#mostly dead. the fervor is gone. but god it was fun

[percki]

i think that a lot of people don’t understand or weren’t conscious of the steddie apocalypse that occurred immediately after st4 aired. it was insane

[vpyre]

From Above and Below, Face to Face and Behind (Grelle x Reader)

Anticipation. That was the feeling coursing through me, setting my nerves alight and sharpening my focus. My heart pounded in my ears and I grinned as I brandished my weapon -an elegant, double-bladed scythe- and dropped into a wide ready stance. I faced down a smirking Grelle and watched as she adjusted her scarlet coat with a flourish and readied her own weapon. I could’ve sensed her smug confidence from a mile away. She did, after all, have more experience than me since I’d only been a Reaper for a decade or two. I wasn’t about to chicken out though. I'd scored mostly A's in my intro training, and besides, you should never underestimate those with something to prove.

There was a second of charged stillness. Another. Then a flurry of movement as she surged towards me.

I ducked, and her roaring chainsaw came swinging through the air right where my head had been. I felt my pulse spike with the sudden rush of adrenaline, and my grin widened. Rolling with my momentum, I sprung up and went for a headbutt, but she spun away with graceful agility. As she turned; eyes shining with excitement, scarlet hair streaming out behind; her scythe followed in a streak of gleaming silver, arcing downwards at me.

There was no time to dodge it. Instinct kicked in and my own blade came up to meet it. The resulting CLANG sent a shockwave up my arms, but the sound itself was almost lost amid the cacophony of murmuring spectators, blows, grunts, and clashing Death Scythes echoing off the pale sparring room walls. Grimacing in discomfort, I angled my weapon down and away, which sent hers sliding off with an excruciating screech of metal on metal, overbalancing her. She stumbled and I swung down at her exposed back, but in a blur of speed, she recovered and snapped her chainsaw around behind her, intercepting my strike with another ringing crash.

Grelle's vibrant chartreuse eyes met mine over her shoulder and she languidly turned to face me as she held my scythe away with hers; a casual display of the immense strength her lithely muscled figure held. I saw my own ardor mirrored in the fire of her gaze, and there was a wildness to her razor smile as she drawled,

”I’m impressed, my dear! It’s only been a moment since we began and I very nearly fell head over heels. Though, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait if you want me on my knees for you.”

My racing heart skipped a beat at the thought, but I forced my mind back on track. If she thought she could throw me off with innuendo, she was mistaken (though I wasn't complaining. Seeing her on her knees would be a pretty picture indeed). I jumped back and out of reach before she could push her advantage.

“Don’t get too cocky. Pride comes before the fall, after all”, I snarked back as I lunged towards her, my scythe swinging. We matched each other blow for blow, dodging and leaping and whirling around the sparring court in a dangerous dance as the other reapers looked on. Gradually, I let my movements slow. I let dodges become near misses. I let her shove me back. But just as she wound up for a powerful swing that likely would have sent my scythe across the room, I dropped my act, dodged the hungry blade, and shoved it harder along its trajectory. With the combination of surprise and force, I sent her sprawling in a heap of limbs, fiery hair, and red fabric.

As soon as she hit the ground, I was looming over her. I pinned her to the ground, hands on her wrists to keep her from fighting back, knees straddling her hips to stop her from getting up.

“I told you you'd fall,” I said, narrowing my eyes and huffing out a quiet chuckle. “Don’t let your guard down, Darling, and don't get too confident. Things usually won't turn out the way you think they will.”

I took a moment to just look at her, her flushed face, her sultry gaze and smirk, and my confident air died on the spot. I shivered ever so slightly. Seeing her like this, blushing and trapped beneath me, was intoxicating. Her hair shone like the most priceless of rubies in the pale light of the room, her smooth lips were gently parted and so so inviting. Without really noticing, I tightened my grip on her wrists and pressed closer. The added pressure elicited a delightful little breathy whine from that enchanting mouth as she tilted her head back and shifted against me, back arching ever so slightly, body seeking out just the slightest bit more contact. The spectators became a distant memory in this haze of lurid heat. Distracted by the whole scenario, I didn't register right away that she was moving again. With two quick twists, she freed her wrists from my grasp, then tucked her legs and kicked me off.

Shit!

The moment broken, my ears reddened in frustrated embarrassment as I rolled away and to my feet. I had just chastised her for getting cocky! How big of an idiot did I have to be to forget my own warning? She'd played the whole thing up knowing full well that it would distract me, and it showed in the smugness that permeated her tone when she spoke,

"You really should take your own advice, Dearest. Pride comes before the fall, as they say, and it seems that you fell in more than one sense of the word. Besides, I'm not quite ready to be subdued yet, since I'm having so much fun with you!"

Oho. I'd show her.

Letting the threat of my intentions show with the tenfold return of my devilish smile, I felt a renewed vigor well up inside me. I had an ace up my sleeve, and now was the time to show my hand. Grelle's smug smirk faltered for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough to show me she knew I was up to something. Not giving her a chance to speculate or prepare, I sprung at her; but this time, instead of just lashing out with my double blade, I split it in half at the handle. This was my secret weapon, one that had served me well in days gone by, and one that no one knew about save for the dead. Two scythes gave me a singular style, a unique advantage, but that was not all. No, not at all. When using two blades that were usually one, I, naturally, needed to ensure that one half of my weapon couldn't be lost or knocked from my hand. The simple, rather useful solution to this problem was connecting the two with a chain of adjustable length. This chain seemed almost to respond to my thoughts, changing length as the situation demanded. It could be used as a simple convenience, as a weapon, or as a restraint. It truly was one of the finest made scythes I'd yet encountered (along with Grelle's and Undertaker's, of course).

Now as I sailed through the air, bearing down on a dumbfounded Grelle, the long, silvery chain flew out behind me, glinting in the harsh lighting with a delicate scintillation that belied its strength. On seeing the chain, she must have made a certain sort of connection, likely rather indecent, judging by the color of her cheeks. I huffed a small laugh. How prophetic. After I win, we’re definitely going to get some use out of it. I slashed down hard with my scythes, catching her off guard and forcing her a few steps back. She shot a glare at me over our crossed weapons, and I responded by giving her my biggest, most innocent smile. It probably came off as more of a shit-eating grin, but it did the trick.

She shoved her scythe harder against mine in an attempt to throw me off, but being caught off guard and in a flustered sort of state, she hadn't thought far enough ahead to realize she'd be leaving herself open. Seizing the opportunity, I brought one of my blades around the other side of her chainsaw and yanked, wrenching it from her grasp and sending it spinning away over the ground. She staggered, and I landed a well-aimed kick to her stomach, likely knocking the breath out of her if the huff she let out was any indication. To keep from falling, she leapt backwards, and I pulled out another surprise. Literally, I pulled one end of the chain off its handle. As she flew back, I lashed out with it, fully expecting her to block it, but she made no move to defend herself before it whipped her across the cheek. I might've imagined it, but I thought I heard a yelp underneath the noise and chaos of the sparring area. I flinched as her head jerked to the side.

Oh god, I hope I didn't hurt her!

She landed on her feet, but she remained hunched over, trembling, with one hand on her poor cheek and the other holding her stomach. My energetic fervor evaporated and rained down as worry.

What if she's really injured?!

I'd just taken a step toward her to check when she lifted her head slightly. She certainly didn't look pained. In fact, she seemed to be blushing. Her gaze was intense, yet unfocused; and as I watched, she ran her fingers across her cheek closed her eyes. It looked very much like she was fighting valiantly to hold back something untamable; and though she was trying to hide it, her breathing came in wavering gasps as she struggled to compose herself.

Ah. Uhm... Fuck. I knew where this was going.

I tried to back off a little, unsure if I should risk keeping this up while there were other reapers watching, but Grelle seemed to sense my hesitation, and she was having none of it. Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed and refocused. She darted past me, snatched up her scythe, and took a wild swing at me; one that I batted aside easily enough, but she kept coming.

Oh, so that's how you want to play it. Time to put my knowledge to good use.

My "knowledge" stemmed from something she'd told me one night when I was tipsy and she was dead drunk. We'd simply been friends then (though that had changed soon after), and we'd gone out drinking with Ronald and Othello after work. Ronald disappeared an hour in; probably to go throw up, and Othello wandered off to poke at this newfangled "radio" thing. We were talking about our experiences as trainees, and it sent her off on a spiel about her first reaping with William. She told me everything. Including every detail of her fight with him and what it led her to discover about herself. And alas, as is wont to happen, since she was blackout drunk she forgot pretty much the entire night and woke up with, "One of the most awful hangovers of my life. I felt like I was dying!"

I remembered though. At the time, I was insanely jealous, but now... Now I had a plan. And I was feeling downright devious.

So she wanted to play it rough? I'd give her rough. She wanted to continue, even with reapers there? I'd give them a show. Smirking, I threw all my weight against our locked scythes, forcing her back for a moment, then pushed her chainsaw away with one blade and swung the other at her unguarded torso. She just managed to catch my arm in time, but in one quick movement, I broke her grip and grabbed both her wrists. Through pushing her backwards, we'd ended up near enough to the wall for me to slam her into it, pinning her wrists above her head. The feigned defiance on her face might've been intimidating if her every mannerism wasn't contradicting it.

"I know what you're trying to do, Darling," I intoned, reveling in the way I could feel her knees weaken at my tone. "You get off on the passion of battle, the pleasure of pain, the high of being brought low. It shows. You might be able to fool them for a while," a discreet gesture to the small crowd, "but you aren't fooling me. Now fight back so they don't get wise to your predicament."

Helpless desire dancing in her stare, she murmured, "Oh, y/n Darling, you really know how to get me fired up!"

With a grunt, she freed her wrists, braced her back on the wall, and shoved me off with a solid kick. I sprung back to keep from stumbling, then rushed at her, scythe raised. We traded rapid blows, but I never let her put me on the defense, and I never let myself waver. Hers was a doomed endeavor from the start. Knowing what I knew, there was no way I'd let such a chance slip through my fingers, and I think she felt the same. She was barely putting up a fight at this point, and it felt so good to see her just aching for me to take her down. With every swing, a bit more of Grelle's composure was chipped away and a bit more of her desperate need bled through. The sight of her coming undone was wearing my own restraint to the bone. The lustful miasma welled up again; dense around us, within us, permeating the air and every particle of our being. I wanted to drown in it, surrender to the frenzy it promised, let it grow until it was all that existed.

Unable to hold off any longer, I called on what she'd confessed to me that hazy, drunken night. I slowed my attacks, lifted my scythe, and swung hard from above. When she intercepted it, she let out a small sound of distressed want that only fueled the fire in my core. I let my blade glance off, then brought it back from below. She was panting hard now, and one look at her face was enough to tell me that she wasn't going to last much longer. With a thrill of excitement, I locked eyes with her and struck; first from the right, then the left. I saw the exact moment she realized what I was doing, her electric green eyes widened as I moved to dash around behind her. I poured all my pent-up passion into my kick, striking her square in the small of her back.

Time seemed to slow as she sailed through the air in a graceful arc, the elegant arch of her back strikingly erotic. She threw her head back and let loose a ringing cry of pure, exquisite ecstasy that dug needle-sharp claws into my last shred of self-control and tore it to useless pieces. Thank the high heavens the other reapers had taken the hint and made themselves scarce, because goddamn if the palpable steam of lust in the air and that sound (Oh god, that sound) didn't absolutely destroy my inhibitions. I strode towards the trembling goddess on the ground in front of me, wave after wave of raging heat crashing through me in anticipation of what was coming. Her half-closed, yearning eyes wrapped a tether around my soul, drawing me ever nearer.

As soon as I got close enough, I was on her. I dropped to my knees bestride her hips, pinned her slender body with my own, roughly tangled my fingers in her hair, and yanked her into a desperate, hungry kiss. At the sharp pull of my hand through her hair, she groaned in pleasure against my mouth, a noise that had my already spinning thoughts careening out of control. When I nipped at her lip, she whimpered and my mind went blank. I tried to undo the buttons on her shirt with my shaking hands, but I couldn't get a good enough grip. This is taking too long!

Pulling away, I let out a frustrated growl, grabbed the sides, and ripped it open. Buttons popped and clattered free and fabric gave way beneath my fingers until I could toss what was left off to the side and run my hands over her tantalizingly smooth skin. No matter how many times I saw it, her body never ceased to steal my breath away. All slim, firm muscle and soft angles, hard lines and curves. She was a contradiction in every sense of the word, and she was beautiful.

I pressed my mouth intently against hers again as I slid my hands up from her hips and over her firm stomach, exploring every inch of her flawless skin as heat welled up in me. I couldn’t get enough of the sensation of touching her, of running my hands over her body, of just being able to touch her anywhere and everywhere. My desire was an irresistible force, guiding me higher and higher; as I went, I dragged my nails over her skin, relishing the way she shivered. I palmed her breasts through her bra and squeezed ever so slightly. She squirmed beneath me, pressing into my hands as she entwined her fingers in my hair, intensifying the kiss. Teeth clacked and tongues brushed, and it was electrifying.

I slipped my hands beneath her bra, searching desperately for any and every scrap of contact, of closeness. Anything. Everything. I stroked my thumbs over the tips of her nipples and she whined, a delightful little sound that brought buzzing, blazing lust surging up from where it pulsed in my core. I needed more of those sounds, needed them like I used to need air to breathe. I needed to hear her wail and moan and gasp and scream, needed to hear my name on her lips at the very height of her pleasure.

It was with these thoughts in mind that I broke our kiss and propped myself up, silencing her noise of protest with a smoldering stare that held the promise of everything I’d just imagined. I eyed her chest, watching the way it rose and fell with her rapid breaths, then looked back up. We locked eyes as I snaked my hand under her and undid the clasp of her bra. I held her gaze as I slid its straps off her shoulders and tossed it away, then lowered my head.

As soon as I started running my tongue over her nipple, she let out a ragged gasp and grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, spurring me on. I licked and sucked and worried it with my teeth, sending shivers through her body and eliciting whimpers from her mouth. I knew I’d found a sensitive spot when she cried out and arched her back, digging her fingers into my waist. I kept at it -all the while letting my hands wander lower and lower over her figure- until she was shaking like a leaf and I could feel the wetness of her arousal through her pants. I fiddled with the zipper, having a hard time functioning in the consuming blaze of my desire; but stopped when Grelle grabbed my hand.

”Wait.”

Anxiety cascaded over me like a bucket of ice water and I sat up abruptly. Oh shit, oh fuck, did I do something wrong? We’ve done this before, but did I somehow misread the situa-

“I want to see you, to touch you, too.”

I blinked down at her, then relaxed with a relieved huff. I guided her hands to my chest, to the buttons of my shirt. As she finished undoing them, she leaned in and brushed her lips against my throat, right over my racing pulse. Her touch on my neck and my chest was like fire, and I nipped at her ear in response, shrugging out of my shirt and bra. The sinful heat sunk into my skin and suffused my voice as I whispered,

”Now would be a good time to put my chain to good use, don’t you think? Don’t worry, I won’t tie up your hands, you can still touch me. What I’ll do is restrain you in a way that won’t let you close your legs or interrupt me while I have my way with you. Would you like that?”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “Yes, love,” Grelle breathed out as I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her pants and began to work them off, along with her panties. Her arousal was plain to see, and I couldn’t resist brushing my fingers over her slick skin; slowly, sensually. Her whole body twitched in response and she ground into my hand, letting out a breathy moan. If she was already this sensitive, I couldn’t wait for what was to come. With no small effort, I dragged my hand and my attention away then slipped out of my own pants, basking in her attentive, hungry gaze. I reached for the chain that had so conveniently wound up nearby. For a moment there was no sound but our lust-heavy breaths and the clinking of the chain links as I wrapped them around her spread legs and bare torso in an intricate pattern, watching the goosebumps rise on her skin in response to the touch of the cold metal and the thought of what it meant for her. When I finished, I tugged at the chain to make sure it held.

“Does that feel alright?” I asked. I didn’t want to hurt her any more than she wanted me to.

“It feels wonderful,” came the breathless reassurance. “Being exposed and helpless before you... it's thrilling.”

“And seeing you so eager for this is thrilling for me too, darling,” I murmured darkly before pulling her in for a kiss that emanated passion, caressing her face then continuing down. Down over her shoulders and chest and stomach, down to where she wanted me most. She cupped my breasts and thumbed my nipples, sending tingles of pleasure through my body, spurring me on. No more hesitation. I plunged two of my fingers into her soaked cunt and was rewarded with a muffled groan of pure rapture, sweet against my mouth. I stroked my fingers over that one spot I knew would absolutely undo her, my thrumming arousal consuming every inch of me at the torturously salacious sound she made. I reveled in the way her whole body shook as I pleasured her, in how wet she already was for me, in the way she threw her head back with each movement inside her. I kept up a steady rhythm, then I brushed my thumb over her clit and began rubbing circles around it, denying her the complete pleasure of my touch on the more sensitive center, but giving her just enough to intensify her bliss to the point of near delirium. I tugged sharply on her hair with my other hand, and she cried out, nails digging into my back and leaving marks on my skin.

Almost at the edge, at the peak of it all, her noises of rapture were music to my ears. A wild symphony, a rhapsody, my feverish magnum opus. Her legs strained at their bonds and her skin glistened with sweat, so close, so desperate. Nearer and nearer, nearly there. I brought my head down to pleasure her with my tongue. I needed to be closer to her, to taste her euphoria as she came. I slid my tongue in and out, finally stroking directly over her center the way she so longed for. Each brush of my tongue sent a shudder through her. Her legs twitched and trembled and her breath came in sharp, ragged, appetent gasps.

"Darling, plea- aah! Please! I'm going to-!"

She came with a wail of unadulterated ecstacy, spasms rocking her entire body, legs jerking in the throes of her climax. Her come was ambrosia on my tongue, sweet and heady as I took it all, working her through her high until she was just on the verge of oversensitive. I raised my head, gaze travelling up her body, limp with exhaustion and satisfaction, to rest on her flushed face. The look in her eyes about melted my heart with the amount of pure affection and deep passion it radiated, and I poured every ounce of my own emotion into a slow, sincere kiss. When we parted, I rested my forehead against hers and closed my eyes, just savoring the stillness and affection that suffused the air. She was so beautiful. No matter how hard I tried -and I tried- I could not find words worthy of her. She was indescribable, and I could only hope she could see and feel my reverence in this moment. This moment, and every other moment of every other day. Her eyes told me she did. In them, I could see my feelings reflected back at me, could see that she understood and that she loved me just as much as I did her. Where words failed, our bond did not.

She smiled a bit, just a small upturn of her mouth, and said,

"That was wonderful, love, but you can't expect me to take so much pleasure from you without letting me return the favor. I want to show you just how much I adore you."

[mustdang-100]

Shifting Perspectives - Ch. 9

Serizawa gets a text message. Teru and Shou practice some skills.   Summary:

How many espers does it take to rescue one abducted conman?

Months after the events of the World Domination arc, Reigen disappears sometime between leaving the office and after-work plans. Serizawa finds himself the unwilling leader of a bunch of former Claw members and a couple of stubborn teenagers, determined to get Reigen back.

On AO3: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/11091201/chapters/34325561>

Tumblr: Ch.1|Ch.2|Ch.3|Ch.4|Ch.5|Ch.6|Ch.7|Ch.8|Ch.9 - below

“Th-thank you again for choosing Spirits & Such for your spectral solutions; come again if your problem returns!”

Serizawa pressed the office door gently but firmly closed – before the overly grateful customer could launch into another round of fawning compliments. He leaned heavily against the door with a relieved sigh and allowed his eyes to slide shut for just a moment, trying to remember why he’d thought opening the office today would be a good idea. He was lucky the woman’s issue really had been spectral in nature. Even at the very best of times he had no aptitude for the kind of charm Reigen could put into play, much less now. But the tiny spirit clinging viciously to the customer’s purse had been an easy job; he’d exorcised it with a single surreptitious flick of his hand before she’d even finished explaining her troubles. Getting rid of the customer herself, however, had been a bit more of a challenge. Tsuchiya, lounging behind the desk that Serizawa usually occupied, shot him a sympathetic look that did not quite hide her amusement. “Damn, I thought the door was gonna catch on her eyelashes, with how fast they were fluttering.” Tsuchiya grinned. Serizawa made a face at her, and sighed again. “Sorry, that was probably a bit abrupt of me. It’s usually Reigen who takes care of seeing out our more, uh, amorous customers. I think he considers it a fun challenge. I’ve gotten too used to throwing him at them as a distraction to get out of doing it myself, since he can manage to do it without being rude.” Tsuchiya rolled her eyes. “That’s the nice thing about running the boxing gym. Being rude is practically one of the techniques.”

Serizawa snorted, straightening up to keep from simply sliding all the way to the floor, as Tsuchiya returned to her text conversation.

As the only one of the group who owned her own business, Tsuchiya had offered to stay with Serizawa while they all waited to see whether Hatori managed to dig up any more clues from the video with his technological wizardry. Serizawa had urged the rest of his little rescue band to return to their jobs for the day – there was no reason why they should all put their positions at risk – and he would let them know as soon as he heard anything. They had gone, protesting all the way, but it made him feel like less of a burden.

He’d tentatively suggested that Tsuchiya go into work with the rest of them. She’d fixed him with eyes like steel and said only: “The gym will be fine without me for a day or two; that’s what assistant managers are for. You shouldn’t be alone right now.” Serizawa had almost cried at the show of support, which just made her uncomfortable – Tsuchiya really preferred actions to emotions. Serizawa walked heavily back to the chair behind Reigen’s desk, feeling a little sick that the action might imply he thought Reigen wasn’t coming back. He’d started the morning just sitting on the office couch, until Tsuchiya had pointed out that might look unprofessional to any customers. The office had already seemed bigger than usual, somehow, with just the two of them. Almost like the force of Reigen’s personality had taken up the space of an entire third person. Serizawa pulled out his phone and pressed the power button, preparing himself to wait the small eternity the decrepit thing needed to start back up. He normally kept his phone off and stowed in a drawer during the work day, in an effort to put forward the best businessman face that he could. Today he was so paranoid about missing a call from Hatori that he’d had to fight himself to turn it off even when a client walked right up to him.

But with each hour that passed with no news, the clearer the message became: the video was a dead end; they were back to square one.

Tsuchiya exhaled loudly and began typing a long text message, thumbs flying aggressively over the keyboard.

“Mukai still wants to help?”

“Yes,” Tsuchiya said with an eyeroll, voice brimming with affection. “Little ass-kicker. We’re lucky she doesn’t know where we are, or she’d have been here hours ago. I’m telling her that we’ll call her in if we need any more firepower.”

Serizawa felt his lips twitch up in the first smile in days. “And the chances of you actually telling her to come join us are…?”

“Exactly zero.” Tsuchiya nodded decisively, snapping her phone shut with a resounding clack. “After Claw, I’m trying to give her as normal a childhood as possible, but it’s difficult. She’s so smart, and so powerful – she’s having a hard time making friends her own age.” Tsuchiya rubbed her face, her expression shadowed with a weariness that was more mental than physical.

Serizawa’s heart twisted in empathy; he well remembered similar difficulties in his own childhood, and that was without the trauma of being recruited to Claw before the age of…

...He shuddered. He knew Claw kidnapped children as young as possible, for the brainwashing to be most effective. He found he didn’t want to know how young Mukai had been when she was taken.

He opened his mouth to offer his sympathies, but was interrupted by a chirp from his own phone sitting innocuously on the surface of Reigen’s desk, announcing he’d received a message during its brief hibernation.

Serizawa stared at the phone, frozen, until his body caught up with his brain.

Hatori!

He lunged; the phone practically leapt into his hand, and probably did have just a bit of telekinetic assistance. He had not one, but two messages; unfortunately they were not from Hatori, but from an unknown number. Serizawa swiped at the screen, frowning, disappointment crushing down as quickly as his hopes had risen.

“Not Hatori?” Tsuchiya had jumped to her feet, but relaxed at the slow shake of Serizawa’s head.

“No… it’s someone I don’t know. But, it’s… it’s weird…”

The message was one giant mass of characters, and Serizawa read through it in increasing bewilderment. Something about the… the government?”

He blinked. Ugh, was this political spam?

Serizawa slumped against the desk in disgust; well, a spam message might explain all the typos. He scrolled halfheartedly through the jumbled mess of kanji, only skimming now. The last thing he wanted was for political campaigns to get hold of his number, when every message sent his emotions on a thrill ride that was somehow mostly plunging falls. Serizawa had been doing his best to be a model citizen, but at the moment he couldn’t give two shits about the upcoming elections, or the government as a whole, for that matter, regardless of what they wanted. Something about kids? Serizawa squinted, tilting his head as though that would make it easier to read. Kids, and-

Wait… ‘Mob?’

An electric jolt zipped up his spine; Serizawa leapt back to the beginning of the text and read with frantic exhilaration. He clutched the phone so tightly he was afraid he might break it in his fervor. But his excitement faded into mounting anxiety as sentences slotted damningly into place with the context of the sender.

Serizawa whirled to face Tsuchiya, who’d straightened in alarm.

“I think…!” Serizawa could barely hear himself, his heart drumming too loud in his ears. “I think it’s Reigen!”

Tsuchiya’s eyes flew wide; she dashed to read over his shoulder.

Reading it through a second time did not alter the conclusion he’d drawn; Serizawa brought up a second hand to minimize the shakiness of his hold on the tiny device that had brought him both jubilation and horror.

The government – the government – had taken his… had taken Reigen. Because they thought Reigen was responsible for the increasingly peculiar psychic phenomena that had been occurring in Spice City.

Because who they were really looking for was Shigeo.

Serizawa reeled; his lungs couldn’t seem to take in any air. They wanted to take Shigeo, his wise little friend, who wanted a life filled with nothing more than kindness and normalcy.

And Reigen had – ? What? Told them that he was responsible for everything?

Reigen, Reigen no…

The message was all warning. Warnings for Serizawa, to be careful of anyone watching him. To make sure no one had any more reason to look too closely at the kids. It said nothing about where. he. was.

Serizawa almost did crush the phone, then, out of sheer frustration. He resisted the temptation – it might still be able to tell him something.

He tried calling the unknown number, once, twice, three times. Each one rang through to a curt, no-nonsense voicemail message. The voice belonged to a stranger.

He was so close. He could feel the chance falling through his fingers like grains of sand, possible to grasp but only with the right knowledge, the right equipment, the right-

Tsuchiya pointed at an icon at the top of the screen, interrupting his racing mind. “Is that another message?”

Serizawa had completely forgotten about the second text. He opened it at once, but it contained only a single, blurry photo.

A single, blurry photo of two street signs, the names of which were still perfectly legible.

A destination. Finally, a god-damned location.

His mind snapped onto the street names like a hound with a scent. He could finally do something.

He called Minegishi, words spilling out before they could even say hello.

“Minegishi! He sent a message, he sent a text! Reigen! We have a clue, we have a – a picture! A street sign! We can find him! Those people that took him – in the video – they’re from the government, but we can search the street names and find where he is! I’m gonna-”

“Ok, calm down,” Minegishi said, more unflappable than ever in the face of Serizawa’s tripping tongue. There was the sound of talking in the background, of a door opening and closing. “I’m leaving now. I’ll text the others. We’ll meet you at the office within an hour, two at most.”

“Two hours? I’m leaving now, Minegishi. Tsuchiya’s here, we can go, we’ll find the intersection,” He looked up at Tsuchiya. She was already on her phone, searching the internet for intersections with those names. “We have to get there before he gets too far from that street, before-”

“Serizawa.” Minegishi’s voice was loud and curt. “You just said someone in the government has him. You don’t know who, you don’t know why. You don’t know what kind of resources they have to bear, which means you could walk straight into something that could get you taken as well, or worse. And you are not sacrificing yourself for anyone else, we are done with that.”

Their voice broke, surprising both of them into silence.

Minegishi didn’t say anything else, but Serizawa could hear the sounds of traffic in the background; they hadn’t hung up. Serizawa gritted his teeth. The urge to run straight to the intersection was almost overpowering, but… the implication behind Minegishi’s words deserved a response.

“Reigen isn’t using me, Minegishi.” Suddenly Serizawa almost smiled, as a long-ago conversation about job duties floated up from his memories. “Or rather, he’s very upfront about how he is most definitely using me. That is, to help his business succeed. I’m in charge of beating the crap out of anyone or anything that might be a threat, you know.”

Minegishi said nothing to that. Serizawa realized belatedly that now might not be the best time for jokes; the adrenaline rush from finally having a firm lead had pushed him towards something approaching giddiness. He quickly sobered.

“I promise he’s not manipulating my emotions like that. I promise. I know exactly where we stand.”

Whether he liked it or not, he thought with a slight pang. Not important right now, Serizawa.

The silence lasted one heartbeat, two. And then a sigh whispered through the line.

“Just.. please wait? We’ll get there as fast as we can. You find the location, look up the fastest route there, and we can discuss our plan on the way. It won’t be that much slower.”

Serizawa was itching with the desire to run out there, after Reigen, right now. But if he could push his panic away for just a second… Minegishi did have a point. It would be better for Reigen if he could come in with real support.

Despite this logic, he probably wouldn’t have been able to hold himself back if he hadn’t been coming to the sinking realization that Reigen’s texts had arrived almost 45 minutes before he’d seen them. Reigen was either on the run, long past the intersection where he’d managed to take a photo, which meant they’d have to follow a train anyway. Or, he was hiding somewhere nearby. Maybe with the phone he’d somehow gotten ahold of turned to silence, so it wouldn’t betray his location to his pursuers…?

Serizawa made his decision.

“Fine. I’ll wait, for at least an hour.”

Minegishi’s sigh was a punch of static. “Thank you. We are on the way.”

Serizawa ended the call, and immediately called the unknown number one more time. Just as before, it rang through to voicemail. This time, Serizawa spoke when prompted.

“I’m coming for you. We’re coming for you. Please hold on.”

He stopped himself before he could say something more, something that was simply not appropriate, not right now. Not in these circumstances. Instead, he added only the simplest, most overwhelming hope in his heart.

“Stay safe.”

He ended the call, and settled in to research Spice City’s sprawling train lines.

Tsuchiya was arguing that the less-direct east train got to the business district faster than the midtown line when a text message tone made Serizawa jump.

His heart leapt instantly to his throat – Reigen!? – until he realized the buzz had come not from his own phone, but from Reigen’s, which he’d recharged and placed back in his pants pocket. He’d grabbed it to look at the sender before he recalled that it might be an invasion of privacy. But it was too late – he’d already seen the sender’s name, and a preview of the message that appeared on the lockscreen.

[Mob]

[Sunday 11:48 am]

[Hi Shishou. Ritsu is acting kind of weird. He said nothing is wrong but I was wondering if you…]

Serizawa stared at the words, his stomach twisting in horror. The message was cut off, but the preview said enough.

Shigeo was starting to figure out that something was wrong.

‘It’s Mob thety want Mob you have to keep him away, pleas keep him safe no keep them all away, all the kids, I don’t know what they would do with kids, Serizawa please make sure…’

Serizawa squeezed his eyes shut. And slowly returned the phone to his pocket.

If he was smarter he would respond to Shigeo’s message, pretending to be Reigen. He’d send something reassuring, but very short, to sound as much like him as possible without giving away the ruse. But the lies of omission were already sticking in his throat, trickling nauseatingly into his belly; he simply couldn’t bring himself to lie so directly to someone he trusted.

They had a location. If they were lucky, they’d have Reigen back before Shigeo’s concern had the chance to blossom into real suspicion.

Serizawa knew only one thing that Reigen wanted right now, one thing he could do for him: protect the kids from the people who wanted Shigeo, to keep the people who had Reigen from finding out it was Shigeo they wanted. These people who had already taken one person he cared about. He would keep all the kids, whose powers made them too obvious a target, as far away from this business as possible.

***

“So here’s what I’m thinking,” Shou said, staring intently enough at the government building that he might as well be trying to intimidate it into revealing its secrets.

He and Teru had watched the building all morning from Shou’s lofty hideout, hoping daylight would reveal new information. There had been a buzz of activity a few hours ago; a half-dozen people dressed in black burst from the three different exits they could see, but it’d been hard to tell exactly what was going on from Shou’s chosen lair around the back of the building.

Shou’s glare suggested that Teru might have pointed this out one too many times.

They’d relocated to the roof of the building across the other side of the street from the government stronghold, hoping to get a better view. Bright sunlight gleamed across the empty space, glinting off the satellite disks and air conditioning units the two crouched amongst, peeking over the edge of the building to survey the site. Yet the only movement below was the usual traffic of busy pedestrians, scurrying along the street like ants. The building revealed nothing new. It was time for them to try breaking in.

Shou continued voicing his plan aloud, not bothering to wait and see if Teru had any suggestions.

“We wait invisibly by the door, until someone opens it for us. Then we can slip through-”

“What, no handy key-card for this one?”

“They change the system too often,” Shou snapped. “Both times I managed to steal one, it stopped working within a month. But this is how I’ve gotten in before without setting off any alarms – I know my way around inside.”

He turned suddenly to fix Teru with an almost accusatory stare – or, maybe that was just Teru’s imagination. “You can make yourself invisible, right?”

Teru drew himself up, insulted. “Of course I can.”

“Good.” Shou nodded, and started to turn back to the building. Teru took advantage of Shou’s attention elsewhere, and flexed a bit of his power. “So we get in, stay invisible, and search the place until we find Reigen, figure out everything that’s keep-”

“And what if we can’t find him?” Teru cut in quickly. “Who knows how long it might take us to find Reigen, just by snooping around, having to be quiet to keep anyone from noticing.”

Shou snorted. “I know where they keep prisoners. My pops is-”

“Your father is an ultra-powerful terrorist turned long-term prisoner. Reigen is a guy they only just grabbed off the street, for reasons unknown, who has zero psychic ability. In my hardly-uneducated opinion, I sincerely doubt they’d waste one of the super-protected cells on him.”

Shou rolled his eyes. “Damn, guy gets kidnapped once and thinks he’s an expert.”

“I’ve never been kidnapped,” Teru said instantly. Shou opened his mouth to argue, but Teru beat him to it. “I walked into the Seventh Division headquarters on my own volition, to help Shigeo get Ritsu back. Who, I should mention, had been kidnapped. It took two Claw-tier espers, taking me by surprise, in their own base, to capture me. After I’d incapacitated more than one of them in that night alone.”

Teru was breathing too hard; as soon as he noticed, he forced himself to relax. “As a child, I evaded several kidnapping attempts and acquired a large amount of information about the process. I think it’s a reasonable guess that Reigen might be in a different part of the building.”

“Ah. Yeah, Claw does, I mean did, like to go after the little kids. They’re much easier to manipulate that way, ya know.” Shou’s gaze was unnerving. “They get your folks, too? That why you live alone?”

“Of course not,” Teru said, instantly defensive. “The first time was a bit of a close call, I suppose, but I handled it.  And they… we were... more prepared, after that.”

Shou was looking at him oddly; clearly interested, but not reacting in quite the way Teru would have expected. It put Teru on edge; he was getting tired of how carefully he had to tiptoe around Shou.

“The point is, I think it’d be good to have a backup plan,” Teru said briskly. “For example: if it’s taking too long to find Reigen, or… any other issues, I can cause a distraction.” Teru brought one finger up to his chin in a thoughtful manner. “If we make them think someone is attacking, part of their defense system will undoubtedly involve some people going directly to Reigen’s location. They’ll lead us to Reigen while I keep up the distraction, and then we'll sneak him out under its cover.”

Now it was Shou who looked offended. “Do you think I can’t come up with distractions?”

“I would never suggest such a thing,” Teru said, with utmost sincerity. “It’s just that, I am, perhaps, a bit more talented at distractions that don’t also require anything to be set on fire.”

"Quite talented,” said Teru, from just behind Shou’s left shoulder.

“Probably the best in the world at distraction; it’s just one of our vast array of talents,” said Teru, from directly behind Shou’s right shoulder.

“Probably the best in the world at distraction; it’s just one of our vast array of talents,” said Teru, from just behind Shou’s right shoulder.

Shou launched himself five meters straight into the air, simultaneously forming a blob of bright energy in his fist. Teru had expected some kind of retaliation at being surprised, of course, but had underestimated just how quickly a spooked Shou would respond to a perceived threat. The first psychic clone managed to dodge Shou’s blast completely, but the second suffered singeing to its entire right side. Teru sighed disapprovingly.

“Wow, you really can’t take a joke, can you?”

Shou’s eyes were large with fury, and for once, he seemed too angry even to speak. Teru’s clones took advantage of the silence.

“Teru’s the best at jokes; you should feel lucky to have the chance to be part of one,” Clone One said in pompous, chiding tones.

“Teru’s right,” said Clone Two, voice slightly more irritated than the first as it patted anxiously at its smoldering hair. “Do you even know what some of the old Black Vinegar kids would do for the honor of having a joke played on them by Teruki Hanazawa?”

Teru hastily waved a hand, dispelling the clones before they could say any more. Teru had discovered somewhat to his chagrin that, unless he was actively directing the clones, they behaved and spoke much more like he had before meeting Shigeo than he did now – they didn’t have as much of a filter as Teru would have liked.  

“So you see,” Teru said smoothly, “I can lead any meddlesome government employees away, while we remain invisible. Should such an occasion be necessary.

Shou returned slowly to the ground, eyes narrowing as he peered at Teru with suspicion.

“If you’re so eager to demonstrate your talents, you should probably show me your skills at invisibility as well.”

Teru put a hand to his chest. “Do you think I’m lying?”

“Show me, Hanazawa.”

Teru tched, but complied with a pulse of power, concentrating on bending light. He kept his face as smooth as possible, so as not to reveal just how much effort he had to pour into this particular trick.

Shou inspected him carefully, eyes squinting in the bright sunlight.

“Hanazawa… is it just me, or is your gaudy-ass aura still perfectly, fully visible?”

Teru released the power instantly, reappearing.

“It’s perfectly suitable for most occasions!” Teru said quickly. “It… it simply goes... rather against my nature to hide my gifts. I've honed them so specifically for different tasks-”

“Oh my god.” Shou dragged a hand down his face. “You’re so goddamn extra that you’re literally having trouble with invisibility. Oh my god.”

Teru folded his arms across his chest. “Only espers can detect me. And given proportion of people we’ve seen entering and exiting the building, it’s far more likely that a non-esper will be the next person to appear.” Teru moved his hands to his hips. “And I’d like to point out, if we’re going to discuss the gaudiness of one’s aura-”

Shou’s face was turned to the sky, as if seeking guidance. He took a deep breath.

“Ok. You know what: fuck it. We’ll just have to try and avoid any espers in there altogether. Let’s get this over with. The sooner we get Shigeo’s master back, the better.”

Teru was just as eager to be done with Shou, and contemplated multiple possible replies. Rejecting all of them in favor of simply not granting that comment a response, Teru turned and led the way to the rooftop access door. He pointedly ignored the irritated muttering from his companion as they let the door swing shut behind them, cutting off the brilliant sunlight, swallowing them in the darkness of the descending stairwell.

[lamerdeseslarmes]

Silent Lies

Mabel falls head over heels in love almost every week. Stan shrugs it off -Dipper and her are just kids, and who hasn't had an awkward crush when they were twelve ? (Stanford didn't.) Dipper tries not to show it but it frightens him, his sister's ability to love someone at first glance, to become obsessed with them like this, finally to move on quickly. (He's still not over Wendy, but he won't admit it.) He cares for Mabel, and doesn't want her to get hurt.

As for Stanford, he says nothing. The others never ask for his opinion on this, at least. But Stanford sees it all, and says nothing. It's easier this way. So when Mabel asks him if he's even been in love, Stanford says : no. The lie is easy. Easier than to tell your grand-niece, whose biggest dream is to have a summer romance, that yes, you did fall in love once.

You fell in love once, and the world almost ended.

Mabel pouts, but she doesn't insist. Yet, somehow, there's something in her eyes, a glimmer of understanding that should definitely not be there. Mabel hugs him and Stanford can feel himself shudder, because Bill, Bill was so warm too, in the quiet of the mindscape.

*

They burn the artefacts, all of them. They watch them burn, all of them, and they roast marshmallows with the fire. They laugh, all of them, and it's the best evening Stanford has ever had in... (something like thirty years, whispers a vicious voice in his mind.) Forever. The best evening he's ever had in forever.

The best evening. In forever. With his family. And Stanford laughs and he fits in there, with Stan and Dipper and Mabel, even with Soos and Wendy. He belongs there, he knows it.

Bill's all-seeing eye burns in the night, till nothing's left but ashes. And Stanford knows Dipper double-checked after him, to see if Ford didn't hid one of his many (too many, not enough) Bill related objects. The lack of trust should make Ford uneasy, but no. Dipper is right. Dipper is right and goes as far as to scratch away every tiny Bill Ford engraved into the walls, carved onto the floors. The boy's eyes glow with panicked fervor as he goes on with this task. Dipper knows better than anyone what harm Bill can do, how dangerous Bill can be. (Lies. It's all  l i e s. Stanford knows better.)

So they burn the artefacts, all of them, and Dipper silently asks Ford if he hasn't concealed one of them, somewhere else. Ford says : no. The lie is easy. Easier than to tell your grandnephew, whose biggest fear is a dream demon now forever haunting his nightmares that yes, there are more.

There are more of them that you branded into yourself, carved in your own skin with quiet devotion, and they make your heart burn, burn into the dead of the night.

Ford smiles and ruffles Dipper's hair. His nephew looks at him with admiration, and Ford can feel himself shudder because he knows this look, he knows it. He used to look at Bill with the same adoration in the eyes, too.

*

Smart guy, Bill says. (smartguygeniusbrainiaciqbrilliant m i n d--) Ford wakes up to the feeling of black silk-like arms touching him. His mouth is dry, his throat tight. Slowly, he puts a six-fingered hand over his mouth, nails scratching slightly at his stubble. His hand is calloused and feels rough, nothing like how Bill's inhumanely soft fingers used to feel against his heated skin all those years ago. Ford closes his eyes, tries to fight back the memories of Bill that surround him.

He remembers how Bill would possess him, how they had learnt to share his body, how Ford relished in having the control taken away from him. Unconsciously, his lips have started moving against his fingers. (He remembers how he used to kiss his own hand, the one Bill had control over. He remembers how good it felt, to be this intimate with a god, his god. How he felt his own breath hitch, more heated than before.)

Then Ford bites down, hard, and blood trips on his shirt. Everything was a lie, and he shouldn't delude himself further. Hasn't he already made a fool out of himself long enough ?

The day after, he'll tell Stan that he fought off a monster (that's Gravity Falls for you, right?!). Stan's eyes will narrow, but he'll say nothing.

But for now, as he tries to fall asleep again, his wounded hand clutched on the fabric of his shirt, right over his heart, Ford knows that he has lost.

…

He falls asleep soon after, a shy smile on his bloodied lips, hollow praises echoing through his mind.

*

The two brothers spend a lot more time together now. They don't fight anymore, and the bitterness has gone. (Well. Mostly. It isn't visible anymore at least.)

(Stan still wakes up shivering at night, convinced that Ford resent him, that Ford never loved him.) (They're just thoughts, he tells himselfs. Nightmares.)

Stan is glad to have his brother back. Ford is glad his brother regained his memories. Most of the time, they make it work. But once in a while, one of them slips. Memories from another time haunt them. Stan isn't sure they're even real. Ford knows they're too real, and they taste like regret.

“Hey Sixer”, Stan says. And sometimes Ford's eyes widen, his smile shatters and his hands tighten into fists. “Hey bro, is something wrong ?” Stan worries.

Ford shakes his head, faking a smile he hopes convincing. Stanford says : no. The lie is easy. Easier than to tell your twin brother, who sacrificed himself for his family, for you, because he loves you more than anything, that you hate this name now.

You hate this name now, because Bill tainted it, Bill went as far as to ruin your childhood memories.

Ford says nothing, listens to his brother, to his rapsy voice that's nothing like Bill's. Bill's voice, as annoying as it really were, sent shivers of pleasure down Ford's spine, and Bill called him Sixer and touched him and it was perfect.

*

Everything is calm in Gravity Falls now. Sure, there are still some weird occurrences sometimes -gnomes stealing pies, a triple-headed bear blasting off Disco Girl so loudly the entire forest can hear- but that's about it. Nothing too weird, nothing out of the ordinary. And it's fine, truly.

For the first time in thirty years Stanford doesn't have to run, doesn't have to watch his back. Days in Gravity Falls are sunny, filled with Mabel's laughter and Dipper's last discoveries.

And Bill is dead.

Bill is dead and finally Ford can sleep without fearing the demon will haunt his dreams. Bill is dead and they burned everything.

Sometimes Ford still flinches, though. Because of a sudden noise like an echo of laughter in the woods, or a triangular shaped hole in a tree. But Bill's All-seeing Eye is closed forever now, and Ford is safe.

… It is hard to believe he is truly free of Bill. Hard to believe that it's finally over, after all these years. His brother sacrificed himself for them all, and he saved them all.

And Bill is dead and the days are bright and slow, perfect and uneventful.

Isn't this life boring ? He asks himself.

Stanford says : no. Nobody can hear him now, nobody will ever be able to hear his thoughts again. But he says no, of course he's not bored, he loves everything about this life. If he says it loud enough maybe he will convince himself. Maybe one day he will truly feel this way.

So the lie is easy. Easier than to admit that you're bored. Bill is dead and you didn't even get to kill him yourself. Bill is dead and the only thing you've got now is a statue in the woods. (He thought about desecrating it, once. He will do it, one day.)

The truth is that Stanford Pines is bored and wishes he had something to look forward to.

(you lost, Ford. D'you really think you could get rid of me this easily ? Calm down buddy ! I don't wanna ruin it for ya but it's a bit too late, don'tcha think ? Oh, you can say whatever you want. That you don't love me anymore, that you never loved me, you hate me, you wanna kill me, yadda yadda. I don't care, Stanford. Thing is : you lost. Because guess what ? For more than thirty years I've been the only thing on your mind, Fordsy. Doesn't matter if it's because you wanted to annihilate me. The result's the same : now I'm gone and you're bored. Don't worry though, Ford. Not everything I say is a lie ; you're really gonna die at ninety-two. So, think you can bear to live so many years without me ?)

This is no good this is no good this is no good-

Ford can't recall the last time he heard Bill's voice inside of his head. He knows he's dreaming it, he has to be, because Bill's fucking dead and he won't come back, never

(Hey Ford, do you miss me yet?)

Stanford says nothing. It's only been a few days, and he's already tired of lying. His entire mind begs him not to answer, to laugh at Bill -like he should, because Bill isn't even there anymore, Bill is d e a d and

“Yes.”

Everything is quiet. Ford's heart is hammering inside his chest. He expected Bill's laughter to taunt him. But everything is silent.

Oh. Yeah. Right. Bill can't answer him after all.

If you made this far, thanks !! I actually wrote this some months ago, but I was wondering if I should add some other scenes in it (I decided against it) so that’s why I’m only posting it now. English isn’t my first language so it was a bit of a challenge -hopefully there aren’t too many mistakes left. But I had a lot of fun writing it, so I can only hope you liked reading it too !! -^^-

[tortuga-aak]

A screenwriter who worked with Harvey Weinstein on some of his biggest movie hits says 'everybody f---ing knew'

Frederick M. Brown/Getty Images

Screenwriter Scott Rosenberg has posted an explosive "poem" on Facebook announcing "everybody-f-------knew" about allegations surrounding Harvey Weinstein’s misconduct.

The screenwriter of "Con Air," "Beautiful Girls" and "Gone in Sixty Seconds" published more than 1,500 words on the topic. Rosenberg began his film career in the mid-1990s at Miramax films, co-founded by Weinstein, where he created "Beautiful Girls" and "Things To Do In Denver When You’re Dead."

While Rosenberg repeatedly says that he, and others, didn’t know about allegations of rape, the screenwriter does say that people knew of "overly-aggressive behavior" and that there was "something rotten" going on.

The idea that Weinstein’s ongoing sexual harassment of women was an open secret is not new. More interviews and videos have emerged of celebrities alluding to allegations – or in the case of Courtney Love outright warning women to stay away from Weinstein.

His page now appears to be private as no posts after 2012 are displaying but, according to Deadline, this was his post:

So, uh, yeah. We need to talk about Harvey.

I was there, for a big part of it. From, what, 1994 to the early 2000s? Something like that. Certainly The Golden Age. The "PULP FICTION," "SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE," "CLERKS," "SWINGERS," "SCREAM," "GOOD WILL HUNTING," "ENGLISH PATIENT," "LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL" years…

Harvey and Bob made my first two movies. Then they signed me to an overall deal. Then they bought that horror script of mine about the Ten Plagues. For a lot of money. Also bought that werewolf-biker script. That no one else liked but was my personal favorite. They were going to publish my novel. They anointed me. Made it so other studios thought I was the real deal. They gave me my career.

I was barely 30. I was sure I had struck gold. They loved me, these two brothers, who had reinvented cinema. And who were fun and tough and didn’t give an East Coast f--- about all the slick pricks out in L.A.

And those glory days in Tribeca? The old cramped offices? That wonderful gang of executives and assistants? All the filmmakers who were doing repeat business? The brothers wanted to create a "family of film." And they did just that… We looked forward to having meetings there. Meetings that would turn into plans that would turn into raucous nights out on the town. Simply put: OG Miramax was a blast.

So, yeah, I was there. And let me tell you one thing. Let’s be perfectly clear about one thing:

Everybody-f-------knew.

Not that he was raping. No, that we never heard. But we were aware of a certain pattern of overly-aggressive behavior that was rather dreadful. We knew about the man’s hunger; his fervor; his appetite. There was nothing secret about this voracious rapacity; like a gluttonous ogre out of the Brothers Grimm. All couched in vague promises of potential movie roles. (and, it should be noted: there were many who actually succumbed to his bulky charms. Willingly. Which surely must have only impelled him to cast his fetid net even wider).

But like I said: everybody-f-------knew.

And to me, if Harvey’s behavior is the most reprehensible thing one can imagine, a not-so-distant second is the current flood of sanctimonious denial and condemnation that now crashes upon these shores of rectitude in gloppy tides of bullshit righteousness.

Because everybody-fucking-knew.

And do you know how I am sure this is true? Because I was there. And I saw you. And I talked about it with you. You, the big producers; you, the big directors; you, the big agents; you, the big financiers. And you, the big rival studio chiefs; you, the big actors; you, the big actresses; you, the big models. You, the big journalists; you, the big screenwriters; you, the big rock stars; you, the big restaurateurs; you, the big politicians.

I saw you. All of you. God help me, I was there with you.

Again, maybe we didn’t know the degree. The magnitude of the awfulness. Not the rapes. Not the shoving against the wall. Not the potted-plant fucking. But we knew something. We knew something was bubbling under. Something odious. Something rotten.

But… And this is as pathetic as it is true: What would you have had us do? Who were we to tell? The authorities? What authorities? The press? Harvey owned the press. The Internet? There was no Internet or reasonable facsimile thereof. Should we have called the police? And said what? Should we have reached out to some fantasy Attorney General Of Movieland? That didn’t exist.

Not to mention, most of the victims chose not to speak out. Aside from sharing the grimy details with a close girlfriend or confidante. And if they discussed it with their representatives? Agents and managers, who themselves feared The Wrath Of The Big Man? The agents and managers would tell them to keep it to themselves. Because who knew the repercussions? That old saw "You’ll Never Work In This Town Again" came crawling back to putrid life like a re-animated cadaver in a late-night zombie flick. But, yes, everyone knew someone who had been on the receiving end of lewd advances by him. Or knew someone who knew someone.

A few actress friends of mine told me stories: of a ghastly hotel meeting; of a repugnant bathrobe-shucking; of a loathsome massage request. And although they were rattled, they sort of laughed at his arrogance; how he had the temerity to think that simply the sight of his naked, doughy, carbuncled flesh was going to get them in the mood. So I just believed it to be a grotesque display of power; a dude misreading the room and making a lame-if-vile pass.

It was much easier to believe that. It was much easier for ALL of us to believe that.

Because…

And here’s where the slither meets the slime: Harvey was showing us the best of times. He was making our movies. Throwing the biggest parties. Taking us to The Golden Globes! Introducing us to the most amazing people (Meetings with Vice President Gore! Clubbing with Quentin and Uma! Drinks with Salman Rushdie and Ralph Fiennes! Dinners with Mick Jagger and Warren-freaking-Beatty!).

The most epic Oscar weekends. That seemed to last for weeks! Sundance! Cannes! Toronto! Telluride! Berlin! Venice! Private jets! Stretch limousines! Springsteen shows! Hell, Harvey once took me to St. Barth’s for Christmas. For 12 days! I was a broke-ass kid from Boston who had never even HEARD of St. Barth’s before he booked my travel. He once got me tickets to the seven hottest Broadway shows in one week. So I could take a new girlfriend on a dazzling tour of theater. He got me seats on the 40-yard-line to the Super Bowl, when the Patriots were playing the Packers in New Orleans. Even got me a hotel room, which was impossible to get that weekend. He gave and gave and gave and gave. He had a monarch’s volcanic generosity when it came to those within his circle. And a Mafia don’s fervent need for abject loyalty from his capos and soldiers.

But never mind us! What about what he was doing for the culture? Making stunningly splendid films at a time when everyone else was cranking-out simpering "INDEPENDENCE DAY" rip-offs.

It was glorious. All of it.

So what if he was coming on a little strong to some young models who had moved mountains to get into one of his parties? So what if he was exposing himself, in five-star hotel rooms, like a cartoon flasher out of "MAD MAGAZINE" (just swap robe for raincoat!) Who were we to call foul? Golden Geese don’t come along too often in one’s life.

Which goes back to my original point: Everybody-fucking-knew. But everybody was just having too good a time. And doing remarkable work; making remarkable movies.

As the old joke goes: We needed the eggs.

Okay, maybe we didn’t NEED them. But we really, really, really, really LIKED them eggs. So we were willing to overlook what the Golden Goose was up to, in the murky shadows behind the barn…

And for that, I am eternally sorry. To all of the women that had to suffer this… I am eternally sorry. I’ve worked with Mira and Rosanna and Lysette. I’ve known Rose and Ashley and Claire for years… Their courage only hangs a lantern on my shame. And I am eternally sorry to all those who suffered in silence all this time. And have chosen to remain silent today.

I mostly lost touch with the brothers by the early 2000s. For no specific reason. Just that there were other jobs, other studios. But a few months ago, Harvey called me, out of the blue. To talk about the bygone days. To talk about how great it would be to get some of the gang back together. Make a movie. He must have known then the noose was tightening. There was a wistfulness to him that I had never heard before. A melancholy. It most assuredly had a walking-to-the-gallows feel. When we hung up I wondered: "what was that all about?" In a few short weeks I would know. It was the condemned man simply wanting to comb some of the ruins of his old stomping grounds. One last time.

So, yeah, I am sorry. Sorry and ashamed. Because, in the end, I was complicit. I didn’t say shit. I didn’t do shit. Harvey was nothing but wonderful to me. So I reaped the rewards and I kept my mouth shut. And for that, once again, I am sorry.

But you should be sorry, too. With all these victims speaking up… To tell their tales. Shouldn’t those who witnessed it from the sidelines do the same? Instead of retreating to the cowardly, canopied confines of faux-outrage? Doesn’t being a bystander bring with it the responsibility of telling the truth, however personally disgraceful it may be?

You know who are. You know that you knew. And do you know how I know that you knew?

Because I was there with you.

And because everybody-f-------knew.

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