because I’m terrified he’s going to yak. Thankfully, we make it to the penthouse floor incident-free. On the down side, now that he’s in a sitting position, getting him to stand again is a challenge. I have to press the open door button three times before I can finally coax him to his feet. 
In the time between leaving the bar and making it to the penthouse floor, the effects of the alcohol seems to have compounded. He’s beyond sloppy, using the wall and me for support as we make our way to his door. There are two penthouse apartments up here. One on either side of the foyer. 
He leans against the doorjamb, once again fighting to find the coordination to get his thumb to the sensor pad. I don’t ask if he needs my assistance this time since it’s quite clear he does. Once again I take his clammy hand in mine. 
“Your hands are really soft,” he mumbles.

“Thanks.”

The pad ashes green, and I turn the handle. “Okay, here we go. Home sweet home.”

“This isn’t my home,” he slurs. “My cousin’s family owns this building. I’m crashing here until I can get the fuck out of New York.” 
I scan the penthouse. It an eclectic combination of odd art and modern furniture, like two different tastes crashed together and this is the result. Aside from that, it’s clean to the point of looking almost like a show home. 
The only sign that someone is staying here is the lone coffee cup on the table in the living room and the blanket lolling like a tongue over the edge of the couch. I’m still standing in the doorway while he sways unsteadily. 
He tries to shove his hand in his pants pocket, but all he succeeds in doing is setting himself off-balance. He nearly stumbles into the wall. 
“Thanks for your help,” he says. 
He’s back in his penthouse, which means my job is technically done. However, I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself, or worse, asphyxiate on his own vomit in the middle of the night, and I’ll be the one catching heat if that happens. I’ll also feel bad if something happens to him. I blow out a breath, annoyed that this is how my night is ending. 
I heave his arm over my shoulder and slip mine around his waist again, leading him through the living room toward what seems to be the kitchen. There’s a sheet of paper on the island, but otherwise it’s spotless. 
“What’re you doing?” he asks. 
We pause when we reach the threshold. “Which way is your bedroom?” 
He looks slowly from right to left. “Not that way.” He points to the kitchen. It’s very state of the art. 
I guide him in the opposite direction down the hall, until he stumbles through a doorway, into a large but simply furnished bedroom. Once we reach the edge of the bed, he drops his arm, spins around—it’s drunkenly graceful—and falls back on the bed, arms spread wide as if he’s planning on making snow angels. “The room is spinning.” 
“Would you like me to get you a glass of water and possibly a painkiller for the headache you’ll likely have in the morning?” I’m already heading for the bathroom. 
“Might be a good idea,” he mumbles. 
I find a glass on the edge of bathroom vanity—which is clean, apart from a brand new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. I run the tap, wishing I had a plastic tumbler, because I’m not sure he’s in any state to deal with breakable objects. I check the medicine cabinet, find the pills I need, shake out two tablets, and return to the bedroom. 
He’s right where I left him; sprawled out faceup on a massive king-size bed, legs hanging off the end, one shoe on the floor beside him. I cross over and set the water and the pills on the nightstand. 
I make a quick trip back to the bathroom and grab the empty wastebasket from beside the toilet in case his night is a lot rougher than he expects. 
I tap his knee, crossing my fingers he’ll be easy to rouse. “Hey, I have painkillers for you.” 
He makes a noise, but doesn’t move otherwise. 
I tap his knee again. “Lincoln, you need to wake up long enough to take these.” I cringe. I called him by name, and he didn’t offer it to me while we were down at the bar. Here’s hoping he’s too drunk to notice or remember. His name is Lincoln Moorehead, heir to the Moorehead Media fortune and all the crap that comes with it. And there’s a lot of it. 
One eye becomes a slit. “Every time I open my eyes, the room starts spinning again.” 
“If you drink this and take these, it might help.” I hold up the glass of water and the pills. 
“’Kay.” It takes three tries for him to sit up. He tries to pick the pills up out of my palm, but keeps missing my hand. 
“Just open your mouth.” 
He lifts his head. “How do I know you’re not trying to roofie me?” 
I hold up the tablet in front of his face. “They don’t say roofie, so you’re safe.” 
He tries to focus on the pill and then my face. I have my doubts he’s successful at either. 
His tongue peeks out to drag across his bottom lip. “The cameras in the hall will catch you if you steal my wallet.” 
I laugh at that. “I’m not going to steal your wallet, I’m going to put you to bed.” 
“Hmm.” He nods slowly and opens his mouth. 
I drop the pills on his tongue and hand him the glass, which he drains in three long swallows. “Would you like me to refill that?” 
“That’d be nice.” He holds out the glass, but when I try to pull away, he covers my hands with his. His shockingly blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment they’re clear and compelling. Despite how out of it he is, and how much he resembles a mountain man, or maybe because of it, I have a hard time looking away. “I really wish I wasn’t this messed up. You smell nice. I bet your hair is pretty when it’s not pulled up like that.” He flops a hand toward my bun. “Not that it’s not pretty like that, but I bet if you took it down, it would be wavy and soft. The kind of hair you want to bury your face in and run your fingers through.” He exhales a long breath. “I haven’t had sex in a really long time, but I feel like I would have zero finesse if I tried right now.” 
I smile and turn away. In the time it takes for me to refill his glass, he’s managed to get one arm out of his suit jacket. He’s made it most of the way onto the bed, feet still hanging off the end, but he’s on his back, which is not ideal. 
I set the glass on his nightstand, along with a second set of painkillers, which I’m assuming he’ll need in the morning, and give him another nudge. “Hey.” 
This time I get nothing in the way of a response. I poke him twice more, but still nothing. He can’t sleep on his back with how drunk he is. He needs to be on his side or his stomach with a wastebasket close by. 
I can’t in good conscience leave him like this. My options are limited. I shake my head as I kick off my shoes and climb up onto the bed with him. This is not at all what I expected to be doing when I brought him back up here. 
I stare down at his sleeping form. His lips are parted, they’re nice lips, full and plump, even though they’re mostly obscured by his overgrown beard. His hair has started to unravel from its man bun, wisps hanging in his face. He has long lashes, really long actually, and they’re thick and dark, the kind women pay a lot of money for. His nose is straight and his cheekbones— what I can see of them—are high. With a haircut, a beard trim or complete shave, and a new suit that actually fits, I can imagine how refined he’ll look. More like a Moorehead than a mountain man lumberjack. I shake my head. “I need you to roll onto your side, please,” I say loudly. 
Nothing. Not even a grunt. 
I pull on his shoulder, but he’s dead weight. Leaning over him, I make a fist and give him a light jab approximately where his kidney is. “Lincoln, roll over.” 
And roll he does, knocking me down and turning over so he’s right on top of me. We’re face-to-face. Good God, he’s heavy. His bones must be made of lead. He shifts, one leg coming over both of mine. I push at his knee, but his arm swings out and he wraps himself around me on a low groan, pinning my arm to my side. He’s like a giant human blanket. 
“How did this become my life?” I say to the ceiling, because the man lying on top of me is apparently out cold. 
I try to wriggle free, I even yell his name a bunch of time before I give up and wait for him to roll off me. And while I wait for that to happen, I replay the conversation with his mother, Gwendolyn Moorehead, that took place forty-eight hours ago and put me in this awkward position underneath her drunk son. 
I’d been standing in Fredrick’s office, still digesting the fact that he was dead. It was shocking that a massive heart attack had taken him, since he was always so healthy and full of life. 
Gwendolyn, his wife—now a widow—stood stoic behind his desk, papers stacked neatly in the center. 
“I’m so very for your loss, Gwendolyn. If there’s anything I can do. Whatever you need.” The words poured out, typical condolences, but sincerely meant because I couldn’t imagine how my mother and I would feel if we lost my father. 
Gwendolyn’s fingers danced at her throat as she cleared it. “Thank you,” she whispered brokenly and dabbed at her eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, Wren.” 
“Let me know what you want me to handle, and I’ll take care of it.” 
She took a deep breath, composing herself before she lifted her gaze to mine. “I need your help.” 
“Of course, what can I do?” 
“My oldest son, Lincoln, will be returning to New York for the funeral, and he’ll be staying to help run the company.” 
A hot feeling crept up my spine. I’d heard very little about Lincoln. Everything from Armstrong’s mouth was scathing, Fredrick’s passing references had been with fondness, and my interactions with Gwendolyn had been minimal as it was Fredrick himself who hired me, so this was first I’ve heard of Lincoln through her. “I see. And how can I help with that?” I could only imagine how difficult Armstrong would be if he had to share the attention with someone else, particularly his brother. 
“Transitioning Lincoln.” Gwendolyn rounded her desk. “You’ve managed to turn around Armstrong’s reputation in the media during the time you’ve been here. I know it hasn’t been easy, and Armstrong can be difficult to manage.” 
Difficult to manage is the understatement of the entire century where Armstrong is concerned. He’s a cocksucker of epic proportions. He’s also a misogynistic, narcissistic bastard that I’ve had to deal with for the past eight months on a nearly daily basis—sometimes even on weekends. 
My job as his “handler” has been to reshape his horrendous reputation after his involvement in several scandalous events became very public. It wasn’t a job I necessarily wanted, and I was prepared to politely reject the offer, but my mother asked me to take the position as a favor to her since she’s a friend of Gwendolyn. 
Beyond that, my relationship with my mother has been strained for the past decade. When I was a teenager, I discovered information that changed our relationship forever. Taking the job at Moorehead was in part, my way of trying to help repair our fractured bond. The financial compensation, which was ridiculously high, also didn’t hurt. Besides, Gwendolyn is on nearly every single charitable foundation committee in the city, and since that’s where my interests lie, it seemed like a smart career move. 
“Since you’re already working with Armstrong and things seem to be settled there for the most part, I felt it would make sense to keep you on here at Moorehead to work with Lincoln. He’s been away from civilized society for several years. He’s nothing like his brother, very altruistic and focused on his job, rather than recreational pursuits, so he should be easier to manage.” 
I fought a scoff at the last bit, since “recreational pursuits” was a reference to the fact that Armstrong couldn’t seem to keep his pants zipped when it came to women.
Gwendolyn pushed a set of papers toward me. “It would only be for another six months. And of course, your salary would reflect the double work load, since you’ll still have to maintain Armstrong in some capacity while you assist Lincoln in transitioning into his role here.” 
“I’m sorry, what—” 
Gwendolyn pulled me into an awkward hug, holding onto my shoulders when she stepped back. Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to take this on. As soon as your contract is fulfilled, you have my word that I’ll give you a glowing recommendation to whichever organization you’d like. Your mother told me you’re interested in starting your own foundation. I’ll certainly help you in any way I’m able if you’ll stay on a little longer for me.” She dabbed at her corner of her eyes and sniffed, then tapped the papers on the desk. “I already have an agreement ready and an NDA, of course. Everything is tabbed for signing.” 
I’m pulled back into the present when Lincoln shifts and one of his huge hands slides up my side and lands on my breast. At the same time, he pushes his nose against my neck, beard tickling my collarbone. He mutters something unintelligible against my skin. 
I’m momentarily frozen in shock. Under any other circumstances, I would knee him in the balls. However, he’s not conscious or even semi-aware that he’s fondling me. Thankfully, now that he’s moved, I have some wiggle room. 
I elbow him in the ribs, which probably hurts me more than it does him. At least it gets him to move away enough that I can slip out from under him. I roll off the bed and pop back up, smoothing out my now-wrinkled dress. My stupid nipples are perky, thanks to the attention the right one just got. Probably because it’s the most action I’ve seen since I started working for the Mooreheads eight months ago. 
I hit the lights on the way out of the bedroom, pause in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and check out the sheet of paper on the counter. It’s a list of important details regarding the penthouse, including the entry code. I nab my purse, snap a pic, and head for the elevators. 
I have a feeling this is going to be a long six months.
From Handle With Care. Copyright © 2019 by Helena Hunting and reprinted with
permission from St. Martin’s Paperbacks.
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superawesome-rp · 5 years
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Does Wren ever yeet PSI
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Wren: He yeets me more often, onaccounta the fact I can’t fly. Believe me when I say that kid gets some distance though. I trust him as far as I can throw him, and that is, VERY FAR. No point in chucking him at the enemy when he can’t physically handle it though. 
But on beach trips? Free game. YEET!
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redrikki · 4 years
Text
Pride Month Masterpost
Unsurprisingly, I’ve written a few stories focusing on queer characters and romances.
Agent Carter
Because Girls Love Girls (The Soulmate City Remix) - There’s something in the water and the next thing Angie knows, she’s waking up with the name Margaret Carter wrapped around her wrist. (Angie Martinelli/Peggy Carter)
One Last Kiss (The Final Storm Remix) - You never forget your first kiss with your nemesis. Dottie won't forget her last either. At Howard Stark's funeral, she puts a few things in the ground. (Peggy Carter/Dottie Underwood)
Avatar: Legend of Korra
Girl, Gotten (The Heroine After Remix) - As long as Asami’s the hero, Korra’s okay being the love interest. (Korra/Asami Sato)
Leaves on the Wind - Korra, Asami, and the next Avatar (past Korra/Asami Sato)
Ten-Thousand Words (Which Once See the Light of Day) - There are things they can't say.  There are things they wont say. There are actions which speak louder than words.  A series of short stories about the ladies of Legend of Korra. (Asami Sato/Mako, various het pairings)
Avatar: The Last Airbender
Playing with Fire (The Dubiously Consensual Remix) - People didn't tell Azula no. (Azula/Ty Lee)
Battlestar Galactica
Persephone on New Caprica - It’s winter on New Caprica and they’re all Persephone here.  A collection of short stories. (Felix Gaeta/Eight, various het pairings) Trigger warning: non-con/dub con
Black Lightning (TV)
Comic Book Life - Comic book Thunder’s boyfriend knew what his woman did, so why couldn’t Anissa tell her girlfriend? (Anissa Pierce/Grace Choi)
Truth Will Out - Anissa’s in the closet about her superhero life. Three times she thought about telling Grace and one time she actually did. (Anissa Pierce/Grace Choi)
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Short and to the Mr. Pointy - Collection of drabbles set across all 7 seasons. (Willow Rosenberg/Tara McClay, Willow Rosenberg/Kennedy, Willow Rosenberg/Oz, Larry/Xander Harris, various het pairings)
DC’s Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
The Beast You Made of Me - The Waverider’s resident shapeshifters compare notes. (Mona Wu, Genderfluid Charile)
Neither Should You (The Real People Remix) - Rescuing her clones was the right thing to do. They deserved the right to live their lives and make their own choices. Ava just wished they’d stop sleeping with Gary. (Ava Sharpe/Sara Lance, Ava Clones/Gary Green, implied Gary Green/John Constantine)
Downton Abbey
The Hedgehog’s Dilemma - Thomas Barrow’s daemon is a hedgehog. “Mind my spikes.” Five warnings, four relationships and one revelation. (Thomas Barrow/Duke of Crowborrough, Thomas Barrow/Edward Courtney, Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent)
Snakes and Lions - Hogwarts AU. In Thomas, Jimmy finds that courage isn’t exclusive to Gryffindors.  Now if only he could find some himself. (Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent)
Miraculous Ladybug
Better Than Ice Cream - Orange, mint, and raspberry could be a tasty combination. The solution to every love triangle should be polyamory, but sometimes it's just not that simple. Spoilers for Love-Eater. (Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Adrien Agreste/Kagami Tsurugi)
Orphan Black
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl - There’s something magical about Uncle Felix’s flat.  Maybe it’s all the art. (Kira Manning, Felix Dawkins, Cosima Niehaus)
She-Ra and the Princesses of Power
She-Ra (Modesty) Shorts - Three very short Catra/Adora stories. (Catra/Adora)
Spider-man (Ultimates verse)
Fingertips That Might Ignite - Peter is straight like a straight thing.  Jessica isn’t sure what she is. (Jessica Drew/Johnny Storm, Jessica Drew/OFC)
Gonna Share My Tin Man Heart - Kitty moves in and Kitty moves out. Jessica falls in love somewhere along the way. (Jessica Drew/Kitty Pride)
Star Wars
For Amidala - Her handmaidens had all poured so much of themselves into Amidala, it was like they were part of her now. Padmé didn’t know if she had the strength to let one go. (Padmé/Her Handmaidens)
Dateline Felucia - Embedded with the troops on Felucia, a reporter from HoloNet News paints an intimate portrait of the men of the 212th Attack Battalion. (Obi-Wan/Cody, Waxer/Boil)
Tag - Sabine and Ketsu, bounty hunters extraordinaire, argue about how to sign their work. (Sabine Wren/Ketsu Onyo)
When I Was Your Age - Kanan, Ezra, and the fruits of a misspent youth. (Pansexual Kanan Jarrus)
Stranger Things
Date Night - Everyone and her mother seems to think they're together and Robin's getting pretty sick of it. (Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington)
Umbrella Academy (TV)
Iconic - When Vanya learns Klaus is gay from a magazine, she’s angry for more than just one reason. (Vanya & Klaus Hargreeves)
White Collar
Eyes on the Target (The Solid Ground Remix) - Peter asked Diana to keep an eye on Neal for him while he’s stuck in jail. It could be going better. (Diana Barrigan, Neal Caffrey)
Wonder Woman (2017)
After the Glory Fades (The Last Lesson Learned Remix) - Glory fades, but what truly matters remains. Diana takes a moment to remember everything her aunt taught her. (Bisexual Diana, past Antiope/Menalippe )
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superawesome-rp · 5 years
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GAME OVER for Wren! //For the meme uwu
They got in one good punch. That was all it took to make her lose her breath, her footing, maybe even…her life. 
She reached out to grip onto something as she fell from the bridge, anything as she gasped for air, but she was falling too fast and plummeted into the water below. She kicked and thrashed about, trying to stay above water; she was sinking like a stone, unable to float, and PSI wasn’t there to pull her out. Not this time.
She held onto her breath as long as she could, as she sank deeper and deeper, the pressure squeezing her like a frigid hug. She closed her eyes, as her vision began to blur. She didn’t want to see the end. She didn’t want the game to be over…
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superawesome-rp · 5 years
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Ever meet someone with similar powers??
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Wren: My dad also has super strength!
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Psi: Though mine is considerably stronger, a lot of my family is… y’know.
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Blaze: Yeah, it’s not…rare. But I make it look cool!!
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* Wait, when?
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Nega: Behold, the power of being normal! Unless my gauntlets count as a power, then yeah. They can match at least up to Wren’s strength.
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