#i think it's from top to bottom: the cat calendar -> back from the dead shirt -> catboy sweater -> dd shirt

[goldenpinof]

re: finances. how do we think the new merch is selling?

better than dd shirt. i think the calendar is selling better than the catboy sweater. and maybe even better than "back from the dead" shirt, since the shirt had an actual accurate deadline, lol. but, not as good as 5-6 years ago. i can't tell you numbers, like at all.

[hyucksong]

halloween!dream

SO YOU WANT TO FALL IN LOVE?

CHOOSE WISELY:

///

LEE MARK : THE BEAST OF THE FULL MOON

falling in love with a werewolf was a challenge

first off, the dog hair – or, the wolf hair; it got everywhere, on your clothes when you cuddled, in your food when he cooked, and in your mouth when you kissed

you didn’t even know where it came from – his face was baby smooth except for patches of stubble above his lip and his thick head of hair

loving Werewolf!Mark means having to endure his overly cuddly nature, his sudden bouts of jealousy whenever you went near Alpha!Johnny; it meant dealing with his overbearing appetite and his constant jabbering with his mouth full of meat 

most importantly, it meant having to give him lots of love whenever the full moon came out by setting a day on your calendar apart completely for him and only for him

and then showering him in plenty of love with his frank ocean playlist playing in the background

if you know what i mean

(you weren’t complaining)

loving werewolf mark was easy, and you thought it would be just as easy if he was anything else; a vampire, ghost, zombie – whatever

loving werewolf mark was easy because of his little smiles and giggles at your stupidest jokes 

loving wolf mark was easy because of the way his chest would vibrate with joy as you laid on top of him

loving mark was easy because of the way his lips locked with yours and the small growling sound he’d make whenever you tugged on his bottom lip too hard

loving him was easy because he loved you

and you were glad

even with the random bones in the back garden that mark would say was from the neighborhood raccoon

doesn’t he know that raccoon’s don’t eat bones? 

HUANG RENJUN : THE SPELLCASTER OF EVIL

dating this warlock (not witch) meant playing plenty of pranks on his friends with potions in their drinks that turned them into frogs and sprinkling powder on the food that made them squawk like a chicken

it meant being the test subject to all his experiments, 

and him taking you on apology dates for accidentally turning you into a goldfish for 3 days

huang renjun was the warlock that would act really intimidating to strangers who came to get potions from him and then whine when you hit him on the back on the head for calling a customer a, “hopeless human who was going to die by tripping on the fucks that renjun gave, which was none” 

expect him to drink amnesia potions on purpose just to experience the feeling he first felt when falling in love with you all over again

and you having to force him to drink onion juice mixed with (mark’s) werewolf hair, the remedy of amnesia potions 

sometimes when he’s bored he’ll just lay on you and read his spell books for hours and hours, until he falls asleep on you with his 10-pound book smashing his face 

whenever he feels like kissing you but you’re too far away or you’re out with your friends he’ll teleport to you and press a small kiss to your lips before disappearing

which always leaves you a flustered mess

he’s done it when you were in a work meeting before, and you couldn’t help but yell out his name in embarrassment 

he’d even done it when you were in a dressing room, trying to wiggle your way out of a way-too-tight dress

and the only way you knew he was there was when he whistled and you saw him leaning against the wall in the mirror

cue your scream

and his lips attaching to yours with a strength you didn’t know he had

but you liked it

and that kiss led to…something that would get you arrested if you told the store assistant the truth when you walked out the dressing room with messy hair and smudged lipstick 

renjun’s kisses were magical, and you were sure it wasn’t because of any spell he had cast on you; it was because of the way his hands rested on your waist and how he’d make a small whining sound whenever you pulled away too early 

renjun once made the amortentia potion from harry potter just to see if the recipe was real, and he was delighted to smell your sweet shampoo

but he was even happier to hear that you smelled the scent of his wizarding robe mixed with your perfume

LEE JENO : THE CAT-MAN

when you first met jeno, you knew there was something about him that screamed, “cat”

little did you know that it was actually because he was a cat

dating cat-man jeno was just like dating a normal jeno, except for the random hairballs you’d find on the floor and grumble about

whenever you hugged him his chest would reverberate with a low purr that caused your heart to warm

if you were feeling particularly flirty and you brought your finger up to his chin to lead his lips to yours, you’d see his eyes go half-lidded and his pupils go from barely-there slits to full-blown love shot eyes

his back would hunch and he’d melt into your touch with a soft meow in your ear

if you scared him his ears would perk back and his body would have a physical reaction to your scare, jumping away quickly

if it was winter, you could catch him cuddled in your blankets in a little ball (as little as a ball he could be,,,he was a full-grown man after all) with his little ears twitching from time to time at the small sounds

your personal favorite part of dating lee cat-man jeno was when you’d get in a heated make-out session, and he’d move from your lips to your neck and he’d rub his head on you 

you didn’t know why he did it, but it was a moment of cuteness and it was those small things that made your own heartbeat a thousand times faster

expect him refusing to come near you if you ever wore perfume because it was too strong and he was sensitive

(plus he liked your natural scent the best, but that was way too embarrassing to say) 

whenever he kisses you and he nicks your lips or tongue with his sharp teeth on accident

your pantry? filled with cat toys and cat food

(and a dead mouse or two)

you’d always have a ginormous supply of kleenex boxes because he would sneeze a few times every hour because he was essentially allergic to himself

how that was possible, you didn’t know

but what you did know was that his favorite part to be touched was behind his human ears,

and he loved those touches even more if they happened to be kisses

jeno expects you to pepper him in kisses at least twice an hour

and you were perfectly happy to oblige 

LEE DONGHYUCK : THE TRANSPARENT BEING

ghost!haechan was even worse than the real thing

you thought he could get away with pranks when he was alive? think again -- he was undetectable now

he always thought it was his favorite part of being dead -- the pranks

oh, and you too

you dated him back when he was alive, and if you thought those dates were fun

oh boy

ghost haechan seemed more alive than when he was actually alive, so while you were sad you couldn't hold his hand or kiss him, you were at least happy that he was happy 

but you really missed kissing the smile on his face and kissing the moles scattered on his cheeks and kissing his ears and kissing his eyelids and...you missed him

so you might have sold part of your soul to be immortal and live forever with haechan (and to kiss him forever)

he scolded you at first, but you shut him up with a quick peck to the cheek

and he was convinced (it was your choice after all)

dates where you and he scare the daylights out of paranormal TV show hosts and then delete the footage of it all happening afterward

boxes of polaroids being wasted because “you can’t even see me in that picture!”

“you’re a ghost haechan, your natural state is overexposure”

“and you have half a soul, shut up”

you two experienced everything together, and you both had fun testing the limits of your half-dead and half-alive soul, not being afraid to do the wildest things, like skydiving without a parachute and jumping off Niagara falls 

and;

“hey, can we have sex?”

you furrowed your brows in thought,,,you didn’t really know

“i...i don’t know? i think so?”

cue the curious look that made your heart jump with excitement

“wanna try?”

“hell yes.”

you didn’t know that ghosts could give such visible hickeys, but you weren’t really complaining because his slightly transparent neck was littered with evidence of your love to him

and even though only you could see them,

you didn’t mind

NA JAEMIN : THE ROTTEN BOY

sometimes he’ll unstitch his arm to raise it up for a high-five if he’s laying down 

you’d think a rotting body would not only smell bad, but would also just be...disgusting in general, but because of the careful care jaemin took care of his body (and a potion or two from renjun) he’s basically a normal boy

except for when it’s the full moon, then he goes to his decomposed state, and during those times he just hides in his room and doesn’t come out until the next day

and ever since he started dating you, he absolutely refused to even let you into the same apartment as him on the full moon because he didn’t want you finding him disgusting

but you knew how to pick locks

and you must say, jaemin is overdramatic because the only difference was his skin was slightly green and his eye would occasionally pop out

not a big deal!!!

he’s a slow walker and prefers riding bikes to anything else, he takes you on dates in the park just to walk around all the time, but it’s always at night

his kisses are slow and he takes his time to do anything, his hand resting at your waist travels like a snail up your back to your neck, and the kisses he places on your neck are open-mouthed and leisurely

he says he loves taking his time because then he can make a map of every inch of your body

when i say everything he does it slow, i mean everything

eating? slow. breathing? slow. blinking? slow. having sex? slow (unless you beg nicely)

he hates the heat and doesn’t go out in the summer, the exact opposite of every couple in the world

winter is the season that couples cuddle together for hours on end, but you two are always out doing stuff those days

summertime is when you blast the AC and cuddle, watch all the movies you missed throughout the year and kiss the most often

if you are laying next to him he’s fingers will always find their way to your thigh and rub slow circles on the inside of them, you always give him a pointed look, but he always ignores it

if you ignore his affection he’ll whine and then suddenly all the energy from his past life floods him, and he throws a mini tantrum 

all you have to do to stop him is climb on top of him and connect your lips to his

and it’s one of the few times where his kisses are rushed and harried, and where his heart beats like he’s been briskly walking for an hour

it’s one of the few times he feels the blood rush through his veins, something he’s rarely felt since he died

and he loves it

ZHONG CHENLE : THE BLOODSUCKER

 chenle is the only one here who didn’t tell you he was a vampire after a whole year of dating

his reason was that “he didn’t want to scare you off because he was like 300 years old”

but you were like, “my boyfriend???? an immortal being??? sick dude”

of course, you wanted to spend an eternity with him, but you didn’t want to ask renjun for a potion, he was a busy man, and when you asked chenle to “do that thing where you turn people”, he said he didn’t want to bite you

so you were like: looks like i gotta poison myself now

long-story-short, you let something venomous bite you and told chenle that he’d have to bite you to suck the venom out your body, like on those survival shows

but he just took you to the ER

after you completely recovered you ask him to turn you again because you wanted to grow old with him 

and honestly, he wanted to spend forever with you, too

but he had his own moral code about biting-to-turn people, so he did the next best thing

he reversed his immortality for you

yeah he was still a vampy emo teen vampire

just without the eternal lifespan, but he didn’t really care about that anyway

kissing him meant getting used to his fangs getting caught on your lips and always having them a little cut-up 

constantly walking in on him drinking something red and he freaks out, saying it’s a non-violent blend 

you: i literally don’t care baby, i don’t even know what that means

chenle: :( b-but,,,it’s vegan

you reading something that said vampire bites were supposed to feel good, and you ask him if that was true and he just shrugs 

it takes two weeks to convince him to bite you (not to turn you) but,,,that shit Hurted

it felt like two needles....that’s it

the only rewarding thing coming from that was the look on his face when he pulled away from your neck, his face pink and a little trail of blood falling down his plush lips

“h-how was it?”

you didn’t say anything to him, instead opting to tell him with your lips, blood smearing

maybe fictional characters were wrong when they said bites felt good, but you didn’t mind the pain if it resulted in the loving kisses you shared with chenle that night 

PARK JISUNG : THE MAN OF THE UNDERWORLD

you met jisung on your way to the convenience store, him stuffing his face with his second bowl of human ramen

you just gave him a concerned look while he paid no attention to you, until you walked a little closer to where he sat outside 

his nose scrunched and he looked up, his bright eyes not matching up with the red devil horns on his head

“i thought i smelled an angel”

“i didn’t think you could smell anything with your nose shoved in that ramen”

when you two started dating, everyone said that it seemed flip-flopped; that he was like an angel and you the demon...but clearly they knew nothing of your relationship dynamic

there was a reason he was a demon after all; his mischevious nature much worse than your harmless teasing

his pranks would usually result in him getting in a fight with some human and you would always have to calm them both down

in that way, you were the mediating angel

making fun of him for being scared of roller coasters 

him shutting you up by promptly telling you to "keep your pretty angel mouth shut” with a pout on his face and a kiss ready on his lips

dates to the underworld, which was prettier than you thought; you’d go lava surfing or just go to his dorm and watch movies

dates to the paradise world, that was less annoying than jisung thought; you’d go to cloud parks where you’d parkour from cloud to cloud, or you’d just sit at the parks and hold hands

you two were so pure :’)

kisses were timid and shy at first but as the relationship progressed they were longer and more sudden

sometimes days would pass where you wouldn’t even brush against each other because neither of you felt like it and then there were some days where he couldn’t keep his head from the crook of your neck or his hands from your soft sides 

him gently nudging you with his horns to show affection when you were cooking because he was too shy to wrap his arms around you and kiss your shoulder

his skin turning burning-hot whenever you made him shy by kissing his nose or playing with his ears

his hands were always warm and welcoming, and you couldn’t help yourself when you got the urge to play with his fingers

every time you touched him or brushed up against him, you’d always think of how warm he was, even on the coldest days on earth, he still seemed to burn red-hot

he’d never tell you it was because your presence sent his heart into overdrive

but you had a sneaking suspicion 

[jtrahan]

I’ve always known I was going to be eaten by a witch on my thirteenth birthday.

It wasn’t a secret or anything. In the morning my brothers and sisters would get on the school bus to go to kindergarten and my mother would drive me to daycare with all the other Witch Kids. That was what they called us; we had little name tags with “Witch Kids” in curly writing at the top and little drawing of black cats or steaming cauldrons at the bottom. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, being a Witch Kid. Our teachers stressed this over and over again. Some kids would grow up to be teachers or lawyers or police officers, and some kids would be eaten by the witch to ensure the town’s continued prosperity. Both were equally important. We had a little picture book featuring a story to this effect, in which a whole bunch of smiling cartoon children in various career-themed outfits waved cheerful goodbyes to the beaming Witch Kids ascending the stairs to the witch’s house. When we got older, we were expected to read this book to the younger children. There was a new one in the class every year. They needed to be taught these things. They didn’t always understand what an honor it was to be eaten by the witch.

---

“What if I didn’t, though,” I said desperately.

My mother paused, the dinner tray halfway through the slot at the bottom of my door. From my position on the floor I could just see the bottom half of her face as she crouched down to insert the tray. Her mouth was smiling.

“Sweetie,” she said. “We talked about this. What do we do when there are things that make us nervous? We get them over with, quickly, like a band-aid. And they’re never really as bad as we worried they’d be.”

“I think this one might be pretty bad,” I said. There was a calendar on the back of my door, all the blank white days of October obscured by red Xs. All but one.

“I googled how to hotwire a car,” I said. “And how to drive a car. And what different road signs mean. You wouldn’t have to help me or anything. Just let me sneak out to the garage. You can say it was an accident. They’ll believe you.”

“I though I raised you better than this,” said my mother disapprovingly. Her mouth trembled for a moment, but maintained its smile. “I know it’s unpleasant, but there are a lot of people counting on you. I’m counting on you. You don’t want to let me down, do you?”

“Could I let you down just this once, maybe,” I said. My cheek was pressed against the carpet, and I could feel my tears soaking into it. “Please, mom. Please. I’m begging you. Please let me go. I’ll do anything.”

Two teardrops rolled down the sides of my mother’s face and dripped into my mashed potatoes. Her mouth was a rictus, sickly and fixed.

“We all have to do our part,” she said. “Eat up. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

---

They came with torches and pitchforks. Just a precaution, they explained. They sounded half apologetic, and continued apologizing as they dragged me down the stairs, my fingernails leaving gashes in the wallpaper. Just making sure everything is done properly, that’s all. Just going by the book.

On main street a parade had assembled, schoolkids blowing tunelessly on their instruments or practicing baton spins, cub scouts treading absentmindedly on the banner they were supposed to be carrying, old men at the back of the line perched on the seats of polished tractors. There was a float in the middle, hitched to a black pickup truck, and in its center was a chair, with manacles on each arm, and clasps on the legs at ankle height. Just a precaution, m’dear, the mayor assured me, as he gave me his arm so I could climb onto the float, pitchforks pricking my back. Just in case. Perhaps we could only chain one arm, do you think? It does look much better if you wave to the people as you go by. Here, we have a bowl of candy you can throw to the kids. Make sure you’re getting the ones at the back! The mayor patted my shoulder kindly. Don’t be nervous, dear. You look very nice. Remember to wave slowly. It’s all in the wrist.

It was unseasonably warm for the end of October. Sweat dripped down the mayor’s face. He stepped down from the float and said something to the driver, and the parade started off, crawling slowly past the gas station and the pharmacy and the tents of the farmers market. Somebody clattered a pitchfork near my feet, and I raised my hand, slowly turning it back and forth, back and forth. Families lined the sidewalks. “Please,” I said, waving, sobbing, nose running and dripping onto my dress. “Please help me.” The parents stood and watched me. The kids at the edge of the road shrieked for candy. Everybody clapped.

---

At the witch’s house the parade paused, and there was some consternation because the mayor had dropped the key to my chains somewhere, or left them in his other coat, or something. God damn it, I heard him hissing at the town treasurer, I don’t know where it is, just get her out of there somehow. The mayor kept checking his watch. The sun had gone behind a cloud, but he was still sweating, stains blossoming on his shirt. “We’re almost of time,” he whispered, glancing furtively up the path to the witch’s house. “Somebody get a crowbar or something. She’ll be expecting us. We have to get this done.”

In the end they pried the manacles loose with a hammer, and I stepped down onto the pavement with chains dangling from my writs, nails still sticking out of the metal plate at the end.

The witch’s house glowered over us, three stories of shattered windows and paint worn colorless, a tower of broken boards and cobwebs and rot. I looked up at it and I looked back and the crowd pressed in close and there was no help there, no way out, nothing. I had half made up my mind to die right there on the end of a pitchfork, but my body wouldn’t quite let me.

Up the steps, boards creaking. Through the doorway, a shower of dust falling down onto my hair. Into the darkness. Into the house.

---

The inside of the witch’s house was almost incomprehensibly destroyed, as though some monstrous arm had smashed everything it could reach, and kept on smashing until it died of exhaustion. A staircase to the second floor had collapsed into ruin. Splintered objects at the edges of the room might once have been furniture. There was a chandelier in the middle of the floor, shattered and covered in a thick layer of cobwebs and dust. The darkness was suffocating. I could feel my breath quickening with panic, out of my control, and I tried to push backwards out of the door, but it was stuck fast. My own gasping filled my ears, and I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t--

From the space between my body and the door, where no one could possibly have been standing, a hand pressed into my back.

Well, said the house, in the language of creaking boards, Let’s have a look at you.

Slowly, inexorably, the hand at my back began to push me forward, my shoes sliding through the dust and splinters, towards a hallway at the back of the room. The hallway was moving. The hallway breathed like a lung.

---

At the end of the hallway there was a light.

“No,” I said. “No, no, no, no, no, no--”

The ghostly hand gave a sudden shove, and I stumbled forward, into the light.

I was in a kitchen, tiled all in white. The refrigerator was white. The stove was white. The pristine countertops where white. The plates and cups on the table were mostly white, with a pattern of cherries around the edges. I blinked. The light was almost blinding.

The witch was sitting at the table, doing the crossword puzzle in the New York Times. She looked up as I entered. Her robe and hat were black and her face was grey and and more ancient than humanly possibly. She looked like a dead thing that had been bleaching on the side of the road after a week spent being knocked back and forth by passing motorists. She was chewing on the end of her pencil, and her teeth were jagged and rotten and black. As I entered, she looked up at me, milky eyes flickering in their sockets.

“Oh,” she said. “They sent another one, did they?”

My breath came back in a rush. I felt I was having what I imagined a heart attack would feel like. I felt like I was about to throw up on her floor.

The witch reached up to her mouth, and her rotten teeth slid forward into her hand. She placed the dentures on a little cherry patterned plate on the table. Something brushed past my legs, into the room: a small black cat, mewing impatiently. The witch stroked it with a long-nailed hand. She opened her mouth. She kept opening her mouth. She continued to open her mouth for a very long time. Empty gums stretched wide and wider, a doorway, a cave, tongue lolling forward like a stairway, leading down into the glistening dark.

“Well,” said the witch, somehow. “Come on, then. You better get in.”

---

There are many other children in here.

There is arcane knowledge glowing on the walls.

There is a thing with the head of a goat that speaks to us sometimes, in whispers, in a language we never knew we knew. This was never the plan, it tells us. The witch has been kind of bemused by this whole thing, to be honest. But no matter. If the fear is too much for them, if they’re still going to keep sending children, that’s fine. The witch has a place for us. She knows what to do with children.

In darkness we study the runes on the walls. In darkness the power of hell flows through us. In the darkness the voice whispers, its breath hot against our ears, calling us its children, its warriors, its army that will cover the world.

It’s almost time to go home.

[jinjikook]

you’ve stolen my right to relief (m)

🎃 word count: 3k

🎃 genre: smut ; thieves au

🎃 pairing: reader/jinjin

🎃 warning(s)/kink(s): edging, spanking, a little bit of dirty talk + some angry/hateful feelings

🎃 summary: a bet between you and your colleague leaves you faced down in a crap motel and a few fingers away from the edge of sanity.

🎃 requested by: anon - “edging / spanking with jinjin from astro for kinktober?”

🎃 music: ties - years & years + lose control - lay

🎃 masterlist + kinktober 2017

“I fucking hate you, what part of that don’t you get?” You spit, pushing the light haired boy away from you.

No matter how hard you tried, it seemed like your partner in crime didn’t quite understand how much you seriously despised him.

Keeping your volume down was crucial at the moment but Jinwoo seemed to have other plans as he continued to whisper in your ear, breathing his heavy breath over your neck and making you seethe with irritation.

“C’mon, if you can’t handle the heat: get the fuck out of the kitchen.” He drawled, eyes dragging down your body clad in tight, black clothes meant to conceal you in the dead of night but it only accentuated your curves further, to Jinwoo’s pleasure.

“It was one fucking time, I made it clear I wasn’t ever going to sleep with you again Jinwoo, so hop off my dick for once!” You turned to face Jinwoo, smirk still plastered across his clean cut face. Despite being the muscle in this operation, he was surprisingly compact and—as much as it pained you to admit—he had a pretty face that sold more scams than you’d initially assumed.

As you shuffled your hands in the far-too-fancy jewelry box you’d spotted upstairs earlier—in the middle of the “leak check-up” that’d been a part of the ruse this time around—Jinwoo chuckled louder than you liked at the sight of all the lavish rings and necklaces; too garish for every day wear but clearly something this woman kept for special nights.

You’d be able to flip it easily for a quick buck, easy money to toy with. A pawn shop or even just to a jeweler themselves, who’d take the gold bezels and smelt them down into custom pieces, completely unrecognizable to the police or the owners of the accessories.

“Could you shut your trap for more than two seconds? You have the worst ability to hold out, I swear.” You rolled your eyes and shoved the rest of the emeralds and rubies into the rucksack you’d sneaked onto your back, Jinwoo already brushing past you to head towards the nightstand where you assumed the husband slept next to.

He scavenged the drawers, pulling out some concealed cash and a few items that looked like they’d be worth something.

“Aha! Bingo,” Jinwoo ogled the piece of fine Italian craftsmanship dangling from his hand, the gold reflecting off moonlight like a lighthouse in the middle of a foggy night.

“For fuck’s sake, could you be any more obvious we’re casing a house?”

“You know, if you got that stick out of your ass for once, I could replace it with something more worthwhile,” He looked back and winked and you had half a mind to run out the front door and call the cops to arrest his ass. Unfortunately, he’d give you up in a heartbeat because your loyalties didn’t run that deep just yet.

It all started when you were down on your luck and your no good brother-in-law stole all the savings you had for a situation just like the one you were in at the time. He caused you to get evicted from your apartment and lose your scholarship for the school you worked so hard to get into.

Jinwoo was the one who helped you get back at him and you joined him in the robbery circuit, quickly adapting and learning to the lifestyle and even becoming his equal in the field. He was proud to call you his protégé but it didn’t stop him from always holding it over your head when it came to how much experience he had.

“You’re disgusting and I hope you trip and break your ankle on the way out of here.”

“It’s so cute how your threats are always so PG, you’d never really want anything to happen to me.” He grinned and blew you a kiss, to which you gagged in retaliation to. “Okay, what do we have left?” He turned to evaluate the room, checking for any missed items and while he busied himself with nooks and crannies, you slid open the closet door and pushed some clothes aside. To the untrained eye, it was a regular, normal closet filled with boring dress shirts and blouses, things a 40-year-old married couple would have hanging to be worn during their 9-5 day jobs.

But you knew better than to believe there was just what met the eye, shifting things around until a nearly hollow thump clacked against your knuckles through one the swipes of your hand. Moving a chiffon skirt and navy trench coat that was heavier than it looked, you were met with what your kind thought of as a gold mine.

“Hey Jin Jin! We got ourselves a safe!” You smiled menacingly and Jinwoo was at your side in an instant, rubbing his palms together like a predator ready to sink his teeth into his prey and have dinner.

“Let’s see, are you a mediocre lock or…” He trailed off, inspecting the hard box with gloved fingers, checking brand, label, age and condition.

“What’dya think, Jinwoo? Should we pick it, break it or take it back with us? We don’t have much time left.” You inquired, checking your phone to see that the Lee’s were due back from their son’s Open House Night in roughly twenty minutes, give or take some time depending on traffic and how much the mother gossips with the other PTA moms.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, humming as he weighed out his options.

“It’s a combination lock, what do you think they picked?”

“Their son’s birthday?” The first answer in your mind was a significant date like that, being an easy choice for a parent to put as a lock on their phone or in this case, a safe box. Jinwoo tried the numbers, easily nabbed from the calendar hanging next to the fridge downstairs.

“No luck, I’ll try the husband’s and wife’s.” As he fiddled some more with the numbers, you were struck with the small spark of knowledge you’d been told sometime during your start as a petty thief.

People were stupid, it was in their nature. Which is why they have trouble remembering combinations, numbers, dates and anything else of the like. Especially a couple as old as the Lee’s, they probably forgot things all the time if they didn’t write it down somewhere. It’s why they had a colorful calendar littered with notes and circled with dates, a small pad attached to the fridge with the grocery list and even a journal sat on the top of the wife’s nightstand; a dream journal of sorts.

You pushed Jinwoo aside, ignoring his noise of protest and you circled the safe and checked the back of it, just at the bottom. There, in sad silver Sharpie scrawl was a four-digit number: the code.

With a confident smile, you took Jinwoo’s place in front of the box and rolled the little black and white tiles until they all matched the numbers you just saw, clicking with the confirmation that you had unlatched the lock. Jinwoo grimaced at your expression and ability, simply tugging open the top. Digging in quickly, you were met with money in an envelope—emergency money you guessed—and a jar of dozens of coins labeled “Minhyuk’s MIT Funds”. You snickered at their preparation for something that they could never guarantee would happen.

Jinwoo snorted his own laugh and stuffed the jar and the few other items that looked like they were worth something before shutting the safe and bringing everything back to its original place.

“Jackpot.” You whispered and Jinwoo bumped your fist as you made your way quietly down the stairs, slinking around like a cat in the night. The two of you were the snakes in the grass, ready to strike but more willing to lay low and do your own business, afar from prying eyes.

It was in-and-out, an everyday sort of robbery. You were seated in the passenger seat of Jinwoo’s pick-up truck, counting the money that had been in the envelope and smelling the scent of crisp, unused bills.

Jinwoo looked over and whooped, feeling the high of a successful casing. Out of sheer impulse, he reached over the median and gripped your chin hard, pulling you towards him to press a hard kiss to your lips. It only partly caught you off guard, something that Jinwoo has done in the past but it was still not something he did often enough to become habit.

A few stops along the way—hitting a pawn shop, some old friends who could make use of the oddities you’d stolen and a liquor store later, you were back and holed up in another three star motel for the night.

Jinwoo took a swig of his bottle, cheap beer since you didn’t like wasting money on alcohol. You’d rather spend it on more worthwhile things like food or amenities.

“So, did you want to take a little twist in testing your theory from earlier?” Jinwoo spoke up from where he was sitting on a dining chair, legs up on the table even after you scolded him to get them off for the umpteenth time.

“Here we go with the drunken ramblings again…” You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose before obliging the man and turning his way on the mattress you were comfortably seated on.

“I’m not drunk, Y/N, hear me out this time.” With a motion of your hand, Jinwoo continued. “You said I couldn’t last. But, what makes you think you can?” The quirk in his brow told you this was no longer about thievery, another sin coming in tow instead.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the growing ache in between your legs. It had been a while since you last got laid, if you had to admit it.

“I was talking about your inability to shut up for more than two seconds at a time, not whatever dirty fantasy you’re conjuring up in that sick, twisted mind of yours.”

“Well, then maybe you’ll like this bet after all,” Despite acting indifferent, you were slightly intrigued, using the excuse that you were bored beyond belief now that the thrill of thievery was long gone and replaced with dull, stagnant cable television and cheap take out. “How’s this: if you can last a whole ten minutes without coming, I’ll spend the entire next stake out completely silent, unless I absolutely have to talk.”

“Wait, wait hold up, you’re a scammer for a reason. You always find a loophole and I’m not falling for one of your tricks; contrary to popular belief, I am smarter than the average bear. Now, out with it, what’s the catch?”

Jinwoo put his hands up defensively, finally sliding his feet off the table to sit up straight.

“No tricks, catch or gimmicks.” He crossed his heart and held up his right hand. “I swear, I’m just positive you won’t make it so I don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Watch it, Park. That cockiness is gonna get you into more trouble than it already has,” You scrunched your nose and sat at the edge of the bed. “You’re on.” Shaking hands, Jinwoo got up to seat himself next to you on the bed, going over the “ground rules” per your request.

The bet was simple: Jinwoo would have you over his lap, only using his fingers in you and you’d set a timer on your phone. If you lasted the full ten minutes without having an orgasm, it’s your win and Jinwoo had to shut his trap and eat his words.

If you lost? Jinwoo asked simply to fuck your throat until he came all over your pretty face. His words, not yours.

For the sake of time and convenience, you changed into one of the pleated skirts you liked to use when you needed to distract someone; whether it was a victim or an officer, it always worked wonders. Of course, sans underwear since that’d be a just another unnecessary hurdle to get over. Jinwoo was more than pleased with this, leaning back on the bed and waiting patiently. His smug smirk was still fixed in place and it only made you grit your teeth harder, wanting to show him up once and for all.

You tried your best to keep things from getting awkward by just sliding over his lap, reaching for your phone and getting to the timer application. Jinwoo’s hands were warm as they held you in place and kept you from slipping off. In a way, it grounded you and you weren’t sure if you appreciated it or not just yet.

“Okay, timer’s on. Get on with it, I guess.”

Jinwoo chuckled at your monotone voice and wasted no time in bringing a hand down to caress your bare cheeks, feeling the firm flesh under his fingertips.

“Oh come on, doll. Lighten up! We both know this is gonna be just as good for you as it will be for me.” And with that, Jinwoo began to circle your damp entrance, feeling his way around the folds and teasing you for a second.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “If this is all you’re gonna do, these next ten minutes are gonna be a breeze.” His resolve tightened as he quickly inserted a finger without warning, rubbing at your walls while using an adjacent digit to press against your clit, already upping the ante.

It was a little bit of effort but you made sure to keep your breathing even, appearing unaffected to the other as he followed up with another finger, the stretch feeling more prominent around him. You could feel the beginnings of a bulge against your stomach, a growing hardness at your abdomen as Jinwoo pumped his fingers in and out of you languidly, like he had all day. It was wet and loud and he pulled your skirt up to get a good view of your ass as his fingers disappeared underneath you over and over again.

Around the five minute mark, Jinwoo had had enough of your lack of noise—obviously trying to keep still despite already being three fingers in and dripping wet.

To remedy the issue, he rose the hand that had been steadying you and brought it down hard against your ass cheek, the muscle jiggling at the motion. You yelped, not expecting the harsh treatment and that was the first of many as Jinwoo broke the metaphorical dam. He released relentless abuse on your rear, spanking you left and right, over and over again as his other hand refused to slow down, the wet squelch roaring in your ears.

You were panting like a dog, face down and whenever your eyes did open, all you caught sight of was the wrecked old fuzzy carpet of the motel room, covered in peculiar stains that were beyond questionable.

Losing all track of time, you whimpered a particularly desperate whine of Jinwoo’s name that had his fingers stuttering, just for a millisecond but enough of a hiccup that it made you realize just how close you were. Pushing away from his fingers, Jinwoo actually relented and slowed his ministrations down, just at the edge of your high and it was a bittersweet feeling. You were so close to coming and while the relief would’ve been great to feel but a harsh blow to your ego, not coming felt like it was the worst choice amongst the two.

It only lasted for a moment—a heartbeat—and Jinwoo’s fingers were back to pistoning into you again. A quick peek at the timer had him seeing that only about 3 or so minutes remained, and while he would enjoy the sweet taste of victory, watching you writhe in his lap was doing wonders to his filthy mind.

So he toyed with you some more, fingers picking up speed as he landed blow after blow and bringing you just up against the precipice again, your mind too far gone to even care at this point, and swiftly yanking you back and dousing you in ice cold water as he ripped away your orgasm once more.

It stung, both mentally and physically. You were sobbing at this point, begging for anything—nothing in specific, you were just a blubbering mess and Jinwoo was relishing every second of it.

“You want it? You wanna come, pretty baby?” Jinwoo’s gruff voice growled, a promise laced in his tone. You nodded vehemently, completely throwing the bet to the wind as you tried to grind back against the friction to your core.

Jinwoo had similar thoughts as yours, wanting nothing more than to see you come undone and he thrusted his fingers into you a few more times before you clenched around him, coming harder than you ever have in your entire life. It took some time for you to come down, Jinwoo patting you reassuringly and easing you up back onto the bed once you weren’t shaking anymore.

“Time?” You panted, barely understandable. Jinwoo reached for the phone and the smirk on his face told you everything, letting your head fall back onto the bed now that you were sure he’d won the damn bet.

“11 minutes and 14 seconds.”

You shot back up, a little disoriented but with determination you snatched the phone out of Jinwoo’s hand and read the numbers hastily, true to his word.

“Why are you so smug then?” With wide, dewy eyes, you looked up at the sandy haired boy. He shrugged his shoulders and smoothed his shirt down.

“Told you it’d be as good for you as it was for me.” A quick look down had you realizing that Jinwoo had come in his pants, probably around the same time as you had. Your laugh was airy, and Jinwoo chuckled along with you before suggesting a shower.

While lathering up, you turned to face Jinwoo, the spray hitting your back with medium velocity due to the motel’s shitty water pressure.

“Guess you’re gonna have to stay quiet the next heist.”

Jinwoo’s hands found purchase on your hips and tugged you closer, eyebrow raised in a silent challenge.

“Double or nothing?”

[mfmagazine]

Melissa Joan Hart

Article by Lauren Weigle

She “explained it all” to us as Clarissa Darling with her mismatched fashions and adolescent perspective on life. She cast a spell over us making us fall deeper and deeper in love with her as Sabrina The Teenage Witch. She’s also won our hearts while making us laugh out loud in films like Drive Me Crazy, Can’t Hardly Wait, and Not Another Teen Movie. But, her current leading role on Melissa & Joey is where she’s really made all of us red in the face with laughter. I’m sure you know who I’m talking about by now… She’s practically a household name… You guessed it. It’s Melissa Joan Hart. This industry veteran isn’t just a rockstar on the screen. In fact, she is quite the accomplished entrepreneur. For a deeper look into what Melissa’s all about, I’ll give you a little peek into the convo I had with her the other day while she was spending some time on the East Coast.

Okay. Tell me about your store, Sweet Harts, and where the idea came from.

Yea! It’s been open a little over two years now and my mom and I, through all our travels all over the world, have always explored candy stores, so we really wanted to open our own. And, we thought, Sweet Harts, would be an adorable name for it. It probably more started with the name than anything else. Then, people started investing in it and we got this little store off the ground. It’s in Sherman Oaks, California right now, but we’d like to expand it to other areas and see how that goes over. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but it’s this beautiful little shop. We have birthday parties, baby showers, kids come after school, and they come after little league games. It’s been really fun.

So what is your favorite goodie or candy that you have in the store?

I just love the idea of ring pops I think since I was a little girl. You get that giant ring and you get to suck on it ‘cause it’s sugary!

Do your kids have any Sweet Harts favorites? Are they ring pop fans too?

My five year old always loves those fish lollipops. They’re almost like gummy fish on a stick, but they’re sour too. My three year old is really into the Pucker machine. It’s one of those machines where you basically make your own Pixie stick, but it’s called Pucker Powder. You can put whatever flavors and colors you want in there and they love to make those. They don’t want to eat it. They just want to make it.

Okay, let’s talk about one of the other projects you work on with your mother…Hartbreak Films, Inc. What are some of the perks when it comes to working with family?

Well, the good thing is, who are you going to trust more than your mom, ya know? You always know she’s got your back and everything’s going to go well. But, there’s always times when the mother/daughter line gets crossed with your working relationship, so we’ve had to learn over the years. I mean, we’ve been doing it about eighteen years, so we’ve had to learn how to put certain things aside or business aside and deal with the other issue that may be at hand. One of the plus sides is that it makes you talk to your mom all the time. It’s a great way to be on the phone with your mom. You stay in touch more.

Can you tell me about some of the projects you have going on right now with Hartbreak?

Sure! Well, the history of it all is that my mom found the Archie comics Sabrina The Teenage Witch and brought it to Viacom where we decided to make it a TV movie for Showtime. Then, from that spawned the show and we did that for many years. Along with that, we were doing the animated series, a bunch of TV movies. I actually just ran into Ryan Reynolds a few minutes ago and he was in the first Sabrina movie with me. So, we had a long-running franchise with that of course.

What about some of the other projects?

We did a ton of other TV movies in the process. We did a movie about Shirley Temple’s life story. She wouldn’t give the project to anybody else, except us, which was wonderful because she is a huge idol of mine. It was a great moment to meet her and give her blessing to tell her story. It meant a lot to me. Just last year our first feature film came out on DVD called Nine Dead, that we shot in Baton Rouge. And then we did the TV movie, My Fake Fiance, which is pretty much where Melissa & Joey came from. The network loved the chemistry between us and decided to create a TV show. So, that’s where we are now. Other than that we also have a web-series that will be up very soon. I can’t really talk about it, but it’s going to be a really fun, family-oriented reality web-series. It’s sort of like a family talk show. That’s one that I’m really excited about. We have an animated show in the works, another TV show being done in Canada, a feature, and a few other things also.

Boy, sounds like your plate is pretty much full. Back to Sabrina, though, how did you guys first decided to take it from just a movie and expand it into an entire TV series?

Oh, it was really simple, actually. Before the movie even aired, my mother had sat with an editor and cut together a trailer of what it could look like as a TV show. She then went to five different networks. Three of them bid on it in a room and ABC ended up being the best choice for it, putting the show on TGIFriday’s time slot. We were shootin’ it by that Fall!

So, what was it like working on Sabrina?

It was wonderful. I had a blast. Clarissa was a lot of fun to do too, but it was hard because I was also in high school. But, Sabrina was really the first time I worked as an adult even though my mom was on the set with me. I was on my own. I was living by myself. I bought a car. I moved to LA. I was so excited to be on my own and working. I loved the crew. We pretty much had the same crew for over seven years and we had a blast. We travelled the world together and became best friends.

Yea, ya know, when you were on Clarissa Explains It All, I used to watch you all the time and try to dress like you, but it was always a complete fail.

I know! I watch it now and some of the things are back in style and some of them are not at all. It’s so funny because that’s what I always get. When I was Clarissa, people would always tell me they want to dress like me and they loved my style. When I was Sabrina, people would tell me how they loved the cat and how their kids loved my show. Now that I’m doing Melissa & Joey, I get, “Oh, you’re so funny.” It’s just such a compliment. I love that people are telling me I’m so funny like they’re just figuring it out. (She laughs.)

Like it’s a new discovery, right? Well, you've always been funny. I guess maybe that goes without saying sometimes for people. I mean, your list of credits and accomplishments is beyond amazing. As a veteran in entertainment, what do you feel are some of the key ingredients to being successful in your career?

Well, the thing with this business is that there’s no set plan. There’s no moving up the ladder, getting the promotion. You can have a great show with a great character who’s iconic, but when it’s over, you’re back down at the bottom of the ladder again. You have to fight your way back to the top. It really is a business of rejection. You have to have a thick skin and you have to be willing to take a lot of crap to get what you want. Your managers and agents aren’t always enough. Sometimes you have to push your own career along. That’s why I’m producing and directing and those kind of things too. It’s a game of numbers, too, but it’s not an easy way to make a living. That’s for sure.

So how do you juggle marriage, motherhood, home life, and your career, ‘cause you do so much?

I literally take it day by day. When I get home, I’ll look at my calendar and figure out what needs to happen. Do we need our nanny tomorrow? Am I going to make it to the gym tomorrow? What do the kids have to do? I have to make preparations for everything. I know what the next year of my life looks like until next August, month by month… when I’ll be in Connecticut and when I’ll be in California, so I can plan Christmas parties and things like that based on when I’m going to be in town. So, I have to be that far ahead of time while at the same time take it day by day.

Well, clearly, your role on Melissa & Joey differs from your real life as a loving and active mother, but, at the same time, can you relate to your character as she’s a career woman juggling home life as well?

Yea. I mean, the one thing is that my kids are kind of growing up gradually while she was kind of thrown into it. With my character, I take my natural Mommy instinct and I do the exact opposite for the show. But, at the same time, we actually are going through the same thing. I hadn’t really thought of it that way before. We’re both trying to pursue careers while trying to raise good children and it depends on the day which one actually takes priority. Like, is today a day that my kids really need me or is today a day that I can escape and go to work? It’s tough and there’s sacrifices on both sides. I think our generation was told that we can be great moms and CEOs. I think it’s a really hard thing to do both great. I think you’re really lucky to be able to do both things good.

Well, since you said you have the whole year planned out, what do you have in store for us with Melissa & Joey?

Well, right now you’re seeing the second half of the first season. It’s still technically the first season. There’s about 12 or 13 more episodes this season. And, in a couple weeks, we’re going back to start filming season two! The storylines are just being figured out. If the ratings really pick up more, then, hopefully we’ll go from there.

What’s the chemistry like on set?

With Melissa & Joey, we all have families and we’re all really focused on making a really great show. So, what’s really fun is that we’ve opened up the lines of communication so that we could give each other notes. Like, “Hey, if you try this it might be funnier than that,” or, “What if you say this instead?” Now, we have that kind of communication across the cast and the crew has started chiming in as well. We’re really all in it together, so it’s a nice collaborative effort to make it the show the best it can be.

Some say the show is like a modern day’s Who’s The Boss. What are some of the twists and aspects of the show that make it different?

For starters, you have two people that are not parents on the show. On that show they were both parents. On this show they come into in completely blind. Another thing that’s different, which I actually think is the main ingredient for the show, is that Mel and Joe don’t like each other. They bicker and quarrel. I feel like the show has elements of Moonlighting and of The New Adventures of Old Christine. Like where the mom is not really the greatest mom. She’s sort of a wreck. She’s just a hot mess that you love to watch like in this show. I just feel like our show is really funny. Who’s The Boss was a great show and it lasted forever, so if we have that kind of blessing, we would be very lucky.

[gaiatheorist]

Not-so-smart phones?

Flicking through the headlines, and generally trying to avoid anything with ‘Apocalypse’ in it, the first two I skimmed through related to mobile tech. I remember when we didn’t all have the internet in our pockets at all times, when ‘the internet’ was that one computer at school, that each class got about half an hour a month, to talk to another school. I remember when a ‘phone’ was either the house-phone, that your Mum would pick up the other extension on, and listen to your “No, you hang up...”, or various public telephone boxes, where you needed a handful of change, and to avoid the smack-head waiting to call their dealer.

The kid didn’t have a smart-phone until he went to Uni, he’d been using the same mini-brick he’d had since he was 12, topped-up with £10 credit about twice a year. He didn’t open a Fakebook account until he was 16. That’s not my CEOP-training, or my Safeguarding head, he went through the swearing-at-strangers-on-Xbox-live stage, and I think he uses Steam to chat to his mates. ‘I think’, Gods, I’m one of those dinosaur-parents, who doesn’t actually know what their child is doing. I’m not overly concerned, he leaves his laptop open, and his phone and tablet lying about, there’s no element of concealment to indicate there’s anything he wouldn’t want me to know about, so I don’t try to look.

(My head’s doing that then/now thing it does sometimes, I’m amused by the thought of time-travelling back to my teenaged self, and not being able to immediately search any given thing, instead of going to the library to look it up.)

The kid hasn’t been kept in a cupboard under the stairs, he’s sort of come-of-age during this period where the instant-internet is normal, to the extent that we both get exasperated when the connection glitches, and we can’t watch TV-from-everywhere over the broadband at the same time as we both have several devices connected to various other apps. (Look at that, ‘apps’ doesn’t flag on spell-check any more.)

Smart/stupid link on spell-check, there, and my bubbling rage when Fakebook people just let anything that isn’t underlined go. Just because it IS a word, doesn’t mean it’s the right one. That’s another rage-bubble I need to work on, because it’s able-ist, It doesn’t matter that spelling and grammar errors make me twitchy, but it does sort of loop back around to the point of this ramble. In 2003, when I started working as an SEN teaching assistant, I was assigned to a group of students who had been removed from their GCSE English class. Not a disruption-removal, they’d been removed from the bottom-set English class because they couldn’t read. Rolling back my ridiculous memory, they were all in the Moderate Learning Difficulties category on the SEN ‘register’, I had four regular ‘MLD’ students, and occasionally the SpLD lad with the ‘Specific Learning Difficulty’ of dyslexia. Oh, sometimes I had the boy with Asperger’s and ADHD as well, but only if one of the MLD boys was absent, because if you put them in the same room they fought. That was how SEN students were catered for back then, the weakest students were removed from the mainstream class, and plonked in a room with a teaching assistant (being paid thruppence ha’penny an hour to teach the curriculum.), because that was a more effective use of resources than the teacher having to spend half the lesson trying to ‘keep them on task’. (More accurately, trying to stop them masturbating under the desk, or falling off their chairs again.) 

‘Teaching’ four children who couldn’t actually read, without a degree, or a teaching qualification. I know, brilliant, isn’t it? 

Rambling. My point was that the particular learning difficulties those children had led to a LOT of pick-the-first-word-spellcheck-suggests essays. The kids had no real clue what most of the words said, and “Look it up in the dictionary.” was never an effective solution, they couldn’t ‘look it up’, BECAUSE they didn’t have enough of a grasp of spelling to even know what the word started with. English is awkward like that. (Saw one of them on a bus a few days ago, so at least one of them managed to survive to the age of nearly-30.) Back-then, they didn’t have mobile phones, and I doubt they had the internet at home. (Some of them didn’t appear to have washing machines, or parents with the ability to use one, anyway.) 

Back to the present, ALL the kids have mobiles, and it’s a rare house that doesn’t have ‘the internet’. Even the in-laws have ‘the internet’ now, although what they actually have is permission to use next door’s broadband password. (Which they probably have written in a book somewhere.) Fantastic, virtually every piece of knowledge humanity has ever acquired, at our fingertips, all the time. (So we use it to start fights, and look at pictures of cats.) The news is accused of dumbing-down to reach a wider audience, ‘exams are getting easier’, ‘university students are buying essays online’, and now, the fact-checking thing. As much as we have an element of society that will always pick the first word on spell-check, we also have an element that will believe the top-result on any given internet search. (Even when it’s a bloody advert.) The woman in whichever-African-country who thought her phone could scan her fingerprint and provide ‘the answer’ to whether she had AIDS. Scary world, people.

Even more scary is the man in Ohio, who live-streamed himself murdering a stranger. In the olden days, we wouldn’t have known about that as-it-happened, we would have had to wait for a printed newspaper to tell us about it the next day. We didn’t have 24-hour-television-news back then, an emergency broadcast was a very rare thing, but generally meant the death of a member of the royal family, not the apocalypse. Now? Now we’re so used to the ‘breaking news’ banner popping up, that it barely even registers. That desensitisation is a protective mechanism, because if we all read all of the news all of the time, we WOULD go completely insane. Our bubble-worlds, and the repeated articles about ‘digital detox’ are a strange reflection of how saturated we’ve become by the ‘connectivity’ that’s crept into our ‘normal’. 

I’m smirking at myself, the smart-phone that never leaves my side is pretty much never used as a phone. I looked at the call-time total on it a few weeks ago, and I’ve used 16 minutes. I’ve had the phone over a year, and the TOTAL talk-time on it is 16 minutes. I don’t talk, I type. My phone is a camera, to record stupid-shit-I’ve-done, and a calendar/reminder, alarms all over the place, to remind me to eat, or take medication, or put trousers on. My phone is effectively my ‘carer’, but that’s not why I have a gripping phobia of dropping it and breaking it. We ‘all’ have that, don’t we? The panic when you tap the pocket where your phone should be, and it isn’t? The Fear of Updates, battery-panic, and that subconscious thing we all do where we know where the signal-dead-spots are. We’re not scared of being eaten by a sabre-toothed tiger any more, we’re scared of being without wifi. 

There’s no real point to this one, I’m not going on a digital detox, because I barely ‘connect’ with anyone. I’m aware that two messages came to my phone last night, but I’m not breaking my neck to respond to one of them. (Fakebook fact-checking-man pointing out that I’m ‘quiet’, and asking me if I’m OK, I’ll lie to him later, because my sleeping patterns are out-of-synch with most humans, and his wife HATES me, I don’t want to ‘ping’ his phone and start some sort of domestic between them.) That’s the other thought-stream on this, I’m deliberately keeping my head down on Fakebook to disengage from ‘work’. The union lady said this would happen, that the longer I was off, the less people would try to engage with me. “You’ll be able to tell which ones were your real friends, because they’ll keep in touch.” That’s a most-people rule, though, it doesn’t apply to me  

[schemesanddreams]

Part Two – The Imposter

As the calendar rolled to 2004, Lee and I became quick friends, or so I thought.  It’s funny now, how nervous I was the first time I called her, considering the relationship we eventually developed.

With bi-weekly phone conversations, letters and e-mails abounding, one can imagine we discussed more than just Dorothy’s death - and one would be correct. Lee regaled me with tales of her lunching at Sardi’s and indulging in one too many gin and tonics; something I would quickly discover her penchant for.  It was more than her stories which tuned me in to her alcoholism. Nonsensical, rambling voicemails about her cats, parcel with addresses written sloppily and postage affixed upside down and one particular e-mail going on about penguins were only a few instances in which her troublesome relationship with alcohol became glaringly obvious.

I vividly remember her cackling over the receiver once, detailing her failure of burning a turkey for a dinner party she was hosting.  Another time, she absolutely demanded that I read Pentimento, a book by Lillian Hellman.  She urged me to read Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs, as we had been discussing banned literature at the time.  She confided in me that she was looking to write a screenplay about Dorothy and to “keep it under [my] hat.” Often times, she used antiquated phrasing – things such as something being “rotten in Denmark” and a “bee under one’s bonnet.”  It didn’t take me long to become quite fond of her, with all of her quirks and eccentricities.

Still, I knew something was off about Lee Israel.  I couldn’t put my finger on it but something didn’t feel right.  I didn’t fully trust her but she was releasing crumbs of information to me that I was unable to find elsewhere.  Having sent me copies of Dorothy’s handwritten autopsy report and several police reports I had requested from her, I knew that there was more Lee had yet to share with me.  I had to keep her placated and happy in order to receive the information I wanted, despite how distrusting I was of her at the time.  She only released the bare minimum to me, afraid that I would surpass her research and become the new “Queen of the Kilgallen Story” – the last bit of fame Lee clung to.  I was competition, she realized.  She was not dumb; she knew I was befriending her for information and she did her best to carefully keep me at bay.  It was quite the twisted relationship, in retrospect.

With those realizations, paired with my instinct, I did some late-night digging and ended up uncovering an ancient notice to all New York Public Libraries that Ms. Israel was forever banned from them.  Well, that’s curious, I thought…

It turns out that my somewhat-of-a-friend, confidant, theory-buddy and information provider had quite a dark secret.  When I confronted her with what I had found, Lee’s tone turned icy.

“That is NONE of your business,” she hissed.  “Keep your nose out of things that aren’t relevant to you,” she added.  I was stunned at her sudden change in demeanor. In that moment, Lee was downright cold.

Funny, I thought. This woman who had written an exclusive and detailed biography about the life of a person that wasn’t relevant to her was lecturing me, a person who came to her with my nose already buried in things that weren’t relevant to me, on not digging into something that wasn’t relevant…  I had struck a nerve and Lee made it obvious.  I backed off but continued to dig – shocked at what I continued to uncover.

My New York Times Bestselling Author of a “friend” was a pathological liar.  Additionally, she was a thief and a felon, to boot.  In retrospect – and having befriended another of her ilk – I recognize her behavior and traits to be quite obviously sociopathic.  The woman gave zero shits about anyone other than herself – and her past and present actions at the time made that perfectly clear.  

Lee had major success with the biography of Dorothy Kilgallen.  Similarly, she received tremendous praise for her biography of actress Tallulah Bankhead (who will become relevant later in this tale).  Riding high on the success of her writing, Lee began yet another biography.  Except, the subject of this one was very much alive and did not appreciate the unauthorized work.  Estée Lauder and Israel ended up in a race to the presses, with Lauder trying to beat Lee to publication with her own autobiography.

Lee’s book was an abject failure.  She was so ashamed of it, even so many years later, that she strictly forbade me from reading it.  (Something I complied with until many years after our falling out; finally, out of spite, I read the book and it was indeed a complete piece of trash.)

Having fallen off the high horse of success, Lee was strapped and living in an exclusive apartment on Riverside Drive in New York City.  She was in way over her head and struggling to make ends meet.  While she blames her felonious misadventures on the sickness of a beloved pet cat and her financial inability to afford treatment, I not-so-secretly believe that her theft was a direct reflection of her own selfish greed.

Lee sneaked documents out of the highly-secure historical reading rooms of the New York Public Library system.  Taking letters penned by very famous people, she would gently fold them, quietly slip them into her shoe, take them home and copy their signatures.  Her brand of forgery was especially inventive, as she used the light from an upturned television set as a back-light to trace the signatures. Using a variety of typewriters which she later admitted to trashing in various cans around the city once the FBI was onto her, she fabricated letters by famous people, forged their signatures and sold the fake letters as authentic.  She made a ton of money.  That is, until she was caught.  

This was information which, at the time, really surprised me.  I carefully suggested she monetize her story, afraid of the verbal backlash.  After all, it was interesting, I reminded her.  Instead of laying into me, she scoffed.  Yet, several years before her death on Christmas Eve 2014, she published a slim memoir called “Can You Ever Forgive Me?” to much success and fanfare. 

An aside that will make much more sense as my story progresses: I found out about Lee’s death through a google service that instantly reports to my e-mail any news featuring Dorothy Kilgallen.  I was absolutely taken aback when I absentmindedly checked my e-mail on Christmas and found that headline. 

“Keith,” I said, shocked, to my husband.  “It’s over.  She’s dead.” 

We high-fived and I decided in that moment, that her death was the best Christmas present I had ever received.  Before you cast me as a heartless, ruthless bitch, finish my series and then revisit that moment with the information you’ll receive...  My joy, relief and happiness will appear far less cold-hearted and in fact, very justified...

With much retrospect, I see just how dastardly Lee Israel was.  At the time, while I was certainly entertained by her, I knew that she merely kept me around for the attention.  Lavishing me with over-the-top stories and acting as if she was wealthy beyond her means, she basked and reveled in having an audience in me.  When I had planned a trip out to New York City to sightsee Dorothy’s house and haunts, as well as to do coffee with Lee, the façade crumbled and her lies came crashing down upon her.

There were no fancy luncheons at Sardi’s.  Not surprisingly, Lee had lied.  Sure, there was plenty of gin but I highly doubt they were expensive martinis, as she had suggested.  Certainly, they were sad drinks from plastic, bottom-shelf bottles.  There was no turkey dinner to be burnt. Lee had no friends to invite over.

“I’m penniless,” her e-mail read.  “I’m ashamed,” she told me.

Lying about her whereabouts during my trip (she was most definitely holed up in her embarrassingly cluttered apartment on Riverside Drive), she claimed to be in California on business.  Convenient.

Shortly after she so transparently stood me up, I experienced a major devastation by way of the death of a beloved family member.  Having recently moved to a new area and not yet having my feet solidly on ground in the social department, I called her hoping that in her, I could find a sympathetic ear.  She sent me to voicemail.

Not long after I left a very upset message, quickly filling her in on my situation, I received an e-mail.

“Due to our differences, I think it is best we no longer talk.”  

What differences? Sure, we weren’t politically amicable but that was about the only thing that we didn’t have in common.  I found it curious that she would dump me as a friend while I was in such a situation – after I had been there for her, for several years, during her tough times.

I was soon to surpass her on Kilgallen research, having spent a vacation talking with a forensic pathologist mooring next to the boat I was on.  Having contacted Kerry, quick to learn that he and Lee had also had a falling out.  Having received previously classified Kilgallen information from both the FBI and CIA.

I realized that she often had “falling outs” with people.  Kerry and I weren’t the only ones.  One person she blacklisted was crucial in the Kilgallen case.  His name was Ron Pataky and he was Dorothy’s secret boyfriend, seen with her on the night of her death.

“Don’t ever contact him,” Lee had admonished.  “He’s a violent alcoholic.  He’s very dangerous,” she told me.

Telling me of a time that she had gone and visited him – implying quite transparently that the two had gotten drunk together – she told me that he had flipped out and scared her. No other details were given about the story but her warning was stern.  I heeded the advice until 2011, when I was asked to be a guest on the syndicated radio program Coast to Coast.  They wanted me to spend a segment talking about Dorothy on their annual Kennedy Assassination show and I didn’t feel right about going on the air without having talked to the one man who I strongly believed killed Dorothy.

It was Lee who had tried to keep me isolated, warning me about DK’s son, Kerry and about Dorothy’s boyfriend Ron, alike.  It was Lee who made me promise to “never put any of this on the internet,” when she sent me the autopsy and toxicology reports.  It was Lee who feared me surpassing her as the subject matter expert on Dorothy when I broke my promise, creating the most comprehensive Kilgallen website to date and it was Lee who ended up making my life a living hell…