#very few people take notice of this fact in her bio and I’m quite devastated

[deadshadowcreature]

Childish mother of three

[emerald-chaos]

Already Gone

**gif not mine, credit to the owner below!!**

Oh hohohohoho besties. You are in for it on this one. The other night I had an idea that popped into my head and to say I got carried away with it would be a gross understatement. This is the first time I've written smut in forever so bear with me as I get back in to it. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, please feel free to send feedback!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k (oops)

Warnings: Smut, 18+ (MINORS DNI), language, ANGST (holy shit is there angst), fingering, unprotected sex (please be smarter than these two), infidelity, and I think that's about it? Please let me know if I left something off.

A/N: Thanks to my sweet, sweet friend who read through this for me and helped me fix a few things. Also I take the, MINORS DNI, warning very seriously, so please only interact if you are of age. Please have your age in your bio so I can confirm. By clicking "read more" you agree to this. I really don't want to have to block people.

The cacophonous trill of shattering glass erupted through the space. Raised voices, thick with rage, echoed off the walls. It was difficult to tell which words were coming from which mouth, the both of you overlapping as you spewed out hatred toward one another.

“What in God’s name is going on here?!” Steve shouted as he entered the room, coming back from a late night run at the most inopportune time.

“Stay the fuck out of it!” Your two voices shrilled together as you both pointed toward Steve.

You could feel your chest heaving and it almost felt as though you were foaming at the mouth. Rage was completely consuming every crevice of your body and spilling out into your actions and your words. You turned back to the object of your aggression and watched as he ran a hand through his hair and turned to walk away from you.

“You’re nothing but a coward, James Barnes. A goddamn selfish, son-of-a-bitch, coward!” You screamed with every ounce of energy you had left in your body.

The two of you had some knock-down drag-outs in your past, but it was nothing compared to this. Months of pent up feelings, insecurities, jealousies, and secrets were all coming to a head at this very moment. The last few months the two of you had been incredibly short with one another - a stark contrast from your usual loving tone. Passionate kisses became brief pecks to the cheek, midnight roaming hands became backs set to one another, and ‘i love you’s’ felt more like a habit than a genuine feeling. In your heart you feared it would come to this one day. No matter how hard you tried, how much you wanted to, you were never going to be able to fix what had been done to the man you loved. There was no amount of love in the world that could reverse the tragedy of the Winter Soldier - at least that’s what you were convinced of now.

The man in front of you turned and strode across the room, minimizing the space between the two of you. His metal hand in a fist as he brought it up to jab a finger into the middle of your chest. Pupils were blown wide, what was once a lustful look was now filled with only pure anger. As he opened his mouth to speak, spit flew into your face.

“And you are a self-righteous, ignorant, self-important bitch!”

As your eyes raked over the contorted facial features of the man standing in front of you, you realized you couldn’t recognize them. The man standing in front of you was not Bucky. It was not the man who twirled a strand of your hair when he sat with his arm behind your chair, not the man who pulled over the car to help a turtle cross the road, and definitely not the man who held you in his arms as he cried after a nightmare. The man standing in front of you was a frightening enigma of hatred and rage. This was not your Bucky. In fact, you were almost certain you lost your Bucky months ago.

* * *

You hadn’t noticed the bouncing of your knee until the man who sat beside you gently cupped it with his hand, stilling your nervous movements. It was enough to break you from your thoughts as you turned your head to meet his kind eyes.

“We don’t have to do this, you know. I’ll have them turn the car around and we’ll go back to the airport. We catch the next flight back home.” He whispered in reassurance. Even though your mind was anxiously racing, you couldn’t help but smile at the compassionate gesture.

“Of course we do,” you started, cupping his cheek with your hand as the sunlight glinted off your pristine wedding ring, “Tony was one of the most important people in my life. Plus, I’m pretty sure he would haunt me if I didn’t go to his funeral.”

8 years ago you promised yourself in the taxi ride to the airport that you would never step foot in this place again. That all changed when you got the news of Tony’s death. Your time working with the Avengers was a life-changing experience and it was all thanks to Tony. The memory of him seeking you out to work alongside Dr. Banner in the research lab was one that you could never forget. Tony was an arrogant, pompous asshole but he was undeniably a good man. You would curse yourself for the rest of your days if you let your own baggage get in the way of that.

“Alright,” your husband responded with a sigh as he squeezed your knee, “But please, promise you’ll tell me if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Promise.” An agreement that you sealed with a kiss.

Mike was a good man, he was someone who cared for you deeply and who made you feel safe. After your transfer to the DC Shield Office, you had sworn off any more office romances. Those never ended well. That was until your path crossed with Mike. From the beginning of the relationship, you were upfront about your past issues with relationships and how you weren’t ready to dive into anything and he simply stated that he was okay with that, that he would wait.

The marriage was a happy one, Mike always playing the role of doting, caring husband. No matter how much you pushed back against him, he was always willing to give you space and to let you feel what you were experiencing. Mike was a good man. But he wasn’t him.

Your gaze left his as your eyes returned to the skyline, the familiar pressure clawing its way back to your chest. It’d been 8 years since you saw him. 8 years since you packed your bags and left the only home you’d ever truly known. Sure, you had this new life - a new husband, new friends, new job with similar duties, but there was still a piece of you that was missing. A piece you knew could never possibly be filled again. You had come to terms with that, slowly, but it had happened eventually. Now that you were back, you knew you were going to have to see him again - see all of them again. While a lot of good memories resided within this area, there was a hell of a lot of pain that went along with it. All you could do in that moment was remind yourself that you were here for Tony - to honor his memory and pay your respects. You didn’t owe anything else to anyone else. Something in your chest, however, told you that wouldn’t be the way things played out.

* * *

The service was beautifully executed. It was obvious that Pepper had poured her heart and soul into ensuring that Tony Stark was remembered as he should have been. The walls of your heart tightened as you saw Pepper clutching their young daughter to her side. Although Tony had made a lot of mistakes in his life, he spent his last years making sure to do good and to make things right. While it felt like a hot knife had been stabbed into your chest as you said goodbye to a once dear friend, you took solace in knowing that Tony was so loved by so many. That his legacy would live on in so many different ways. And that Pepper was there to say goodbye.

It had been your plan to attend the service and then leave immediately after it had ended. Of course, life has a funny way of never doing quite what we want it to.

It was Sam who stopped you first, pulling you into a tight hug against his form as your fingers gripped his jacket. Sam, being the angel he was, never once mentioned anything from the past and instead expressed his happiness with seeing you again and learning that you were doing well. The one thing Sam was not good at however, was keeping his mouth shut. Word quickly traveled through the crowd of your attendance and one by one old friends began to find you. Wanda didn’t have much to say but kept you in a grateful embrace while you expressed your condolences for Vision. In a shocking turn of events, It was actually Peter who was the most difficult to see. The once bright, happy-go-lucky, smiling boy was visibly devastated - heavy dark bags lingered under his eyes and his glow had been severely dimmed by the loss of his mentor. You couldn’t help but cry as you held him in your arms, expressing to him how proud of him Tony was and how he’d told you just that on several occasions.

After the hellos, the hugs, and the reminiscing you had told yourself that was it, that you were going to leave. It was then that Pepper stopped you with a soft hand on your shoulder, a kind smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and a warm embrace. After a pause of silence, she pulled away and invited you and Mike to stay for the gathering that had been planned following the service. Your mind screamed at you, begging you to politely decline - tell her you had to get back to DC, that you had a flight already booked that you couldn’t miss, that you had important business to get back to.

“Of course, Pepper. We’d love to.”

* * *

The gathering was exactly what Tony would have wanted. It was family and friends gathered around eating and drinking, but most of all - it was a bunch of people talking about Tony Stark.

You told Mike before the two of you arrived that you would stay for 20 minutes tops. That it simply would be out of respect for Pepper and once you felt your presence had been noted that the two of you would slip out unnoticed in the sea of people.

That was 2 hours ago.

Laughs came easy, tears flowed frequently, and stories were shared amongst friends. Surprising to you, it felt good to be around these people again. A familiar pang of home would hit you every now and again as you reconnected with those who you hadn’t seen in years. You introduced Mike to your old friends, who welcomed him warmly and with open arms. What you had thought would be a stressful, gut-wrenching day had actually turned out to be a joyful celebration of life. The day had been progressing smoothly and you wanted to chastise yourself for being so pessimistic.

That was, until you saw him.

Hands stuffed into the pockets of a black bomber jacket, long chestnut hair falling onto his shoulders, and a familiar collection of facial hair decorating the lower half of his face. He looked as terrible as you felt at the beginning of the day. Dark circles had only grown more prominent beneath his beautiful blue eyes and the corners of his lips were drawn down in a permanent frown. You couldn’t help but notice that he’d lost a considerable amount of weight. The once broad, thick man was now far more lean and toned than you ever remember him being.

A breath caught in your throat as the cerulean eyes met yours. Unable to stop yourself, you shoved your drink into Mike’s chest and hurried off to the nearest bathroom. Barely making it in time, you emptied your day’s stomach contents into the toilet. Breathing heavily, you fought back sobs as they threatened to leave your throat. To anyone else, it may seem you were simply grieving the loss of your friend, perhaps taking it harder than most. Oh how you wish that were the case.

You knew it would be difficult to see him again, but you didn’t expect it to feel as though someone had set your entire body ablaze. The heavy feeling of grief, anxiety, and stress from the beginning of the day was crushing your lungs, your stomach still trying to lurch although it had nothing left to give up, and tears burned the rims of your eyes. As you cleaned yourself up and flushed the toilet, you exited the stall to wash your hands and rinse your mouth. You tried to convince yourself it was the entire day's worth of emotions that had led you to this moment. That man no longer had this kind of hold on you - you had moved on. Or, so you thought.

Slowly, your gaze met your reflection in the mirror. The woman there looked worn and tired, like she had been fighting a raging war that she had been losing miserably. Mascara had begun to run down the apples of her cheeks and lipstick was smeared across her mouth. A heavy sigh left your lips as you did your best to make yourself more presentable. A shaky hand entered your clutch as you retrieved your lipstick and applied another layer. You gave yourself a final once-over and decided that your current appearance was as good as it was going to get. Just as you were going to turn around and return to the party there was movement in the mirror that caught your eye. The door was being pushed open from the outside. You turned to protest, to let the intruder know that the bathroom was occupied.

“Excuse me, sorry, there’s someone--”

It felt as though all the air had been taken from your lungs and your heart threatened to beat out of your chest as you came face to face with the man you had tried so hard, for so long, to forget. It was as though you were frozen in time, as if he were Medusa - turning you instantly to stone. Logically, the thing to do would be to tell him to get out or for you to leave the bathroom so that he could occupy the space alone. However, all you could do was stand and watch as he closed the bathroom door behind him, as his fingers closed around the lock and clicked it into place.

Then it was just the two of you. Bodies unmoving, aside from the rapid rise and fall of your chests in tandem. The air felt 100 degrees warmer than it had when you were alone. The silence, paired with the thump of your heartbeat, was deafening to your ears. You were hyper-aware of his gaze as he studied you the way you had him not minutes before. His eyes finally met yours once more and there was a poignant silence before he finally spoke.

“Can’t believe you still have that dress.”

Your eyes blinked a few times, brain trying to process his words and the situation you had currently found yourself to be in. You looked down to the front of your dress and smoothed your hands down it. How could you have gone the whole day without realizing that the dress you were wearing had been a gift from Bucky on your first anniversary? You were positive you had rid yourself of anything even remotely related to him. In fact, you distinctly recall dumping a box of momentos into a barrel and tossing a lit match inside. You don’t remember making the conscious decision to keep the dress, or why you would have made the decision. Now here you were - mere feet away from the man who had put it on and so delicately took it off of you many times.

“S’perfectly good dress. Shouldn’t go to waste.” Was all you could muster as a response in that moment.

The man before you took a step forward and you took a step back, hips coming into contact with the cold marble counter of the sink.

“Thought I’d never see you again. Y’look...different.” His gaze roaming its way down your body once more.

As his eyes landed on the diamond ring nestled onto the 4th finger of your left hand, you felt a lump begin to form in your throat.

“Congratulations.” His words were cold. Inauthentic. “He’s a lucky guy.”

“What the fuck are you doing in here, James?” The words were supposed to be sharp, but instead came out shaky and insecure.

“Saw you out there, starin’ at me. Guess I just wanted a closer look at you.”

By the end of the sentence he had closed the gap between the two of you even more, chests threatening to bump one another. His metal hand slowly reached forward and brushed a piece of hair off your shoulder. The cool appendage felt like fire against your skin and you know he heard the way you sharply inhaled, but you just couldn’t help it. You swallowed hard, head reeling and knees trying to buckle beneath you when you felt his cool palm cup your fiery cheek. It took everything in your body to avert your eyes from him, especially when you felt him even closer than before - warm breath fanning the expanse of your face. Why was he doing this? What was he going to accomplish? The fight or flight response in your body was screaming at you to push him away and run, but you didn’t.

“I’ve thought about you every day since you left, sweets. There’s not a moment that passes by where you’re not on my mind.”

Your eyes closed tightly, tears now welling up and spilling over.

“Everything you said about me that night was true. I am a coward. A coward who lost the best fuckin’ thing that ever happened to his sorry, broken ass.”

A small sob escaped your chest as your hand flew to your mouth, failing to keep it from tumbling out. Bucky found a loose thread and was slowly unraveling everything you’d worked toward in the last 8 years, every step toward progress and peace that you had worked so hard to find.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, doll” Bucky was now fully cupping your face with his large, calloused hands, “I’m so sorry that you fell in love with someone like me - a broken son of a bitch who never got put back together. I’m sorry that I hurt you so badly. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you the way I promised I would. I’m sorry that -”

In a moment of weakness, before he could finish his sentence, you were crashing your lips to his. There was nothing else that existed in your world - there was only you and there was only Bucky. Seemingly moving on their own accord, your hands found their way into his hair, grasping wildly for something to hold on to. As your fingers tugged on his roots, Bucky let out a deep moan into the kiss, sending a shiver down your spine.

The kiss was sloppy and desperate, all tongue and teeth. It was a balance of dominance between the two of you - although you were the one who initiated the kiss, Bucky was the first one to gain access to the inside of your mouth, and you were the first to tug his lower lip between your teeth. A pathetic mewl left your lips as Bucky’s mouth began trailing wet kisses across your jaw and down the column of your throat. The heartbeat in your ears from earlier was much worse now, making your head throb in pain. Every nerve ending in your body felt as though it was on fire and a small voice in the back of your head kept pleading with you to stop. For a moment you entertained the idea of shoving him off and telling him to fuck off, but that was before he started sucking that spot on your neck that he knew drove you mad. It was your turn to moan this time as you involuntarily arched your back, pressing yourself up against his firm torso.

You knew the way that you were tugging on the strands of his hair had to be incredibly painful but it only seemed to urge Bucky to continue. A soft gasp tumbled past your lips as you felt Bucky’s thigh push against your aching core. The sensation had you digging your fingernails into the back of his jacket as you finally released your grip on his hair. Before you could stop yourself, you could feel your hips grinding yourself down against his clothed thigh. Your dress had been pushed up around your waist, now only a small piece of cloth covering you as you desperately chased a high.

“I shoulda never let you go. Shoulda been at the airport to stop you before you got on that plane.”

His teeth sunk into your pulse point once more, earning himself another moan from your lips. The sting was soon replaced with the cool sensation of his tongue tracing the marks he had left.

“I love you, doll. I haven’t ever stopped lovin’ you.”

“Show me,” you whimpered pathetically against his shoulder, “show me you love me, Bucky. Please.”

An audible breath caught in his throat as he pulled himself back to look at you. Your chest was heaving, make-up smeared once more, and your pupils were blown wide with lust. You obviously weren’t able to see the look you gave him, but judging by the way he looked back at you it was fair to say you looked broken, pathetic, and desperate for him. The eyes looking back at you had the softness to them that you remember, the strokes of his hands against your body contained the passion that you’d so been longing for, and the tone in his voice told you that he was desperate for you too.

Within seconds your feet were lifted from the ground and your ass made contact with the cold, wet countertop. There wasn’t a lot of room, objects were scattered onto the floor and others were left to push into your hips with aggressive force, but you just didn’t care. It was impossible to care when Bucky moved your knees apart and dragged a finger along your clothed pussy. The sensation made your head fall back against the mirror with a hard thud but you couldn’t feel any of the pain from it at all. The only thing you felt was the way electricity rippled through your body when he used his thumb to apply pressure to your aching clit. Bucky groaned and rested his forehead against yours, lips slightly parted as he felt your need for him growing.

“So wet for me, just like I remember. Lemme make you feel good, sweets, hmm?” He had leaned forward to whisper softly in your ear as his teeth grazed your lobe.

It was you who reached down and shoved your panties down your thighs, meeting a surprised look from Bucky as he helped you drag them down to hang around your ankle. Bucky’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he hooked his hands underneath your knees to spread your legs open for him. Another groan came from him, this time more guttural than the last. You felt small underneath his gaze and the cool air in the bathroom brushing across your soaking core made you shiver.

Your hand flew to your mouth to suppress the noises you made as his finger slipped through your folds, running up and down to collect your wetness.

“More. God. Please, Buck. Need more.” You whined, attempting to roll your hips against his hand to find any form of friction that you could.

“Anything for you, baby.” He whispered as he gently inserted a finger inside of you. The two of you moaned in tandem.

There was a brief moment of embarrassment with the way your walls immediately clenched around his finger and the way his finger immediately found that soft spot. It was shortly replaced with a feeling of ecstasy. Bucky captured your lips with his to swallow your moans as he added another finger. The way his fingers were curling and pumping inside of you already had you close to the edge. Bucky pulled back and held your gaze as he added pressure to your clit with his thumb, circling the area as his fingers continued to repeatedly hit that spot inside of you.

“Please, please don’t stop.” You begged as you felt the pressure building within the lower part of your body.

“S’okay. I’m right here.” Bucky’s other hand was cradling the back of your head as he whispered to you. “I know you’re close. Can feel you squeezin’ me. You can let go for me, I got you.”

As your eyes met his, foreheads pressed together, you finally came apart. The white hot sensation tears through you as your legs quake. You squeeze your eyes shut and allow Bucky to help you ride through your orgasm as he peppers light kisses along your neck.

“I almost forgot how pretty you look when you cum.”

You whine at the emptiness and loss of contact when Bucky removes his fingers from your center. As your eyes flutter open you see him push the fingers into his mouth and suck them clean. The look on his face was euphoric.

“God. Almost forgot how fuckin’ sweet you taste too.”

Mustering up all the strength you had, you sat up and pulled him closer by his belt. The two of you worked together to rid him of his pants and boxers. Your hand wrapped around him, thumb swiping the red tip and using the pre-cum to help lubricate as you pumped your hand down his length. Bucky’s jaw clenched as he moaned at the sensation. Just as you were going to leave the counter, you felt his hands grabbing your shoulders and halting your movements.

“Maybe a different time, sweets. But right now I gotta be inside you.”

You caught your bottom lip as you nodded and released your hold on him. Bucky’s hands wrapped around your thighs as he pulled your hips to the edge of the sink. The metal hand left your thigh as he grabbed himself at the base and pushed his length through your folds. The two of you once more shared a moan at the sensation. As he lined himself up with your entrance, your hands wrapped around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. The next thing you felt was the familiar sting of his cock stretching your walls as he slid into you. Your lips left his and your forehead found itself pressed against his once more. Both of you panting heavily as neither of you dared to speak a word.

Following a moment of silence, allowing your body time to stretch to accommodate him, you nodded slowly as to signal to him that it would be okay for him to move. His thrusts were slow and calculated at first, as if he was attempting to regain his memory of your body - one that he once knew so well. You couldn’t help but dig your fingernails into his shoulder as you held on to him for dear life, subconsciously afraid that if you were to let go of him he’d be gone again forever.

“Faster, Bucky. Please.” You whimpered into his ear as you took his earlobe between your teeth and nibbled softly.

A low growl left his chest as he grabbed your hips and lifted you off the counter, moving slightly so that he could cage your body against the wall. You wrapped your legs firmly around his waist, locking them at the ankle. His thrusts became faster, deeper, and it was apparent he had gained his confidence back.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Just the way I remember.” He grunted as he dug his fingers harder into your hips.

His lips were on yours again, this time tears were starting to decorate the corners of your eyes. The pleasure, the regret, the passion, the guilt - every feeling was building up along with your orgasm. Bucky pulled away from the kiss to tap on your bottom lip with two of his fingers, which you greedily accepted into your mouth. Your tongue swirled around his digits until he pulled them out and used them to circle your clit. The added pleasure was almost too much to handle.

“C’mon, baby. Wanna cum with you. Can you do that for me, huh?” Bucky whimpered, his thrusts beginning to falter from the calculated snaps he was giving you before.

All you could do was nod your head quickly as the pressure steadily increased, bringing you to the brink of your second orgasm.

“I love you. I love you. I love you so fuckin’ much, oh my god.” Bucky grunted as the two of you reached your peak together.

You leaned forward to bite down on his shoulder and suppress the scream that left your mouth as pleasure erupted through your body. The two of you assisted each other through the high of your release and you felt your ass make contact with the cool countertop once more.

The only noise present in the space was your heavy breathing and a small dripping noise that came from the sink. Bucky’s final words before he came replayed in your head over and over again as you attempted to slow your breathing and bring yourself back down to earth. Your body shuttered slightly as Bucky slipped himself out of you. As you sat up, you noticed he was looking around the bathroom.

“Shit, sweets. I don’t think there’s anything I can use to help clean you up.” He sighed and turned to meet your gaze that was locked upon him.

“It’s fine, Buck. Not a big deal.”

Bucky bent over and helped you pull your panties back on before he redressed himself. Neither of you spoke for what felt like eternity.

“I-...” You muttered finally, “I love you too, Buck. I thought I was over you, I thought I moved on but...I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop loving you no matter how hard I try.”

Bucky reached out to stroke your cheek with the back of his hand as he listened to you lament to him. His eyes were soft and caring and you could almost swear he was looking into the depths of your soul.

“I think —“

Your conversation was cut short by the sound of knocking at the bathroom door.

“Hey, are you okay in there? Do you need anything?” Mike’s voice had your entire body flooded with the shame of your infidelity. In one swift movement, you were on the floor and turning the sink on to make it appear you were just washing your hands.

“Y-yeah I’m fine! Just finishing up! I’ll find you out there in a minute!” You squeaked.

Mike seemed to pause for a moment before you heard his footsteps retreat from the bathroom door. A wave of relief washed over you, but it was only temporary. As soon as you were relaxed the gravity of the situation you were in was clouding you once more.

“I have to go. I can’t give him any reason to think he needs to come in here.” Bucky nodded, eyes not leaving yours as you spoke while collecting yourself, “but we need to..we should..we have to address this. Later.”

“I agree.”

“Our flight leaves tomorrow night. I’ll...see what I can come up with as far as an excuse. Then we can put this to bed for good.”

“Absolutely, sweets.”

The nickname made your knees buckle once more as you sighed.

“Goodbye, James.”

You finally tore your eyes from his as you unlocked the door and slipped out of the bathroom. In reality, however, you knew this really wasn’t goodbye. Not even close.

[songsofacagedbird]

Hello, I’m Katie, this is my sunshine daughter Balo, and you’re watching Disney Channel! Jokes aside though, I’m so excited to bring Balo back and while not much has changed (truly this is nothing more than a continuation where I only omit plots my partner doesn’t want to revive), have a new intro / bio anyway because... I felt like it ok.  I’ll be good and not ramble too ungodly long though so without further ado - another one of my excessively long intro posts:

TWs: Child Abuse / Abuse, Alcoholism (not Balo’s, but her dad’s), Eating Disorders (anorexia nervosa)

Is that BALIAN “BALO” DRISKELL? Wow, they do look a lot like CANDICE SWANEPOEL. I hear SHE is/are a SEVENTEEN year old JUNIOR who originally attended LUXOR Academy. Word is they are a(n) REGULAR student. You should watch out because they can be NAIVE and SENSITIVE, but on the bright side they can also be OPTIMISTIC and BUBBLY. Ultimately, you’ll get to see it all for yourself.  [KATIE, 23, EST, SHE/HERS]

Last Edit: 8/26/2020

★ basics;

Full Name: Balian “Balo” Grace Driskell Age: 17 Birthday: February 7th, 2003 at 08:06 am Sexual Orientation:  Balo really doesn’t label it (although I like to say bisexual, biromanitc to make my own life easier), she always just falls for who she falls for regardless of gender. If you ask her exactly, she’d probably say MOGAI though. Relationship Status: Kinda dating Caitriona but it’s unofficial Occupation: Student Nationality: American

★ classes;

Communications

French

Geometry

U.S. History

Fashion design

Visual Art

Pilates

★ extracurriculars;

Arts Club (Member)

Balo also used to be a Cheerleader (Flyer) and part of the Gymnastics team but due to her leaving / concerns about her health, she was required to step down, much to her devastation.

★ background;

Place of Birth: Rochester, New York Hometown: Saratoga Springs, New York Health Issues: Eating Disorder (Anexoria) Traumas: Abuse (Constant/Ongoing - from her father)

★ physical;

Faceclaim: Candice Swanepoel Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Blonde Height: 5′11” -- not at fc height because I don’t wanna change her height with the new fc Weight: 120 lbs - give or take Tattoos, Birthmarks, Scars, etc: Nothing I find a need to link at the moment.

★  zodiac;

Tropical

Sun: Aquarius Moon: Aries Mercury: Capricorn Venus: Capricorn Mars: Sagittarius Jupiter: Leo Saturn: Gemini Uranus:   Aquarius Neptune: Aquarius Pluto: Sagittarius Lilith: Aries N Node: Gemini

Placidus Orb

I ASC: Pisces II: Aries III: Taurus IV: Gemini V: Cancer VI: Leo VII: Virgo VIII:  Libra IX: Scorpio X MC: Sagittarius XI: Capricorn XII: Aquarius

★ relatives;

Father’s Full Name: Lance Driskell Father’s Status: Alive Father’s Occupation: Restaurant Owner Mother’s Full Name: Cassandra “Cassidy” Driskell Mother’s Status: Alive Mother’s Occupation: Waitress at a local diner (not Lance’s place) Siblings: 1 older sister and 2 older brothers

Driskell Children Oldest to Youngest:

Ivan Marsden (22, attending school in England)

Grace Driskell (19, in California for school)

Zander Driskell (LINK TO HIS INTRO)

Balo Driskell

Here is a link to the Driskell family page if you’d like to know more about her family.

★ misc;

Hobbies and Talents: Balo’s a sketch artist and painter who tends to focus on realism, in particular realistic humans and animals. It’s her true passion and I have an inspo section for her sketchbook here! She’s also quite flexible and skilled at gymnastics, part of why it’s bothering her she can’t participate currently because she loves it and she’s good at it - making her removal from the team eat at her even more.

Pinterest Section  // Musings Tag // Playlist

- Balo’s kind of a literal ray of sunshine who believes (almost) everyone is truly good at heart. While she tries to see the best in everyone, no matter what, she truly can’t see it in her father, a fact she feels extremely guilty over it. - She loves art, sketching and painting especially, and she always dreamed of being some sort of artist. While her mother encouraged it every chance she got, her father is truly a different story. - Balo is very easy to manipulate and I encourage it constantly. - She truly just wants to love and befriend everyone, while it’s not really too hard to make her cry, usually you’ll see Balo running around with a smile trying to brighten everyone’s day. This is an issue because she’ll put everyone around her before herself every time, your happiness is a priority before hers. Again, making her easy to manipulate. (So I welcome manipulating Balo and love it when it occurs, please feel free to do so at any point) - Her best friend / favorite person in the entire world at this point is Logan Keller, mention him only if you really wanna see this girl light up like a 4th of July fireworks show. (They’re still in touch, for those of you who remember him from when Jia was playing him here!) - Balo recently got out of extensive inpatient for her eating disorder so while she’s doing a lot better, she’s really doesn’t want it to be the main topic of conversation either. She's okay and back at Luxor and she feels that’s the most important thing at the end of the day.

★ bio; TWs: Child Abuse / Abuse, Alcoholism, Eating Disorders (anoxeria, weight loss, and complications from both)

“'Cause I know that nothing good comes easy, if it did, I wouldn't be me.”

If there was one quote that fit Balo Driskell’s life to a t, that would be it. Nothing was truly easy in the Driskell’s home, she was the youngest of three children - an amount that her mother never wanted to have, and would do whatever it took to stay at after this point. Anytime her father walked in after work, the stench of alcohol clung to. She could smell it on her breath every time he yelled, each time he threw things, anytime he hit her. One could have easily convinced the young girl that all families were like this, that everyone covered up bruises and pretended they were much happier than they actually were if it wasn’t for her mother.

Perhaps Casandra Driskell never wanted her children, but she loved them with her entire heart. She’d sneak her children money, things they weren’t allowed to have - guitars, paints, canvases, sheet-music, legos, and whatever else her father deemed banning fit at a moment's notice. She wasn’t always around, working a job at the local diner, but when she was she did everything in her power to protect her children. It was never enough, though.

Lance Driskell still hurt his children close to daily, whether it was smashing Grace’s guitar over her head the moment he found it, pulling Balo down the stairs by her hair, or lashing Zander with his belt - there were quite a few times where a Driskell had to go the hospital and the family had to lie through their teeth to keep people from looking too closely at them at their mother’s urging. If it was investigated the three children would be separated, they would lose their mother, or at least that’s what they were told - and none of them wanted that. It became common for one child to intervene for another if they could, Zander especially taking the brunt of the punishments for his sisters.

It was part of loving someone in the Driskell home, trying to keep everyone else safe no matter the cost it had on you.

Her childhood wasn’t all bad, however, there were quite a few silver-linings in the dark cloud called the Driskell home. She had a close friendship with her siblings and her mother, and she has plenty of fond memories with them. Christmas was always peaceful, as her father always took that shift at his restaurant and refused to celebrate the holiday with them - a time where he couldn’t taint the joy inside of the Driskell home. She could paint when her father wouldn’t catch her in the act, something she loved doing (and she still does every chance she gets), and she had Logan. Logan Keller was her next-door neighbor and her best friend. If you saw one of them, the other probably wasn’t too far behind. In many ways, he was her person - someone she felt like she could go to with nearly anything (she could never discuss home with him at this point, of course, but everything else she could and she did). 

And then the Driskells moved away and it was like the world was ripped out from under her feet - leaving her spiraling and looking for some sort of control. Her new friend didn’t help matters much either, constantly encouraging her to “shed the weight” they swore she gained. She soon found this sense of “control” in the form of her eating disorder, careful attempts to keep herself as thin as she could, of restricting her food every chance she could.  It wasn’t healthy, far from it, but it fulfilled the desire to have some semblance of control over her life.

Sending the children to Luxor had been an easy decision for Cassandra the second the children were able to attend, a way to ship them off to safety while not being too far away from home. While it pained her a first to be away from her mother, eventually she began to understand. She was safe while at school, and at the end of the day, that was what mattered the most to her mother, right? It wasn’t hard to get into the flow of life at the school, staying at school and only coming home for the breaks that the school refused to keep students during. It broke her heart when Lance shipped Ivan to England and told him not to come home (a thought that still pains her to this day), after the boy served his use, and it only grew harder when Grace graduated and moved to California. But she was happy at Luxor, in spite of everything.

And in a way, her love for the school only grew after the merge. Now there were twice as many people to befriend and support, and in the process, she realized something she had been missing had been under her nose for a while. Logan was attending school at Luxor too, and all of a sudden, she had her person in her life again. At the time she felt on top of the world, regardless of the circle beginning to stir up issues.

And then, suddenly, she was knocked right back down to the ground.

First Logan was kidnapped and forced to deliver the message, and then he was forced to go home for personal reasons. The support she had so quickly grown used to having was seemingly being ripped out from her yet again. While he was still in touch, continuing to be her rock, her eating disorder only continued to spiral out of control. And no matter how much she tried to pretend she was fine, it was getting to the point there was no way to really do so. Balo was sick, and now everyone could tell. It was concern from her teachers that helped fuel the chain of events that resulted in getting her help, no matter how much she tried to assure everyone she didn’t need inpatient therapy and that doing outpatient would be fine. After several months of inpatient followed by a bout of “readjustment to the real world” time at home, she’s back at Luxor and as sunshine-y as ever.

TLDR / quick important notes bio recap for rereads: - Balo’s home life is far from perfect. Her father, Lance - is an abusive alcoholic, and while her mother tried her best to protect her children - she also covered things up without hesitation. It wasn’t uncommon to see a Driskell in the ER with a lie and people willing to back up the story. - The lack of control in her life is what led to her eating disorder, in hopes of regaining a (false) sense of control. - She’s been attending Luxor since freshman year, although she recently had to leave for a few months to attend extensive inpatient treatment. And now she’s back to her normal sunshine-esc antics, trying to love everyone, feeding all the strays at Luxor, and trying to spread smiles everywhere she goes.

★ wanted connections;

Friendships

Someone to manipulate her, please I beg you

Um, pretty much anything? She likes everyone cause if you do something to hurt her she does mental gymnastics to come to the conclusion you are a good person and it was an unintended side effect so...yeah. Doesn’t mean your muses have to like her though (I have a lot of fun when they don’t actually, so… don’t worry about hurting the sunshine daughter. Okay?)

Anyone who knows her from the gymnastics and/or cheer teams, as she was on the teams through Freshmen & Sophomore years, and until October of her junior year.

[atimefordragons]

IN THE NAME OF THE MOON, I SHALL PUNISH YOU! || EHS

☾♔; May 19, 2020 ☾♔; 2:19am ☾♔; sotd: Man of the World (Takanashi Yasuharu) ☾♔; cotd: Kuruma ☾♔; Elite Highschool ☾♔; Audition

𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: Sailor Moon, the Champion of Justice!

𝐀 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 (𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎): Finally done, I'm soz for taking so long! I've just been Narutoing. He's my boy, dattebayo!  

☆──════ ⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆ ════──☆

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒

➤TITLE: S̶p̶o̶r̶t̶y̶ ̶S̶p̶i̶c̶e̶  The Sports Star ➤OC NAME: Katarina Văduva ➤AGE: 16   ➤BIRTHPLACE: Brăila, Romania ➤BIRTHDAY: December 31 ➤FACE CLAIM: Bruna Marquezine ➤USERNAME: @.dracarysbitch

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

➤LIKES: football (soccer, not the american one), eurovision (obvs), tennis, volleyball, basketball, ice hockey, figure skating, anime, manga (loves shoujo, but would rather die than admit it), a song of ice and fire (of course), russian literature (tolstoy is a fav ofc), winter, blizards, snowstorms, fresh snow, sweet foods, video games (dragon age, assassin's creed, the witcher, until dawn, pokemon), sailor moon, pink, blue, stitch, disney (sleeping beauty is her fave, even though she doesn't really match her personality, it's more that her parents gave her away for her safety, and Kat used to imagine it was the same for herself when she was a kid), space, faberge eggs, sanrio (her favourites are Kuromi and Pandausa)

➤DISLIKES: sasuke uchiha (fucking bitch), supercilious people, the lodge (lol, grow up you fucking losers), shows that go on forever and never end (please, please just end), shows that have shit endings, game of thrones (fucking dumbfucks), americans, right-wing politics (it's so stupid, just grow a heart), religion (what a scam), being alone (either physically or with her thoughts, let's bury that shit), losing, being wrong, having to concede any ground on any matter whatsoever, not knowing things

➤HOBBIES: anything that is physical (fucking jocks, amirite?), she's loves going for jogs (can't relate - secretly naruto runs during night time jogs 'cause no one can see her being lame), and playing streetball, etc. watching anime, reading manga, ranting on the interwebs about her shows and books (in general she avoids the bigger internet drama 'cause it's stupid, but sometimes you gotta put a bitch in their place, 'CAUSE DAENERYS IS THE PRINCE THAT WAS PROMISED, FUCK YOU!), watching reruns of pro-games (can't relate, so boring)  

➤STRENGTHS: determined, perseverant (is that even a word?), passionate, relentless, protective, observant, straightforward (usually ends up insulting people though, so it's more of a weakness tbh), goal-oriented, independent, self-reliant, has enough self-awareness to not go off on weeb/otaku interests in front of most people, but if it's like a "smart" anime, she'll discuss it (like Death Note, she's not gonna fucking admit to still loving Naruto at this age, shut up), diligent, loyal, a bad bitch (lol, not so much, but she likes being perceived as a strong girl who can and will stab you with her stiletto. the image only lasts for a few seconds, she more just comes off as rude).

➤WEAKNESSES: stubborn, very blunt, which tends to come off as brash and rude, though she's not always intending to be mean, despite that rude, blunt nature, she's also a bit tsundere, and struggles admitting her to deeper feelings. Gets flustered when complimented (outside of sports, there she's fine 'cause I'm the best bitches, or so she says), and she just can't admit it when she needs someone, whether it be a friend or romantic interest, especially if it's a romantic interest, 'cause she's also of the mind of who needs a boyfriend when there's food? while she's observant when it comes to changes in people's behaviour, she in general lacks the capacity to act well on her observations, and is awkward when trying to comfort someone or cheer them up. When it comes to her own feels, part from rage, annoyance, or "Jock Mode", she can barely admit to them, let alone discuss them with other. Speaking of "Jock Mode", she is competitive AF, somewhat dismissive (this usually only comes out in games, but she tends to ignore weaker opponents in search of stronger ones who pose a challenge). Also tends to display some arrogance in the sports she's most talented it, particularly volleyball. It's not quite a personality flaw, but she's weak for loving parents, or just a loving family in general (in life and when watching movies, it makes her fucking cry every time, which really puts a damper on her tough girl image, it's not usually a visible one, but she can't hide the longing in her face when she watches a parent and their child being a normal, happy family). Definitely has tunnel-vision, once she has a goal in sight, that's all she sees. Can even be paired down to dumb things, like C-grade trashy alien movies. She tends to notice only the aliens and revel in their destruction, while ignoring everything else, including the plot. Has plenty of issues; abandonment, trust, ptsd - none of which she is dealing with. She's just ignoring it and hopes it goes away once she becomes a cool, reliable adult™️ (lol, good luck that, adult life is a lie).

𝐁𝐈𝐎

➤SHORT BIO: Katarina is half-Brazillian, half-Russian, though she is under the assumption that she is Romanian, she is biological the daughter of Vasily Raevsky, a Russian Oligarch, and Xuxa Amalia Reis Moreno, a Brazilian businesswoman and all round bad bitch. For reasons unknown to her, Katarina was in effect abandoned at birth and placed in a Romanian orphanage in Brăila, which is also presumed to be her birthplace. Her birth certificate lists both parents as unknown, the orphanage named her. Having no parents or known family, and raised in an orphanage has given Kat many self-reliant skills, and allows her to live independently, but it has also left her with a deep sense of loneliness (not to mention PTSD 'cause Romanian Orphan life is a nightmare). She recognizes that much of her yearning is still childish fantasy, and often covers up that desire with her brash nature or jock hobbies.

Growing up in the orphanage was... not easy. The Brăila Home for Children was not the best, to say the least. Though it could've been worse (*shudders at the case of the Sighetu Marmației institution for disabled children* - do better Romania, oh my god). The orphanage was under and poorly staffed. They would often neglect and abuse the children, one year shaving every childs head so they all looked the same, and often chaining rowdy children to their beds. During Katarina's time, many of her fellow orphans died from minor illness or injuries such as cataracts or anemia, which were treated poorly or simply ignored, and a number also starved to death. Because of this, Katarina has a habit of hoarding food, and keeping snacks under her pillow. She also has difficulty sharing, and despises headboards that are railed(? the ones with gaps, idk what to call them).

When she was around eleven, the orphanage received ample anonymous donations, leading to much improvement, and the arrival of a new Director, Ileana Cojocaru, who, over time, earned the trust of Kat and her fellow orphans, and became something of a surrogate mother. Ileana did a nearly complete staff overturn (fun side note, some of the staff, especially those who harmed Kat have gone missing in the past few years, coincidence? no), as well as hiring accomplished childcare professionals from all over the world to help the children. It was Ileana who sparked Kat's, or rather Rina as Ileana called her,  interest in sports, though Ileana was more into football herself, she encourage Kat to explore whatever she wanted, though particularly team sports so that Kat could foster dependent relations. Kat herself particularly enjoyed volleyball, joining a little league team and winning a number of competitions. Due to her skill both in setting and spiking, she usually plays in the Opposite Hitter position.

Katarina entered EHS in Highschool, on what she assumed to be the Elite's scholarship program, arranged by Ileana, who even said as such, though in truth, her entry and tuition are all being handled by an anonymous benefactor. This fact was revealed to Kat last summer after Ileana died (of p̶l̶o̶t̶ ̶d̶i̶s̶e̶a̶s̶e̶ cancer), whose lawyer was put in charge of the bank accounts meant to pay for all of Kat's needs. The lawyer refused to divulge whom the anonymous benefactor is, citing a non-disclosure clause, though the need to discover who has given Kat a whole new mission in life.

➤FAMILY: On Katarina's part, she doesn't believe she has one, though she does consider Ileana to be her family, and has grown to care somewhat about her fellow orphans from the Brăila Home, while growing up they were rivals struggling to survive. Ileana's death devastated her, and she's dealing with it by straight up ignoring it. Lol, I'm not sad, my eyes are just glistening with the ghosts of my past.

Biologically, despite her complete lack of knowledge of it, Kat comes from rather a rather illustrious family. Her mother, Xuxa Amalia Reis Moreno, is a Brazilian Businesswoman, herself the daughter of a self-made millionaire, Xuxa is expanded the Moreno parent company, MC Inc., an oil and mineral company in origin, into numerous side ventures, owning and operating businesses ranging from restaurants to magazines and clothing lines. Her father meanwhile, Vasily Raevsky, is of the (former) noble House of Raevsky, now oligarchs in modern-day Russia, who virtually control Russia's diamond and precious stone industry, currently owning controlling shares of ALROSA, the largest diamond mining company in Russia, and accounting for 95% of the countries diamond production, as well as 27% of the global diamond extraction, and the House of Fabergé, which they purchased after the fall of the Soviet Union. If she remained in the care of either of her parents, her name would technically be Katarina Vasilyevna Moreno Raevskaya, which is a fun and utterly useless fact.

Her parents met at a rich people conference (idk, Davos or some shit like that) and engaged in a short lived affair. Her father was already married and could not accept her, and her mother had no interest in being a mother at all, let alone a single one, leading to them choosing to give her up in Romania, an arbitrary choice that fucked her up, lol.

Via her father, she has an elder brother, Viktor Vasilyevich Raevsky, who is in fact her anonymous benefactor. Viktor discovered her existence after Vasily had an accident and was close to death, so he confessed his sins and what not. Viktor eventually tracked her down and sought to improve her life. Though he wants to bring her into the family, he doesn't for the sake of his mother who cannot deal with the affair, though she refuses to divorce Vasily for appearances sake.

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀

➤MOODBOARD: https://tinyurl.com/y8a2gjy8 ➤SCHOOL WARDROBE/AESTHETICS: https://tinyurl.com/ycodubrb ➤PLAYLIST: https://tinyurl.com/y6wwmp74

➤TOP 3 CHARACTER PICKS: the Sports Star, the Princess, The Rebel(de) <-- lol, see what I did there? I'm so funny.

[ohmytheon]

Can you please do a mashup fic for Izuocha? 7+20+57?

“Florist AU” + “Teacher AU” + “Forgotten First Meeting”. WOW. Now that is one hell of a mash-up. I wasn’t quite too sure what to do for this and then I started watching A.P Bio on Hulu and somehow got inspired even though it has nothing to do with this one-shot. Deku’s got a lot on his plate right now and is kind of a hot mess, but he’s doing His Best. Also, I know nothing about flowers.

Izuku wasn’t quite sure what arrangement of flowers said, “I’m sorry for spilling punch on your experiment, which caused it to explode and sear off part of your eyebrows,” but he had to find something. He felt really bad about the accident. Mei had been devastated at first, considering how long she had been working on it, but when she’d caught sight of their reflections, she’d laughed for five minutes straight.

The whole place had looked like a bomb had gone off, perhaps because it sort of had. The fact that the sprinklers hadn’t gone off were a bit disconcerting and needed to be brought up to the principal. At least they hadn’t burned the school down. He still wasn’t sure what she’d been trying to build – she was known for coming up with some strange machines for her class – but apparently all it had taken was him bumping his hip into the table and spilling his fruit punch on it for the thing to blow up.

Still, he had to find something that would convey his apology, which was how Izuku found himself in the flower shop with only fifteen minutes before school started.

“Can I help you with anything?”

Bent over peering at flowers too closely, Izuku jerked upright and spun around so fast that he almost collided with the florist employee behind him. Luckily, she moved back just at the right time to avoid disaster. Izuku put a hand to the side of his head and let out a sigh of relief. That was a close one. He would’ve had to buy a whole other arrangement of flowers if he’d hit her. Really, he needed to start paying closer attention to what he was doing and where he was going. This whole clumsy deal was getting out of hand.

“Uh, yeah, I needed to buy some flowers for an apology,” Izuku said. The florist stared back at him strangely, her brown eyes wide and her mouth parted slightly. He glanced around, trying to see if anyone else was looking at him like he’d appeared out of thin air, but when he found no one else paying attention to them, he turned back to her. “Er, is everything okay?”

She was the one that was supposed to be helping him, but her silence and surprised expression caught him off guard. Maybe it was just early in the morning so she wasn’t quite awake yet or maybe she’d bumped her head on the glass display case when she’d jumped back to avoid getting hit by him. Either way, she looked out of sorts and out of words.

Izuku’s eyes flickered down to her nametag. “Ochako?”

“Yes?” Ochako blinked and then a pink blush crossed her cheeks. “Oh, right, sorry – flowers! You need flowers… You came in here for flowers.”

“Yeah, I mean, this is a flower shop, right?” Izuku let out a nervous chuckle.

“For an apology,” Ochako continued.

Izuku nodded his head. “Yeah, nothing quite says ‘I am sorry for being an idiot’ like a nice bouquet. Well, besides money, but that seems a bit shallow.”

For some reason, that made her cheeks burn a little more and she ducked her head as she brushed past him to pick out a few flowers. “Man or woman?” Whatever was bothering her, she avoided the topic, choosing to focus on him and his problem.

He didn’t know what else to do, so he went with it, answering, “Woman.”

She nodded her head, but he noticed the way her shoulders tensed up. Wow, she must have been having an off week like him. He felt like he was still trying to nurse that massive hangover from last Saturday morning. That was the last time he went out drinking with Kacchan and Kirishima. Who knew chemistry and physical ed teachers could drink so much?

“Girlfriend, wife?”

“N-no!” Izuku was the one to blush this time. “She’s just a colleague.”

“She’s a teacher too?”

“Yes, she–” Izuku paused and furrowed his brow. “How did you know?”

Ochako tightened her grip on the flowers and gave him a nervous smile. “Oh, uh, your satchel – you’ve got math books and papers sticking out.” Indeed, when she pointed at it and he looked down, he saw that the flap was open and half of his work was hanging out at the top. He really needed to stop overpacking, but he kept finding interesting books that he wanted to get into. Okay, maybe he was as big of a nerd as Kacchan said he was. “So…you came here for flowers to apologize to a colleague? That’s it?”

“Uh, yeah,” Izuku replied, not sure where she was going at. “Do you think I should get something else? I kind of ruined a project of hers on accident.”

“How so?”

“I spilled fruit punch on it and it exploded,” he said, completely straightforward. Ochako put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling, but it didn’t quite work. Still, it confirmed his fears on how ridiculous the whole situation was. “So yes? No? What about chocolates?”

“Not unless you want to hint at romantic overtures,” Ochako told him.

Izuku shook his head. “Gods, no! I mean, don’t get me wrong. She’s brilliant, funny, and attractive – but she’s also not interested in men.” He scratched the back of his head. “To be honest, I’m not sure if she’s interested in people in general. Robotics is kind of solely her thing. Ugh, it’s too early to be thinking about those implications.”

Ochako looked terribly amused as she grinned and replied, “I think I get the picture.” What a relief. He was bumbling through everything this week and it was only Tuesday. Hopefully by the time the school week came to an end, he’d be back on track and he definitely wasn’t going to let any of the other teachers convince him to go out. “Does this look okay?”

Seeing as how he knew nothing about flowers, the arrangement looked perfect to him. It would even match the colors of her classroom. “Looks great, but you’re the expert.” He went up front to pay for the flowers, taking note that he had about five minutes to book it to the school.

Before he walked out the door, Ochako called out, “Try not to spill anymore punch on things that react negatively to it!”

“You’ll see me again if I do,” Izuku responded, hurrying out the door. He ran to his car, jumping in and trying to set the flowers in the passenger seat with both speed and carefulness, and then started to pull out of the parking lot.

That woman in the flower shop had been a little odd, but she’d been really helpful. It was a shame that he’d been in such a rush. He hoped that he hadn’t come off as short or rude. Being a high school teacher while also working on getting his PhD, it didn’t leave Izuku a lot of time to do stuff or go out, much less date, hence why his coworkers hassled him on doing things with them. But she had been kind and pretty. Nice brown eyes, cute pink cheeks, a bright smile and laugh…

That laugh. The way her cheeks bunched up when she smiled.

Holy shit.

Izuku slammed on the breaks at a stop sign, causing the person behind him to honk their horn. He ignored them as he did a u-turn and drove back to the flower shop. How much of an idiot could he be? Seriously, what was wrong with him? Sure, he’d drank a lot that night, having been goaded by the others, but he shouldn’t have forgotten about her. She’d been there too, convinced to come out by her closest friends. They’d sang at least four karaoke songs together, split some food, and even danced – all because he’d bumped into her and spilled her beer on her shirt.

She’d shyly tried to give him her phone number, but both their phones were dead, so she’d written it on a cocktail napkin. He felt around in his pants pocket and pulled out a wad of paper that had been destroyed in the wash. What. An. Idiot.

As soon as he parked, Izuku bolted out of his car and burst into the flower shop. “I remember!” Ochako gasped and nearly dropped a vase of flowers from being startled so bad and he rushed forward to put his hands under it. When he looked up, he found himself only inches away from her blushing face. “I remember now. We met last Friday at the karaoke bar. I spilled your beer on you. Why do I keep doing that? I told you I’d call, but I washed your number and I…”

“It’s okay,” Ochako told him in a quiet, embarrassed voice. “I didn’t expect you to call. I mean, not that you seemed like the kind that wouldn’t, but–”

“No, that’s not it,” Izuku interrupted. “I wanted to call you. Pretty sure I annoyed the hell out of my friends talking about you the entire cab ride home. I…can’t remember all the details. It’s kind of fuzzy, if I’m being honest, but I remember you.”

Ochako giggled again. “You didn’t drink that much.”

“Confirmed lightweight.” Izuku straightened up and so did she, but he didn’t make a move to let go of the vase. Dimly he was aware that he was very much going to be late for school, but they could forgive him this once. He’d never been late before and always volunteered to help out. “So, what flower arrangement says, ‘Sorry for being a forgetful idiot, but will you still go out to dinner with me this weekend’?”

A smile crossed Ochako’s face. “I don’t think you need flowers for that.”

How could he have ever forgotten her even for a second?

[ficdirectory]

The Fosters: Our Thoughts on Episode 5x09 “Prom”

It’s the last twin recap of The Fosters 5A.  Honestly, this could not have come fast enough, and neither could the news that “ There’s been some response from people in the disabled community about how we have talked about Jesus and that has really informed how we’re talking about him in the next season, how we have structured his story in the next season,” according to Peter Paige.  

@tarajean621 and I are both cautiously optimistic that the change we have seen in the last 24-48 hours with regard to how the writers are discussing Jesus in interviews will translate to the writer’s room, and indicate a more respectful portrayal is on the horizon for 5B...

GABE’S LETTER TO JESUS:

I NEED TO TAKE THE JOB IN TAHOE, AND YOU NEED TO GO BACK TO SCHOOL.  WHEN YOU’RE A SENIOR, MAYBE WE CAN FINISH THE TREEHOUSE BUT FOR NOW IT’S BEST FOR BOTH OF US TO GET BACK ON OUR FEET.  I’LL BE IN TOUCH.  GABE

Tonia: Well, this is just devastating.  I hate it because it just reeks of manipulation to me.  Whether he intended it to come off that way, I don’t know.  But for Gabe to disappear and tell Jesus he needs to go back to school and that “maybe when he’s a senior” they can finish the treehouse?  When nobody even talked to Jesus about any of it?  It’s yet another adult attempting to coercively control Jesus and get him to do what they want.  (Gabe and Moms.)

Tara: The letter, while not overtly negative, does nothing to fill the empty space left by Gabe.  Tonia speaks a lot about abandonment being Jesus’s worst fear, and now Moms are actively engineering it to happen?  

This feels like punishment for “Post-TBI Behavior” because it is (from Moms).  But Jesus will not experience it this way.  He will experience it as his bio father leaving because Jesus as he is now failed to live up to Gabe’s expectations.  

Holding that treehouse as a bargaining chip is just plain manipulative.  

I do not approve.

JESUS, MARIANA AND JUDE - JESUS AND JUDE’S ROOM:

Mariana: He’s a man of few words.  

Jesus: [defeated] Yeah, he couldn’t even say it to my face.

Tara: Jesus’s face looks so sad :(

Mariana: Look, I’ve learned to not expect much from Gabe and Ana.  They’re not our parents.  

[Lena and Stef walk in]

Lena: Okay, you guys, I’m gonna ask one more time.

Jesus: I didn’t break the model.

Mariana: We had nothing to do with it.

Jude: Nothing.

Stef: Okay.  We believe you.

Tara:  You cannot tell me that Moms don’t know at this point that Gabe left - if for no other reason than they apparently asked him to leave.  They walk into the room, see the twins’ faces, and then proceed to ask about the model?  You made this bed, Moms.  The very least you can do is follow up with the fallout.

Tonia:  I noticed, too, first, that Jesus and Mariana don’t hesitate to talk about Gabe and Ana and their upset in front of Jude.  Because as a fellow adoptee, they know that Jude gets this.  Whereas of course they would not feel comfortable discussing this in front of Moms (or Brandon, I would hazard to guess.)  And, to be clear, it is on Moms, as the parents, to at least check in with Jesus and Mariana about this, if not have a more in depth conversation.

A second thing I noticed was Moms’ quickness to believe the kids here.  I wonder if the scene would have played out the same if it was only Jesus and Moms.  Would they have taken just Jesus’s word for it? Because I can’t help but think that without Mariana and Jude there backing him up, Moms would not be so quick to believe him.

Lena:  It’s not going to be as easy to convince Drew...There is something you’re not gonna like: Drew is cancelling prom.

Mariana: What?

Lena: He thinks that if someone is upset enough to deface school property, that things could get out of hand at a party where some kids might be drinking.

Mariana: That’s bullshit!

Stef: Mariana...

Mariana: Okay well what if we throw our own prom?  Raise the money ourselves?  How can he stop us?

JESUS, MARIANA AND CALLIE - COMING DOWNSTAIRS BEFORE THE REBEL PROM FOR PICTURES:

Stef [to Jesus]  Hello, handsome!

Lena: You look like you’re going to a firing squad, not a prom.

Stef [to Lena] Hey!

Tonia:  A tiny moment, but this made me cheer a little bit inside.

Jesus: Yeah, well, I don’t have a date, I can’t dance, and I’m probably gonna see Emma, so I wish I WAS going to a firing squad...

Stef: Funny!

Tonia:  I find it interesting that last episode nobody even answered Jesus about whether he could go to prom, and here, the expectation is very clear that he go, even though he doesn’t want to.  

Also, Stef?  He’s not trying to be funny.  

Tara: At what point will this arbitrary dancing ban be lifted from Jesus?  As a brain injury survivor who was never steered away from activity during recovery, I’m asking.

Also Moms?  Please take Jesus seriously when he references wishing to die.  :(

Lena: Let’s take pictures!  Okay everybody!  Say cheese!

[All except Jesus]: Cheese!

Stef: [scolding] Jesus, you didn’t say cheese!

Jesus: [defeated and still trying to smile] Cheese.

Stef: [chastising] Jesus!

Tonia:  Nothing in Jesus’s storyline this episode got to me quite as much as this sad, quiet, matter-of-fact “cheese” Jesus says.  It actually makes me scared for him.  That he is clearly depressed and no one around him seems to notice.

Tara: Perhaps instead of insisting that Jesus hide his unhappiness for your sake, you talk to him about how he’s doing?

He has had to adjust to a life-changing injury.  He broke his engagement with his girlfriend (his only visitor) after learning that she accepted his proposal just to urge him back to school.  His biological father left unceremoniously, and the treehouse which was his only hobby is now on hold indefinitely.  

This is too much for any 16-year-old to take on without the support of parents or concerned adults.  But Moms have wanted a lot of this to take place, while actively avoiding having conversations with Jesus for fear of his “outbursts.”

The way this storyline is progressing, it is far too easy to see why disabled people are 2 to 10 times more likely to experience depression than the nondisabled population.  

onewordtest’s idea that Jesus not saying “cheese” might be aphasia-related is also worth noting.

JESUS AT REBEL PROM:

[Seated in a chair, he scans the warehouse for Emma]

Tonia:  Jesus’s POV here is literally mine at most social gatherings.  I find a chair and I sit.  And I people-watch.  It’s isolating, but it is also my choice.  The difference is, Jesus is being forced to sit out, when we know he and Poppy had a good time together last party.

Tara: Jesus was literally me at every social function post-brain injury.  On the outside looking in.  Feeling separate.  Having no energy for interacting.  Being deeply and quietly depressed.

I think the combination of having a seizure after the last warehouse party, Lena’s warnings about inpatient institutionalization, Stef chaperoning the event and his overall depression has lead to Jesus sitting on the sidelines almost the whole night.  (Note that while Stef is there, she never checks in with him as he is Being Good - never mind that he is miserable.)

Poppy:  Do you want to take a picture with me?

Jesus: Uh...yeah.  Sure.  

Tonia:  I like that Poppy seeks Jesus out here.  How it’s clear she’s attracted to him.  I actually like all of Poppy’s interactions with Jesus.  Because she knows a little about his injury, but mostly she knows him, and treats him as she would anybody else.  Not with kid gloves.

Tara: It says something, though, that Jesus - who previously got along and had a good time with Poppy - will now only grudgingly interact with her.  :(

Photographer: [to unsmiling Jesus]  Smile!  You’ve got a beautiful girl on your arm!

Jesus: [looks at Poppy and both smile at each other]

Photographer: That’s it!  [Snaps pictures]

[Emma looks on as Jesus and Poppy now pose back to back.  Emma is not happy.]

Tonia:  I know this is not necessarily what this scene was going for, but the photographer telling Jesus to smile really reminds me of The Face that many disabled people must wear in public.  The photographer doesn’t know Jesus from anyone.  Jesus’s disability is invisible.  But it doesn’t change the fact that he does have one.  

Existing in public is a tricky thing when disabled.  Either people find you “so inspiring” for showing your face in stores or at social gatherings or they assume your life must be “so tragic.”  Either way, the inclination is there to always smile.  As a disabled person you are vulnerable and your smile can be your only weapon to diffuse a situation.  To soften words that nondisabled people may need to hear but will not like.

Smiling is protective, and the fact that Jesus can’t smile genuinely right now just speaks to his level of sadness, and vulnerability here.  Existing in public while disabled, we very much exist for the Nondisabled Gaze. Because whether seeing us “inspires” a nondisabled person or whether they feel awful for our “tragic” life, the end result is the same:  The nondisabled person comes away feeling better about themselves. 

That is spoken to here in an indirect way, because just like earlier, when Jesus was asked to smile a certain way to put Moms at ease?  Here, he’s asked again to smile, to put the photographer at ease, as well as Poppy.

Jesus’s depressed demeanor is uncomfortable, so he must smile.  Fake it.  To make those around him comfortable.  

Because as is often the case: a nondisabled person’s comfort - their feelings - are placed at a higher level of importance than a disabled person’s safety.

And if he can’t express his unhappiness even through a reluctance to smile, where do all those negative feelings go?  

In my experience?  It just makes you hate yourself more.  Because you’re trying to live up to this expectation that is impossible.  And you know that if people around you know you’re disabled?  They will assume that is the single reason you are depressed. When in reality?  In addition to adjusting to his new disability, Jesus has broken up with his girlfriend, Gabe has left, and Moms are controlling everything he does, even down to how he smiles.

It’s more than just disability, which can take time to adjust to.  It’s the way you’re treated by people who don’t even know you, and by your friends and by your family.  Sometimes, it can feel like there is no escape from it.

That’s why I’m so worried about Jesus.

Tara: Repression of negative feelings leads to either breakdown or outburst.  Sadness or anger.  Sometimes both at the same time.

After I went back to school post-injury, I became a subject of interest to an adult studying brain injuries.  She met with me on a few occasions.  Asked where I struggled academically. About my physical limitations.  But when she asked about how I was impacted socially, I broke down sobbing.

This was significant because, post-injury, I felt an intense disconnect with my emotions.  Everything felt distant and deadened.  As if my entire being was trapped in cotton batting.

Did that mean that I never had an “inappropriate outburst?” No.  I had a few.

You might say that breaking down in front of a relative stranger in an academic setting is inappropriate in and of itself.

The fact remains that the social impact of a brain injury cannot be understated.  This is also why Moms meddling unnecessarily with Gabe and the treehouse is so harmful.

JESUS, STANDING WITH OLIVIA - LOGAN’S DATE - WATCHING MARIANA TALK TO MAT:

Olivia: Is THAT Mariana’s date?

Jesus: No. That’s--that’s her ex.

Olivia: They’re back together.

Jesus: They are?

Poppy: Oh!  Yeah!  They’re TOTALLY back!  That’s her prom date.

Jesus: Wait. Really?  She’s back with Mat?

Poppy: [to Jesus]  That’s not Wyatt?

Jesus: No.

Tonia:  I liked this conversation, because, for once it wasn’t people actively lying to Jesus.  Poppy doesn’t know all the details of Mariana’s past relationships and Olivia knows even less.  So any faulty information Jesus gets here is purely accidental.

MARIANA AND POPPY - REBEL PROM:

Mariana:  What is so important?

Poppy: Jesus told Olivia that Mat’s your ex, so she think’s HE’S your prom date!

Mariana: Well, maybe he WILL be...

Poppy: Well, he’s hot!

Tonia:  And again here.  It’s clear that Poppy’s not reporting back to Mariana that Jesus’s brain injury made him irrational and so he told Olivia Mat’s her ex.  It’s just stated as fact.  

Likewise, Mariana’s reaction isn’t to blame Jesus’s TBI either.  She says maybe Mat will be her prom date!  (This suggests, that at least in this moment to Mariana, Jesus’s words have weight.)

JESUS AND POPPY - SITTING AT A TABLE AT PROM:

Jesus: [Watches Mariana and Emma dance with each other.]

Poppy: Is that the girl you just broke up with?

Jesus: How do you know I just broke up with someone?

Poppy: Because you’re SO miserable, and I’m SO hot, and you haven’t even noticed!  

Jesus: I--uh...  I’m sorry.  You look nice.

Poppy: Gee.  Thanks.

Jesus: [Still watching Mariana dance with Emma]  I didn’t even know they were FRIENDS again...

[Later, Jesus is still watching.  Poppy is still sitting with him.]

Jesus: Why are they slow dancing?

Poppy: Because it’s a slow song.

Tonia: What strikes me here is that Poppy has sat with Jesus at this table all night.  But it isn’t because she pities him.  It’s because she’s hoping he’ll ask her to dance.  She finds him attractive.  She likes his personality (what she saw of it at the last party, for sure.)

I also love that she just talks to Jesus like he’s any guy.  She answers his questions, but she’s still a little annoyed that he won’t ask her to dance.  (I want him to dance, too, Poppy!  He should get to have fun!)

Tara: Most proms last a good 6 hours.  And Jesus is sidelined for 99% of it.  And no one is concerned.

JESUS WAITING FOR EMMA OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM, EMMA’S REALLY DRUNK:

Jesus: Hey, Emma.  So...are you and Mariana friends again?

Emma: We’re lovers.

Jesus: [squints]  

Emma: Just PRETEND lovers so that your neighbor’s girlfriend doesn’t think that she’s after him?  Whatever.  I have to get back to my girlfriend.

Jesus: Hold on.  Emma, hold on.  Look, I--I love you.  Okay?  I love you and I am an idiot.  I don’t care if--if you don’t...want me forever.  All I care about is right now.  And, I-- I know that I haven’t...been...myself...lately but I WANT to be me again.  For me.  And also...for you!  I--I wanna be the man that you deserve.  Would you please just give me another chance?

Tonia:  This part really bothered me.  Mostly because Jesus had finally gotten to speak up for himself.  Have his own thoughts and feelings that were not dictated by those around him.  And here he is like days later, taking it all back. 

I can justify it, given his character, to a point.  Does it make sense that he would want to get back with Emma, especially after Gabe left, so that way at least he’ll have someone?  Yes.

But all I can hear in his plea to Emma is the writers, okaying one more instance of Jesus being degraded because of his injury.  The fact that nearly an entire episode passed with no one calling him “stupid” and then he calls himself an idiot?  Proving Mariana’s words about him were right all along? 

Tara: But if enough people call you stupid, or an idiot, or the R-word - or do not refute the notion - you will eventually begin to see yourself that way.  And in Jesus’s case, he already felt that he was not smart.  

Tonia: And for Jesus to be so hung up on “wanting to be the man Emma deserves” with the strong implication that Jesus must change himself in order to be loved or lovable?  It’s just difficult, in these moments, to ignore that nondisabled writers are at the helm here, and that - at this point at least - it feels like their own ableism informed most of this speech by Jesus. 

This is the last thing the audience hears from Jesus.  The message they will carry about him for months until 5B airs.  That not only do people around Jesus think he’s irrational, aggressive, ridiculous and stupid - Jesus actually feels this way about himself.  

In an episode that was mostly free of ableism (in his storyline at least).  This was the parting message and Jesus is saying it out loud, just drives home what everyone else has already said:

“I’m an idiot and I need to be nondisabled - to ‘get better’ - in order to have a prayer of being loved.”

Maybe it’s because it’s the last episode, which means it’s the ninth week in a row we have had to hear these types of sentiments, but this one was just one too many for me :(

Tara: I want to focus on this part of Jesus’s speech:  I know that I haven’t...been...myself...lately but I WANT to be me again.  For me.  And also...for you!  I--I wanna be the man that you deserve.

To me, this feels as if the writers have attempted to envision what Jesus is going through and how he would feel - perhaps by likening it to a person dealing with substance abuse.  Because with substance abuse, there can be a stopping.  

There is no stopping when you’re living with a brain injury.  

Do I understand Jesus’s sentiment about wanting to be himself again?  Absolutely.  I grieved my former self for years.  However, this speech implies more than wanting.  It implies choosing.  It implies, once again, that if Jesus only puts in the hard work, he can fully heal his brain.  And this is not the case.  

I have thought many times, “I wish the injury hadn’t happened.”  “I wish I was the person I was before, because who I am now feels strange and new and different.”  But saying it out loud would have felt futile.  Because no amount of work was going to change the way my brain thought, the way I experienced things, the way I felt my emotions.  My brain injury changed me on a fundamental level.  

And wanting to be the man Emma deserves?  This implies that Jesus is not enough or whole as he is.  And if he continues striving toward impossibility - becoming nondisabled again - instead of taking small steps toward self-acceptance, he will only persist in hating himself.

MARIANA, LOGAN AND OLIVIA:

Olivia: [To Mariana] Where’s your girlfriend?

Mariana: She’s in the bathroom.

Logan: Isn’t that your girlfriend kissing your brother?

[camera pans to show that Jesus and Emma are kissing]

Mariana: [Smiles for a split second before feigning outrage] MY OWN DAMN BROTHER?!  This is the worst prom ever!

Tonia:  Mariana’s comic timing here was everything.

But there are so many loose ends.  So many things left unaddressed.

1) Jesus is still not back to school (this will be covered in 5B, according to interviews)

2) Moms are still planning to take Jesus to LA for shock treatment “in a couple weeks.”

3) Moms still operating very much out of treating Jesus like “symptoms” rather than their son.  I would love to see them having a conversation with him.  Listening to him.  Just generally, I’d love a decrease in the ableism by 100%.

4) Moms need to acknowledge their part in Gabe leaving.  Talk about it with Jesus and Mariana.

5) Jesus is depressed.  I’d like someone to notice.  Be there.

6) IMO, Lena’s threat to institutionalize Jesus has never been appropriately addressed.  As an adoptee, this would have struck lasting fear in Jesus (which Tara referenced earlier in this recap.) It’s not just going to vanish because they gave him a hug.  (I know, as adoptees ourselves, Tara and I are still holding our breath each week about the possibility of Jesus being sent away.)

WHAT ABOUT GRACE?

Tonia and Tara:  Also in this episode, we learned that Brandon’s girlfriend, Grace, has leukemia for the third time.  As seems to be the case whenever there is another story featuring a disabled/chronically ill character, whichever is less “tragic” at the moment seems to take a back seat. IMO a big reason we did not see many of the Unaddressed Things get addressed with Jesus was because Grace’s storyline took priority over Jesus’s.

(And quiet parts of us are adding that Disabled People Hurting never matter as much as How Disabled People Hurting Make Nondisabled People Feel.  That will always be the story.) 

Unlike with Grandpa Adams, we won’t be contrasting Grace with Jesus.  we’ll be comparing them:

In the episode, Brandon tries to figure out why Grace has to move.  When her mom is reluctant to break her daughter’s trust, Brandon says he will ask Grace himself.  Mom outs Grace’s medical information, telling him Grace has leukemia.

Compare:  Brandon once outed Jesus’s medical information to Grace.  Moms have outed Jesus’s medical information to Tess and Dean and the other kids, outside of Jesus’s presence.

Brandon is not honest with Grace about what he knows.

Compare:  Brandon’s not honest with Jesus about things that concern Jesus.  The family is not honest with Jesus.  This is framed as okay because Nondisabled People Know Better.  And we can just see Brandon’s respect for Grace as a whole person fading, as he is overwhelmed by her illness.

Grace is a plot device.  It’s not about her.  It’s about how losing her is making Brandon feel.

Compare: Thus far, Jesus’s TBI has also been little more than a plot device to talk about how hard it is to live with a disabled person.  It’s not about Jesus, but how Jesus is making his family feel.

XIMENA FINDING SANCTUARY FROM ICE IN THE CHURCH:

Tonia:  Though not disability related, I have to say, before I go, that choosing to humanize DREAMers like Ximena, who received DACA as a child could not have come at a more (sadly) perfect time.  And seeing Ximena find sanctuary in the church, brought this clip from The Hunchback of Notre Dame instantly to mind (from around 2:00-2:30) but if you’re like us, you’ll want to listen to the whole song.

So powerful to see this.  I do hope Ximena is okay.

And I hope that my desire for a more respectful, less ableist 5B is not unfounded.

Tara: Thank you all for reading along.  This half-season has been a rough one, and it is so heartening to know that there are people out there who care.  Who want to learn.  

Please know that our ask boxes are always open for discussion or questions - we would love to hear from you!

Click here to read writer/executive producer Bradley Bredeweg’s response to this review

For more: Fosters Recaps

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

Fanfic Asks

Found here: https://itsreallylaterightnow.tumblr.com/post/615345458657771520/

1. who is the hardest character for you to write? Oh gods, it's gotta be Gar. I don't do the Spontaneous Goofy Silly thing. I just have absolutely no idea how to write a goofball because I really don't connect to Being a goofball whatsoever, especially one who's So Totally Opposite of myself. Although, if OCs count, it might also be Kary, because she's also spontaneous, but she's pretty rage-y about it and has a VERY sour attitude towards strangers, she's totally silly and teasing around friends, flirty around cute people-- she just takes a lot of energy to keep up with.

2. who is the easiest character for you to write? Dove? Does Dove count? Because she's my OC baby and I've written more for her than any other character in any universe. But if OCs don't count, it's gotta be Raven. I can write for HOURS about things like empathy, meditation, reading, the ins and outs of what emotional control does to your mind and relationships, and having A Dark Side that you're too compassionate to ever give in to. I've spent more than 15 years of my life obsessed with her, analyzing her, noticing her traits and extrapolating as much as I can based on a wealth of canon glimpses into her deeper layers. She's the character I "get" more than any other character aside from the ones that spawned from my own head.

3. How do you know if your writing is “in character”? If I can read the dialogue and hear it in their voice, I've got 'em down. c: I overanalayze a LOT about the characters: their phrasing and linguistic quirks especially, but also their actions, their motivations, their personality-- though, to be fair, Marv Wolfman did a lot of Deep Dives into what makes each character tick, which makes writing fanfic for the Titans a bit of a cakewalk. It's still tricky, especially given that I write in a sort of amalgam universe stuck between the comics and cartoon, so characterization is always a bit of a gray area. But I can generally tell if Something Is Off about a line or action. Don't always know how to fix it, though...

With only such very, very RARE exception. Some scenes are inspired by my own experience, some are inspired by other media (even if I didn't really enjoy it, if I liked a particular line of thought, a scene might sprout from that planted seed). The Final Journey was heavily inspired by a book called Toes by Tor Seidler, at least the very last part of the book.

I have no fucking idea where DDD came from though, that one honestly just spiraled way out of Dove's control, and then out of MY control, and the entire writing process was just a desperate scramble to capture her breakdown and PRAY she'd get out of all this madness alive. Yes, my own experience informed HOW to write about it, what it might feel like, but the idea for "Dove slips up So Fucking Badly she kills people"? What the HELL.

5. Do you tell the people in your life that you write fics? Everyone who's REALLY close to me knows about Dove. Some of them know about Srentha and Kary, I think few of them know about Leyla... I tell everyone I'm a writer though. And if they ask, I will proudly proclaim that I write fanfics about my original characters.

6. What has been the hardest fit for you to write? "Fic", I think that's supposed to say? But uhhhh, probably DDD. Watching Dove go through that has been... really rough. Really, really REALLY rough. (To put it into perspective, I used to write for 3-7 stories every single week. But once DDD started going downhill hard, about the time Dove's first victim happened, I became absolutely OBSESSED with figuring out how she gets out of it.

7. What fic of yours makes you the most emotional? Honestly, that depends entirely on my mood. Lovey-dovey mood? Probably either all the fluff of secretshipping, or the tragedy in Spellbound pt. II. Self-doubt and PTSD? Raven's counsel at the end of DDD. Mystical or spiritual mood? The Final Journey because of Dove being guided by Azar.

8. What is a scene you wrote that you are most proud of? Holy hells bells, the climax scene in DDD! The battle! Between a really powerful empath and a totally unhindered telepath! In a mindscape! I haven't managed to make myself really proud of the ~style~, but the CREATIVITY. The "weapons" they used! The scenery! The escalation, the drama, the consummation of everything Dove had been fighting and Raven had been fighting with her over, and then the ENDING? Gods. Writing such an abstract battle scene was a HUGE challenge, because I've never seen any precedents for it. But I really, really love the way it came out.

9. Is there one character that you refuse to write? why? ...Rrrronaldo? Not that I've done much of anything with my SU ideas, but his arrogance and Totally Missing the Real Actual Meaning of things would probably just make me angry. Come to think of it, that's also the reason I refuse to put Terra in my stories. (Aside from the fact that I would go fucking insane from trying to figure out what the HELL her mindset is alone, what's her plan, what the hell did "Things Change" mean, etc. I just can't do it for her. And I don't forgive her.)

10. When you write fics, how much of canon are you willing to ignore/skip over? Veeeery, very little. I only have Three Anti-Canon Rules in my fanfics: 1.) The Brotherhood of Evil wasn't able to break an ancient and powerful curse that took Raven A FUCKING WEEK to LEARN how to break! So Malchior can't have been released by them. 2.) Sons of Trigon was a bad fanfic and doesn't exist in canon. I absolutely 10000% refuse to acknowledge anything in that story. And 3.) We don't talk about Things Change.

11. Do you prefer to be cold or hot when you write? Oh, cold, absolutely. I've written in an 85F room with two cups of ice water and three fans before, so it's not like I can't write in the heat when I'm really inspired, but I'm so sensitive to heat that I have passed out while sitting when it was just 75F outside. But cold... Cold I can THRIVE in.

12. What is your ideal writing area? My room. Somewhere quiet, peaceful, calm, separated, and where I know I won't have people trying to read over my shoulders.

13. How do you come up with your titles? I try very, very hard and hope I've come up with something that Sounds Nice AND Makes Sense. (I'm still debating the title of "Fire and Flight: The Keys to Igniting a Pacifist Heart". 'Flight' because that's what Srentha's name means, and it's his debut story, but like.... Fire only means Devastating Things to Dove, so I'm reeeeally fighting myself on that. I love the poetry in the title! But like.... couldn't the poetry be a little less devastating? But my brain refuses to spit anything else out. And also, that Day of Fire was a pretty important plotpoint, since it's the whole reason they were separated...)

14. How do you come up with chapter titles? Usually picking something that Sounds Cool and Has Relevance to the most important aspects of the chapter. I'm still really proud of calling a chapter of DDD "Sins of the Father" BEFORE Marv Wolfman used that phrase for Raven!

15. At what point in writing a fic, do you decide to quit? Who says I quit? The only way I'll quit a fic entirely is if I don't want to write it anymore. But because of the aforementioned Curiosity and Drive to Learn about what the heck is happening in these scenes in my head, that rarely ever happens. There have been exactly Three (3) fics that I quit writing. ~ 1.) The Titans/Pokemon crossover, because I realized I had no idea what to do with a Misdreavus in Titans Tower. (That one actually got published, but then deleted in a fit of Self-Consciousness because I was convinced people would find it cringey. I really wish I'd kept it because it was a cute idea, at least... and nowadays I can think of so MANY things! I never even wrote her meeting Silkie!) ~ 2.) The shameless self-insert where comic!Raven showed up in my room one day because I realized I had no plot ideas whatsoever, I really just wanted to write about meeting Raven in an actual physical sense. ~ 3.) Misery's Company, my Ruby Gloom fanfic, because frankly that was another shameless self-insert fic, and I realized I had no idea what to do once we got Misery back to Gloomsville. And then I realized I didn't have any particular motivation to even write it THAT far. I just totally lost interest. I didn't want to write about the rest of the Gloom crew. And I utterly lost touch with the magic in the show. I couldn't write in the style that meshed so WELL with that fic anymore. It's actually still up for adoption, I just have to find someone willing to actually adopt it.

16. How much of your personal life do you put into fics? Mhhhh, only as much as is relevant. Mostly writing from experience With Situations and Feelings, though I don't insert my reactions into how others would handle their experiences. DDD probably got the most so far. Although I can't lie, I've also found myself consulting some of my own experiences when writing for Raven as well. Like what empathy feels like... but it's mainly for things like Deciding Which Descriptive Words to Use.

17. What is the most supportive comment you have gotten? Ooh, that's hard! I've gotten several good reviews that really motivated me-- they were all on fanfic.net, but maybe the one that was like "The originality is too great to be lost" on DDD? Or the review I got for the Unforeseen revamp that was like "It flows like silk" and talking about how much better it was than the original!

18. What is the most negative comment you have gotten? All the accusations of Dove being a Mary Sue? Yeah. She never WAS, but I didn't know how to write a bio about her without comparing her to Raven, so nowadays I can see why they went there.

19. How do you handle negative comments? Back then, I sent a pm and asked them to clarify. Nobody ever did... 8F But nowadays I mostly just ignore it.

20. What story that you have written makes you the happiest to re-read? Either really triumphant or really soft moments. I love the gentle moments between Dove, Srentha, and Leyla. I love the plot progression in Something Special. I love the revamp of Mystery Sickness, seeing how far my writing has come. I love reading any tender scene between Srentha and Dove. Dove's memories with her mother are so formative and important and sweet and special. I love how peacefully Dove and Srentha's marriage scene came out. There are just so many that make me happy...

I also wrote a really cute scene between Steven, Lapis, and Amethyst where they made a sort of roller coaster for him because he was banned from FunLand and that's just an adorable sweet idea, but I never fully wrote it, whoops.

[thecosydragon]

My latest blog post from the cosy dragon: Spotlight on The Helper by M. N. SNow

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

M. N. SNow’s bio includes years as a public radio host and anchor, primarily in the south Florida market, but also for Wisconsin Public Radio. M. N. has had various short stories published and was a contributing writer for Reader Weekly, in Duluth, MN. M. N. is also a published cartoonist and a former Marine Corps NCO.  After spending some years at home in the Twin Ports of Duluth, MN/Superior, WI,  the author is currently back living in Key West, FL.

Find this novel on FaceBook and GoodReads, and purchase at Create Space, Amazon, or as an eBook only.

Prologue:

Coyote peered through the bushes and watched the scene unfold. The four legged Trickster knew the humans needed his help. He just didn’t know if he wanted to give it. They could certainly use it, but would it be the best for all concerned? And, would helping them provide him with the most satisfaction? He would just have to watch and wait, as they would. Helping, hurting, hot and cold, part god, part animal. The Trickster.

The Ojibwe, or Chippewa, of northern Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Canada didn’t have a Trickster that walked on all fours. Nope, theirs stood upright on two legs. Part god, part human. Many of the tribe thought this a better figure, more appropriate given the Trickster’s nature. Especially the human part. Prone to fits of anger, jealousy and resentment. Able to alter events in a way that only a god could, but given to episodes of what can only be described as Trickster-ness. That could only be described as, well, human.

His name is Nana’b’oozoo. A child of the heavens and of the earth, growing up parent-less. Some of the Ojibwe People went so far as to describe him as Jesus-like. After they had found out who Jesus was, that is. Before that time he was only, as he still is, Nana’b’oozoo. God and man, together as one, walking the earth. With god-like talents and human traits. Said not without a certain amount of pride, especially when compared to the four legged Legend of southwestern and western tribes. Not an animal like theirs, but a man. Upright, on two legs, just like us. Pride not an emotion limited to gods. But a Trickster is as a Trickster does, and so they shall. And so shall we.

People fail and people fall. Often noticed, quite often unnoticed. A story as old as time. A story as old as stories. As likely to happen today as it was in the time before time. And if you think tragic surrenders and mythic tribulations happened only in the past, you are truly mistaken. One need only look at tonight’s network news or read today’s newspaper. There are people plummeting from sight every second, often taking others with them. Heck, you only need cast your glance as far as the cubicle next to yours, or peer across the factory floor to see the possibilities. How much do you really know about those people? Do you think that it is not going on around you even at this moment? When a county worker in Florida goes on a rampage and takes three people down with him, do you think that is fiction? When a postal worker or a high school student or even that traffic-jammed driver ahead of you snaps and takes it out on those surrounding him, do you think that is fiction? Let me clear something up right now. That tree philosophers talk about, you know, the one falling in the woods? I’m here to tell you that just because you’re not there to hear it, it still makes a sound. Quite often the sickening sound of that very same tree squashing an innocent passerby. Do not doubt that for a moment.

And yet, sometimes that falling tree, for seemingly no reason at all, does not hit the ground. Sometimes it is brought back upright, before it hits. Before the destruction occurs, it finds itself standing straight, and taller than before, having been helped by a force or forces unseen. Again, do not doubt me for a moment, it happens.

This last reality makes up hope for the eyes peering through the bushes. We know they are there, we have seen both sides of the outcome far too many times to doubt it. The eyes are there and they can help us. The question is, the hope is, will they help us?

Many, many times people fall and fall hard. And sometimes they are Helped.

…Cast me not away from thy presence,

and take not thy holy Spirit from me.

Restore me to the joy of thy salvation,

and uphold me with a willing spirit.

Psalm 51, verses 11 and 12.

  I’m the Helen Keller man, staring at the sky.

Helen Keller man, don’t know how or why.

Am I who I think I am, or am I just a lie?

Helen…Keller…Man

lyrics from “Helen Keller Man”

by Velva Scourge

Hi I’m Greg and I’m back from Honduras.

I was down there teachin’ little kids to kill.

lyrics from “He Said, He Said”

by Mortal Engines.

Chapter 1

Trickster tells his tale…

The first time John Sloan Helped someone was in 1971. He was four years old. He already had a sense that he was different but was too young to know anything more.

John’s mother Roberta had dragged him, along with his five-year-old brother James, to James’s kindergarten class. Roberta was always dragging extra kids along—always a bit behind, as is the case with mothers of children who have husbands who earn their wages over the road. Darn good wages both Roberta and her husband Hugo would agree, but nonetheless things like kindergarten fell upon Roberta’s shoulders much more squarely than Hugo’s. At that time they numbered five children, from ages two to nine, with one more to come in another year or so.

Tall Roberta, five-feet, seven-inches of dark flowing hair, red lipstick, and flashing brown eyes, lugging John along with James to school on that gray, northern Wisconsin, December day. They were late for the four-hour, afternoon class and Roberta went over to Mrs. Hinkley, James’s teacher, to explain how Theresa, the nine year old, had spilled Campbell’s tomato soup on Tracey the two year old and a chain of events had started. Theresa was home sick from school, and should have been in bed, but she wanted to help her mom and it had all gotten out of control so very quickly, as Mrs. Hinkley knew so well. She had twenty-six little potential soup spillers that could quickly bring schedules to a halt.

While Roberta was laughingly commiserating with Mrs. Hinkley, John had wandered over to the brightly decorated Christmas tree that a few of the other children were admiring. He stood back a bit from the others and he smiled. And he felt it. What he was to come to feel quite often during his life. His “extra-ness”, his “special-ness,” stood up a bit inside of him and said, “watch and wait.” Goose bumps broke out on John’s arms and back. So John did as he was told. He watched and waited… and he glowed.

Three little girls and one little boy were carefully stepping around the twinkling Christmas tree. They were playing a guessing game. They were guessing which of their classmates had brought in which decorations. They would point and touch an ornament and say, “oh, that’s from Terry Archambault. And that star is from Ruby Cerdich.”

One of the girls was being extra careful. She had straight, jet black hair that spilled all the way down to her lower back and a smile that was all the more beautiful for it’s missing front teeth. Her name was Lorraine, but Lorraine wasn’t smiling much these days. No, life was not a big barrel of grinning monkeys for little Lainie as of late. Lorraine, or Lainie as her dad used to call her, had a secret. And she couldn’t tell anybody about that secret. Nope, she couldn’t tell a soul, and if she could have put it into words she would have said that the secret was killing her.

Lainie had brought in a beautiful stained glass angel that hung from a silver string. Lainie’s mother had made that angel for last year’s Christmas tree. That turned out to be the last piece of stained glass that Lainie’s mother Evelyn was ever to make. Evelyn was diagnosed by the middle of January and had lasted until spring. This was Lainie’s first Christmas without her mother, and Lainie shouldn’t have brought the stained glass decoration to class. It belonged in the basement. Lainie’s father Douglas had been very firm about that. Lainie was not to touch any of her mother’s things. They stayed in the basement! The very back of the basement. Crouched, dusty, hidden.

Douglas had been so devastated by Evelyn’s death that he had taken everything connected with her, boxed it up and trundled it all down to the basement where it was now stacked in the darkest recesses of the musty, dimly lit cellar. Every article of clothing, every brush and comb, every picture that included Evelyn was grimly boxed up and taped shut. Especially the pictures. Douglas had sent Lainie to her aunt Agnes’s house one Sunday shortly after the funeral and finished the chore in an afternoon. Anything that included death’s hollow scent was now shut away down-cellar. These boxes included all of the stained glass pieces that Evelyn had so lovingly crafted. And the boxes were not to be touched or spoken of. Lainie’s father was very clear on that fact. He had sat Lainie down that Sunday evening and told her not to touch the boxes and not to speak of the boxes.

“Mommy is dead”, her dad had choked out. Lainie could still see her father’s empty eyes staring out the window and hear his haunted voice, so unlike the voice she knew, tell her in no uncertain terms that “she wasn’t to touch anything in the back of the cellar. Ever!” That was the last time Lainie and her father had spoken of her mother. Her dad had changed.

From that point on her dad had started fading away. Not only was Lainie losing memories of her mother, but it also seemed that her father was disappearing, bit by bit and day by day, right before her eyes. What did she do wrong, she thought? Why did God do this? I miss my mommy and why can’t I crawl up into my daddy’s lap anymore? Lainie thought that she might be disappearing too, and this really scared her. When she held out her arm and looked at her hand she could still see her fingers but she wasn’t sure that they weren’t fading a bit. She would stand in front of the full length mirror on the back of her bedroom door and stare at herself and sometimes see that she was not all there. No, she was not all there, at all. She thought that she might be turning into a ghost and that scared her so badly that one day she almost peed in her pants. Frozen white and swaying in front of the mirror she had seen nothing. Lainie didn’t look in that mirror anymore, but she remembered.

This was the secret that Lainie carried hidden inside her that day in the classroom. This and more. Lainie had snuck down-cellar, found the boxes that contained her mother’s stained glass pieces and found the angel. Her mom had made it ‘specially for her and she just had to bring it to class for the tree. She had to bring it or she would disappear completely and no one would ever be able to see her again. She would still be alive and walking around, but she knew that no one would be able to see her.

As Lainie and the other children circled the tree looking at the pretty ornaments, “ormaments” Jimmy Tong called them, John watched. He felt the something swell up and glow inside of himself. He intuitively knew that he was there to Help, whatever that meant. He didn’t know who he was there to Help, but he understood that something was coming on none the less. Lainie caught his eye, and in spite of the fact that she looked so sad, he felt good. No, not just good, or even great. John felt perfect.

Lainie spied her mom’s angel hanging from the branch where she had placed it with Mrs. Hinkley’s help. She stood still and looked at it, mesmerized by the light dancing out from the different colored pieces of glass inside of it. The light seemed to dance out to her and twirl around her. The shards of light that were coming out of the angel’s eyes shot out and stopped right in front of Lainie’s face and seemed to be looking at her. The other kids had moved on to the other side of the tree and Lainie was alone, frozen in her spot, surrounded by light from the stained glass angel. Lainie was petrified. She didn’t think this was any angel anymore. Gosh no. She saw her mom’s eyes and maybe something darker and horrible behind that. Bad eyes.

John watched all of this, and saw and felt it too. He now knew that Lainie was falling. She was falling into a dark pit in horrified slow motion. John was only four years old and didn’t know this in words, but he knew it just the same. He saw it in pictures that appeared in his mind. In spite of it all he felt perfect. He felt a power plant swell through him, humming away and powering up.

John watched as the hypnotized Lainie swayed and started inching toward the tree. Lainie wanted to touch the angel. She was being drawn to the angel against her will. Her arm was outstretched and her pointed finger was moving toward the angel to touch it. It was right at this time that the children on the other side of the tree started goosing each other and when Jimmy Tong started tickling Rosemary Banks, Rosemary let out a shriek. A loud shriek. A fingernails down the blackboard shriek that shatters glass, and causes fillings to vibrate, kind of shriek. This shriek caused Lainie’s feet to get tangled up and she tripped in her trance-like walk toward her mother’s shining angel. The trip was turning into a fall as Lainie stretched out both hands toward the tree, toward the angel. One hand grabbed a branch and stopped Lainie’s slow motion fall. But Lainie’s other hand, her offending hand, had grabbed her mother’s angel. Horrified, Lainie looked and saw that she was squeezing the angel with her other hand. She was squeezing it so hard that she was going to break it, and so because this was her mother’s angel, Lainie’s only link to her lost mom, she let go of it.

Things slowed down and John was able to see through Lainie’s eyes. The stained glass angel came loose from the tree and was starting its fall to the floor. John was helpless to stop its flight and knew that this wasn’t his job to do. John and Lainie watched as the twirling angel head-over-heeled its way to the brown tile floor. Just before its slow-motion descent reached the floor it was facing up and there were beams of colored light shooting out of its angel eyes looking directly into Lainie’s. Nothing had stopped, the angel didn’t hover and look into Lainie’s eyes, but there was one split second, one nano-second, one moment where its eyes glowed beseechingly into Lainie’s eyes. “Help,” they said. And then the angel hit the tile floor and shattered.

A kindergarten classroom has a certain level of noise to it. A buzzing murmur at the best of times, much louder at other times, but breaking glass has a tendency to get everyone’s attention even if they are preoccupied five-year-olds. Then, quickly as you can say “Jimmy Tong said Patricia Barnes was full of crap”, the room was silent. All eyes intuitively sought out Lainie, and as quickly as that, the buzz returned. It returned for all except Lainie. Inside Lainie all was silent. Lainie had shattered too.

Mrs. Hinkley was quick to rush to Lainie’s side, somehow knowing that it wasn’t Lainie’s fault but also not knowing how important the angel had been to Lainie. John’s mom Roberta also came quickly over and helped get Lainie seated in one of those small kid’s chairs that we wonder how we ever fit in, and helped Mrs. Hinkley start the process of cleaning up the shattered stained glass pieces.

John found himself sitting in the chair next to Lainie. He saw her big brown eyes fill with tears and knew that she had lost. Not that she was lost, suggesting a situation from which one could be found. No, no, no. Lainie was only five years old and she had lost. Never to win again. Shit, never to lose again. Lainie was five years old, it was Christmas, her mother had died, her father was disappearing, and she had broken her mother’s last present to her, that she wasn’t supposed to touch. Ever! Lainie had lost. It was OVER and John knew it. Lainie had reached a pivot point and been catapulted in a direction from which there was no return. Five years old and already over. And if you think it doesn’t happen, think again.

John sat in the chair next to Lainie and John’s newly realized extra-ness sat down in it with him. He was only four years old, not five like Lainie which is huge to kids, but he knew what to do. He took his left hand and grabbed Lainie’s right hand and said, “Hi Lainie. My name is John.” He hadn’t known what to say until that moment, hadn’t known to clasp her hand until that instant, and yet that is what he did. That is when John felt it happen. In an amount of time that knew no time, John had the whole story—Cancer, death, a disappearing father, her fading mirror image, and now this. This is when the “little bit of extra”, that was really a whole lot, did what it did.

Lainie looked into John’s green eyes and it happened. John felt the flow pour out of him. A rushing, gushing, flow of good and of light and of Perfect that splashed back and forth over them. It felt like pure love and a lot more. It felt like crawling in bed with his mother and father times nine gajillion and John didn’t even know his multiplication tables yet. Shoot he was still learning his adds.

No other words were spoken. John held Lainie’s hand while Mrs. Hinkley and Roberta finished the sweeping up and the rest of the children got back to the business of being, well, children.

As John grew older there were often more words spoken and more time involved but when he was young the Helping rarely involved more than a greeting and two names. His and theirs. John realized he wasn’t really doing anything. There just seemed to be a pipeline that poured out of him. It was good, and it washed, and it turned losers into winners. Or more accurately the Lost into the Found.

And Lainie knew. She knew that she was washed. And clean and loved and they both accepted in that instant that Lainie would not remember much of that instant and John would. That’s just how it worked. Lainie had been Helped, with a capitol H, and for the first time, John Sloan was a Helper. John felt warm and good and older and perfect. He somehow grasped that no one would ever realize what had just happened. He also knew that because of this Helping, Lainie would go home and talk with her father and he would cry and she would cry, and that Lainie’s dad would stop disappearing and Lainie could look in a mirror again, and that they would go on together as father and daughter.

It was good. That had been a long time ago, thirty-plus years, but John could still remember how very good it had been from that very first time on. Yes, being a Helper was good. The ability to Help was good. And now it was gone.

End of Chapter 1

from http://ift.tt/2l75ifO

[lynnstevens]

Book Blitz: Once in a Blue Kentucky Moon by @alexabloom1 Plus #Giveaway

Once In A Blue Kentucky Moon Alexa Bloom (The Harrisons #1) Publication date: January 31st 2016 Genres: Adult, Romance

Not in a million years did Tatum O’Connor imagine she’d ever end up at Lockwood Farm. She’d dreamed of seeing it, like other kids dreamed of visiting Disneyland. Fast forward several years and Tatum is on the run from a haunting past. Though she’s made it to Lockwood Farm romance is the furthest thing from her mind. Now the only thing Tatum wants to do is keep her head down and work with the horses she adores—if only she didn’t have to deal with the farm’s owner, Blake Harrison. Drop dead gorgeous and cocky to boot, Blake’s the poster boy for everything Tatum’s trying to avoid. Yet despite her best intentions, the sizzling attraction between them is seducing Tatum into breaking the one promise she vowed she’d never break. As she grapples with the sensuous power of Blake’s devastating kisses, the past she thought she’d outrun is closing in fast. And time…has just run out.

Blake’s relentless hard work turned his late father’s legacy Lockwood Farm, into a thriving five-star racehorse training facility—until a freak run of bad luck has pushed it to the verge of bankruptcy. Blake’s counting on Diamond Lad to pull off the most spectacular win in horse racing at the prestigious Kentucky Derby, but when blustering owner Max McManis yanks his multi-million dollar stallion out of Lockwood—Blake is at his wit’s end. On top of that, the arrival of stunning, enigmatic Tatum O’Connor, has him doubly sucker-punched. Despite her inexplicable hostility toward him, Blake falls hard and fast for the feisty new stable-hand, whose endless chocolate doe-eyes make it damn near impossible for him to keep his hands—and lips, off her. But as Tatum’s tangled web of secrets starts to unravel, Blake is rocked by the discovery of a devastating secret that has him caught between a rock and a hard place. Now he has to decide between the family farm he cherishes, and saving the woman he’s come to love.

Once In A Blue Kentucky Moon is the first book in The Harrisons, a series capturing the perfect blend of heart, emotion and steamy romance.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo / iBooks

—

EXCERPT:

The consigner stood abruptly and ran a meaty hand over the horse’s back. As he did so, Blake noticed the colt’s big black eyes tracking his every move. The animal gave an irritable toss of the head and nickered ominously.

“He has real nice withers here,” The man continued. “Nice short back, his top line is real nice. In fact, I’d have to say, this colt’s got near perfect conformation all round. Folks,” he said, looking them both in the eye. “You are not gonna see better angles for racing—on a horse anywhere.”

Stargazer puffed and snorted impatiently, pawed at the ground as the consigner skimmed a hand along his back and moved to the rear of the horse. The girl gave a sharp tug on the reins to settle him.

“Now if you’ll look at the rump here folks, you’ll see where all that power comes from. This horse has a very dynamic hip, there’s a lot of power right here—” The man slapped the horse’s rump and with a strangled whinny, whippet-fast Stargazer shot out a hind leg, catching the man square on the shin.

“Aarghhh!” The consigner bellowed, diving for his throbbing leg with a painful grimace. “You goddamn cantankerous, son of satan!”

“Stargazer!” The girl tugged hard again. “Stop it!”

“Ah, you better take a step back there,” Blake said to the consigner. “He doesn’t seem to be in the best of moods right now.”

The man’s face paled as he realized he was still well within striking distance. He quickly hopped out of range. “Dang horse forgets his manners sometimes, is all.” He rubbed his leg gingerly and straightened with a grimace. “If you gentlemen will excuse me a few moments, I’m gonna go get some ice on this real quick. I’ll leave you to ah, peruse the animal. And ah—”

Spinning on his heel, he hobbled stiffly toward the barn, waved a puffy hand in the general direction of the white cowgirl hat on the other side of the horse. “The young lady there will answer any questions you may have. Be right back.”

Face contorting, Blake stifled a snort of laughter. Yeah, those kicks hurt like hell, he’d certainly had his share, but the guy worked with horses for crying out loud, couldn’t he read the animal? And as for slapping him on the butt, well that was just plain dumb.

“He wouldn’t be the first thoroughbred in history with a mean streak.” Mike said, breaking into Blake’s thoughts.

Blake caught him biting down on a grin. “Yeah I grant you, or maybe he’s just a great judge of character. You know that guy was right about one thing, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He did have a lot of power in that hip.”

Mike let out a loud guffaw, then remembering they still had company, tried unsuccessfully to disguise it with a cough. “Seriously though Blake, you’re not gonna walk away from this fella just because he’s a little high strung, are you?”

“Little high strung?” Blake raised an eyebrow at him. “There’s high strung and there’s ornery as a goddamn mule.”

“Well, alright, but he’s such a beauty.” Mike tried again. “You gotta agree, colts like this don’t come along every day of the week.”

”I know. And the guy was right about the angles. But he’s got a temper like a junkyard dog.” Blake shook his head, as he eyed the cantankerous colt. “I don’t know. I think that stubborn streak could prove too much of a liability. He’s gotta be trainable.”

He crossed to the colt and ran a hand over his silky coat. Two big dark eyes regarded him with a twinkle, seemed to exude a lively intelligence. “What’s eating you boy?” The animal’s ears twitched in response. “Don’t like people? Is that it?” Reaching into his back pocket, Blake produced a carrot and the colt devoured it greedily.

“You were right about him being a beauty,” Blake said, twisting around toward Mike. “He definitely ticks a lot of boxes. But the way things are at the farm right now, I can’t risk it. I just can’t justify the expense on a horse that probably won’t pay his way.”

“I still say you should take some time to think—“

Teeth bared, the colt snapped his head around and tried to nip at Blake’s hand. “Hey!” Blake sprang back, whipping his hand out of the horse’s reach. “No you don’t buddy! Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to bite the hand that feeds you!”

“Stargazer!” The girl cursed from the other side of the colt, yanking on his reins. “Will you quit trying to pull my arm off!”

Cheeky bugger had nearly gotten the better of him, Blake chastised himself. He should have known better than to let himself get distracted like that. The girl was keeping a white-knuckle grip on Stargazer’s reins now he noticed, but it was too late. There was no way he was buying this colt. Stargazer had a truckload of attitude and just flat out didn’t like being told what to do.

The ever-present knot in his gut twisted, turned. Damn it. When he’d seen the colt amble out of the barn earlier, he’d really thought this could be the one—the champion racer he desperately needed to save Lockwood Farm.

Instead, he’d just seen his last ditch hope to save his Daddy’s farm go up in smoke.

***

Tension thrummed through Tatum’s veins, as she kept her head down. Her nerves were wound so tight, she felt like she was going to explode. Thank goodness she’d worn her big white hat to work today, because it was turning out to be a life-saver.

Still, despite the nerve-wracking situation she found herself in, a smirk crept onto her face. Stargazer kicking Buzz in the shins had been the funniest thing she’d seen in a long time. It had taken all her self-restraint not to laugh out loud, but she’d made it this far, she had to keep it together a little longer.

She’d had an absolute heart attack when she’d spied Uncle Mike from the barn. She’d immediately told Buzz she wasn’t feeling well, had begged him to let Enrique lead Stargazer out instead. But true to form, Buzz had told her to quit her moaning and get her butt outside pronto. He’d said he had a great prospect and he wasn’t about to lose him on her account.

Now she was standing here with just a horse between her and her Uncle Mike, hoping to goodness he didn’t realize it was her. Luckily for her, he’d seemed so completely besotted with Stargazer—he wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to the girl on the other side of the horse. Otherwise, she might have had some explaining to do.

What the heck was Mike doing out here at the sales yard anyway, she wondered. He wasn’t a horse trader. He was a veterinarian, consulting at whatever farm happened to call him in to come treat an ailing horse. It must have something to do with that guy he was with, she thought. Mike was probably advising him whether Stargazer was a good buy or not.

The guy had been pretty darn hot actually, Tatum mused. Not that she could see him now, but with his hot body and smouldering blue eyes, he’d made quite an impression when she’d spied him from the barn earlier.

He was rugged. A man’s man, she knew the type. Exactly the type she’d vowed to stay the hell away from, from now on in her life. Never again was she going to fall for the good-looking guy with the great body and the over-sized ego to match. They were arrogant as hell and mean to boot. God knew, she could vouch for that first-hand.

But right now, something about the guy was tugging at her consciousness. He was familiar somehow, though she just couldn’t think how. Well, it would come to her later. Right now, she just had to keep her head down and stay out of sight. Whatever the reason Uncle Mike hadn’t spotted her, she planned on keeping it that way. She wasn’t ready to deal with things, yet. Not any of it.

Author Bio:

Hi folks,

I'd like to be able to tell you I was one of those people who told stories from the age of two, wrote them voraciously from age three and a half, and spent my entire life in a library reading any book I could lay my hands on from that point forward. But sadly...that would be a complete fiction. (Ironic, isn't it?)

The fact is, I'm one of those people who could never quite figure out what to do with their lives. I've worked variously in office admin, as a teacher, singer, voice-over artist, colour consultant... If you can think of it, chances are I've probably tried it:)

Fast forward one change of country (Australia to Canada) and two children later, I don't think I found writing so much, as it found me. And I'm sure glad it did, because I can finally say I've found what I'm supposed to do:)

I've loved writing my first contemporary romance series The Harrisons, and I hope you'll enjoy meeting each of the seven Harrison siblings as much as I have.

Happy reading XXX Alexa

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