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beyond-abyss · 2 months

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I woke up early one morning from a nightmare, and I was so disturbed, I couldn't go back to sleep until I'd written it down.

~*~

TIME FOR A NIGHTMARE - 1/16/2022 @5:30AM

I was at a big convention hall with many other young people, including Alicia. It was run by the government’s CIA or something, investigating people claiming to be time travelers. We were playing silly games and bonding with one another. Then after a while we all formed a big line around the room toward the one table with the only two agents claiming to run the program. During the whole thing, no one had ever suggested that we weren’t time travelers, but in line Alicia was antsy to leave, and I kept telling her not to worry because when we got to the front of the line it would be over and we could talk tomorrow. I said, “I mean we’re all claiming to be time travelers, right?” Everyone turned to look at me. The whole time during the games, most people had very reasonable explanations for being time travelers and how the CIA (or whatever it really was) found them. Alicia had gone on the dark web (“just once?” I asked her). The whole time I had not explained myself, but I carried on with a confident, borderline-arrogant attitude. Now, as everyone left in line kind of glanced my way, I realized that they all believed themselves, but no one believed me. Alicia and I got to the front of the line, and we were the last ones there. We signed some kind of form at the table, and then a couple in suits and shades entered the hall and said, “Ari, it’s time.”

Alicia was confused but she was still very concerned and anxious. Again I told her not to worry, and that her mom was waiting to pick her up. I said, “I’ll see you soon.” Once she was gone and I was alone with the 4 agents, I opened my arms, and teleported the entire church through time. We reappeared in a mountainous region, with only an elaborate monastery compound nearby.

(I had actually been recruited weeks ago when they found me bouncing through time collecting money that infamous bank robbers had dropped in their heists.)

I walked into the compound that housed some of the other recruits from the convention hall who had proven themselves to be real time travelers in different ways. I was glad to see a couple of the cute boys, but grimaced at the one mean-girl. Once we had all assembled, we were directed to the rooms. Two people per room, choose our roommate wisely.

We hadn’t even settled in yet when there came a scream. A chubby darker skinned boy and one of the girls were settling in a bunk-bed room when suddenly a face made of water (like Rasputin) appeared in a little window in the wall and the boy began to suffocate. The girl screamed and when she tried to help the boy, she got clawed (by nothing) and shoved back. A bunch of us ran into the room. I was the only one who remained in control and didn’t panic or freeze. I locked eyes with the Rasputin face in the wall and banished it with my mind. I ran to the boy to turn him on his side, and I yelled at everyone to back up and give them some room. I got him breathing again, coughing up water, and I was trying to calm the bleeding girl down. By that time someone had gone to get an older adult master, and I was wrapping the girl’s clawed arm.

It was too late though, because the sight of her blood had me hearing a music box in my head. The tune was light and normal-speed, but so eerie and sad. I could almost hear a woman humming along……

Suddenly I was in a full-on flashback.

I was younger, maybe 13, and I was with tiny Cecelia and her mom, my adopted mom (who was actually Chris Hemsworth’s wife Elsa). We were wearing bathing suits and walking through the woods on a sunny, summer day, and mom was humming. We were somewhere we weren’t supposed to be, but going to a magical place, our mother had promised. [All throughout this, I hear the music box.]

We arrived at a river, mostly mud because it was low tide, but a section in the middle that we had to swim. The water was warm and salty and the sun was shining. On the other side, we walked through a lot of mud, and then arrived at some big rocks. In the mud at the base of the rocks was a bunch of cool, old stuff. I saw a car from the 1920’s in eerily new condition, some random junk here and there… Mother waved us up the rocks, saying she had to see something for a moment, so I helped little Cecelia climb the rocks. I glimpsed our mom disappear around the side of the rocks, but then I found an old music box. Like, early 1800’s. Miraculously, I wound it and it worked! It began to play the eerie melody that was haunting me. I put the music box on the rocks near Cecelia and was starting to talk to her when our mother’s cry pierced the quiet of the river area.

I turned to see her some distance away on a mid-level rock, reaching out to us with her left hand. She was moaning and calling our names. She was bleeding, bleeding a lot! My brain for a moment was confused. And then my brain registered the fact that her right arm and leg were gone. A neat slice like a fourth of her body had been cloven away by the world’s biggest cleaver. Just a clear, neat slice opening up her insides. She was gushing blood, and her expression was twisted with pain and fear.

I stood and told Cecelia not to look. I made my way carefully but swiftly climbing over the rocks toward her, all the while saying out loud to her, “Mom, don’t worry, you’ll be okay, we’ll go get help and you’ll be fine,” but as I said them I knew they were lies. No way we could go back across the river and through the woods before she bled to death. As I got around the last rock, she disappeared from my sight for just a second, and when I finally arrived at her side, our mother was dead. She was pale, oh so pale like a ghost, and her eyes were open and staring. I heard a noise and saw little Cecelia had followed me, and was about to come around. I grabbed mom’s remaining hand and pulled her down to the area I was standing, carefully tilting her until I couldn’t see the sliced open chunk of her. Cecelia came down beside me, and I put mom’s hand in hers, and told her to say goodbye. We looked at our mother for the last time, and I closed her eyes. Then I gently pushed her body into the natural rock slide and she slid into the river below, gently, and bobbed downstream for a moment before she was out of sight.

I picked up Cecelia and hugged her close and I began to sob, partially from pure grief, partially from terror. Our mother was dead, and I had no idea what had killed her. That was no accident. Now I had to begin the long trek back across the mud and the little bit of river, back through the woods and all the way to the nearest town to report to the police that she was dead. As I walked and climbed and walked, carrying Cecelia, the music box on the rocks seemed so loud it was deafening.

I woke up, horrified.

My brain tells me our mother’s death had something to do with time travel, my powers, and the ancient secret organization that had recruited me and others to fight those demon warlocks through all of time. I wish I knew what the hell had happened to our mother. Not knowing how she could have been sliced like that, neatly…and I couldn’t see the missing chunk of her anywhere. I was so freaked out that I ran to my real mom and climbed in bed with her. (As a grown-ass adult.) I laid there in the dark, my eyes wide open, just seeing that gore. All the blood gushing out of exposed veins in her sliced half. The desperate, pained, scared expression on her face as she reached out toward me. Her inhuman paleness once I reached her, dead.

What the fuck. How did my brain create this. I can still hear the music box and the mom’s humming. I am so traumatized.

It’s been a while since I had a really bad nightmare like this. And it was so intricate, the plot of the dream. The first part at the convention hall was so fun. I myself was watching out for people who were real, and noting those who were fake, while we all played games and laughed together. And why is Alicia in most of my dreams?! Is she a dream-guide or something?

Anyway, it’s 6:30AM now and maybe I can go back to sleep…

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yayforstuffs · 5 years

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been a while since i posted art, and this is why ^^;

been doing a lot more stuff in my sketchbook instead of digital, and it’s,,, really because it’s easier to whip out my sketchbook n draw instead of having to set up my tablet and get it working and everything, and i’ve found it’s easier to just. do sketch stuff with pencil and paper. it’s kinda hard to sketch digitally;;;;

put description stuff on the pics, click em to see!

alternatively, i’m pasting the descriptions here:

pic 1: salie's best friends with leo and his entire fam, i document a Close Call i had in splat2n's hero mode, made a b-day wish to goodboi oliver, and doodled an aron bc I Miss Her

pic 2: trying to figure out how to put an axe on the back of a character that wears a cloak. also character concepts for more cephalokids! had to make ocs for all my amiibos whoops

pic 3: can u tell i love splatoon? also the jax there's from an rp, and the salmon run thing's from a description of an rp channel that is that quote. finally drew the mental image it gave me

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clouds-rambles · 3 years

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hey bestie i was hoping to request xiao, venti, childe and zhongli where the the reader and the character have just had an argument + the reader needs time to calm down from the argument. omg maybe the reader comes back with a gift to apologise

Ask and ye shall receive <3. I’m the kind of person who needs time to relax and process the situation after an argument. I’m always too worked up (read angry) to kiss and make up straight after an argument.

Pairings; (Separate) Xiao, Venti, Childe, Zhongli x reader

Warning(s); breif mention of a wound, alcoholism, swearing

Keep reading under the cut!

Xiao

You’re probably being too harsh on the guy

You had just come back from a tough mission with a few more scrapes than you normally come back, a nasty cut in particular situated on your shoulder was what caused the argument to kick off in the first place

In hindsight the argument started from Xiao’s concern of you getting hurt worse but you were too tired from the commission to really read it as concern

But boy now do you feel bad. You both went your separate ways for the evening and in the morning you still haven’t caught sight of your partner. You eventually go around Wangshu Inn and ask if they’ve seen Xiao.

You get told that he’s out for the day, apparently he caught wind of something manifesting in the mountains. So, you suppose that it’s high time to make an apology gift

And what’s a better apology gift than your partners favourite food? Because your arguments are often few and far between you don’t mind making Xiao almond tofu since it’s not something you’ve associated with apologising

Though you’re aware that the sweet snack means nothing if you’re not sincere with your apology.

So what’s more sincere than sitting at the highest balcony of Wangshu Inn and wait for Xiao. You don’t mind how long it takes for him to come back just as long as you get to apologise

He comes back just after dusk and you pour your apologise profusely and tell him you understand that he was coming from a place of concern

Xiao is a little distant a short while after the apology but soon you’re reassured that he accepts it when he places his hand on the table for you to take hold of

The two of you sit in silence sat hand in hand while Xiao eats his tofu

You watch him eat with a grin on your face, sometimes just watching the Yaksha sit still and do his thing is enough to keep you in a trance for the evening

Venti

Maybe you got into an argument because you’re concerned over Venti’s drinking habits, sure he’s an immortal god but doesn’t he worry about his liver?

Sure the argument started because you’re worried about the archon but boy does he make you angry with his non-sensical thought processes

Venti is the kind of guy who wouldn’t let you leave without settling the argument

Even if the happy medium isn’t actually going to bring any change into the questionable drinking habits

But this argument just feels a little different, you’ve had the same conversation form months but nothing seems to change

You’re not even sure if Venti has actually listened to anything you have said to him about it

So you tell him “Do what you want, but you’re sleeping on the sofa tonight” yeah you just resigned him to sofa treatment. As much as you hate it you’re far too heated to just kiss and make up right now

So the night passes and you wake up with the cold space beside you, you’re confused until you remember the previous nights events

Though your unusual silence in the room doesn’t last long, you presume Venti sensed that you’re awake because you hear a knock at your bedroom door, you’re surprised that Venti is actually here and that he hadn’t sulked off to Windrise where you had originally planned to apologise to him

As you open the door you notice your partner stood before you with a bunch of hand picked cecelia's and dandelions and an apologetic look on his face

You’ve never known Venti to speak so fast he apologises profusely for causing you such worry and promises that he’ll try to drink less, he mentions that he doesn’t wish to give up his Friday and Saturday drinking nights but he’s willing to tone it down during the week if it stops you worrying

You thank him sincerely and find a vase to put the flowers in

You hug Venti and apologise yourself for being such a worry wart and causing such a big argument

“I’m glad I have someone to worry about me, I don’t know what I’d do without you” You can’t help but swoon at his flowery words and grin at him before the two of you start off the day

Childe

It’s a bad habit he has, when you try and talk about something serious with him he constantly cracks jokes at the situation. Which in its self isn’t the worse thing in the world, even you crack jokes to lighten the situation but at some points it goes too far

And today is too far, what started off as a disagreement about where you were going to eat lunch ended up in a full scale (mostly one sided) argument in Childes office about how he can’t take things seriously

You, of course, know this to be false. You’ve seen him in action against his foes and bank business but just in this moment when you are so angry about the situation those rational thoughts go out the window

And what does the bastard do? He cracks another fucking joke

“Is this what I am?” you ask finally reaching the catalyst of your temper “A fucking joke?”

And boy does the exclamation comes to a surprise to him. No matter how frequent your use of curse words you’ve never directed them at him so it catches Childe by even more surprise

“[name] I’m sorry I didn’-” he tries to apologise

“You didn’t fucking what Tartaglia? Want to make me feel like a joke? Cause you’ve been going down that road at every fucking disagreement we have” you cut him off in a fit of rage “Sleep in your own fucking bed tonight” you add before storming out his office

He tried to follow you out the bank before he was stopped by a fatui agent about some urgent debt collection, so he never got to apologise immediately

And that’s how the next couple of days go, you’ve taken most of the time to cool off and avoid anywhere Childe might be hanging about, your plan works better considering said harbinger was out of Liyue Harbour for a couple of days

Though on the third night Childe appears at your door, he doesn’t bring any gifts, just himself. Childe enjoys gifting things to you so he doesn’t want you or him to associate gift giving with apologies. You’re more than thankful for this

Childe apologises before you even have the chance to invite him in and takes your hand and wholeheartedly promises to try and not make jokes when you have a disagreement

You also apologise and agree that, in hindsight, you blew things out of proportion. You reassure him that he’s a hardworking man and that a few out of place jests make everything more bearable to him.

You invite him inside for some tea, your bed isn’t as cold as it was tonight

Zhongli

Disagreements with Zhongli never seem to get any further than that. The archon likes to listen to you vent your frustrations over a cup of herbal tea and usually that calms you down and everything is settled before supper

But every once in a while you’re a little high strung. For instance this time you’re running on a total of 5 hours sleep over the last 4 days. Sleep deprivation could possibly be your middle name at this point

The only thing you want to do when you get back from your restless trip from Mondstat back home is to just sleep the next few years

But the sweetie that Zhongli is he quizzes you about your great to horrific trip

Zhongli pulls all the stops he readys some dinner for you and draws a bath when you get back. He even gives you a small lecture about how you’ll feel terrible not washing before going to bed

But with your tired ears, eyes and brain it feels like a personal attack in your entire self “I’ve had it up to here with bloody hillichurls for 4 horrific days, all I want to do is pass the living hell out thank you”

Replace the bloodys with fucks and that’s probably more accurate to what you said

Zhongli is taken a little aback, being an older traditional man it’s unbecoming of anyone to use such sailor language. And thus the male lectures you about it

You take that as about as well as you expect, you don’t respond to him and favour walking out the room, barely getting undressed and collapsing on your shared bed

You wake up the next morning (though when you peek outside it seems like it’s after noon) disorientated. You don’t actually remember coming home the previous day

Then the memory resurfaces of you yelling at your spouse and regret washes over you

Surely the gift you had prepared for Zhongli would be good enough as repercussions of yesterdays outburst

You see Zhongli in the dining room, to the untrained eye he looks like he’s in a normal mood but to you, you can see his brooding emanating off of him. If you dare point it out Zhongli will deny that he even broods in the first place

He’s the first to greet you without turning around. Rightfully so, he’s still in a mood. So you just profusely apologise for your outburst

You explain that you were running on next to no sleep and while that doesn’t excuse your outburst it certainly explains it. If your spouse so wishes to ask how your trip was you would comply much more now since you’ve had a good sleep behind you.

You then change the subject to the gift in your hands, some rose tea. Something Zhongli had mentioned when you were courting all that time ago.

The man sits you on his lap and explains to you about how it was out of place of him to assume you’d be in a talking mood immediately after your travels. You reassure him that under normal circumstances you wouldn’t mind talking about it, you promise that you will do everything in your power to not let the previous night repeat

You then bring out his gift, rose tea, which he had mentioned wanting to taste a little while back, and before long you’re back in the cycle of Zhongli profusely explaining to you some random subject (in this instance rose tea) before you go off to make dinner where you finally share the details of your travels

Hope this is okay! <3 I kind of went a little ham with the Childe and Zhongli one in comparison to the other two hope you don’t mind lmao <3

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #reader insert #xiao x reader #genshin xiao x reader #genshin xiao #venti x reader #genshin venti x reader #genshin venti #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin childe x reader #genshin childe #zhongli x reader #genshin zhongli x reader #genshin zhongli

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mrslaufeyson002 · 3 years

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Chapter 12.

2 hours later

I had been woken up by Loki and now I'm getting dressed in (the outfit above). I brushed my hair out, did my makeup, and grabbed my knife before adding a black mask. I walked out and saw Natasha holding a cup of blood. "We have a brief meeting before we enter the building. What happens next just know that I'm only following orders, and I'm sorry." I was confused but just accepted the drink. I wasn't wearing my special necklace(protects Cecelia from the sun), because it was only 4:36 in the morning.

I finished my drink and walked into the room, where everyone was gathered. "We need to make this believable, so Agent Romanoff could you please restrain her." Nat walks over to me and puts handcuffs on me, but they are not ordinary handcuffs, they burned me. "Why are these made of pure silver, it burns," I growled and my eyes probably flashed blood red. "I'm sorry Cecelia, but this needs to be believable. The place is dark so most of the team will be hiding in the shadows, but Tony, Steve, Agent Romanoff, Barton, Banner, and Strange will be escorting Cecelia in. We are not turning you in, Cecelia, but we need you to make them believe we are. We'll take them down and you'll be free to come back with us." I nodded my head in understanding. "Let's go everyone."

We walked in with Fury, Tony, and Maria in the front, Nat on my right and Bruce on my left, and Stephen, Steve, and Clint in the back. We got closer and Malia, Carter, Wallace, Patricia, and Shanna were there. Malia looked at Shanna and Carter, and gestured to retrieve me. Malia looked towards Patricia and Wallace. "You know what to do." She whispered to them. They walked into the shadows and locked the doors. Fury, Tony, and Maria moved out of the way as Shanna and Carter walked over to get me. They grabbed me by elbows and dragged me over to kneel at Malia's feet. She lifted my hood and smiled proudly. "Today is the day, that I make my mother happy and complete her work." Malia took my handcuffed hands and linked them to a pair of chains bolted to the stone floor, so I couldn't move. "Thank you, Avengers, for bringing it to me and now you may watch her die." She pauses for a moment. "Come out of the shadows." Malia had hundreds of people who stepped out of the shadows, a couple holding an Avenger with a knife held to their necks.

Malia gestured to a set of chairs to her side and everyone was forced to sit in a chair. Wallace held a bucket that was half full of what I could assume was Holy Water. I tried pulling on the chains to set me free, but they wouldn't allow me to move. I suddenly felt a burning sensation everywhere and I started to scream out in agony. "The sun is rising. Shanna, open the curtains." Shanna ran over to the closed curtain window and opened it. I hissed and tried to back away. I slowly felt each blister appear on my body. I screamed and screamed until I got too tired and collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Loki's POV

Cecelia screamed in agony, I wanted to look away, but they were forcing all of us to watch. Cecelia collapsed, but I was relieved when she was still breathing. Fury stood up out of his chair and handed me Cecelia's necklace. "Get her somewhere safe and give her blood, she needs to heal." I took the necklace as Fury was about to run back to help. "We'll cover you, just get Cecelia somewhere safe." I ran around bodies on the floor and towards Cecelia. I put her necklace around her neck, unlocked the shackles, and handcuffs. I picked her up in my arms and teleported us into the Quinjet. I lay her down on the couch, I quickly got two blood bags, a cup, and an iv stand. I poured a bag into the cup and put it on the table next to the couch. I connected the last blood bag onto the iv stand and put the iv in her arm. I teleported myself inside the building. The only people still standing were Malia, Patricia, Carter, Wallace, Shanna, Tony, Nat, and Steve.

Cecelia's POV

I woke up feeling strong, but I needed to be stronger. I spotted a cup of blood and gulped the rest of it down. I got off of the couch when I heard a loud noise, like thunder. I walked out and saw Thor, I walked up to him. "I need your help getting inside. The team needs our help." Thor used his new hammer/ax, Stormbreaker to break down the door. Loki looked happy to see me. "I thought you were gonna die."

"The only thing that will kill me faster, is using a wooden stake to the heart. I only die if I turn to ash." Nat took down Shanna, Thor took down Carter, Tony and Steve went after Wallace, Loki went after Patricia, and I had my sight set on Malia.

I was about to be taken down by her, but then I sank my teeth into her arm. Malia ripped her arm from my fangs, which resulted in breaking a vein and a few arteries (her arm was bleeding out). I took the knife next to my foot and thrust it into her heart.

#loki #mcu loki #loki laufeyson #marvel #avengers #vampire #oc character #wattpad #fanfic #lily james

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beeprich · 5 years

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i’m deleting my IT playlists from my spotify under the cut i have listed all of the songs to each playlist in case y'all were that fond of em (feel free to follow @ lilriottt lol i still got some non-it bangers)

eddie

1. cut to the feeling - carly rae jepsen

2. lottery - kali uchis

3. my my my - troye sivan

4. american boyfriend - kevin abstract

5. going away to college - blink 182

6. hair - lady gaga

7. greedy - ariana grande

8. lo que siento - cuco

9. papoutai - stromae

10. make out in my car - sufjan stevens version

11. mama don’t make me put on the dress again - trixie mattel

12. brooklyn baby - lana del rey

13. kiss - prince

14. ship to wreck - florence and the machine

15. lies - marina and the diamonds

16. 400 lux - lorde

17. only angel - harry styles

18. wetsuit - the vaccines

19. white ferrari - frank ocean

richie

1. quixoticelixer - red hot chili peppers

2. too drunk to fuck - dead kennedys

3. what’s my age again - blink 182

4. this song is not about a girl - flume

5. denial - the vaccines

6. flash delirium - mgmt

7. no friends - san cisco

8. age of consent - new order

9. el scorcho - weezer

10. amoeba - adolescents

11. boys - brockhampton

12. suck it and see - arctic monkeys

13. dare - gorillaz

14. creepin up the backstairs - the fratellis

15. bloodstains - agent orange

16. masseduction - st. vincent

benverly

1. blossom - milky chance

2. you were meant for me - jewel

3. friday i’m in love - the cure

4. ophelia - the lumineers

5. pelican - the maccabees

6. sonora - spendtime palace

7. rhiannon - fleetwood mac

8. forrest gump - frank ocean

9. ironic - alanis morissette

10. lovefool - the cardigans

11. kiss me - sixpence none the richer

12. check yes juliet - we the kings

13. iris - the goo goo dolls

14. wanted you - twin peaks

15. linger - the cranberries

16. riptide - vance joy

17. happy together - the turtles

stanlon

1. medicine - daughter

2. little secrets - passion pit

3. hallelujah - rufus wainwright

4. angels - the xx

5. breezeblocks - alt-j

6. sea of love - cat power

7. boys dont cry - the cure

8. sleep alone - two door cinema club

9. not about angels - birdy

10. easy to love - ivan & alyosha

11. flightless bird, american mouth - iron & wine

12. rivers and roads - the head and the heart

13. daylight - matt and kim

14. cough syrup - young the giant

15. santa fe - beirut

16. marks to prove it - the maccabees

17. dreams - fleetwood mac

bichie

1. cecelia and the satellite - andrew mcmahon in the wilderness

2. handsome - the vaccines

3. somebody told me - the killers

4. the end of all things - panic at the disco

5. anything, anything - dramarama

6. wrong number - the cure

7. holocene - bon iver

8. tessellate - alt-j

9. dance on our graves - paper route

10. how soon is now? - the smiths

11. bizarre love triangle - new order

12. blister in the sun - violent femmes

13. cocoon - milky chance

14. love my way - the psychedelic furs

15. what you know - two door cinema club

16. sub-mission - sex pistols

17. the killing moon - echo & the bunnymen

kaspbrough

1. toothpaste kisses - the maccabees

2. lovesick - peace

3. love - lana del rey

4. too much - sufjan stevens

5. our song - the xx

6. lottery - kali uchis

7. the blower’s daughter - damien rice

8. almost lover - a fine frenzy

9. still into you - paramore

10. childhood sweetheart - chunk berry

11. you don’t know how lucky you are - keaton henson

12. skinny love - bon iver

13. best of friends - palma violets

14. to build a home - the cinematic orchestra

15. medicine - daughter

16. atlas hands - benjamin francis leftwich

17. picasso - the cinema

reddie

1. caroline - amine

2. lovesong - the cure

3. the night josh tillman came to our apt. - father john misty

4. there is a light that never goes out - the smiths

5. shut up kiss me - angel olsen

6. ivy - frank ocean

7. my kind of woman - mac demarco

8. africa - toto

9. the predatory wasp of the palisades is out to get us - sufjan stevens

10. love will tear us apart - joy division

11. your best american girl - mitski

12. i always knew - the vaccines

13. buddy holly - weezer

14. a 1000 times - hamilton leithauser + rostam

15. irreversible cure - spendtime palace

16. tyrant - kali uchis

17. you - keaton henson

beverie

1. punching bag - cage the elephant

2. fluorescent adolescent - arctic monkeys

3. island in the sun - weezer

4. someday - the strokes

5. believe me natalie - the killers

6. shut up and let me go - the ting tings

7. heads will roll - yeah yeah yeahs

8. sour cherry - the kills

9. everyday is like sunday - morrissey

10. china girl - david bowie

11. time to pretend - mgmt

12. no you girls - franz ferdinand

13. stella - san cisco

14. anna sun - walk the moon

15. hang me up to dry - cold war kids

16. teenage icon - the vaccines

17. lily lee - spendtime palace

stenbrough

1. romeo and juliet - the killers

2. teenage blue - dreamgirl

3. real love baby - father john misty

4. it’s nice to be alive - ball park music

5. chateau - angus & julia stone

6. heroes - david bowie

7. see you again - tyler, the creator

8. no room in frame - death cab for cutie

9. fallingforyou - the 1975

10. i love you so - the walters

11. wouldn’t it be nice - the beach boys

12. coming home - leon bridges

13. last nite - the strokes

14. mardy bum - arctic monkeys

15. seaside - the kooks

16. baby blue - king krule

17. a little while - yellow days

stozier

1. miss atomic bomb - the killers

2. this love - maroon 5

3. mystery of love - sufjan stevens

4. old lovers in dressing rooms - keaton henson

5. cry baby - the nbhd

6. heart skipped a beat - the xx

7. only if for a night - florence and the machine

8. wet dreams - the growlers

9. i love you, honeybear - father john misty

10. love is a laserquest - arctic monkeys

11. the less i know the better - tame impala

12. two fingers - jake bugg

13. come undone - duran duran

14. cupid’s chokehold/breakfast in america - gym class heroes

15. undone (the sweater song) - weezer

16. somebody else - the 1975

17. crooked teeth

#I'm using this as record for myself bc i really don't think anyones listening to these anymore anyway #but if u are u can make it into ur spotify urself thank u #playlist

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winteriron-trash · 6 years

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One Foot In Front Of The Other [Chapter 4]

A/N: Honestly, yall should be used to my bullshit of posting this late by now. Oh well, I regret nothing. But happy Tuesday? I still got an hour left, it counts. Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Trigger warning for rape/paedophilia mention.

Stark. Jamie knew that name. She recognized it as one of the HYDRA agents, specifically one of the ones who partook in sneaking into the girls’ rooms late at night. Jamie had never personally been touched by him, she’d rather heard whispers that he preferred them younger.

Natalia was already raising her knife again, but Jamie put pushed her arm back down. She didn’t drop the glare though.

“Yeah, okay.” Toni nodded. “Leading with the Stark name probably wasn’t the best idea. Listen, I’m just here because I bought the building.” She put her hands in the air, slow and careful. “Rare do I say this, but I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Are you aware that your father works for HYDRA?” A different Red Room girl, one of the older girls with bleach blonde hair, Yelena said. There was a venomous snarl in her voice as if it’d only taken hours for her to turn so harshly on HYDRA.

Not that that was surprising, really.

Toni blinked, and there was genuine confusion on her sharp, striking features. “HYDRA,” she said. “The Nazi death cult from World War Two, HYDRA?”

There was a round of silence.

“Alright.” Toni sighed. “Suppose he is. How would you know? And what are you even doing here? Are you HYDRA too?”

“Not anymore,” Jamie couldn’t quite stop herself from saying.

Toni stared at her with a look Jamie couldn’t quite decipher.

“Okay.” Toni nodded slowly. “Okay, sure. We’ll go with that. But you used to be.” It was a question, but more so phrased as a confused statement.

“Yes.” Natalia groundout.

“Not by our own will,” Yelena hissed under her breath.

“And your father abused us,” Natalia added.

Toni’s face flashed with something akin to horror, but she seemed to suppress it. “Right. And who is ‘us’, exactly? Just you three or…”

As if on cue, light footsteps came towards them, and Cecelia materialized on Jamie’s side. She looked at Toni in the dim lighting of the flashlight on Toni’s phone and stared up at Jamie.

“Who’s that?” She asked, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“How many of them are you?” Toni stared at Cecilia, then back up at Jamie with wide eyes.

“None of your business,” Yelena snapped, pulling out a gun.

Jamie grabbed her wrist. “No,” She ordered before turning back to Toni. “Why would you… why did you buy this building?”

Realistically, Toni could’ve had endless reasons for buying the building. But also realistically, it was a broken down pile of wood waiting to come tumbling down if the wrong nail was pulled out. It hardly even counted as a building anymore, and wouldn’t be worth any money put into it.

“Because I’m a businesswoman.” Toni folded her arms.

A single look from Natalia had Toni letting out a faint groan.

“Look, Howard, my father, he was about to buy this building, out of the blue. So I bought it first.” She wiped a hand over her face. “I’m petty, alright? Who isn’t? I didn’t want him to have whatever it was he wanted in this building.” She paused, then her eyes widened. “Oh my god. He wanted you, didn’t he? All of you, right? You said-”

“We need to leave,” Natalia said, voice sharp. “We need to move, now. If he’s onto us, so is HYDRA.”

Jamie nodded. “Get the other girls.”

“Hey, hey!” Toni put her hands on her hips. “No, nope. You don’t just get to bail on me.”

“Or what?” Yelena demanded. “You’ll turn us back into your father and the rest of HYDRA? Let him get off to young girls handcuffed to their own beds?”

“Let him-” Toni whispered, taking a step back. Her entire demeanour changed almost instantly. She was breathing far too fast, eyes alert and a bit wild. She looked so painfully afraid. Jamie knew that look. “He, oh god, he raped other girls? I thought- fucking hell.” Toni leaned against the wall for support, hands shaking a bit. “I’m so sorry.”

“He raped you too,” Jamie said it, and she didn’t quite mean for it to come out as insensitive as it did. Instead of being a question, a revelation, it was said as though it was a concrete fact.

The look in Toni’s eyes didn’t contradict it though.

“I’m sorry,” Toni whispered. “God, I knew he was fucked up, but I thought… I thought at least it was only me, and nobody else had to… oh god.” She wiped her hands over her face, running her fingers through her dark brown, wavy hair.

Even Yelena seemed to have simmered down a bit, realizing Toni’s state wasn’t one that could’ve been faked. Realizing that she was a victim of HYDRA too, even if indirectly.

Toni took a deep breath, forcing herself to stand up on her own. “Let me help you.”

“What?” Jamie frowned.

“Let. Me. Help. You.” Toni repeated. “My- Howard hurt you. All of you, however many of you there are. Let me help you.” She ran her fingers through her hair again, and the look in her eye changed from afraid to scheming. “He looks down on me, and the last thing he’d expect is that you all were with me. And even if he knew you were with me, he wouldn’t be able to find you.” She took a deep breath. “If anyone’s going to be one step in front of Howard, it’s going to be me.

“And I know you don’t have much to trust me, you barely know anything about me, but I can’t let him get to you. I can’t… I have to make this right.” Toni’s eyes were wide and pleading. A deep brown coloured with a remorseful pain that Jamie found far too captivating, all things considered.

Yelena let out a snort of disgust.

Jamie took a step forward. “If I trust you, and a single one of these girls gets hurt because of you…” she whispered, “I will kill you and your father.”

“Understood.” Toni nodded without hesitation.

Jamie let out a long breath. “Okay.”

Jamie didn’t want Toni’s help, and she badly wished she didn’t need it. But she was fighting an uphill battle, and it wasn’t just her life on the line.

A soldier had to make logical choices. This was logical.

Toni offered a pained smile. “Sounds good.” She clapped her hands, then paused. “Just how many of you are there, exactly?”

@journeythroughtherain @lovinthepizzalife @real-bands-save-fans @adriebananas @theavengers-chef@crazy4thewinbros@theastraywolf @lovinthepizzalife@daughter-of-infinity@brooklyninine

#OFIFOTO fic #winteriron #winteriron fanfic #fem!winteriron #chapter 4 #winteriron-trash writes

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maisybebbington · 2 years

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INSPIRATION AND SCENE BY SCENE

Before constructing the scene by scene, I wanted to ensure I had collated all of my inspiration for People Watching so that the vision for the film was as clear in my head as it could be. Whilst drawing from the themes of a tortured artists and investigating the extents a creative will go to in order to achieve greatness just as films like Whiplash (Chazelle, 2014), Black Swan (Aronofsky, 2010) and Nightcrawler (Gilroy, 2014) it was important for me to ensure there were also elements of mystery within People Watching. Although rather polarising in reception, David Robert Mitchell’s black comedy thriller Under the Silver Lake (2018) served as a perfect springboard for the storytelling I desired for People Watching. Mitchell’s down-the-rabbit-hole narrative combined with intermittent splashes of quirky comedy, whilst still keeping a largely sinister tone was exemplary of what People Watching needed to be. My scene by scene was as follows:

SC 1. INT. RESTAURANT.

CECELIA, MOLLY.

Cecelia hurries into a restaurant and sits down across from Molly, her agent. Pleasantries exchanged, Cecelia begins to ramble. Molly grows visibly more and more impatient as she attempts to interject. Cecelia offers to buy a bottle of wine in order to celebrate her publishing and calls over a waiter - this prompts Molly to finally interrupt bluntly, drawing the attention of the tables around them. Her debut fantasy novel is no longer to be published. The waiter stands near the pair awkwardly. Cecelia grows silent before beginning to question Molly: Why? When? How? Molly, irked by being forced into telling Cecelia in such an unsympathetic manner, gives Cecelia a curt piece of advice before leaving - ‘Write another’. After a moment of silence, the waiter enquires as to whether Cecelia still wants the wine. She does, she really does.

SC 2. INT. CECELIA’S BEDROOM.

CECEILIA.

A groan. Cecelia unfurls herself from her covers, hands rubbing at her temples. With a huff, Cecelia gets out of bed and leaves the room in search of a cure for her hangover.

SC 3. EXT. STREET.

CECELIA.

After parking, Cecelia staggers along the pavement, plagued by disjointed memories of her being escorted from the restaurant last night. With a shake of her head, she opens the door to a small coffee shop, a bell ringing as she goes inside.

SC 4. INT. COFFEE SHOP .

CECELIA, EVE.

Eve, Cecelia’s friend, greets her with a laugh as she approaches the till; Cecelia is visibly ill. Although Eve seems jovial, Cecelia bluntly informs her of the disappointing news from the night prior. Eve shoots Cecelia a sympathetic look and offers her a free coffee to soothe her headache. Cecelia accepts with a tired smile.

SC 5. INT. COFFEE SHOP NOOK.

CECELIA, EVE.

Cecelia settles into a seat in the back corner of the cafe, filching a journal from the depths of her bag. Eve delivers her a coffee with a kiss to the head, hand squeezing her shoulder in a comforting manner. Here, Cecelia discusses the clientele, dated and monologued as she writes in her journal. Spiteful due to her recent disappointment, Cecelia is initially critical, claiming the clientele boring and uninspiring. Cecelia notes that over a number of days she grew fond of the regulars: an old couple, a businessman and a student. Although mundane, they calmed her and gave her comfort - maybe her musings don’t have to be so fantastical to be of worth.

SC 7. INT. COFFEE SHOP NOOK.

CECELIA, EVE, UNNAMED MAN.

The next day, Eve hands Cecelia her usual coffee and returns hurriedly to the counter. Eve is notably skittish. As she settles for her shift of people watching, Cecelia observes Eve speaking to a young man, he gesticulates wildly as the pair speak and Cecelia notes Eve’s shoulders droop. The conversation continues for a while, Cecelia attempts to focus on her regular subjects yet finds her eyes drawn to her friend and the new mystery man.

SC 8. INT. COFFEE SHOP.

CECELIA, EVE, DAVID.

Cecelia has a conversation with Eve at the counter, enquiring about the man; he’s her boyfriend, his name is David, they’ve been together for a month. There’s no smile on Eve’s face as she replies, tugging her cardigan sleeves over her hands. Cecelia drops the conversation due to Eve’s dismissive behaviour and retreats to her regular seat.

SC 9. INT. COFFEE SHOP NOOK.

CECELIA, EVE, DAVID.

David visits Eve again in work, Cecelia watches intently. She’s increasingly obsessed with the way the two interact, finding it bizarre. They’re both wearing the same pin-badge with a strange insignia, a forming bruise on Eve’s shoulder whenever her cable-knit cardigan slips to reveal it, the man’s boots caked in mud. Her writing grows frantic, finally invigorated creatively with her usual wild ideas of the occult, the supernatural and the paranormal, these imagined scenarios depicted on screen - this could be her ticket to her first publication, again.

David reaches to wrap a strand of Eve’s hair around his fingers, to which Eve swats his hand away instantly. David looks offended and the couple begin to argue in a hushed manner. Cecelia can’t hear but she wants to; she scoots over to a pillar behind the counter, listening in, jotting things down in her journal. David threatens Eve, Cecelia makes herself known by accident and pretends she was just delivering her coffee cup back to the counter, giving Eve an awkward smile that isn’t reciprocated. David coldly explains that the him and Eve will ‘sort this out at home later’, Eve nods and turns her back, hunching over the counter as her fingers tightly grip the sides. Cecelia tries to comfort her before noticing Eve is undoing her apron. Eve runs out of the door, shouting a desperate sorry to another worker. In a split decision between sanity and muse, Cecelia finds the temptation of creative inspiration too enticing and hurriedly follows the couple through the door.

SC 10. INT. CECELIA’S CAR.

CECELIA, EVE, DAVID.

Cecelia hops in her car and follows the two, watches as Eve catches up with David and they begin in conversation again. It’s frantic for a while but dies down. Pulling up, Cecelia watches the two walk past a building with the same insignia as their pin-badges; a local climate-change awareness group. Cecelia notes the disappointment that the couple weren’t part of some strange hidden society or cult as she’d fantasised.

SC. 11. EXT. THE PARK.

CECELIA, EVE, DAVID.

Cecelia engages in some questionable driving to follow the couple to the park; David traipses through a patch of mud along the pavement, explaining the mud on his boots. A distinct lack of grave-digging. Cecelia ditches her car and begins to follow on foot, mentally noting that her surveillance has been disappointing - she’s definitely no Scottie. David wraps his hand around Eve’s arm tightly just as Cecelia is debating leaving. Not knowing whether she’s compelled to follow to keep her friend safe, or to inspire the gruesome images forming in her own head, Cecelia continues on their trail.

SC. 12. EXT. APARTMENT BLOCK.

CECELIA, EVE.

Following the couple to just outside the door of their apartment, Cecelia is as bold and as close as she’s been. Ear pressed to the door. Another argument bubbles, David beginning to shout over the ‘scene’ Eve caused in the coffee shop; he’s seething, shouting so loudly that Cecelia can hear his every word. Eve is silent for his rant, before proclaiming she’d ‘had enough’. Crashing, shouting, slapping, a large thud against the door and then a momentary silence. Cecelia’s hand comes up to cover her own mouth in order to not make a sound, her breathing erratic. Cecelia believes for a moment that Eve might be dead, before a guttural manly moan is heard. Shaking her head with wide eyes, Cecelia tries to collect herself; her friend, Eve, has just committed murder. Unable to compose herself, Cecelia turns on her heels and hurriedly walks away from the apartment door.

SC. 13. INT. CECELIA’S APARTMENT.

CECELIA.

Cecelia paces the floor of her small apartment as she uses shaky hands to call her agent, she’s panic stricken but also sickly inspired. Although her mind had wandered to the furthest, mystical explanations for the couple, the real horror lied in the couple’s humanity. She enquires as to whether her writing could change from fantasy to realism as she had an idea for a thriller, her agent is largely nonchalant and explains that ‘as long as its good, she couldn’t care less’. Cecelia is unshaken by her agent’s sobering reaction and hurries to sit at her desk, writing frantically. It is clear that Cecelia has chosen creative inspiration over her morals.

SC. 14. INT. COFFEE SHOP.

CECELIA, EVE.

To the audience’s surprise, Cecelia returns to the coffee shop the next day to see Eve serving as she used to; greeting her with a bright smile. Eve asks if Cecelia is having her usual, and Cecelia nods in response. Cecelia reaches her hand over the counter, grasping Eve’s hand, thumb rubbing over the bruises on her knuckles - Eve’s eyes widen. Cecelia enquires as to whether Eve is okay following her altercation with David in the coffee shop, Eve shrugs but doesn’t move her hand from Cecelia’s. A small smile before she calmly replies: ‘It’s okay, I ended it.’

SC 15. INT. COFFEE SHOP NOOK.

CECELIA, EVE.

Cecelia sits in her regular seat in the cafe. The old couple, the businessman and the student are there all the same. Yet her eyes are drawn to Eve. She brings out her journal, eyes trained on Eve’s form as if to drink her in for a moment before she begins to write.

Paul urged me to alter the opening to an even punchier start. Having changed from a phone call to a restaurant scene, we landed on the idea of Cecelia’s agent hosting a guest university lecture in which Cecelia interrupts due to being ignored. Causing a large scene, Cecelia is filmed by a number of university students and also publicly dropped by her agent; Cecelia vows to be a success before leaving. The use of students filming videos for social media helps the film to be more visual than auditory and allows for visual aid when Cecelia panics about going semi-viral after her outburst. This addition also provided ample material for a near miss when Cecelia stalks Eve and David; a person who has seen the viral clip on Twitter and wants a picture with Cecelia. This also allows for a partial comedic relief. In order to heighten the stakes, we also settled on Cecelia listening to an argument prior to the row between Eve and David that prompts her to follow them; Eve lives above the shop and Cecelia listens in on a row the evening before, only to be caught by Eve going out for a cigarette - here, Eve tells Cecelia (rather threateningly) that she refuses for her relationship troubles to be used for Cecelia’s inspiration.

In terms of the ending to the film, rather than Cecelia returning to Eve’s coffee shop, it was decided that Cecelia should approach the coffee shop only for it to be closed and for a curt conversation with Eve to ensue - a quietly intimidating, worryingly mannered Eve with dirt strewn across her apron, post David’s murder. Eve threatens again, and Cecelia seemingly heeds her word and heads to another coffee shop until it is revealed to the audience that Cecelia has only visited a new coffee shop to begin writing. Cecelia has ultimately chosen creative inspiration over her own safety.

Black Swan. 2010. [Film] Darren Aronofsky. dir. USA: Fox Searchlight Pictures.

Nightcrawler. 2014. [Film]. Dan Gilroy. dir. USA: Open Road Films.

Under the Silver Lake. 2018. [Film]. David Robert Mitchell. dir. USA: A24.

Whiplash. 2014. [Film]. Damien Chazelle. dir. USA: Sony Pictures Classics.

#development.

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your-local-enigma · 18 days

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viewing the eclipse together

(4/8)

#based on live event #enigma draws #splatoon #splatoon 3 #splatoon oc #splatoon fandom #splatoon art #traditional art #fanart #new squidbeak splatoon #agent 4 #agent four #agent 8 #agent eight #cecelia (agent 4)#stellalai (agent 8)#4/8

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feed-my-reads · 2 years

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VB Furlong Author interview

A little introduction: My name is Victoria Furlong and I am the author of a YA mystery novel, What Happened to Coco. At the moment I’m living in Reading on the path to becoming a lawyer, but I grew up in Swansea, South Wales, surrounded by the sea and my pack of 4 dogs. I write young adult because my own teens were marred with health issues and hospital visits, and battling with my mental health. For this reason I write about messy teens who make mistakes, because I know what it is to feel like every decision you make is the wrong one. I write the most when going through difficult times, when writing What Happened to Coco I was 21 and caring for my grandad with terminal cancer. I’ve been writing my WIP over the last year whilst waiting to have, and recovering from, open heart surgery, and I’m querying that one at the moment! When did your love of books begin? My love of books began very early, with my nose stuck in a Jacqueline Wilson book as I wandered around the house. I started reading the classics when I began secondary school, after I had to read Wuthering Heights for a project and my love of the Brontes and Austen began there! Since then I’ve read everything I can get my hands on, and at the moment I’m reading Freckles, the new book by my all-time favourite author, Cecelia Ahern. When did you start to have the wish to become an author? I don’t remember daring to think that I could ever be an author until very recently, when I spoke to my favourite author (see above!) at her book event in 2018 and asked her how she did it. Her response was “literally just do it, give it to someone you trust to read, and then send it out.” I finished What Happened to Coco a few weeks later and after a friend read it and said she couldn’t put it down, I sent it out into the world! But whilst I may not have thought I could be an author, I’ve been writing all my life. At 10 years old I wrote a 40 page book about a girl who started at a new boarding school, so I suppose not much has changed since then! How have you found the process for becoming an author? Becoming an author is hard, there’s no two ways about it. There’s a lot of work; researching agents/publishers, keeping up to date with contests and key dates, editing, drafting, the list goes on and on. Working a full time job, I’ve had a lot of late nights. But it really is so, so worth it. I’ve never really felt anything like the first time someone read my book, my own words, and said that they loved it, or seeing my book on Amazon. What would you say to those wanting to become an author? To those wanting to become an author I’d say do it! I think you need to love the process rather than the dream of big advances and tv appearances, because much of it is just you and your own work. If you have a story to tell, give it the time it deserves, send it to people who will give you honest and constructive advice. Then, edit and revise and read! Read good books like your own, read as a writer and learn, because you will start to pick up really strong techniques that will bring your writing to life. It’s a dream that isn’t inaccessible to anyone who wants to work for it, but it is important to remember that you will really need to work for it. Tell us about your book/books: What Happened to Coco is my debut novel and it’s, above all else, about friendship, and how dynamics change in difficult times, how some people deal with the bad stuff in a healthy way, and some less so. Coco and her friends are pretty all over the place, if I’m honest, they all have their demons. Ella, Coco’s best friend, has struggled with infertility and her identity since this diagnosis, Bea has had a string of bad relationships and has THE most toxic ex-girlfriend. Harrison, Coco’s boyfriend, wants to get the best grades so much that he’s losing himself in the process and Conrad, well, he’s Conrad. When Coco goes missing, there seems to be a lot more than meets the eye and some uncomfortable truths need to be unearthed which have huge consequences on their close knit group. I was reading a lot of Sherlock Holmes when the title sprung up in my mind “What Happened to…” that same afternoon I knew who Coco was, the queen bee of a fancy boarding school, and I knew who all her friends would be. After that, I couldn’t get the group out of my head, with ideas and snippets of conversation coming to me at the worst times, usually when walking four dogs who were not happy to be made to stand still as I frantically typed away on GoogleDocs on my phone. In a way, Coco’s story forced its way into my life and I had no choice but to write it! What do you love about the writing/reading community? Being in the writing community is really rewarding, everyone is always so eager to help and offer their services, so keep an eye on twitter for people willing to lift new authors’ accounts, offering critique giveaways, wanting to be critique partners, there’s so much help and so much love out there on Twitter, it’s wonderful to be involved. If you could say anything to your readers what would it be? No matter what, I want my readers to take from my writing the importance of being kind to yourself. I also hope you all love my characters like I do! Where can people connect with you? Social media links;Website - https://www.vbfurlongauthor.com/Twitter - https://twitter.com/VBFurlong Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/vbfurlongInsta - https://www.instagram.com/vbfurlong/ Goodreads link - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59240066-what-happened-to-coco?from_search=true&from_srp=true&qid=koToTzD1rf&rank=1Amazon link - https://t.co/YSbQUSM0Zd?amp=1

#author #authors #writer #writers #writing community #book #books #book blog #book blogger #book community #feedmyreadscommunity #reading #author interview

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blogfreemiraclebouquet · 3 years

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Chapters: 4/? Fandom: NCIS Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Gibbs, Cecelia, Director Lowry, Doctor Palmer, Kasie Heines, Nick Torres, F.B.I. agent Alden Park, F.B.I. Tobias Fornell, Odette, Eleanor Bishop, McGee, Delilah, Doctor Confalone Additional Tags: Torture, Rescue, Serial Killer, NCIS Academy, Dreams, Pain, Therapist sessions Summary:

Special Agent Gibbs is coming to terms with his partial retirement taking place between seasons 18 and 19th and his injuries caused by the explosion of his boat RULE 91.

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sweetiepie08 · 6 years

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Haunted (Chapter 2)

Originally posted on FF.net under the title Ghost. Name changed to void confusion with the ghost!au.

Ernesto never thought of himself as a superstitious person, but ever since that fateful night in Mexico City, he became plagued by a familiar vision. His best friend haunted his dreams as a grotesque specter and nothing could make it go away.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4 (final).

Fun fact about Ernesto de la Cruz: he was a mild insomniac.

It was common knowledge among fans. This bit of trivia was as basic as his birthday and hometown. It was confirmed many times by agents, stage hands, and his live-in house staff. One former maid gave a tell-all interview with a tabloid where she talked about Ernesto's odd sleeping patterns. She told them how Ernesto would go to bed, then get up at odd hours of the night, roaming around, looking for a distraction. He also stringently refused to use sleep aids. When asked about it, chalked it up to the pressures of fame and everyone would nod their heads. Poor Ernesto. All the fame and money in the world couldn't buy him a decent night's sleep.

It would be insane to admit the real reason. That the damn Hector-creature relentlessly turned up in his dreams. It wasn't every night, but it was consistent enough to make Ernesto dread going to sleep. In the dreams, he'd usually be living his life as usual, playing concerts, filming movies, going to photoshoots, but Hector would always be there with him. Maybe it was because he always imagined Hector to be there, playing accompaniment and writing the songs while Ernesto belted them out at center stage. It was almost the same. His first hit record was entirely comprised of songs Hector wrote. In a way, it was like Hector was right on stage with him, except that Hector was dead, and Ernesto took all of the credit.

Ernesto had the spotlight and the renown all to himself. He knew a "good" person wouldn't think like this, but he actually preferred it this way. Solo fame and fortune was much better than having to share it. In fact, he even felt it was deserved. If Hector was such a genius, why didn't he have this success when he was alive? Why, when they were partners, did they only play small clubs and stay in cheap hotels, while Ernesto de la Cruz, the solo act, played stadiums and lived in a mansion? Clearly Hector was the one holding them back. Hector thought too small, more concerned with taking care of his family than making the world love him. Ernesto had the ambition and the vision to get their dream off the ground. After all, Ernesto was the one who could take a sappy lullaby and turn it into an iconic love song.

But no matter how much he reasoned with himself, or how many rational excuses he came up with, the Hector-creature always came back. Over the years, Ernesto collected quite a few unforgettable images from his nightmares. In one, he dreamed that he was at a photoshoot. The Hector-Creature appeared alongside him. "Which is my best side?" the Hector creature asked and it turned its head to reveal the decomposing side of his face.

Another time, Ernesto had an interview where the reporter asked him about the man he used to perform with early in his career. In real life, Ernesto managed to skirt around this question with some fluff about creative differences. But not in the dream. In the dream, the Hector-creature hovered over the reporter's shoulder and pierced Ernesto with its unblinking gaze. Ernesto got tongue-tied and stumbled over his answer. The reporter's expression darkened and called him a liar. He demanded the truth, over and over again. Ernesto blinked and found himself in a courtroom before a judge. He looked around and in the back he could see gallows. The judge, jury, lawyers, and spectators all chanted, demanding the truth. The Hector-creature floated above it all, cackling.

Hector even reared his annoying head in Ernesto's waking life. Shortly after Hector's death, Ernesto started getting endless letters from Imelda demanding to know where her husband was. Ernesto threw them all straight into the trash, but the lack of response didn't discourage her. She didn't stop until he returned to Santa Cecelia to play one last show in the plaza. She confronted him in the tent which served as his dressing room. He told her the only thing that would stop her from asking questions. He told her that Hector was never coming home. He told her that her husband was sleeping his way through every woman in Mexico and had forgotten all about her. She delivered a slap to his face, and that was the end of that.

But still, he had a dream that night. This dream in particular, he remembered clear as day for the rest of his life.

[-]

Ernesto found himself on the roof of a building looking at the night sky. A gentle breeze tousled his hair and a soft guitar played in the background. For a moment, he thought he'd have a peaceful sleep tonight. But then, he looked in the direction of the music and he saw just who was playing it.

He turned to see a slim figure with stylishly shaggy hair sitting on the ledge of the building, guitar in hand. Its back was turned to him and was hidden in shadow, but he knew it was Hector. "Nice night," it said. The voice was off. It was softer and higher-pitched than he remembered. "Remember when we used to sit up here for hours, trying to teach ourselves how to pluck out a few bars?" It laid down on its back, still strumming, and looked up at him. "Man, those were the days, huh hermano?"

All at once, it hit him where he was. He was standing on the roof of Hector's childhood home. On summer nights, just like this one, they sat up here, talked, laughed, and tried to learn to play songs from memory. And this Hector, the one smiling up at him, was not the man he killed, but the boy he grew up with. "Something wrong, hermano?" Child Hector asked, innocent, unblinking eyes staring up at him. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Ernesto looked at the child skeptically. What was the Hector-creature trying to pull? Did it think that showing him their childhood would pull at his heartstrings?

"Thanks for helping me get that trill," Child Hector said, flashing his signature grin. "I couldn't have done it without you, hermano mayor."

Ernesto's breath caught in his throat. He forgot Hector used to call him that.

The boy set the guitar aside and rolled over to stand up. By the time he got to his feet, he'd grown to his teenage self, scruffy attempt at facial hair and all. "By the way, do you really think I have a chance with Imelda? She's just so smart and beautiful. She must have millions of guys to choose from."

The Hector thing paused and Ernesto realized it expected an answer. He remembered this day. Hector had just met Imelda a week before. He spotted her in the market, and he made a complete ass of himself trying to impress her. Hector tried to smoothly slide up to her with an opening line no-doubt forming in his brain. Then, some hulking tank of a man shoved him aside and he crashed into a fruit stand. Hector, pride wounded and covered in pulp, attempted to call out the tank. Ernesto had to drag him away before anything could happen. The man was twice Hector's size and would have beaten him into a greasy smear on the pavement. Luckily, he'd failed completely in attracting Imelda's attention and she'd missed the whole spectacle. They retreated to their rooftop where Hector asked the same question.

"I don't know," Ernesto replied to his friend's dark reflection. "Going after a girl like that would break your heart. You should set your sights lower."

To his surprise, the thing grinned. "Really? That wasn't what you said the last time." Ernesto's blood ran cold as the grin grew wider. "Last time you said, 'Of course, hermano. You are the best man I know. She'll see that soon enough. Any woman would be lucky to have you.'"

That was what he'd said and he'd regretted it. He didn't really believe his worlds. He only said them because he didn't want to see his friend so upset. He thought Imelda was way out of Hector's league and he expected the whole thing to blow over. He never expected them to fall in love, let alone get married and start a family; a family that apparently mattered more than their dream. If he knew what was coming, he would have put a stop to it. He would have told Hector to give it up right then and there. Hector might still be alive if he had.

"I'm going home."

The voice snapped Ernesto out of his thoughts and he looked up to see Hector, adult Hector, looking exactly the way he did on the night he died. His face was serious in the way it almost never was. Hector Rivera, nervous jokester, easy pushover, and compulsive placater, was putting his foot down. Ernesto felt the cold anger in his gut all over again.

"I'm sorry, but my mind is made up. Hate me if you want."

It wasn't going to end the same way this time. There'd be no begging and pleading for him to stay. Ernesto had risen above that. If the specter wanted to throw the most shameful moment of his life back in his face, then fine. But he wasn't going to play along. Ernesto started laughing. His long and loud bellows disturbed the peaceful night. He leaned forward, still laughing, and held Hector by the shoulders. "Oh, mi hermano," Ernesto laughed, tightening his grip. Hector's face never wavered. "Hate you? I pity you. You chose your new family over me, and you know what?" He stopped laughing and jerked the spirit toward him. "It was the wrong choice."

With all his might, he threw Hector backward over the ledge. It stumbled back. Ernesto grinned, waiting for the body to fall. It never did. It stopped itself, hanging over the ledge. Its feet remained on the ground, but its body hovered over the empty air, bending in ways a body never should. All went silent for the moment and Ernesto could only look on, shocked at the sight.

In a sudden rush, it bounce back. The body snapped back up and, in a flash, appeared right in front of Ernesto's face. He found that he could neither move nor scream. The Hector-creature's face crumbled before him. The hair fell out in patches. The flesh on its face rotted and peeled off in sheets. The worst part was the eyes. They pierced him, bulging out of the skull. The mouth moved and Ernesto could see the jaw being held together by thin strings of sinew. "Ernesto," it hissed. "You betrayed me."

Ernesto couldn't speak, or respond in any way. He could only stare back as the Hector-creature's eyes burned holes in his very soul. "Why?" it shrieked in a voice as dry as dust. Something like tears began streaming down its face and the crumbling body shook as it let out loud sobs. "Why?" It shrieked again.

"I only wanted to go home."

#coco #coco fanfiction #coco pixar #pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #coco fandom

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horsyunicorn · 7 years

Text

Rules: List ten of your favorite female characters in ten different fandoms and then tag ten people.

from @magewardensurana

1) Cecelia, Dishonored

2) Ashley Williams, Mass Effect

3) Serana, Skyrim

4) Athena the Gladiator, Borderlands

5) Vanessa Ives, Penny Dreadful

6) Audrey Parker (that’s Agent Parker to you), Haven

7) Anya Oliwa, Wolfenstein: The New Order

8) Lady Sif of Asgard, MCU

9) Angua von Uberwald, Discworld

10) Arwen Undomiel, The Lord of the Rings

and I’m tagging @kaldwinroyalty, @ominousdeer, @omegastation, @pitudt, @okyrro, @lucifurmacomb, @jessakaldwin, @wildcardhoney, @zireaells & @adhdpeebee and anyone else who wants to do this =)

#MEMES #asks #well not really but I don't have a separate tag for these

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mrslaufeyson002 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4.

It was time for Tony's party and I was wearing (the outfit above). Natasha did my hair up in a fancy bun updo. Tony set the microphone and speakers up on the stage for when I went up to sing. I got myself a drink and when I finished it, I head up on stage. There were Avengers, Shield Agents, and friends of the Avengers (like for example, Sif and the Warriors three). Tony set up two Bluetooth speakers (they had a high quality sound) and two regular speakers. He set up four speakers, two for the instrumental music, and the other two were connected to the microphone. I walked up to the microphone and pulled out my phone to pick my first song. "Hello, may I have your attention please?" The crowd got quieter and they looked towards me, and so I continued. "I'm Cecelia and I got asked by a couple of friends to some songs.The first song is Say Amen by Panic! At The Disco."

Been traveling in packs that I can't carry anymore

Been waiting for somebody else to carry me

There's nothing else there for me at my door

All the people I know aren't who they used to be

And if I try to change my life one more day

There would be nobody else to save

And I can't change into a person I don't wanna be, so

Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah

I pray for the wicked on the weekend

Mama, can I get another amen?

Oh oh oh oh oh

Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah

Swear to God, I ain't ever gonna repent

Mama, can I get another amen?

Oh oh oh oh oh

Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah

And every morning when I wake up

I wanna be who I couldn't say I'd ever been

But it's so much more than I ever was

If every night I go to sleep knowing

That I gave everything that I had to give

Then it's all I could've asked for

I've been standing up beside everything I've ever said, but

Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah

I pray for the wicked on the weekend

Mama, can I get another amen?

Oh oh oh oh oh

Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah

Swear to God, I ain't ever gonna repent

Mama, can I get another amen?

Oh oh oh oh oh

Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah

If I had one more day to wish

If I had one more day

To be better than I could have ever been

If I had one more day to wish

If I had one more day

I could be better, but, baby

Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah

I pray for the wicked on the weekend

Mama, can I get another amen?

Oh oh oh oh oh

Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah

Swear to God, I ain't ever gonna repent

Mama, can I get another amen?

Oh oh oh oh oh

Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah

It's Saturday, Saturday, Saturday

Oh oh oh oh oh

Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah

Swear to God, swear to God, swear to God

Oh oh oh oh oh

Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah

My friends don't walk, they run

Skinny dip in rabbit holes for fun

Popping, popping balloons with guns, getting high off helium

We paint white roses red

Each shade from a different person's head

This dream, dream is a killer

Getting drunk with the blue caterpillar

I'm peeling the skin off my face

'Cause I really hate being safe

The normals, they make me afraid

The crazies, they make me feel sane

I'm nuts, baby, I'm mad

The craziest friend that you've ever had

You think I'm psycho, you think I'm gone

Tell the psychiatrist something is wrong

Over the bend, entirely bonkers

You like me best when I'm off my rocker

Tell you a secret, I'm not alarmed

So what if I'm crazy? The best people are

All the best people are crazy, all the best people are

Where is my prescription?

Doctor, doctor please listen

My brain is scattered

You can be Alice, I'll be the mad hatter

I'm peeling the skin off my face

'Cause I really hate being safe

The normals, they make me afraid

The crazies, they make me feel sane

I'm nuts, baby, I'm mad,

The craziest friend that you've ever had

You think I'm psycho, you think I'm gone

Tell the psychiatrist something is wrong

Over the bend, entirely bonkers

You like me best when I'm off my rocker

Tell you a secret, I'm not alarmed

So what if I'm crazy? The best people are

You think I'm crazy, you think I'm gone

So what if I'm crazy? All the best people are

And I think you're crazy too, I know you're gone

That's probably the reason that we get along

I'm nuts, baby, I'm mad,

The craziest friend that you've ever had

You think I'm psycho, you think I'm gone

Tell the psychiatrist something is wrong

Over the bend, entirely bonkers

You like me best when I'm off my rocker

Tell you a secret, I'm not alarmed

So what if I'm crazy? The best people are

All the best people are crazy, all the best people are

Falling too fast to prepare for this

Tripping in the world could be dangerous

Everybody circling, it's vulturous

Negative, nepotist

Everybody waiting for the fall of man

Everybody praying for the end of times

Everybody hoping they could be the one

I was born to run, I was born for this

Whip, whip

Run me like a racehorse

Pull me like a ripcord

Break me down and build me up

I wanna be the slip, slip

Word upon your lip, lip

Letter that you rip, rip

Break me down and build me up

Whatever it takes

'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins

I do whatever it takes

'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains

Whatever it takes

You take me to the top I'm ready for

Whatever it takes

'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins

I do what it takes

Always had a fear of being typical

Looking at my body feeling miserable

Always hanging on to the visual

I wanna be invisible

Looking at my years like a martyrdom

Everybody needs to be a part of 'em

Never be enough, I'm the prodigal son

I was born to run, I was born for this

Whip, whip

Run me like a racehorse

Pull me like a ripcord

Break me down and build me up

I wanna be the slip, slip

Word upon your lip, lip

Letter that you rip, rip

Break me down and build me up

Whatever it takes

'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins

I do whatever it takes

'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains

Whatever it takes

You take me to the top, I'm ready for

Whatever it takes

'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins

I do what it takes

Hypocritical, egotistical

Don't wanna be the parenthetical, hypothetical

Working onto something that I'm proud of, out of the box

An epoxy to the world and the vision we've lost

I'm an apostrophe

I'm just a symbol to remind you that there's more to see

I'm just a product of the system, a catastrophe

And yet a masterpiece, and yet I'm half-diseased

And when I am deceased

At least I go down to the grave and die happily

Leave the body and my soul to be a part of thee

I do what it takes

Whatever it takes

'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins

I do whatever it takes

'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains

Whatever it takes

You take me to the top, I'm ready for

Whatever it takes

'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins

I do what it takes

#loki #mcu loki #loki laufeyson #oc character #vampire #lily james #fanfic #wattpad

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dazzledbybooks · 5 years

Quote

Harbor for the Nightingale is the highly anticipated fourth installment in the popular award-winning Stranje House YA series! #1 New York Times best-selling author Meg Cabot calls this romantic Regency adventure series "completely original and totally engrossing.""Enticing from the first sentence." --New York Times Sunday Book Review on A School for Unusual Girls "Baldwin has a winning series here: her characters are intriguing and fully rendered." --Booklist, on Refuge for MastermindsIt's 1814. In this alternate history, Napoleon has forced Europe to its knees, and now he plots to seize control of Britain.Maya brings the mystery of India with her...With her friends' lives in deadly peril, Miss Maya Barrington, one of Miss Stranje's unusual girls, must serve as a double agent. To do so, she gains entry into Napoleon's duplicitous game on the arm of the enigmatic Lord Kinsworth. She can read almost everyone; not so with this young rascal. Quick with a jest and armed with lethal charm, Kinsworth remains just beyond her reach. Can she trust him?With Britain's future at risk and those she loves in deadly peril, Maya questions everything she thought she understood about life, love, and loyalty.Fans of genre-blending, romance, and action will love this speculative history Regency-era novel filled with spunky heroines, handsome young lords, and dastardly villains--fourth in the Stranje House series. Don't miss the first three books: A School for Unusual Girls, Exile for Dreamers, and Refuge for Masterminds "An outstanding alternative history series entry and a must-have for teen libraries." --School Library Journal on Refuge for Masterminds"This alternative history series will appeal to fans of Gail Carriger's works and The Cecelia and Kate novels by Patricia C. Wrede and Caroline Stevermer." --School Library Journal on A School for Unusual Girls Title: HARBOR FOR THE NIGHTINGALE (Stranje House #4) Author: Kathleen Baldwin Pub. Date: September 26, 2019 Publisher: Ink Lion Books Formats: Paperback, eBook Pages: 352 Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, B&N, Kobo Excerpt: One Miss Maya Barrington’S Typhoon July 1814, Mayfair, London, Haversmythe House Miss Stranje hosts a coming-out ball for her young ladies All the world is sound. Even if I were blind, I would still be able to see. It is as if everything hums—the trees, air, stones, and people—especially people. They all sing songs. Some songs are more dangerous than others. Most of the guests have already arrived at the ball, and our receiving line is dwindling. Georgie, Lady Jane, and Tess left us to join a lively country-dance. Seraphina still stands quietly beside me. Her inner music wraps around her as delicately as does the silk of her cloud-blue ballgown. With her white-blonde hair, Sera is the closest thing to an angel I have ever seen. On my other side, stands our rock, our headmistress, Miss Stranje, a woman made of iron. The footman at the doors announces another arrival. “Lord and Lady Barrington.” My father and his wife stand in the doorway. The instruments playing serenely within me crash to a stop and clatter to the floor of my soul. He came. I press my hand against my heart to keep it from flapping and shrieking like a strangled bird. Seraphina edges closer so that our shoulders touch. She is trying to lend me strength. The ballroom overflows with people. Dozens of strangers clad in shimmering finery, surround us, laughing and talking, but my very English stepmother ignores them all and marches straight for the receiving line. She holds her nose aloft, and her mouth pinched up so tight that her porcelain white face looks almost skeletal. An out of tune clarinet, she squeaks toward us, every step making me wish I could stop up my ears. People say she is beautiful. My father certainly must have thought so. I fail to see it, especially when her face prunes up as it is doing now. It is a familiar expression. One that causes me to quake nervously while simultaneously clenching my fists. Stepmother. That is what I was instructed to call her. I cannot bring myself to do it. Mother is a title of sacred honor. This woman, whose soul honks like an out of tune oboe, hasn’t the faintest motherly inclination toward me. To me, she will never be anything more than the woman who married my father. Never mind that my mother, his first wife, was a Maharajah’s daughter. To the new Lady Barrington, I am merely the brown-skinned embarrassment her husband acquired in India. Her hate roars at me like high tide slamming against a rocky shore. She halts, and her blond sausage curls quiver with distaste as she plants herself squarely in front of Miss Stranje. She does not curtsey or even nod in response to our headmistress’s greeting. Her words trickle out so sweetly that most people would not notice she is gritting her teeth as she utters them. “Miss Stranje, a word if you please.” Naturally, Seraphina notices. She notices everything—it is her gift. And her curse. She reaches for my hand to reassure me. Of the five of us, we who are Miss Stranje’s students, Seraphina Wyndham is the only one who truly understands me, and I do not want my best friend to suffer if she is caught being supportive of me. So, I smile reassuringly and slip free of her fingers. This is my battle, and I must face it alone. Sera tugs my arm as I step away and furtively whispers, “Do something. Calm her.” She, like everyone else at Stranje House, mistakenly thinks my voice contains some sort of magical power to soothe. It is much simpler than that. My grandmother taught me how to use certain tones and cadences to relax people and communicate tranquility. Most souls are more than receptive, they hunger for it. My father’s wife is a different matter. I have tried in the past, and rather than succumb to my calming tactics, she resists. On several occasions, she even covered her ears and screeched at me. I remember well her accusations of witchcraft and demonic bedevilment. It was on those grounds she convinced my father to send me away to Stranje House. I wish, for Miss Stranje’s sake, Lady Barrington would let me quiet her rat-like tendency to snipe and bite. Although, I’m not worried. I am confident our headmistress has guessed what is coming and will manage my father’s wife quite handily without my help. After all, a rat does not surprise an owl. “This way, Lady Barrington.” Miss Stranje graciously directs our bristling guest to the side of the receiving line. Father’s charming wife clasps my shoulder and propels me forward with her. I could not possibly soothe her now. I’m not nearly composed enough to do it. Indeed, I am battling an overwhelming inclination to yank her boney claw from my shoulder and twist it until she cries off. “What have you done, Miss Stranje?” Lady Barrington releases me and waves her hand at my ensemble. She is objecting to Miss Stranje’s ingenious innovation, a traditional sari draped over an English ballgown. “Why have you dressed the child thus?” Lady Barrington’s fingers close in a fist around the embroidered veil covering my hair. “I’m mortified! You’ve garbed her like a heathen. Surely, this is an affront to everyone here.” She flicks the saffron silk away as if it has soiled her gloves. “How do you expect Lord Barrington and myself to weather this . . . this outrage!” She barks so loud that some of our guests turn to stare. “After the enormous sum we paid you, it is beyond my comprehension why you should do us such a disservice—” “Lady Barrington!” Miss Stranje’s tone chops through the woman’s tirade. “Calm yourself.” Our headmistress stands a good four or five inches taller than most women, and she straightens to make every inch count. “You sadly mistake the matter, my lady. The other guests are well acquainted with your husband’s daughter. In fact, a few weeks ago she was invited by no less a personage than Lady Jersey to sing at Carlton House for the Prince Regent. Miss Barrington’s voice impressed His Highness so greatly that he, the highest authority in the land, suggested your stepdaughter ought to be declared a national treasure.” “What?” Lady Barrington blinks at this news, but her astonishment is short-lived. She clears her throat and steps up emboldened. “Oh, that. I am well aware of Maya’s ability to mesmerize others with her voice. She uses demonic trickery, and you ought not allow—” Miss Stranje leans forward, her tone low and deadly. “Are you unaware of the fact that Lady Castlereagh issued Miss Barrington vouchers for Almack’s?” “Al-Almack’s . . .” Lady Barrington sputters at the mention of high society’s most exclusive social club. Her hands flutter to her mouth in disbelief. “No. That can’t be. Lady Castlereagh approved of her?” She glances sideways at me and her upper lips curls as if she tastes something foul in the air. “Yes. Her vouchers were signed and sealed by the great lady herself.” Miss Stranje’s face transforms into a mask of hardened steel under which most people tremble in fear. “Not to put too fine a point on it, my lady, but Miss Barrington has been granted entry into the highest social circles. And, more to the point, it is my understanding that the patronesses refused to grant you vouchers. You were denied, is that not so?” Lady Barrington steps back, unwilling to answer, a hand clutching her throat. Miss Stranje refuses to let her quarry wriggle away. “In fact, my dear lady, anyone planning a soiree or ball during the remainder of the season, anyone who is anyone, has invited Miss Barrington to attend. I have stacks of invitations, dozens of notes, all of them begging your husband’s daughter to do them the honor of singing at their gatherings. Indeed, society has taken her under their wing so thoroughly I had rather thought you would be offering me a bonus, instead of this ill-conceived reprimand.” Miss Stranje turns and levels a shrewd gaze at my father, who until this moment stood behind us silently observing. He places a hand on his wife’s waist and moves her aside. This stranger, this formidable Englishman who I used to call Papa with such glee, steps up to my headmistress and takes her measure. After a moment that stretches long enough to hammer my stomach into mincemeat, he nods respectfully. “Very well, Miss Stranje. I shall send additional remuneration to you in the morning.” His wife gasps, and indignation squeals off her like sour yellow gas. He turns to me and reaches for my hand. Every instinct in me shouts to pull back. Do not let him touch you. It has been many long years since I have seen anything resembling a fatherly mannerism from him. I am terrified of what I might feel, and yet even more terrified of what I might miss if I pull away. A sharp intake of breath crosses my lips, but then all other sounds cease. I no longer hear laughter or talking from the guests in the ballroom. No footsteps. No shuffling or clattering. The hum of impenetrable silence muffles everything else as I watch him lift my hand. My father bows slightly, the way all the other gentlemen did as they came through the receiving line. He holds my fingers loosely as if we are mere acquaintances. “You look lovely, Maya, very much like your mother.” He straightens, and I think I hear a whiff of sound—a soft keening, low and mournful. Except it is so brief and distant, I cannot be certain. “You have her fire in your eyes. She would be proud.” He squares his shoulders. “I’m pleased to see you making your way in the world—flourishing on your own.” Flourishing? Hardly. Unable to summon enough breath for words, I dip in an English curtsey that has become a habit. When I am able to speak, it sounds embarrassingly weak and fluttery, like a frightened bird. “I am glad you think so, my lord.” He lets go of my gloved fingers, offers his arm to his wife, and leaves me. Without a backward glance, he walks away. His measured gait is aloof and elegant, no different from that of a hundred other strangers in this room. The hollow thump of his heels as he abandons me hurts far worse than anything the spiteful woman he married has ever said. I wish now that I had not allowed him to touch me. I ought to have run from the house—anything would be better than this grinding loneliness that darkens my insides. I would rather rip out my heart than to fall into the chasm threatening to swallow me. I’ve been in that dark place before. The way he dismisses me without a second thought sends me spiraling back to India. I’m there again, in the stifling heat of his sickroom. Worried, I sneaked in to see him and stood quietly at the foot of his bed. Fear thumped through me like an elephant march as I watched him thrash under the sheets, fevered with the same epidemic that had only days earlier taken my mother’s life. I remember his wide-eyed alarm when he noticed me standing by his bedpost. I was only six, but I can still hear his hoarse shout for the servants. “Get her out of here. Send her away!” “No! No. I want to stay with you. Let me stay with you,” I begged. Crying, I clung to his bedpost, refusing to leave. “Go! Take the chi—” Retching cut his rebuke short. Next came a string of muffled curses. “Out!” “Come, miss. You cannot stay. Your father is very sick.” Servants dragged me, kicking and screaming from his room. Later, my ayah told me Papa wanted me to stay away so that I would not catch his illness. I will never know if that was true or not. My ayah may have been trying to spare my feelings. I do remember telling her I didn’t care if I got sick and died. I would rather stay with my papa. “No, kanya. No, little girl. You must not say such things.” She brushed my hair until it gleamed like my papa’s black boots. “You will live, child. I see this. The future blooms in you. You are gende ka phool.” She pulled a marigold out of a small vase and placed it in my palms. “Protector. Sun lion.” I touched the bright orange petals and thought to myself, what good is such a small flower. It is too fragile—too easily crushed. I was right. The next day, on Papa’s orders, his secretary, a fusty man with little patience for children, escorted me to my grandmother’s family in the north. My father sent me away from the only world I’d ever known. On that long trip, loneliness and hurt chewed me up. Why would he send me so far away? Was he too sick? Or was his grief too heavy for him to share in mine? Perhaps my black hair and olive skin reminded him too much of my dead mother. Or was it because she was gone that he no longer cared for me? Why? We traveled for days and days, journeying toward the great mountains, land of the five rivers, and all the way there, sadness gnawed on my soul. Few Europeans had ever ventured to the old villages and cities along the rivers. People were wary and distrustful of my white escort. He had difficulty finding a guide, and even when he did, we made several wrong turns. I did not care. Numb with grief, certain my father would die, or that he no longer loved me. I was already a lost child. What did it matter if we wandered forever? After several treacherous river crossings, our guide located my family’s village on the Tawi River. The weary attaché deposited me and my trunks in their midst and hurriedly left. I sat in the dirt beside my baggage, completely abandoned. The last ember of hope flickered inside me and blew out. Strangers, who I would learn later were my cousins and aunts, gathered in a circle around me, staring, their faces ripe with curiosity and suspicion. Half-English, half-Indian, I was an unwelcome oddity, who belonged nowhere. I sat in the center of their circle, feeling like an oddly painted lizard. Did they judge me poisonous? Or edible? A woman’s joyous cry startled me. Astonished, I stood up. In my exhausted state, amidst all the confusion, I briefly mistook her voice for my mother’s. I stared at the old woman running toward me. The voice, although eerily similar, did not belong to my dead mother. It belonged to my grandmother. She burst through her gathered kinsman, took one look at me, and opened her arms. Though I learned later she had only visited me once as an infant, she kissed my forehead and hugged me, rocking and murmuring in Hindi. In tears, she declared to all my cousins and aunts that I was her daughter returned home. Grandmother, my naanii, did not care about my mixed blood. She had no qualms about teaching her half-caste granddaughter the ways of her people. Others in our village were not so quick to trust me. I was half-English, after all. But out of respect for my grandmother, they kept their opinions to themselves. Naanii taught me how to make bread, how to mix healing herbs, braid hair, sew, and a thousand other things. More importantly, Naanii taught me to listen. To hear the world around us. Over and over, she told me, “All life sings a song if we will but stop and listen.” I remember standing on the banks of the river washing clothes. “Close your eyes, little bird,” Naanii said. “Quiet your mind and tell me what you hear?” I pointed to her kinswoman standing in the shallows scrubbing her laundry against the stones. “I hear Kanishka humming a contented tune.” Grandmother, ever patient, smiled and asked, “And the stones, little one, what do they sing?” I laughed and closed my eyes tight, listening for subtler vibrations. “They are old, Naanii. Their voices are quiet and deep. I can hardly hear them. Kanishka sings too loudly, so does the wind in the trees and grass.” I opened my eyes. “And the river is especially loud.” “Ahh.” She nodded, wrung out the cloth she’d been laundering, and set it in her basket. “It is true. Water is bold and brash. Very noisy.” She galloped her fingers through the air. “Always rushing to and fro. River thinks she is all-powerful. You must try harder, my child. Listen for the calm voice of the stones.” She laid a smooth pebble in my palm and pointed to one of the large rocks jutting up, splitting the current of the river. “Do you feel it? The mighty waters push and shove with the strength of a hundred horses, yet that boulder is unmoved. Hear how deep it hums, how sure it is of its connection with mother earth.” Years later, I would hear the stones sing, but not that day. That day I heard my grandmother, not just her words; I heard the unfathomable vibrations of her soul. It was as if she was as ancient and knowing as the stones of which she spoke. I wish I were still standing on the banks of the Tawi River. Instead, I am here in London with too many sounds roaring in my ears—the babble of our many guests, the rumble of the city seeping up through the bones of this house. My father has taken me half a world away from the person who loves me best in all the world. Even though she is thousands of miles away, I close my eyes, hoping to catch my grandmother’s distant pulse. I try to block out all the other noises, searching for those melodic threads that run between us even at this great distance. “Maya? Maya! Are you all right?” Lady Jane rests her hand on my shoulder and startles me out of my search. She and Sera stare at me expectantly. “The musicians are tuning up for a quadrille. We are about to return to the dancing. But you seem shaken, what’s wrong?” I look at Lady Jane, wondering how to answer. I am not all right, as she phrases it, but what else can I say, here in this jangling place. “Yes, I hear the music,” I say, and try to smile as if it is an important observation, as if the frivolity of dancing lightens my heart. “Hmm,” she says skeptically, and takes my hand, pulling me along with her like the mighty river carrying a piece of driftwood. I feel her questions clamoring to be asked, but luckily, I also know Lady Jane will restrain herself. This is not the time or place for that sort of discussion. She glances around the room and spots Alexander Sinclair. Immediately she brightens, and I feel joy pulse through her fingertips. “Come.” She leads the way and, arm in arm, we face both the music and crowd together. Other books in series: Title: REFUGE FOR MASTERMINDS (Stranje House #3) Author: Kathleen Baldwin Pub. Date: May 23, 2017 Publisher: Tor Teen Format: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook Pages: 352 Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, Kobo, TBD It’s 1814. Napoleon has escaped his imprisonment on Elba. Britain is at war on four fronts. And at Stranje House, a School for Unusual Girls, five young ladies are secretly being trained for a world of spies, diplomacy, and war… Napoleon’s invasion of England is underway and someone at Stranje House is sneaking information to his spies. Lady Jane Moore is determined to find out who it is. If anyone can discover the traitor, it is Jane—for, according to headmistress Emma Stranje, Lady Jane is a mastermind. Jane doesn’t consider herself a mastermind. It’s just that she tends to grasp the facts of a situation quickly, and by doing so, she’s able to devise and implement a sensible course of action. Is Jane enough of a mastermind to save the brash young American inventor Alexander Sinclair, her friends at Stranje House, and possibly England itself? Title: EXILE FOR DREAMERS (Stranje House #2) Author: Kathleen Baldwin Pub. Date: May 24, 2016 Publisher: Tor Teen Format: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, Kobo, TBD A School for Unusual Girls is the first captivating installment in the Stranje House series for young adults by award-winning author Kathleen Baldwin. #1 New York Times bestselling author Meg Cabot calls this romantic Regency adventure "completely original and totally engrossing." Tess can't run far enough or fast enough to escape the prophetic dreams that haunt her. Dreams bring nothing but death and grief, and Tess refuses to accept that she may be destined for the same madness that destroyed her mother. Until her disturbing dreams become the only means of saving Lord Ravencross, the man she loves, and her friends at Stranje House from Lady Daneska and her lover, the Ghost-agent of Napoleon, who has escaped from Elba. Can the young ladies of Stranje House prevail once more? Or is England destined to fall into the hands of the power-mad dictator? "Enticing from the first sentence." -New York Times Book Review A School for Unusual Girls is a great next read for fans of Gail Carriger's Finishing School series and Robin LaFevers' His Fair Assassin series. Title: A SCHOOL FOR UNUSUAL GIRLS (Stranje House #1) Author: Kathleen Baldwin Pub. Date: May 19, 2015 Publisher: Tor Teen Pages: 352 Formats: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, Kobo, TBD It’s 1814. Napoleon is exiled on Elba. Europe is in shambles. Britain is at war on four fronts. And Stranje House, a School for Unusual Girls, has become one of Regency England’s dark little secrets. The daughters of the beau monde who don't fit high society’s constrictive mold are banished to Stranje House to be reformed into marriageable young ladies. Or so their parents think. In truth, Headmistress Emma Stranje, the original unusual girl, has plans for the young ladies—plans that entangle the girls in the dangerous world of spies, diplomacy, and war. After accidentally setting her father’s stables on fire while performing a scientific experiment, Miss Georgiana Fitzwilliam is sent to Stranje House. But Georgie has no intention of being turned into a simpering, pudding-headed, marriageable miss. She plans to escape as soon as possible—until she meets Lord Sebastian Wyatt. Thrust together in a desperate mission to invent a new invisible ink for the English war effort, Georgie and Sebastian must find a way to work together without losing their heads—or their hearts... About the Author: Award-winning author, Kathleen Baldwin, loves adventure in books and in real life. She taught rock climbing in the Rockies, survival camped in the desert, was stalked by a mountain lion, lost an argument with a rattlesnake, enjoyed way too many classes in college, fell in love at least a dozen times, and married her very own hero. Together they’ve raised four free-spirited adventurous children. SCHOOL FOR UNUSUAL GIRLS is her first historical romance for Young Adults. Awarded 2016 Spirit of Texas, it is also a Junior Library Guild selection. Publisher’s Lunch listed it in 2015 YA BookBuzz. Scholastic licensed it for book fairs. Ian Bryce, producer of Spiderman, Saving Private Ryan, and other notable films optioned the series for film. #1 New York Times bestselling author Meg Cabot calls Kathleen’s romantic Regency adventure, “completely original and totally engrossing.” Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Pinterest | Goodreads Giveaway: 1 winner will receive a finished copy of HARBOR FOR THE NIGHTINGALE. US Only. a Rafflecopter giveaway Tour Schedule: Week One: 9/23/2019- Caffeine & Composition- Excerpt 9/24/2019- Dazzled by Books- Excerpt 9/25/2019- Two Chicks on Books- Excerpt 9/26/2019- Wishful Endings- Review 9/27/2019- Fire and Ice- Review Week Two: 9/30/2019- Don't Judge, Read- Interview 10/1/2019- Smada's Book Smack- Review 10/2/2019- Lisa Loves Literature- Review 10/3/2019- Book Briefs- Review 10/4/2019- BookHounds YA- Interview

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