#to the point where she threatens to cut her off and get her blacklisted from the publishing industry if she doesnt shack up within the year

[pastelchad]

Instead of writing fic where you genderbend the ukes and make them str8 couples (😐) genderbend the entirety of sih and make the central conflict about Akihiko and fem!Ritsu's lavender marriage

[hopelesshawks]

Physical Fatality Part 11- Pettiness

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Masterlist

Ever since your removal from the task force both All Might and Endeavor have decided to be more involved in it on a managerial level. Which is really just a nice way of saying that the two are micromanaging and Hawks has never wished so hard for two people to just fucking retire already. Let Midoriya and Shoto take over and let the agencies finally enter a new fucking era without the ridiculous pettiness. “Hey bird boy,” a voice singsongs.

Speaking of petty...

“Has the fact you’re almost single-handedly ruining her career affected you and (y/n)‘s relationship yet?” Monoma asks Hawks cheerily.

He, Hawks, and Bakugo are standing on a rooftop staking out a nearby building not far from the downtown area that’s suspected as being a new base of operations for the group responsible for the attempted terrorist attack. Midoriya, Todoroki, and Tokoyami are at a different building on the other side of town. This is a perfect example of why Endeavor and All Might’s micromanaging is only making the task force’s job more difficult. The two of them had insisted on choosing the teams and somehow neither of them had considered how bad an idea it was to put your ex fiancé on the same team as your current boyfriend. Brilliant. Truly fucking brilliant. Monoma has made petty jab after petty jab since the moment they left the office and it is starting to really grind away at Hawks’ nerves.

Hawks has been trying to be the bigger person, he really has. Things are finally in a good place with you again and he really doesn’t want to fuck that up, regardless of how much of an ass Monoma is being. He should really be given an award for the immense amount of patience and restraint he’s been showing. But that particular jeer? That particular jeers rings a little too close to home. Because yes things are finally good with you, but the fact your career hinges so much on your relationship now is an undeniable dark shadow being cast upon it. Another reason, Hawks might add, that he couldn’t wait for Midoriya to take over for All Might. “Feeling tongue tied?” Monoma needles again. “Say something worthwhile and I just might fucking respond,” Hawks fires back. “Ah so he does speak! Just admit things aren’t all rosy and perfect in ArteHawks land.” “ArteHawks?” “Your perfectly perfect couple name for everyone’s favorite perfectly perfect star-crossed lovers.” “Don’t call us that.” “Call you what?” “Star-crossed lovers.” “Aww why not? Are the fates themselves not telling you your relationship is doomed?” “Our relationship isn’t doomed.” “Sure it isn’t,” Monoma scoffs and something snaps in Hawks.

It only takes a moment for him to grab Monoma and slam him down against the rooftop, pinning him there. “Watch what the fuck you say,” Hawks threatens. “Hey ease up. I’m not enjoying his bullshit any more than you are but just ignore him,” Bakugo warns. “Yea Hawks, ease up,” Monoma smirks up at him. “Listen here you little-“ “Hawks! I said ease up. If you fuck up and get a bad headline it reflects on (y/n) too remember?” Bakugo cuts Hawks off before he can finish his sentence. Hawks looks over at Bakugo and then back down at a smirking Monoma. God he wants to punch that stupid, smug look off his face. But Bakugo has a point. So Hawks takes a calming breath that does very little to actually calm him down before forcing himself to release Monoma and go back to observing the building across the street; however, the peace is only momentary. No sooner has Hawks returned to his post does Monoma stand back up and ask “So when all this inevitably blows up in your face, how long do you think it’ll take for (y/n) to come running back to me to fix her reputation again? A week? A day?”

There’s only a split second between Hawks registering what Monoma has said and his reaction. He whirls around, fist connecting with Monoma’s face, causing the other man to stagger backwards with the force of it. He rears his fist back to land another one but Bakugo catches his arm and yanks him back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bakugo demands. Hawks wrestles himself free of Bakugo’s grip and redirects his gaze to the younger man. He should calm down, objectively he knows he should, but Monoma’s words are floating through his head and Bakugo had prevented him from fully venting his ire so it continues to burn through his veins. “What’s wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you? You just gonna let him talk about (y/n) like that?” Hawks spits back. “He’s obviously trying to get a rise out of you idiot. So stop giving him the satisfaction,” Bakugo scoffs. “Oh so he can just say whatever the fuck he wants and you won’t react huh? Won’t defend your supposed best friend,” Hawks replies and he knows it’s unfair but he’s pissed and so much stress and tension has been building since the moment he told Endeavor about the two of you’s relationship that he needs an exit for it. It was supposed to be Monoma but now Bakugo has stepped into the crossfire. “What the fuck are you implying bird brain?” Bakugo asks, his voice low and lethal as he steps closer to Hawks in warning. “I’m not implying anything. I’m just saying you’re a fucking coward,” Hawks replies, wings subconsciously puffing up to make him appear larger. “Don’t you fucking dare call me that. Motherfucker don’t play with me,” Bakugo warns. “I’ll say it again. You’re a fucking coward.”

Hawks should’ve listened.

The punch to his face is not unexpected and he almost immediately follows up with one of his own. But one punch isn’t enough and the fight starts escalating. One minute they’re trading blows and the next he’s shoving Bakugo off the roof and the other man is dragging him over too. Hawks quickly engages his wings to avoid falling and by the time he lands on the street Bakugo is doing the same, having used a few well timed explosions to control his fall. The fall hadn’t cleared either of their heads though and as soon as they make eye contact Bakugo is surging forward with his palms sparking, crimson eyes rage filled. Hawks sends a few feathers his way but it doesn’t slow the other man down so he pulls out his two large feathers ready to wield them as blades.

On the other side of town Midoriya mutters under his breath as he takes notes on the movements inside the building opposite the one he, Tokoyami, and Shoto are stood on. “Some things never change,” Shoto comments as he goes to take a seat next to his friend. “What? Oh! Yes I guess so,” Midoriya admits bashfully. “How has (y/n) been doing?” Shoto asks. “Better since she and Hawks made up but still difficult. All of the events are driving her up the wall since they take time away from actual hero work,” Midoriya explains. “I wish I could offer some encouragement but my father is just as bad as All Might. Overheard him demanding Hawks invite his plus one to the bullshit agency-only cocktail party he’s having tomorrow,” Shoto replies. “Honestly I’m surprised (y/n) hasn’t killed him and All Might yet,” Tokoyami interjects as he joins the conversation. “Trust me, she’s thought about it. Repeatedly,” Midoriya comments. “Anyway, what do you say Midoriya can we confirm it’s this building?” Shoto asks, veering the conversation back to the task at hand. Midoriya nods, “Yep, I’m certain of it. We should notify the others.” “About that.... we have a problem,” Tokoyami sighs as he shows Midoriya and Shoto a photo Monoma’s just sent him of Hawks and Bakugo locked in combat.

Hawks should stop.

He knows he should stop.

He wants to stop.

But somehow he can’t stop until he wins.

His wings are a fraction of their usual size, his ribs ache, he’s heavily bruised, and there are burn marks where Bakugo has caught him with one of his explosions a few times. Granted Bakugo isn’t looking that much better, equally bruised and bleeding in several places where Hawks has managed to cut him. This all started so pettily but neither he nor Bakugo is willing to back down. They’re both too proud. Both feel as if they’re fighting for your best interest and, as such, admitting defeat would in some way be letting you down. One massive fight that at its core is just two men’s horribly misguided attempt at defending you. The sheer irony of the fight is something both men will come to realize once the dust has settled but for now their minds are far too clouded to consider that what’s happening is exactly what Bakugo had been warning Hawks against. So instead of stopping like he knows he should, Hawks continues to grapple with Bakugo, the two of them locked into close proximity tumbling over each other until finally Hawks has Bakugo pinned beneath him, a feather pressed to the other man’s throat.

That moment it’s like all the air gets sucked out of the area. Hawks has never and will never needlessly kill someone, especially not an innocent or fellow hero. But with Bakugo pinned underneath him, both their chests heaving with exertion and Bakugo’s eyes burning with defiance and a refusal to back down or submit even with his life in Hawks’ hands, Hawks is struck by the realization that he could. He could kill Bakugo right now if he wanted to and that’s a sobering thought. “Shit,” he huffs out and the next word out of his mouth is about to be an apology when suddenly he’s being ripped backwards by an unseen force and Bakugo is being similarly yanked away. As Hawks finds himself suspended in air he finally takes in his surroundings for the first time since he and Bakugo started exchanging blows.

There’s a massive crowd of people around staring and whispering in an attempt to figure out what exactly is going on. He spots with growing dread a news van and several reporters all taking pictures of the scene, including some of the collateral damage to the street. Thank god none of the buildings themselves were damaged. Then finally he finds the source of the unseen force holding him in the air.

In the middle of everything stands you.

And man, oh man do you look pissed.

Author’s Note: Men are ✨dumb✨ but we’ll see how (y/n) reacts next chapter. This is the chapter with the least connection to the associated song which meant leaning more heavily on the overall album’s inspiration (Romeo and Juliet if y’all couldn’t tell lol) for this particular chapter and more trying to have the vibe of the chapter match the vibe of the song.

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff @iikillerkitteh @pixelwisp @pokesosa @lildockel @bread0nhead @lavender-moon13

[lynne-monstr]

Writers Month Day 3: Magic

Shadowhunters. Magnus and Lorenzo

Magnus and Lorenzo discuss magic and magical taboos over drinks.

.

Lorenzo’s voice is slightly slurred when he leans over, elbows on his knees, and asks, “How do you do it?”

And fine, Magnus isn’t exactly sober himself but even sober Magnus wouldn’t be able to make sense of Lorenzo’s ravings. “Do what? I’ve done a lot of fantastic things in my life. Pick one.” He leans back, toasting to empty air. Satisfaction coils deep in his gut as a muscle in Lorenzo’s face spasms.

“Your magic. The blue and the red. I’ve never seen a warlock whose magic is more than one color.”

Suddenly, being tipsy isn’t nearly enough. Magnus needs to be drunk for this. He keeps his smile in place with an effort of will. “Perhaps I just naturally go both ways. Some of us have more fun than others Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo’s answering scoff threatens to spill his drink onto the plush carpet of the sitting room. The opulent style isn’t to Magnus’ taste but it suits his former rival. Imposing and arrogant at first glance, but surprisingly comfortable after prolonged contact. Or perhaps it’s like a garbage dump where you eventually get used to the smell. He’s not sure yet but at least Lorenzo’s liquor is the good stuff so he’s willing to be magnanimous and reserve judgement until he sobers up.

“Spare me your sexual exploits, Bane. I’d like to have some semblance of an appetite when I meet Andrew for dinner later.”

“Oh, Andrew is it? I didn’t even know dear Underhill had a first name.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Magnus taps a finger on his chin. “What was it you once said to me? Something about the disgrace of dating a Shadowhunter? If I was a lesser man I might have a few choice words to say.”

Lorenzo raises an eyebrow but irritatingly enough, doesn’t take the bait. “You’re avoiding the question,” he muses as he takes a considering sip of his drink. When he puts the glass back onto its coaster with a soft clink, Magnus still hasn’t said a word. With sigh, Lorenzo shakes his head. “Very well, keep your secrets.”

“I don’t owe you an answer.”

Lorenzo inclines his head. “True, but…” The words trail off. For the first time, Lorenzo looks uncomfortable. He puts up his hands in a gesture of surrender and it’s so unlike him Magnus almost drops his own drink. “My apologies. The questions was a mere curiosity. You don’t have to answer if you prefer otherwise.”

Funny to think that just a few short months ago Lorenzo was bursting into his home and throwing accusations of corrupting ley lines in his face. Never in all his years did Magnus think they’d get to the point of a civil conversation, let alone whatever this is.

They aren’t friends.

Not with all their bad blood. The taunts, the threats, the attacks against each other still cast too large a shadow for anything more than occasional camaraderie and the exchange of ideas about potential threats to the city. Lorenzo still occasionally keeps a hand free in his presence, as if Magnus is going to summon his father into this plane of existence at any moment. He may think he’s being subtle, and perhaps he is to most warlocks. But to a warlock trained in combat magic, his readiness is obvious.

Magnus himself has mostly forgiven Lorenzo for blacklisting him in the wake of losing his magic. Mostly. His forgiveness waxes and wanes depending on his mood but he’s in a fine state tonight and despite Lorenzo’s very personal question about his magic, this get-together has been one of their better evenings.

He rises from the settee, pretending to study one of the hideous portraits of Lorenzo that line the walls. He doesn’t owe Lorenzo an answer but the whiskey always makes him more included to discuss magic. And the fact still remains that Lorenzo walked into the demonic equivalent of hell for Magnus. For Alec. For both of them.

Perhaps in a few centuries they’ll have a shot at real friendship.

Tomorrow, Magnus will blame the liquor for why he admitted the truth. It’s an easier lie than admitting that he perhaps misses the company of other warlocks. Ragnor is gone. Elias, too. Dot is on the run. Catarina is wonderful but even she can’t singlehandedly be everything to Magnus on her own.

He keeps his back to Lorenzo as he explains. “I put emotion in my spells. That’s why the color changes.”

Lorenzo’s gasp is poorly hidden and Magnus amuses himself in the growing silence by imagining the scandalized look that must be scrawled on Lorenzo’s face. He keeps his back turned and his magic ready. It’s both a test and a challenge.

Surprisingly enough, Lorenzo passes on both counts. “It’s probably for the best that I did not know that about you when I first came to New York.” Try as he might, Lorenzo can’t entirely hide the shake in his voice.

Magnus swirls his drink around in his glass and finally turns to face him. And winks, for good measure. “As if you could’ve hated me any more than you already did.”

“That kind of casting is dangerous! It’s—” Lorenzo cuts himself off, slumping back in his seat. “You don’t need me to tell you that, I’m aware.” It’s not acceptance but it’s not the outright denunciation Magnus had expected, either.

Perhaps one day he’ll tell Lorenzo the full story. About how he didn’t know how dangerous the technique was when he began using magic, at first because he had no one to teach him and later because the teacher he did have was his father.

His father, who took him in when he was only a child and taught him what it meant to be a warlock. Asmodeus had encouraged Magnus to throw his feelings into the fire of his magic. He’d encouraged the rage and the disappointment and the bitter grief over being rejected by the only family he ever knew.

It was only when Magnus turned his back on his father and struck his own path that he realized the teachings of his childhood were not how others practiced. They used words and techniques and drawing upon their own innate power. Magnus used that too, and then lit a match to the gasoline of his magic by pouring his emotions over the mass of power in his hands. Calming blue and livid red.

He’s tried to change but the technique is ingrained into his very bones.

Luckily, his type of casting is so rare that no one has ever guessed the true meaning behind the changing colors of his magic. Like Lorezno, they assume it’s some lost art rather than one of their greatest taboos.

The fact that Lorenzo isn’t judging him or threatening to expose him to the council means he might one day earn the right to hear the full story. Or maybe it means he’s too drunk to care. Either way, Magnus counts it as a win and he has a couple centuries, by his estimate, to figure out the rest.

In the meantime, he shrugs a shoulder and throws back the rest of his drink. “Yes, I’m aware,” he says, once the burn in his throat subsides.

Lorenzo pours him another and that’s the end of it.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Sammy’s and Normans first kiss?

I don't usually poke at these sorts of themes, but fair warning: This is slightly NSFW due to a few "wandering hands" on Sammy's part.

Summary: If there's anything that Norman regrets, it's his and Sammy's disaster of a first kiss...

---

     Susie's and Sammy's messy breakup over the replacement of Alice Angel's voice actress role had taken an even bigger toll on the studio than anyone could have ever imagined. Morale had already been low with the steady increase of workload, and the stress of overclocking to chug through the narrowing time frames between deadlines. So having both Sammy Lawrence and Susie Campbell, two of the most outspoken and loud folk in the studio, in such low spirits really had an impact on the other employees.

Sammy took it out on people, his fragility making his temperament unstable to the point lashing out felt like an easier way to cope than to deal with his emotional turmoils head on.

Susie resorted to pettier methods. Decreasing morale with rumors and cruel gossip, and overall making any voice over roles she got (the very same low grade background characters she'd begun with) a nuisance to get done if just to make Sammy's life more difficult. This in turn, fed the perpetual cycle of anger and frustration that permeated the recording booth.

Susie was gaslighting Sammy, and Sammy was verbally assaulting people in retaliation. All of this generated by Joey Drew "accidentally" sending everyone but the intended employee a memo detailing sensitive information regarding their work.

Truly, Norman was at his wits end from pure exasperation over Drew's tactics to keep the studio under his iron grasp. He knew the sort of dangerous game that devil of a man was playing, and he hated how easily everyone fell into place.

Above all, he hated what Joey was slowly shaping both Sammy and Susie into.

     Back in Louisiana Norman had a particular childhood bully who was the ringleader of the bigger meaner kids in town. He was a scrawny meek looking boy with a devious spark in his eye. A thinker instead of a go-getter.

That boy had made Norman's life a living hell, up until his growth spurt came in (he'd been a late bloomer so that had been a good 15 years under that little hellion's tyrannical grasp). Once Norman became bigger than his bullies, that clever bastard had tried buttering up to him. Get him nice and friendly so he'd fall in line with the rest of the thugs.

Once Norman 'kindly refused', he'd instead tried to make him look bad to the rest of the neighborhood. Not too hard, considering he'd always been a bit of a sneak, but honestly he'd never much minded what others thought.

Norman was the weird kid with the crazy eye, and the lightest feet in town. He could sneak up on the feral cats that lived in the overgrown playground without getting heard, and he was the kid that knew sign language because one day his hearing was going to go because he was born with something inherently wrong with his ears. He was also the kid that woke up at 5AM sharp to run training drills with his old man and his siblings.

Nothing the little jerk could do or say had ever made much of an impact on his reputation. Then one day of course his little sister came in missing a braid and his little brother had a split lip. That day Norman beat the shit out of that hellspawn and got in trouble for standing up to his bully.

That's what Drew was doing. Pulling all sorts of cheap manipulative tactics that were slowly shaping the people he employed into being predisposed to doing whatever he felt like.

Be it light threats hidden in passive aggressive comments, invitations to lunches or dinners where he'd test his boundaries of control over certain situations like who paid the bill or what sort of seed of doubt he could implant in someone's brain, or even feed the fires of someone's ire by meddling with their relationships.

By doing this to Sammy, especially, Joey was destroying his reputation as a respectable musician. The blond music director may be unreasonably unsociable, but that did not affect the quality of his work in the least. If anything Sammy seemed to work better under a more private setting.

Now that he was the focus of scrutiny and that people were constantly intruding upon his given workspace however, things were blurring. Professional and personal life had mixed and Joey was purposefully poking a sleeping bear to maintain control over the only composer he knew he could effortlessly keep under his control.

If Sammy so much as tried to quit, the damage of his current behaviors would ensure he'd never be employed ever again, and then where would he go from there when he had bills and rent to pay, and another mouth to feed?

Susie too was at risk.

She'd taken the hit so badly that she was actively fighting her employer and superior by behaving in an almost childish way in protest over being personally wronged. By demeaning her own work she was risking one of Joey's infamous blacklistings from the working industry. Who'd hire a difficult broad that thought she ran the show?

No one, that's who. Not in this overly masculine society.

     20 years ahead of both in experience, Norman was well and truly concerned. Both of them weren't bad people. They were fine adults with their whole life ahead of them if they played their cards right and sorted their emotional bullshit before snakes like that devil Drew got them cornered like mice in a maze. They were also both very competent and passionate about their work (which honestly was very attractive to him).

Obviously they weren't getting it on their own, so he had to stir them towards the right path somehow. A little nudge.

If only things weren't so hard in this damn studio… Getting to Susie was complicated considering she was avoiding people. And Sammy? Well, Sammy had some concerning vices.

  "He's been drinking." Jack had taken Sammy under his wing a while back. Norman knew how much the lyricist cared for his coworker and friend, so the pain in his voice was palpable. "He's hardly himself anymore. He's resorting to racist comments and shouting matches because he can't come up with any real reason to put people down, and I caught Wally straight up crying in the bathroom the other day because Sammy made fun of his spots to the point he couldn't take it anymore."

  "Miss Campbell ain't doin' no better. Word is she pitched a mighty tantrum ta other day in ta booth." At least that's what he'd witnessed while doing his usual rounds. "Sammy threatened ta write her up so Joey would fire her."

  "Don't remind me… I was conducting the band while Sammy helped Miss Pendle, and then Susie just barged in!" Jack ran a hand over his tired face, looking a decade older than he actually was. Just from how frustrated the situation left him. "I'm losing my best friend Norman… If this keeps up I won't be able to stand Sammy. Wally feels just about the same with Susie. They're hurting everyone around them and they don't care because they're so caught up on attacking each another…"

  "They is more stubborn than a mule in ta field. Ain't nothin' I could say that could fix what Drew's meddlin' has done, but I could sure try ta call them ta reason." He muses. "I've had ta knock some sense into Sammy before. Could use the reminder..."

  "You're not gonna hit him are you? Norman you could get fired…" Jack looked concerned at this.

  "N'aw. Drew don't care, I roughed him up before and our 'kindly boss' didn't give a rat's ass 'bout his wellbeing." Norman stated. "Henry sure did give me an earful tho…"

  "Who…?"

  "An old friend… Anyhow, can't hurt ta go see Sammy 'bout his deplorable behavior. You know where he gone off to?" Norman dismissed the question with a smile.

Jack shrugged at him in reply.

  "You could try his office. Unless you know where he holes himself up, then he's probably there." The shorter of the two men fixed his bowtie and grabbed his hat from the hanger at the door. "Please go easy on him… It's not his fault."

  "Don't excuse him being a right pain to everyone else."

  "No, but you wouldn't blame a wounded dog to bite when cornered would you?"

  "That's what a muzzle is for."

Not that a muzzle would work on Sammy's sort of breed. He was not one to be silenced so easily in his pain.

Subdued… Maybe, if he had a couple of glasses of that yummy bravery juice and an ear to badger. He wasn't a wordsy man in the sense that he could elaborate what he felt. He was more the word vomit type that said what he felt in bursts. Not very articulate but definitely trying to show what was going on in that confused head of his.

Silencing Sammy was not worth the effort. It'd only make the situation worse. At best, Norman hoped to get him talking after knocking him about just a little.

It never occurred to him that he'd end up doing something else entirely.

     Jack hadn't been kidding. The kid had indeed been drinking, and god the smell of whiskey in his office was overpowering. It came off thicker than Sammy's cheap cologne, and it definitely reminded him of his Pepaw's bootlegging days. The sharp smell of alcohol and a man's bitter tears beneath the dense musk of despair.

Norman crinkled his nose in displeasure as he watched the wiry frame of the blond music director draped over his desk like some twisted puppet that had its strings cut off abruptly. A soft noise made him roll his good eye, wondering when Sammy had fallen so far from grace to the point he was openly snoring in his office like he didn't care about his reputation.

He walked closer, half ready to slap him awake when he realized the noises weren't snores. More like keening whimpers. Soft and throaty, just barely contained.

Then he really scrutinized what the kid was doing. Left arm cushioning his head, while the other was… Oh.

  "Fuckin' Christ Sammy…"

The other's flushed face turned to look at him with a jump, his hand still stuck in his pants, and his eyes just barely focusing.

The wretched smell of alcohol and sweat were already an indicative of his state of inebriation. The lack of shame in his actions, another indication.

But then it was the way he was staring up at him that really gave Norman a scope of just how shitfaced Sammy was.

  ".........S'dat you Norms…?" Speech slurred and bleary eyed. Drunk as an Irishman on Saint Patty's, or a German man on Oktoberfest. This was not a dignified way to find the ornery composer. If anything Norman felt wrong intruding on… Whatever this was. A pity wank?

  "I… should come back later." He was not dealing with this.

  "No!" Sammy reached out for him. "S'day. S'ged'ing lon'ly…"

The taller of the two froze and bit his lip in discomfort. He was not staying to watch Sammy jack off, there was no way in hell. He'd seen Piedmont enough times to warrant a restraining order if the man ever found out what he'd been up to while hiding in the walls. He wasn't going to perv on someone 20 years younger than himself. That was just wrong... As hypocritical as that may sound.

  "I really should let yous finish that…" he tried to back off, but the other clearly wasn't getting it. Counting bottles, Norman could guess why exactly that was. Just how much had Sammy drank?

  "Pl'ase. S'day… D'n't wonna… D'n't feel good all al'ne…" Sammy sniffled loudly. Still reaching out for him with his unoccupied hand. The other was still very much preoccupied down south, from what he could tell in the dark.

  "Sammy Lawrence I am not watchin' you pleasurin' yourself like some deviant! That ain't right!" Hypocrite, the little voice in the back of his mind hissed. You would.

  "Why no'd…? You cute…" Had he… had Sammy just called him cute? A man twice his age and well outside the whole petit brunettes sort he liked? "Big an' han'some… You cou'd brea' me… I'd let's you…"

This was… this was not what he imagined when he'd come to confront Sammy. That hungry, lustful look under the drunken stupor. The way he wasn't even trying to hide his pleasure as he unapologetically stroked himself while speaking to Norman.

An open invitation. It evoked something the older of the two men had been trying to bury for a while now. Desire. A desire that was certainly making his own trousers feel a tad constrictive.

But he couldn't. Not like this. Sammy wasn't in the right state of mind for this.

As if reading his mind, the blond stumbled forward. The projectionist backed up once more to avoid his grasp, but found his back colliding with the office door. Closing it and cornering himself in the process.

Sammy breached his personal space and put a hand to his chest. Norman tensed under his touch, watching transfixed as the composer felt up his pecks in clear adoration. Adoration. Sammy Lawrence was showing something other than annoyance towards him and it felt like he was watching the man being enlightened in some way.

  "So strong…" He felt himself swallowing around a thick lump in his throat as Sammy's purrs got to his groin rather quickly. "So han'some…"

Norman's good eye went back to the fiddling hand, just barely able to see what was happening beneath fabric. Then he felt Sammy's exploring touch lower until it rest between his legs.

  "So big…" The blond whispered seductively before he pressed their lips together in a bid to get what he wanted. Get what both wanted. The taste was both vile and tempting. So hard to push away... But Norman knew it was inherently wrong to exploit.

  "Ok that's enough a' this charade!" He grabbed hold of Sammy's shoulders and pushed him off, ignoring the painful ache between his legs that begged for the music director's hand to return. "Yous don't just go feelin' up a fella's package you damn twit! If I was one o' them homophobes I woulda beat yous black an' blue for this! Ya gotta be smart Sammy, or yous is gonna end up dead one o' these days!"

The blond stared up at him in confusion and mild shock, clearly unhappy about the rejection. He pulled his hand out of his trousers and just stared at him with that semi unfocused gaze that was slowly gaining a bit of clarity as time progressed.

  "... Did… I do bad…?" His confusion soon turned into frustrated anger "Why m'I never good 'nough?!"

  "Sammy what are ya hollerin' 'bout?"

  "M'I ugly? W'y s'everyone got'a leave?!" Sammy stalked back over and pushed Norman against the door, clearly ready to blow up out of anger. "M'I not good 'nough for you?!"

  "Sammy…"

  "J'ust wonna feel! Feel good!" The music director looked him in the eye, practically begging. "Wonna feel good! Pl'ease! Ju'sh wonna feel loved!"

  "Wouldn't be right… you're drunker than a skunk… ain't right kid. Please see reason…" He pleaded, honestly pleaded with the distraught man. 

To his credit, it sort of worked. Sammy cried out in anger and shoved him a few more times against the door for good measure, before collapsing into a crying heap. All Norman could really do was kneel down and try to comfort him.

  "J'us wonna m-matter…"

  "Damn it Sammy… You do matter." He held him closely, feeling bitter about the circumstances behind the gesture. "Yous don't gotta offer yourself up like this ta feel like you do…"

Rather than reply, Sammy sobbed and clung to him for dear life. Letting all the pent-up heartbreak out.

The games Drew played… they had an impact that Norman truly despised. Ones that lead people into the brink of desperation. Sammy was already a casualty of it, Susie not far behind.

That night Norman took it upon himself to take Sammy home, not trusting the kid to be able to go on his own. He practically carried him all the way, making sure to go through less frequented streets to conserve some of the dignity the music director had left.

Knocking on the door and having to explain to Sammy's sister that he was out of it was... Distressing. That girl may be a ray of sunshine, but the obvious disapproval behind Abigail's eyes was colder than ice.

They'd been at odds recently, the two siblings, because of just how badly things were spiraling.

Abigail wanted Sammy to leave the studio, find something else to do that didn't take such a toll on his mental health. Sammy refused, out of pride and fear for what Drew might do to sabotage him.

Norman found that this was another thing he couldn't exactly fix. Wherever that devil of a man looked, a strange taint followed. Even something as pure as a sibling bond, or a kiss.

And god, did Norman regret that damn kiss.

What a fucking mess.

[harryscumcloth]

I Don’t Wanna Love You Anymore

Here she is.. part 2 of Malibu Nights. I decided to finish it last night after months of procrastinating. I’d like to thank my angel @harrysonlyangelsss, Lauren, for putting up with me through the whole ordeal because I know I’ve been an absolute nightmare.

Contains 6.4k of: angst, heartbreak, alcohol, fuck boy and cry baby content.

December 22nd, 2015 continued

“Harry… I can explain.” 

***

An hour had passed since he read the text message and she had yet to receive a response. Harry wasn’t a champion texter, he usually took his time or would forget to respond due to being a busy man, but there was no way that he could be busy on an airplane and there was zero chance that he had fallen asleep either. She sent text after text in hopes of him responding to at least one of them, but he never did. 

The delicate skin around her eyes became swollen and blotchy from the excessive amount of sobbing over the few hours prior. Her back leaned against the lower area of the sofa as she sat on the cool hardwood floor with her knees pulled to her chest. The sleeves of her hoodie were dampened with tears, turning the ash grey color to a dim grey. The sofa cushion supported the weight of her head while she tightly shut her eyes to relieve pressure and swiftly drifted off into a deep slumber.

Harry’s back fit the form of the chair as he sat halfway in his seat with his elbows on the rests, his ass almost hanging off the end and his leg holding him up while the other remained crossed at his knee. With each grey chat bubble that appeared, the worse the stinging in his eyes became.

His watering eyes were shielded by a hefty pair of sunglasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. He held his head low as he racked his mind looking for the signs. Y/N might have been oblivious to his feelings towards her, but Zayn for sure wasn’t. They had never shown an interest in each other and Harry often even confided in Zayn about his feelings towards Y/N, to which Zayn always said, “Mate, she’s into you.” 

It was infuriating to Harry to hear the nature of the songs Zayn had written about her. This was the girl he was in love with and it seemed as if Zayn used her for his own personal gain. 

That night, she was his plus one at the event. She had always been reluctant to attend outings with him because of his social status and the crazy fans, but for an unknown reason, she accepted this invitation. He didn’t probe for an explanation to why she agreed to join him on that occasion, he was just overly delighted at her acceptance, but he never imagined that his two best mates would hook up that night.

December 29th, 2015 

The past week, he arrived home in Holmes Chapel. Anne noticed his demeanor was different than usual, being uptight and snappy. He was on edge at all times and although she worried gravely about him, she didn’t feel right questioning him of bad vibe she felt. If he wanted to talk about it, he would, and that’s how she thought of it. 

The vibrations from Harry’s phone on the table shook the water in their glasses. She paused mid chew, glancing up at him with narrowing eyes and wrinkled brows. Their eyes met with Anne staring fixedly at him. “Can’t it wait? We’re in the middle of dinner.” 

He held the phone up, the black screen with the caller ID showing Jeff’s name. “I have to take it.” He excused himself from the dining table, scurrying off down the hall and into the bathroom. 

“Hello?” His voice was low, as if he was sneaking a call like back in primary school. 

“Harry? Why are you whispering?” Jeff’s voice rang through the speaker.

“I’m not whispering. I’m having dinner with my mum and I got the ‘stare’ so I came to the loo to talk. What is it?” 

“I know you’re on holiday... but would you be interested in signing another three month contract?” Harry’s response hadn’t come fast enough before Jeff continued his rambling. 

“I think It would be great for you, you know more screen time, more endorsements, more pay, the whole lot. Especially with Dunkirk coming up, it would benefit you greatly.” 

Harry’s forehead dropped into his palm. His eyes shut tightly before taking a deep breath. Jeff’s voice came through once again, “I guess I should probably mention that I already gave them your word…” 

“Why would you do that? Did I not make it clear that I was over it?” Harry’s jaw was clenched, his teeth gritting together. His cheeks flushed pink with frustration towards Jeff. The last time was supposed to be the last time.

He threw his head back as he plopped down onto the toilet seat, feeling defeated and hopeless. It felt like a never ending cycle of drama that no one understood or knew the half of. He kept it to himself, never letting a negative thought slip from his tongue.

“You know if I say no now, I could be blacklisted, right?” A deep sigh fell from his lips, “I was trying to leave on a good note so I wouldn’t be dismantled like everyone they come into contact with, but that doesn’t seem to be reasonable, does it?” He ended the call directly after the last word passed through his lips. His mind threatened to launch the phone through the thin wall, but instead it was gripped tightly in his hand while he blew steam from his nose.

Harry always respected Jeff, but he often felt like Jeff didn’t have his best interest at heart, and sometimes he didn’t even give Harry an option for what he wanted to do. 

Anne’s eyes were trained on him as he returned to the dinner table with a flustered look upon his face. He kept his attention on the ground as he walked, not wanting to see her wide curious eyes. She waited for him to settle in his seat once again, watching as he slumped into his chair. 

“S’everything alright?” 

He tried his best to avoid eye contact when he came back to the dining room, but he knew he would eventually look at her. He used his thumb nail to pick at the remaining black polish that coated his nail beds as he desperately tried to avoid the conversation. 

“Don’t you ignore me Harry. Now what is the matter?” Her stern voice grew loud, demanding answers from the now frightened man. 

“I’m renewing my contract with K...” his voice trembled and was hardly audible. She heard him loud and clear though.

He was ashamed. He was ashamed to tell his mother that he had put himself in a position to be miserable for another three months. It was Jeff’s fault, but Harry was never one to blame him because he could’ve said no if he wanted to and had Jeff to relay the message, but Harry felt that it was best to stick with the word that was already given. What would another three months of his life hurt? 

Anne couldn’t hold her feelings back any longer. She was bewildered and needed to know what the deal was. Her lips closed tightly and tucked inwards as she was dumbfounded by his statement. 

“Please fill me in on what it is that has you running back to this girl over and over? Let me in on the secrets because I’m dying to know.” The sarcasm in Anne’s voice showed she had never been fond of K since the very beginning. 

He was only the mere age of 19 and had just gotten out on his own when trouble found him. Of course, in his mind he was grown and didn’t need guidance from his mother anymore. The whole scene was fishy to Anne and she knew her son always wore his heart on his sleeve for anyone to up and grab, if only it had been a different someone. 

“Because at one point I did love her, mum. She was great and we got on really well but it’s only been just an arrangement to her.” His elbows rested on top of the table, dropping his fork and knife onto his plate. He stooped down into his chair as Anne looked at him with a scornful look. 

“That family is no good and you know it. It’s time for you two to part ways once and for all.” Her pointer finger was aimed directly at him, scolding him as if he were a child. “It’s only going to hurt you in the end.” 

She cut a small bite sized portion from her steak, jabbing it with the fork and pushing it past her teeth. She became irritated at Harry, letting the fork scrape against her teeth as she snatched it from her mouth in anger. 

“I hate letting people down and you know that.” His eyes were pleading for his mother’s approval, one he would never receive. “It’s only for three months and I will make it clear that I’m done this time.” 

Anne removed the cloth from her lap and gently patted around her mouth and tossed it onto the table before speaking again. “Harry, what about Y/N, hmm?” She smacked her lips together while clasping her hands together. “You’d be letting her down. She absolutely adores you and I just wish I could get it through that thick skull of yours.” 

The palms of his hands immediately covered his face. “Mum… she slept with Zayn.” His words were muffled by his hands and he was afraid to speak any louder. 

Anne pushed her plate towards the middle of the table and sat with her elbow propped with her her chin in the palm of her hand. Her fingers brushed over her lips gently as she noticed her son becoming uncomfortable before her. “Sweetie, I can’t understand you with your hands over your mouth.” 

Harry glared at his mother and her nonchalant expression. He didn’t reveal his lips when speaking, he only allowed the words to form through the tight spaces between his fingers. 

“Y/N slept with Zayn.” 

“You’re shitting me right now, right?” She pushed away from the table with her back hitting the chair harshly, her jaw hung and her eyes bugged. “When did this happen?” 

“It was her first and his last time at an event and it happened right under my nose.” His fingers picked the threads on the ragged edge of his napkin, trying to avoid eye contact in that moment. “I was asking around, trying to see if anyone knew where she was because I was finally going to tell her but she was nowhere to be found. And honestly, I never saw it coming. Zayn didn’t even care to mention his breakup with Perrie. I mean, everyone knew he was acting strange but we thought it was just Zayn being Zayn. He never really cared about me and it’s really starting to show now.” It became word vomit, his thoughts never ending and Anne not being able to get a syllable in between.

He inhaled a deep breath before continuing, “I don’t even know what she is thinking half of the time. She’s almost always quiet, the only time she actually showed me a part of her was when we almost---” his eyes grew wide when the realization hit that it was his mother he was talking to and he didn’t want to inform her of that, “when we… got wasted.”

His eyes scanned his mother’s face, hoping she hadn’t noticed and that it was a good save on his part. Although he is ‘grown’, he still wouldn’t want his mother to know that part of his life. “Other than that, she won’t let me in. She knows everything about me and I’m only allowed to know what she wants me to know about her so how am I supposed to bloody know if she is right for me?” 

“She doesn’t owe you anything about her life. You can only be mad at yourself for being foolish enough to tell someone your entire life story. You just be thankful it was told to someone like her and not someone who would be willing to ruin you the first chance they were offered a deal.” She slid her hand underneath his unusually warm palm, gripping his fingers and feeling the dampness of his clammy hands while rubbing her thumb across his bare knuckles. 

“Baby listen to me,” she gave his hand a gentle squeeze, “I’m sure she didn’t do it with the intention of hurting you in her mind. You know I’m all for Y/N, I absolutely adore her as I’ve already said, but she’s clueless more often than not and that’s not taking a dig at her.”  

He was blinded for so long that he never realized that she had no knowledge of his feelings for her. They both had become excellent at hiding things from each other.

December 31st, 2015 

It had been a week and a half since they saw the interview. She stopped sending texts after a full 24 hours of not receiving a single response from him. He was acting very childish, the fact that he was choosing to ignore her instead of discussing the issue and trying to get past it. She wept for days when she realized their friendship was possibly over and that he might never forgive her. Although she felt that she did no wrong because they were just friends and nothing more, she still cried. It was worse than a breakup.

It was New Years Eve and her only plans were to watch reruns of Gossip Girl on her laptop and finish the two pints of Ben & Jerry's assorted ice cream flavors that she had delivered to her through post-mates, starting with the Cookies & Cream Cheesecake Core and ending with the Chunky Monkey. She snuggled into a fuzzy black throw blanket with her legs and feet folded underneath her. The laptop was balanced on the edge of the arm rest while she held the pint and the spoon. Her eyes were trained on the screen, only leaving every so often to glance at the emptying carton. 

Three hours, two pints of ice cream, and one stomach ache later, she was resting uncomfortably as her belly protruded past it’s normal state. Her hand rubbed gentle circles around her navel in an attempt to calm the rumbles. She was miserably stuffed and couldn’t bear to watch another episode during that moment. The sunlight went away hours ago and she was left laying in the dark with only the faint light shining from the screen of her laptop. 

The loud pops and crackling sounds from the early fireworks held her eyes wide open. How could she possibly sleep a wink with all the ruckus outside of her window? She forcefully shut the laptop closed and tossed the blanket to the floor, trudging over to the window to see the culprits being a group of rowdy teens from her building. She desperately wanted to yell profanities down to them but she figured it would only make the situation worse if she were to say something, like them shooting one up towards her window or possibly vandalizing her car. Her attention lingered on the group for a second longer before the jarring sound of her doorbell filled the apartment, startling her and nearly causing her to jump through the ceiling. 

It was close to 9 o’clock at night and she was skeptical about who would be at her door this late, considering she didn’t really socialize with anyone anymore. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her face against the cool door, squinting her right eye to peek through the peephole. Her old roommates, Kate and Ava, stood there with wide and charming smiles. 

“Open up bitch!” Kate’s voice was high pitched and sure to echo throughout the short narrow hallway.

She fell back onto her heels, shaking her head in disbelief while she fumbled with the locks before finally twisting the knob and opening the door. They barreled past her, each going in a different direction and surrounding her on either side, the loud clacks from their stilettos ricocheted off the blank white walls of her small apartment. Their smiles soon turned to frowns as they saw Y/N’s unruly appearance. 

 Her noticeably unwashed hair was tied into a high matted bun. A thick layer of rheum had gathered along the lash lines of her heavy, swollen eyelids. The skin upon her face was dull and spotted with blemishes. “Ew,” they said in unison, their frowns stretching further down their faces as their noses scrunched, “What happened?”

She stood with her arms crossed, ready to defend her appearance. “I don’t look that bad.” Her shoulders slumped with their expressions, “You’re over exaggerating.” 

Truth is, she had become accustomed to seeing herself in the mirror over the past week and she hadn’t noticed the deep purple rings below her eyes, or the lifeless skin that sat upon her face. Their lips were pursed together as they waited for an explanation that they didn’t actually care for. 

“I’m not—” Ava raised her hand to stop Y/N’s sentence.

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter! We are going to get you all dolled up and make you forget all about your problems lovie. Just wait.” 

How could she so easily forget the thoughts that had consumed her mind for the last nine days?

They each grabbed an arm and forced her into the bathroom before she could refuse their help, stripping her of the unpleasant clothing and leading her to the shower. She stood beneath the warm stream of water wetting her hair when she remembered that Harry had finished the last dollop of shampoo from the bottle the morning he left. Her eyes darted around, unsure of how to mention it without her appearing too unkempt, she eyed the bottle of pomegranate body wash she always used.

Kate chuckled when drew shower curtain back, popping her head into the shower. “Make sure you shave everything!” The laughter became contagious as Y/N and Ava joined in.

****

 Although the girls worked with quickness, the process was tedious. Y/N became dizzy as they switch sections rapidly. Kate went from makeup to nails, and Ava went from hair  to clothes. After an hour and a half of grooming her to what they considered to be acceptable, she was nearly unrecognizable as the girl they had just seen at her worst. 

Her hair was neat and straight, the tiny knots of hair that had been snipped sat upon the counter. She was clad in her favorite little off the shoulder black dress, the one that ended mid thigh and accentuated her curves nicely, while showing only the perfect amount of cleavage. Ava was barely able to get it zipped up in the back from Y/N recently eating her weight in ice cream. 

“Red is your color babe,” Kate said as she put the last top coat on her pinky nail. 

****

A little before midnight, they wound up at Moonie’s, a popular bar and grill joint located on the corner of 7th, approximately three blocks from their old apartment, and a place that they were all too familiar with. Moonie’s was known for its delicious burgers and the variety of frozen margaritas… and the cute bartender of course. 

It wasn’t a large building by any means, but it had enough space for the bar counter, ten stools, a line of booths against the windows and a set against the wall, and a small kitchen in the back. A joint bathroom was located off to the side of the kitchen and what happens in that bathroom, stays in that bathroom — it’s even written in sharpie on the inside of the entry door. There was enough room for 30 people or so in the middle of the floor where the dim lights hung and the dirtiest of dancing happened.

They were only 18 their first time going, legally not able to drink, but luckily, being overly persuasive was Ava’s strong suit. She batted her lashes while sweet-talking him and had drinks rolling their way in no later than three minutes tops. She still claims those three minutes as her personal best. From that night on, they only went on the Saturday nights that he was scheduled to work and never had to worry about needing a valid I.D.

“You should move back in, you know.” Kate lifted her newly full glass to her lips, taking another large swig and gulping it down. “It’s closer to your job,” she paused, “and your friends,” she motioned her hands between Ava and herself, “and plus, rent would be a lot cheaper.” 

Y/N stared into the bottom of her empty glass, stirring the ice cubes with the tiny black stirrer, “I enjoy being on my own though.” She looked up to face them, “I mean… I loved living with you guys, don’t get me wrong, but I feel like I’m at a point in my life where I need my own space.. And besides, Malibu isn’t that bad. It’s a little lonely sometimes… maybe I could get a dog or something.” 

When Y/N was planning to move to Los Angeles after graduating, she came across an apartment ad on Craigslist of two girls that were looking for a third roommate. It wasn’t in the greatest neighborhood, but it was all she could afford at that time and it was safer than living on her own, being new to the area and all. Kate and Ava quickly became two of her best friends and she shared an apartment with them for a year before she had saved enough money to move to Malibu, like she had always dreamed of doing. 

They ordered another round of drinks and chatted a little longer before Kate and Ava stumbled over to the dance floor. Seeing as how Y/N wasn’t much of a dancer, having two left feet and not an ounce of rhythm in her body, she stayed seated at the bar as she was far too drunk to stand. She held her head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone, she laid her phone down on the bar top and began scrolling. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular as she was just trying to seem busy and uninterested, but she came across something she didn’t expect to see… ever again.

An article on a popular gossip site showed “Hendall” was spotted on a yacht in St. Barth’s earlier that day, when he was supposed to be home spending time with his family, not with her and her family. The pictures of them cuddling and kissing were enough to make her sick, but the last picture she saw, induced vomiting. She had the ring Y/N bought Harry for Christmas linked onto her necklace. She quickly hopped from the stool, her ankle twisted at the harsh contact with the ground. She barely made it to the garbage can before spilling her stomach's contents inside. Her hands held her steady on the rim of the can as she retched over it. 

A gentleman helped her into a booth, where she laid her head against the cool table and let the tears fall. Her breaths came out in rapid pants while she rested her mind before she staggered back over to the bar. She picked her glass up and gulped the last bit of her drink down, dialing Harry’s number and immediately reaching his voicemail. The tears were starting to dry on her face when she had an idea. She threw her head back and a wicked laugh pushed its way passed her red smudged lips. It was a laugh full of pain.

She found herself in the bathroom, gripping onto the edge of the grimy porcelain sink to hold herself up. Her adrenaline was way too high for her to notice the swelling and throbbing coming from her sprained ankle. She pressed her back against the vandalized door, using it for guidance as she slid down to sit on the filthy bathroom floor. She dialed his number once more and the pace of her heart rate heightened when she heard the automated message tone. 

She was really going to do it. 

*** 

He requested his own suite in the hotel, but for the sake of the stunt, he was held up in K’s until 4 a.m. Harry slipped from within K’s grip, searching for his phone on the nightstand and crept towards the door. He carefully opened and shut the door, only a small click being heard, and scurried off across the hall to his own. He held down the button on the side of his phone to power it back on, all of his messages and notifications popping up at once. He sat on the edge of the bed, skimming through the texts and call log expecting to see her name, and there it was. Two missed calls with two voicemails. He knew they were from her, no doubt about it. 

The only time she was ever vocal about her feelings was when she was pissed off. He sat with his elbow resting on his knee and his bottom lip pulled between his two fingers while his eyes burned a hole through the wall. 

“......... Harrrrry?”

He could tell immediately that she was completely wasted by the way she said his name. 

“Sooo you lied to me so you could be with her again? She’s wearing the ring that I gave you. Do you know how long it took me to find something that I thought was decent enough to get for you? I was worried that you would end up getting it before I had a chance to buy it. Then what would I have done, huh? Do you know what I had to sacrifice to get you that ring and you let that bitch wear it? I gave up getting my nails done. I gave up my usual bottle of wine and settled for cheap shit for you. I went without my morning coffee for a month so I could put that money in my dumb Harry fund. That’s totally fucked up. You can take that ring and shove it so far up your——” Her message was cut short early of the two minute mark.

His stomach was twisted in knots after hearing how delirious she was, the shakiness of her voice combined with small giggles that held no humor behind them. He opened the next one, a continuation of the first.

“You know what? I’m done with you Harrrrry Styles. You two deserve each other and nothing more. I deserve better and I’m going to find that. Good thing I’m at Moonie’s ‘cause what happens in the bathroom stays in the bathroom, righttttt?” 

He was torn to pieces by the last sentence that she spoke.

March 29th, 2016

“Bean, please. We need to talk.”

She exited from his message and dropped the phone into her cluttered purse. She recently turned the read receipts on for the not so subtle hint to be given that she wasn’t interested in having a conversation. The sudden wave of messages were taunting compared to the few she had gotten every now and again from him, asking how she was doing or if she was okay but she couldn’t bring herself to reply.  

It was a daily struggle with fighting the urge to shoot him a text, wondering how he was or if things were going well for him but she was stubborn and didn’t want to appear weak by giving in. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she still cared and ignored him completely. Keeping her mind occupied was something she strived for everyday, but he was making it more difficult than it needed to be. Harry’s sudden need to talk to her started to become an issue but she couldn’t bring herself to block his number. After all, he was her best friend and she still loved him. 

Her nosy coworker had been peeking at her over the dividing wall of the cubicle all day. It was obvious that she had something to say or had a question she wanted to ask, but she was too timid. 

“What can I help you with, Lia?” 

Lia quickly responded, “Did you hear? He’s here in LA today.” Her arms were folded on the top of the wall, her chin rested over them.

Y/N wasn’t sure what Lia’s intention was with mentioning his whereabouts but she was able to keep her composure and stay calm, even if it was a poorly executed facade. 

“Of course I heard. I’m very aware,” Y/N replied nonchalantly, furiously continuing to type with her fingers slamming against the keyboard. The rapid clicking sounds brought everyone’s eyes towards her, but she was unaware of being the center of attention.

Unfollowing him on all social media was utterly pointless because she still heard about him wherever she went. Whether it be the grocery store, the library, a gas station, anywhere. His pictures were plastered on every news stand, magazine, billboard, TV, even on the side of the damn Gucci store. She couldn’t escape the man that had intentionally caused her so much pain.

She hated that Lia had been placed next to her at work as there were plenty of other spots for her to be. She pestered her everyday about something that was small or irrelevant to their duties, but something that she hated even more about her was what she knew. Months ago, Y/N’s phone began to buzz while she was out of the room and Lia took it upon herself to peek at it. At the time, Y/N’s lock screen was a picture of her and Harry from when they had gone to Vegas for her 21st birthday, and she was bombarded with questions the second that she reentered the room. 

Lia began to speak, “Do you thi-” 

Y/N slammed her palms down on the desk, silencing Lia immediately. “Mind your own fucking business Lia! Stop bothering me! Stop asking about Harry! I don’t know anything about Harry! Here, call him! FaceTime him! Get his number, I don’t care!” She shoved her phone in Lia’s face, who instantly backed down with tears welling in her eyes, sitting in her seat once more. Y/N was breathing rapidly, soon noticing all eyes were on her now. She had never been vicious with anyone before, she didn’t know what had washed over her. She was just as embarrassed as Lia was, if not more. 

"I'm...sorry," Lia sheepishly sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her hand and sinking deeper into her chair.

“S’fine.” Y/N quietly accepted the apology while rubbing circles on her temples. She knew exactly what she needed at that point.

****

Once the clock hit 5, she rushed out of the building to the parking garage, finding her car and getting inside. Immediately tears of resentment fell as she pounded her hands on the steering wheel, letting out a groan and strings of profanity that had been suppressed for hours. Her mind had become an exhausting place to be stuck in and she desperately wanted to escape it.  

The worst part about living in Malibu was the commute to and from work in LA. It was an hour and some minutes before traffic was added in, and close to two hours afterwards. Though it wasn’t all terrible, the games that she would play on the drive home were quite entertaining and made the time pass by quicker. There were days when she would try to decipher customized license plates and others where she would guess what song drivers were dancing to. It was crucial that she always made it home in time for her nightly routine of meditating and watching the sun set out on the balcony. Her mind was full and her heart was heavy on the drive home that day. She didn’t want to play her games while being stuck in traffic, she didn’t feel like listening to her favorite playlist, she just wanted to forget about everything and everyone.

***

She parked in front of the local liquor store near her apartment; the one she had visited multiple times a week and happened to be on a first name basis with the night clerk, Gayle. She sat in her car, staring at the old rustic walls on the outside of the shop and recollecting all the nights that she had spent crying on Gayle’s shoulder. 

The two of them had become close after Harry had left, Y/N even started to see her as a mother figure. Gayle didn’t have any children and Y/N’s mother was hours away, so it was a mutual bond. The nights that Y/N spent crying on her shoulder, were the nights that she learned everything about Y/N, everything that Harry didn't know. 

She hadn’t stopped there in over a month and she wasn’t sure why she was there now, but her gut was trying to stop her. As she stepped out of the car, glancing up at the big neon sign, her heartbeat picked up a rapid pace along with her stomach doing somersaults inside. She stood at the door for a split second before finally pushing in and walking inside. The familiar smell of mint and old wooden floors entered her nose, instantly making her queasy. She stood fiddling with the keys as she gave a quick look around before spotting Gayle at the counter.

“Welcome back, Y/N!” Her smile was warm and inviting, nearly covering half of her face. “Haven’t seen you in… Darling, is something wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Gayle showed a worried expression at the sight of Y/N’s face.

Her lips were pursed and her eyebrows drew together, leaving a glistening look in her eyes. “Hi Gayle. I know… It has been a while, yeah? I’ve been busy with… work.” She playfully returned the small talk, her hands still nervously twisting at the keys. Her feet were nailed to the ground, every fiber of her being telling her not to enter further.

“Anything specific that I can help you with?” Gayle’s glasses were perched on the tip of her nose as she leaned across the counter on her elbows. “I’m ready to help if you need me, but I’m positive you know this place better than I do anyways.” 

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, but it didn’t help with the creakiness of her voice. “Actually, I-,” she cleared her throat once more, “I think I still have some at home. Might’ve just overlooked it.” She reached for the door, ready to dash back to the car, but Gayle’s voice stopped her in her tracks. 

“Y/N? Can you call me sometime? I get worried about you and… I don’t want to intrude on your life. Just whenever you have time, if you will.” Gayle’s small loving smile gave a familiar warmth in Y/N’s chest. 

“Of course.” And with a nod, she was gone.

***

Her anxiety lowered quite a bit by the time she arrived home. Her shoes were off of her feet, hooked and dangling from her finger as she sauntered down the hall. She counted her steps as she went, mumbling the numbers under her breath. The moment she entered through her door, she tossed the shoes into the corner as always, the pile of shoes growing larger each day. 

After not having eaten the entire day, a loud rumble erupted from her stomach. Her mouth salivated at the thought of a large pepperoni pizza from Pop’s Pizzeria. Her finger traced the numbers on the menu as she dialed, placing the order to be delivered. The dryness in her throat became an itch she sought to relieve with a glass of water. She walked to the kitchen and went straight for the cabinet that no longer held Harry’s personal stash. Although, his favorite glass still remained in the back… out of sight and out of mind. 

She was in no hurry to rid herself from her clothing. Instead, she picked up her laptop and put her playlist on to play before she stepped outside onto the balcony. The sun began to set with pinks and purples across the horizon, a slight breeze rattling the pages of the magazines that resided on the patio table for the past month. She sat with her legs crossed beneath her and the laptop rested in her lap while tune of I Don’t Wanna Love You Anymore filled the apartment. A web page which contained apartment listings in various cities was automatically shown on the screen from her last search. 

She bobbed her head along to the tapping of her fingers to the beat, lightly muttering the lines, 

Sick of staring up at the ceiling

How'd you change your mind just like that?

The only way to get past this feeling

Is to tell myself you're not coming back.

After getting fed up with virtual tours of the apartments and finding locations, she switched to Pinterest for interior ideas, quickly falling into a hole and losing track of time. The ragged sound of the doorbell startled her, pulling her out of the black hole she had fallen into on the website. She rushed to the door, stopping and snatching her wallet from her purse on the counter, not even thinking to check before opening it. It was swung open by an overly eager Y/N, not able to contain the excitement for the pizza that had consumed her mind the for most of the day. 

The rumbling of her stomach quit, her appetite vanishing instantly. Her posture stiffened, her joyous smile fading as a sudden coldness filled her core as she took sight of the person that stood on the other side of the door. 

“Hi angel.” 

[apiratecalledav]

Is there other stuff that makes you think hbo messed with gendrya?

Oh, man, I’m probably gonna be thought of as the Murray Bauman of the fandom…. But yeah, there’s actually quite a bit that makes me think that it’s possible. When season 8 first aired, I thought that maybe executive meddling shot them down for some reason, most logically to protect spinoff potential.  They might have let the show “test the waters” but ultimately wanted them left ambiguous.

I thought it was… interesting… that Gendry and Arya had by far the gentlest, most amicable breakup in the entire series— and that it was over Gendry’s lordship that he straight up said wasn’t worth anything without Arya—when HBO UK made a cryptic tweet that made me wonder if someone high up was leery of the pairing/fan reaction.  If they wanted the option for an Arya Stark spinoff someday, I could see why they wouldn’t want her to end in a relationship they thought might be poorly received.  

I also thought that maybe since Gendrya went so far out of the show’s usual M.O. (to the point that it was one of the very few things about season 8 that I was wildly off about) that their thought process might have plausibly been something like, “Gendrya can’t be endgame? Well, fuck it. We’ll go all out and have them do pretty much everything else: Make out, spend the night together, save the world, say, ‘I love you,’ and get down on one knee to propose.”

I also thought that I was probably just a tinfoil-hat-wearing weirdo saying, “My OTP wasn’t definitively endgame! It must be a conspiracy.”

But I rewatched the whole season a little while ago and I noticed some things that I think are… interesting. Although, you should keep in mind that it was during two VERY long and VERY boring days at work where I had nothing to do.

I could just be shipper trash, seeing what I wanna see. Maybe not. I’m just saying that I’d believe it if something was up. From the way they portrayed Arya and Gendry, in general and especially in comparison to Jon/D-ny (I’ve anti tagged but if you don’t have blacklisting enabled, this is your fair warning), I could believe that the writers like the ship. And while Arya is certainly not the poster child for perfect mental health, there isn’t anything to suggest she would be toxic in a long term relationship. She isn’t selfish or cruel. I also don’t think that she hates herself the way that Sandor and Jaime did and that she believes she deserves to be “punished” or alone. She didn’t say anything to Gendry about not wanting to be a wife, just not a lady. 

They’re consistently portrayed as a healthier/more favorable foil to Jon and D-ny:

In 8x01, D-ny swoops down on Winterfell and is cavalier as fuck about resources.  She has no comment about food except that dragons eat “whatever they want.” The next scene, we see Gendry running to catch a chunk of dragonglass that was about to tumble out of the wagon. He tells everyone to be careful because they need every last bit of it. He then goes on to climb up the wagon, much like Arya did in the pilot episode. I think it’s even in the same spot. If not, it’s very similar.

Also 8x01, D-ny tells Jon, “keep your Queen warm” and while they are kissing, Jon keeps opening his eyes and freaking out because scary dragons are eyeballing him. And D-ny is pretty much like, “Don’t worry about it, it’s cool.” Even though she’s already made a few jokes about how if they decide to roast Jon then he’s shit outta luck and she threatened Sansa. Then the very next scene is Gendry and Sandor just before Arya finds them. Arya teases Gendry as well but she also defends him from Sandor, compliments him, jokes he should “keep close to that forge” if he’s cold and tells him not to call her Lady Stark. They laugh and banter and all awkwardness fades away and they’re both grinning like dorks. Arya actively wants Gendry to see them as equals; D-ny subconsciously wants Jon in his place.

Even as the dead are practically in their backyard, D-ny keeps obsessing about the throne. Meanwhile, Arya’s station doesn’t bother Gendry anymore because he knows it doesn’t matter. He also signed up to help Jon immediately without asking for anything in return.

Arya and Gendry each seek the other out in 8x02 but Jon spends a lot of it trying to avoid D-ny until the last moment

8x02 Arya and D-ny find out Gendry’s and Jon’s parentages. It makes no difference to Arya, she loved Gendry when he was a barmaid’s bastard and she loves him when he’s a king’s son. Jon’s  bio father shatters D-ny’s whole world.

Most of Jon’s family (this includes Sam) distrust and fear D-ny. Jon and Sandor like Gendry and Sansa and Bran have no complaints at least.

Their ~love scenes~ have a few shots that mirror each other, too.  But we see the buildup for Arya and Gendry, their conversation, their first kiss, undressing each other. We see Jon and D-ny and in the middle of things, during a montage explaining how they’re closely related and narrated by Jon’s little brother. Not exactly sexy. Then it cuts to Tyrion lurking nearby looking troubled and finally ends with an ominous shot of the Targ flagship in the dark and gloom. Meanwhile, Arya and Gendry are alone, not related, and are the sole focus of the scene. There’s not even music.

In 8x04, at the funeral, Gendry and Arya are initially a good distance apart. Then after they light the pyres, you get a shot of Arya with (an admittedly very blurry) Gendry visible over her shoulder. Meanwhile, Jon and D-ny stand together while lighting the fire and then they part.  

Gendry’s “I love you” to Arya is enthusiastic and happy and D-ny’s to Jon is coming from a place of mourning at best and it’s straight up manipulative at worst.  The words “I love you” are rare in this show. I can only remember Jorah saying it a couple of times, Littlefinger to Cat and Sansa, Joffrey pledging to wed Margaery, and Robb to Talisa. The only times it’s not sad or creepy are Robb and Gendry.

These two scenes are the most glaringly obvious. But to summarize, Arya tries to set Gendry “free” when his life changes in a direction she doesn’t want for herself and D-ny tries to put Jon into a corner and make sure his life CAN’T change into one that she doesn’t want. 

So with that stuff in mind, I could buy that maybe they wanted Arya and Gendry to reunite in King’s Landing and try to save civilians together.  Or maybe have Jon ask Gendry to take Arya as far away as he can before Jon goes to that throne room to do what he has to do. Hell, look at Arya’s final scene as is: She’s on a ship and then you see her Stark sigil on the sail against the sunlight… If Gendry was with her, that’d sure look like a happier version of D-ny and Jon’s scene from the end of season 7…   While probably a bit too on the nose for GRRM’s books, I could see the show implying that Gendry and Arya are the second, more hopeful verse of the Song of Ice and Fire…

Other Season 8 Subtext-y things:

Marriage imagery; Arya under Gendry’s cloak. Bonus points for it being shown during these lines from Jenny’s song: “spun away all her sorrow and pain/and she never wanted to leave.”  “She spun away and said to him, ‘no featherbed for me.’”

Pretty much all of Gendry’s scenes in season 8 are with Arya or he’s with Sandor, talking about her. The small handful of times he’s not with either of them, he’s with her siblings and other people connected to House Stark like Tormund and Davos and even Sam and Edd.  After their “breakup” he virtually disappears. Pretty much the ENTIRE reason they brought him back was for Arya and to be tied strongly to House Stark.

Beric and Melissandre, who once wanted to sacrifice Gendry for “the greater good” and caused Arya to turn towards a darker path, sacrifice themselves to defeat the dead, not only saving Arya’s and Gendry’s lives but guiding Arya further into “light.” To the point where she literally ends the Long Night.

Gendry tells Arya that she’s beautiful and he loves her and gets down on one knee to ask her to marry him… Which is so wildly uncharacteristic for this show that I still can’t believe that it’s real. It’s by far the most traditional romantic moment in the entire series.  I suppose it could just be fan service, but 8x02 would have sufficed on that front. Not to mention that “fan service” in this show has never been something so wholesome.  

They could have done the proposal differently. They could have had Gendry say crap like, “Now we can settle down and live a boring, respectable life” or something else that would have been really unappealing to Arya. It actually would have been another connection to Robert/Lyanna, where Robert only loved his idea of Lyanna. But nope. They could have framed it as Gendry trying to do the honorable thing or “they’re gonna marry us off anyway, at least we like each other.” But nope.

Gendry could have been put off by Arya’s combat skills but he was turned on by it. She even used her “game of faces” voice on him and it didn’t send him running for the hills.

They also could have easily had Gendry be too “tame” for Arya but nope.  Her face at this part just kills me.

They made a thing out of Gendry being “forever loyal” to D-ny after she legitimized him but he had jack shit to say about her at the Great Council and was all too happy to vote for King Bran, even after Arya had turned him down.

A follow up to that other post in regards to a Gendry-ish looking guy grabbing Arya and asking if she’s seen his wife, Alanna: Magaery’s cousin with the same sounding name gets a GRRM-esque weird spelling: Allana with two Ls and one N. As opposed to the more traditional spelling that looks more like Lyanna….

One of the surviving lords at the Great Council is specifically from the Storm Lands. He’s probably who has had Storm’s End for the last few years and maybe he doesn’t deserve to get kicked out by a boy who doesn’t have any idea how to be a lord and doesn’t even want to be a lord without Arya.  He even has a name: Lord Une.  The Dornish prince doesn’t have a first name but this guy does?

Also, Une is a very unusual name. It’s not from the books and it doesn’t really sound Medieval Europe-y, either. Maybe there’s an inside joke or something? That’s definitely not a name you just pull from the air.  

Arya lights Beric’s funeral pyre but if Sandor didn’t have issues with fire, I think he probably would have done it as Beric’s last surviving friend. It kind of gives us the sense that Arya can do what Sandor can’t—which of course, she ultimately does when she decides to leave Cersei while Sandor, who has missed so much being hurt and angry, can only have peace/forgive himself is if he stops Gregor forever. 

In the very next scene after the funeral, we see Gendry and Sandor talk about Arya. Sandor basically says that normal, living people have emotions and hormones and it’s not a bad thing.  Sometime later, we see Sandor scare off a girl who makes a pass at him. The next scene is Gendry and Arya. Arya also ‘rejects’ her love interest but it’s in an infinitely more thoughtful way. We already know that it’s easier for Arya to be close to other people than it was for Sandor. Arya just has a little bit more to go until she’s completely ready for something serious.  

Episodes 1 and 2 establish a pattern of “Sandor then Gendry.” It’s how they arrive at Winterfell. It’s how they reunite with Arya. It’s how Arya visits them towards the end of 8x02. Sooo again, I could see at one point the intention was for them to reunite in King’s Landing. Possibly during that bit where it keeps cutting back and forth between Sandor and Arya; “hateful” Gregor grabs Sandor up to throw him around and “loving” Gendry lifts Arya to save her from getting trampled. Nora, the name of the kind stranger who does help Arya, is essentially the “female equivalent” of Gendry’s name.    

According to the leaked outline of season 7, Gendry was originally supposed to be rescued by Benjen beyond the wall. In season 8, he has scenes with Jon, Sansa, and Bran, and even Edmure and Robin. ALMOST LIKE THEY WANTED HIM TO MEET *ALL* OF ARYA’S FAMILY. I’m pretty sure only Tyrion has met more Starks and Tullys than Gendry.

The “Ice battle” was at Arya’s childhood home and the “Fire battle” was at Gendry’s. And yeah, I think it’s pretty damn weird that a capable, uninjured soldier who has knowledge of King’s Landing isn’t there.

They gave them a reference to The Princess Bride: “As you wish.” Comparing them to a beloved couple from a modern classic is a good sign. Comparing them to most likely a childhood favorite? Even better. Comparing them to a couple where their other famous line is “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a little while.” And Arya and Gendry are still alive.  Actually, it might be a coincidence but they do have a SHIT-TON in common with The Princess Bride. GRRM is a fan, too, so maybe it was discussed at some point. It’s certainly uncanny if it wasn’t at least partially intentional. But that’s a different post.  

Sandor knows about Gendry and Arya and he doesn’t rip Gendry’s head off. Gendry basically got a blessing from Arya’s last legal guardian.

Their outfits reflect each other’s houses, Gendry’s clothes having some very Stark direwolf-like scratch marks and Arya’s scabbard is yellow and black aka Baratheon colors.

I haven’t listened to it yet, but apparently in the leaked audio commentary for 8x06, they talked about how Joe wanted Arya to notice how hot Gendry looked.

Other stuff that makes me think that the writers like Gendrya:

They gave them a lot of time and focus. Even in season 8 where they had very limited time. And objectively speaking, that time probably should have been spent with Arya and her siblings.

They had Arya befriend Gendry earlier and easier than she does in the books.

In behind the episode of 8x02, Benioff talked about how you choose to spend your last night on earth says a lot about you. The very first example he gives is Arya wanting to be with Gendry.

They are always depicted positively:  They trust each other; they respect each other; they make each other laugh; they protect each other.  Even during their “breakups” in season 3 and 8; they are honest and accepting of each other’s decisions.  These two are young and inexperienced but they manage to be more mature and healthier than 95% of the other couples.  Their relationship also doesn’t doom them the way that Robb and Talisa’s did.

They changed stuff from the books to make it– not more romantic per se given Arya’s age– but certainly shipping fuel that fit more into romantic tropes: How they meet, how Gendry discovers that she’s a girl, how Arya blatantly checks him out when he’s shirtless. Their long one-on-one and emotional “goodbye” scene where Arya says, “I can be your family.”

They changed/added lines to foreshadow “My Featherbed,” aka where Gendry is legitimized but gives it up for Arya: “I have a son, you have a daughter. We’ll join our houses” but leaving out how Robert specified Joffrey and Sansa. Changing “you’ll marry a king” and “no, that’s Sansa” to “you’ll marry a high lord” and “no, that’s not me.”  Davos telling Gendry how he became a lord to help his son and it actually got Mathos killed in battle.

The main bullet points of season 8 were largely what I was expecting and I was at least in the ballpark about a lot of the details. Like did I predict King Bran? No, but I knew he belonged in the south because he named his direwolf Summer. I knew the king or queen would be a dark horse and I was fairly certain Tyrion would be Hand. The few things I didn’t anticipate still seemed to validate the main themes and messages I thought that GRRM was going for. Like King Bran. Now I can’t believe I didn’t see it. Who better to “end the game of thrones” than someone who doesn’t want to play and also can’t be plotted against?

Gendrya is the one major thing that tripped me up. Seriously. I would have bet my fucking car that if Gendry didn’t die, he’d walk away from a lordship and be with Arya on her ship, even if the nature of their relationship was ambiguous.  

So I could believe that they wanted or at least expected Gendrya to be endgame since season 1 and someone told them no. It could have been GRRM but I must admit that I have a difficult time believing that.

I guess I could see GRRM having the point of their relationship be that Arya is upfront and honest about what she wants and Gendry respects her decision and doesn’t turn into a bitter/mopey drunk. Or that Gendry dies and Arya doesn’t wallow in it forever… But there’s so much that makes me think that Gendry is meant to be the “sweet” part of Arya’s bittersweet ending, and at least be her True Companion.  Not to mention they’re still too young to really have a relationship in the books. Well, at least Arya is. And those particular parallels to Robert and Lyanna fall pretty flat in my opinion if they’re not romantically involved.   I mean, come ON. How the hell could it NOT end with the possibility of Lyanna’s niece/ Jon’s sister and Robert’s son/D-ny+Rags cousin???

Possible HBO Shenanigans:  

I thought it was kinda funny that HBO UK–not Game of Thrones but an official HBO account– made a tweet shortly before 8x02 aired implying that Arya is eighteen… when she’s more likely sixteen (lots of reasons, not to mention that Maisie has even said that Arya is sixteen.) And sixteen is the age of consent in the UK anyway.  As far as I know, that was the only public attempt by HBO to quell controversy in an already hugely controversial season. Like, after The Bells, I don’t think anyone at HBO tweeted about “Ideally, good rulers don’t commit 2.5 times the amount of war crimes as the Night King.” So I do have to wonder if there’s a reason that they’re particularly invested and protective about Arya’s reception…

There was a huge shitstorm when Tommen and Margaery got married and pretty much most of that stuff was off screen.  Sure, Arya’s a bit older and Maisie was in her 20s while Dean-Charles was still in his teens… but people do tend to get much more outraged when it’s a girl with an older guy than vice versa.

There was also a big shakeup when AT&T acquired HBO and they got a new CEO early in 2019, a couple of months before season 8 aired. The former CEO seemed to have been championing Bloodmoon, that prequel that got canceled recently. He might have been pulling more for a potential Arya show back when the season was still being written… the new people at AT&T also seemed extremely upset over what the budgets for GoT and Big Little Lies did for their bottom line.  

While HBO has stated emphatically that there are no current plans for an Arya spinoff, they were sure to tack on a “right now, a sequel […] doesn’t make sense for us.” I do believe that this is something they want to have in their back pocket.  There’s a lot of interest in the idea and if House of the Dragon does well, I won’t be shocked if five+ years down the line we get at least a movie or a limited series about Arya. It’s by far the easiest, since her character can be isolated from everyone else and there are tons of cool places to explore. Hell, if they were really desperate, they wouldn’t even need Maisie Williams to come back. They could just recast and say she’s wearing someone else’s face to hide from mercenaries or something.  

GRRM gave an interview talking about how certain characters who have “a high Q rating” (popular) get pushed into more screen time. Bronn is almost certainly one of those characters. He’s always been a self-serving asshole, but the things that made him feel more like an affable rascal—his funny lines, his genuine and open fondness for Podrick—are all but gone in season 8. Not to mention that there’s the implied possibility he’s dying from some “pox.” In the outline for season 7, he’s much closer to “Season 8 Bronn.” Like, he was the one who was originally going to ask Jaime about Widow’s Wail and call Joffrey a “See-You-Next-Tuesday.” When Olenna said it, it was pretty funny. But coming from Bronn, it was a real dick move. I could believe that their “treatment” of Bronn in season 8 was a bit of a middle finger to him. The same way I could perceive Gendrya’s portrayal as being a “fuck you” if they weren’t allowed to actually be endgame.

TL;DR: Gendry and Arya are one of the very few healthy couples in the entire series,  and it could be argued that they even get “special” treatment. Both of them lived and while Arya certainly has been traumatized, she is not a walking dumpster fire who wouldn’t be good for him. It would have been only too easy for them to be portrayed as incompatible or worse but they weren’t. Their breakup is over a virtual nonissue. So it’s not out of the range possibility that they were a victim of executive meddling.  

And please spare me any “bUt D&D aRe ToO STuPId tO dO tHis.” I’m not campaigning for them to win Pulitzers any time soon, but the notion that they’re complete nitwits is just silly. They both have M.F.A.s  from very good schools and their scripts/outlines that I’ve read have a lot of really clever and really well-thought-out references, ranging from history to poetry to literature to even The Rolling Stones.  

I’m not saying that they intentionally did all this stuff but they certainly could have if they wanted to.

[apicturewithasmile]

Fishful Thinking

or: What the hell is up with all those fish references?

As I was working on two gif sets (1, 2) showing all (or at least most) of the times Red talks about fish in one way or another, I couldn’t help but wonder if there’s some pattern to these stories. I decided to sort the fish references into the four following categories and put my literary analysis degree to good use

Category 1: There’s always a bigger fish.

Category 2: self-recognition through the fish

Category 3: Beware The Fish!

Category 4: Is this the real life, is this just fanta-sea?

Though some fish references could be put in more than one category, I chose to sort them according to how I’d like to interprete their relevance to the show and Red’s character. Because of the vast amount of fish stories and references throughout the years I cannot possibly talk about all of them but I will still list them all under their respective category for the sake of completeness.

All of that under the cut because it’s long (sorry @ mobile users):

Category 1: There’s always a bigger fish.

1x01 Pilot Red: Zamani was a small fish. I’m Ahab. And if you want the whales on my list, you have to play by my rules.

3x11 Gregory Devry Red: I don’t know. What I do know is if he’s called a meeting and the members are gathering, he’s a very big fish. […] Follow this fish, and you can net the entire school.

5x13 The Invisible Hand Big Willie: Nash? Come on, man. You want to go up against those guys? You’re a big enough fish? Why risk that? | Red: I’m not a big fish, William. I’m Moby Dick.

The first of many fish references happens no sooner than in the Pilot (1x01) itself. Red calls his first Blacklister Ranko Zamani “a small fish” – as opposed to the “whales” he offers up to the FBI in exchange for immunity. Interesting in this scene is that Red refers to himself as “Ahab”, the Captain from H. Melville’s novel Moby Dick. In the book, Ahab is driven by his manic – and subsequently fatal – desire to hunt and kill the big white whale named Moby Dick. In the end this venture costs Ahab his life as well as the lives of all but one of his crew members.

When looking at this scene separately from the rest of the show it’s easy to think of it as ~just a TV show pilot giving us an easy way to characterise their protagonist – and yes, partially that is a purpose this scene serves (note it’s also the scene in which Red gives the show its name, referring directly to his list as “The Blacklist”). However, if we take into account what happens as the show progresses, even just in season 1, the Ahab-reference gains a little more weight, as Red’s “whale hunt” nearly gets him killed (1x10) while also leading to the death of two of his team members, Luli Zeng (1x09) and Newton Philips (1x11), as well as the murder of Task Force member Meera Malik (1x22). All of that for the hunt after the first season’s big fish and main antagonist Berlin, along with (as we will later learn) the undeniably even bigger fish: The Cabal.

Juxtaposing the Ahab-reference is Red’s remark from the episode The Invisible Hand (5x13) where he refers to himself as “Moby Dick” instead of Ahab. On one hand this serves the technical purpose to remind Red’s scene partner (and us, the audience) that Red isn’t just any fish – big or small – in the large tank full of criminals. No, he is in fact the biggest of them all, a legend and he will bring everyone down who tries to harm him. On the other hand it offers up an interpretation of Red knowing that his project – The Blacklist – will inevitably be his own downfall. He is both the hunter and the beast which means the question is less “who will win in the end?” rather than “is there any way out of this other than through his own death?”. This also ties in with the speculations amongst fans that Red himself will turn out to be the No. 1 on the Blacklist as the series comes to an end.

The third and final fish reference in this category is in the episode Gregory Devry (3x11) where the episode’s Blacklister gets called a “big fish” by Red. It’s possible to just brush that off as a somewhat common allegory to think of criminals as big/small fish but I find it noteworthy that it just so happens to be used for the Blacklister who claims to be the ~real Raymond Reddington. Describing Devry as a “big fish” also puts that label on Red by extension. And following ~our big fish Red also leads to the netting of an entire school of criminals aka The Blacklist.

*****

Category 2: self-recognition through the fish

1x21 Berlin Red: I was once on the island of Ko Ri, free-diving in the Andaman Sea. I felt terribly ill stung by a lionfish. I was dehydrated, in excruciating pain. I had lost all sense of time and place. I was completely disoriented. But I knew I was dying, so I readied myself for it. And in that moment, at death’s door, I looked up, and standing over me in the brightness was this landless Moken sea gypsy just standing there, smiling. She and her tribe nursed me back to health, good as new. And when I left the island she kissed me. It was like a burst of sunlight on my cheek. It was – It made nearly dying well worth it. That’s how I feel now.

2x09 Luther Braxton Red: In Mexico, there are these fish that have colonized the freshwater caves along Sierra del Abra.They were lost. They found themselves living in complete darkness. But they didn’t die. Instead, they thrived. They adapted. They lost their pigmentation, their sight, eventually even their eyes. With survival, they became hideous. I’ve rarely thought about what I once was. But I wonder if a ray of light were to make it into the cave, would I be able to see it? Or feel it? Would I gravitate to its warmth? And if I did, would I become less hideous?

4x12 Natalie Luca Red: Losing someone we love is painful. Agonizing even unto death. The Japanese call it tako-tsubo – a grieving surge of abnormal electrical waves that causes the heart to deflate and contort until it resembles a a fishing pot. Hollow and cold, an empty vessel at the bottom of a fathomless sea. I’m sorry for your loss. You have suffered enough of that in your life.

In this category I have grouped together instances in which fish-metaphors or fish-related stories are used to express Red’s inner conflict.

First I want to focus on the two monologues from seasons 1 and 2 as they complement each other very well and can be discussed together. The scenes not only share textual but also structural similarities: both of these monologues are spoken by Red to Lizzy in situations where he or both of them are in a dangerous and/or threatening situation; and they are both part of a season and mid-season finale respectively, which often are episodes with greater exploration of character motivation and inner conflict than there would be time for in a regular episode.

The hideous fish monologue in Luther Braxton (2x09) has been subject of great in-depth discussion in the fandom time and again; especially the Lizzington shippers keep coming back to it, as he is clearly talking about Lizzy when he mentions the “ray of light” and ends with explaining that he didn’t want her to follow him because it would put her in danger. [Sidenote: Anyone who still doubts that he was talking about Lizzy being his “ray of light”, I’d like to direct towards the episode Karakurt 2x21 in which Red invents an alias for Lizzy: “Ginger Lumiere” which literally translates to “Red Light”.]

You can also find a light-reference in the fish story from Berlin (1x21) when Red says “[…] she kissed me. It was like a burst of sunlight on my cheek. [...] It made nearly dying well worth it. That’s how I feel now.” as he is looking up at Lizzy, essentially telling her that despite all the pain and hardships he has gone through and will be facing in the future – it’s worth it because of her. With those two fish stories combined he paints us a pretty cohesive image of how he views himself – the hideous fish who adapted to the darkness that surrounds him and thrives in it; and what Lizzy is to him – a burst of sunlight, the warmth that could have the power to make him less hideous, and arguably even the sea gypsy nursing him back to health.

Interestingly the fish that stung him in his 1x21 story is a lionfish. I’m pointing that out because that same species will get mentioned again in season 4, so I will come back to that when talking about the next category.

In Natalie Luca (4x12) he talks to the young woman who has just lost her boyfriend and it’s evident that he’s not only talking about her loss but also about his recent experience of losing someone he loved – namely when he thought Lizzy had died after giving birth to Agnes. On a textual basis it seems like he’s just talking about Natalie but the camera is positioned in such a way that Natalie’s image is reflected in the window behind which Red sits, effectively merging the two characters together, making it clear that when he’s talking about her, he’s also talking about himself. Thus it is reasonable to assume Red is empathising with Natalie on the basis of grieving their romantic love interest (despite Lizzy having come back from the dead in the meantime, Red is still struggling with the pain Lizzy’s actions have caused him). He then describes Natalie’s and his pain as the heart resembling “a fishing pot. Hollow and cold, an empty vessel at the bottom of a fathomless sea.” Red feels like he has lost his “ray of light” and thus his heart has dropped to the bottom of the sea, into even deeper darkness than ever before, causing him to make decisions as hideous as shooting Kate Kaplan.

On a sidenote, the scene in which Natalie Luca’s boyfriend dies parallels Lizzy’s (fake) death scene very well in terms of camera angles and movements – Natalie being the stand-in for Red; the boyfriend being stand-in for Lizzy.

*****

Category 3: Beware The Fish!

3x15 Drexel Red: Right. Which is why we’re here now. We’ve come for the fugu kimo. | Dembe: Fugu kimo? | Red: Blowfish liver. Contains a poison 1,200 times deadlier than cyanide– so lethal, a single fish can kill 30 grown men.

4x05 The Lindquist Concern Red: Perhaps another go with the candiru fish. I understand they burrow into the most impossible nooks and crannies.

4x07 Dr. Adrian Shaw Red: Have you ever been spearfishing? You should go spearfishing. I love spearfishing. On the Ambergris Caye, there is a reef– | Liz: If there’s a reason you felt this story couldn’t wait, I’d love to hear it, but quickly if possible. | Red: I have a Blacklister for you. They call him The Coroner. | Liz: I just got my baby back, my husband, my family. This can wait. | Red: Lionfish. | Liz: Lionfish? | Red: An aggressive, invasive species threatens the local habitat, leaves destruction in its wake. Sound like anyone we know?

These three make up the group of fish as some form of a danger. Here we see fish used as a torture device by creative torture expert Brimley in 4x05 and mentioned in the form of a potentially lethal meal in 3x15.

The most interesting reference in this category though is the one from Dr. Adrian Shaw (4x07) because as I’ve pointed out above the lionfish which has first been mentioned in 1x21 makes another appearance here. 4x07 is the first part of the mid-season finale and in the beginning of the episode Red makes a point of equating Kirk to the invasive, aggressive and destructive nature of lionfish.

In the second part of this mid-season finale Red will then be tortured and almost killed by Alexander Kirk – a man who believes himself to be Lizzy’s father. In his attempt to get revenge and compensation for the years Kirk has lost with his (thought-to-be) daughter he goes to great and often violent lengths. This culminates in Kirk ~becoming the lionfish from Red’s season 1 story. Kirk injects Red with multiple substances that all build up to Red being in “excruciating pain. [losing] all sense of time and place” and being “completely disoriented.” just like in his story from 1x21. This then leads to Red saying whatever he thinks Kirk wants to hear in order to survive. The result is a (false) confession that Red is Lizzy’s father as well as some (yet-to-be-revealed?) secret whispered into Kirk’s ear which eventually convinces him to let Red walk free. The next time we see Red, he shows up at Lizzy’s doorstep, to visit the burst of sunlight that made nearly dying well worth it (whether that is still Lizzy at this point or the title has been handed over to Agnes is open for speculation).

*****

Category 4: Is this the real life, is this just fanta-sea?

4x09 Lipet’s Seafood Company Red: Marlin– that’s not a very common name. I knew a Marlin when I was young. Marlin Trout. One boy, two fish names. Funny.

4x22 Mr. Kaplan Conclusion Red: Ho Chi Minh City! That’s it. I got away from you aboard that catfish trawler on the Saigon River. My God, the humidity. But fun times indeed. More to come, Agent Gale. More to come.

5x15 Pattie Sue Edwards Red: Smokey, as you well know, Heddie did not take a powder. She’s lying in her bed right now, sneezing and wheezing, swollen up like a puffer fish. I’m afraid all the dogs and cats finally got the best of her.

5x22 Sutton Ross Liz: I’ll get you for this. | Red: You’ll try, but there’s a fine line between fishing and standing on the shore, looking like an idiot.

6x03 The Pharmacist Red: On a side note, I once went fly fishing for a cutthroat trout in the Roaring Fork Valley, where, inexplicably, I stumbled upon Justice Antonin Scalia may God rest his soul and, boy, did we have some real barn burners. My word, that man could argue. Six hours, hip deep in whitewater, and with all the yelling, neither of us got so much as an alevin.

7x01 Louis T. Steinhil Red: But I’ve been paralyzed before. The spine of a blowfish pierced my wet suit off Pit–

Some fans have wondered how much truth there really is in stories such as “Marlin Trout” (4x09) or fly fishing with Justice Scalia (6x03). Even the lionfish story from 1x21 can be up for debate. Did Red really experience all this or is he making it up for the sake of a nice metaphor, to buy himself time, distract his opponent? Is it realistic for one man to be stung by two poisenous fish (a lionfish and a blowfish) on two separate occassions? And how did a former KGB agent (if we assume he really is Ilya Koslov) know a Marlin Trout when he was young and presumably growing up in Russia?

But what all the fish-references in the fourth category have in common is that they are used for comic relief. I guess it’s also safe to assume that after so many seasons and fish stories to which the fans reacted positively, some of these later fish references are purely there as Easter eggs for fan service and one can hardly blame the writers for that. The most recent one from Louis T. Steinhil (7x01) was a good example of using a fish reference just so the fans could cross that off their Blacklist Bingo chart.

Especially the bit from The Pharmacist (6x03) sticks out as it is a very obvious nod towards James Spader’s previous TV show Boston Legal in which his character goes fishing in Nimmo Bay where he later gets married by Antonin Scalia in the final episode of the show. Since Red spends the first half of season 6 in prison and we keep getting scenes of him defending himself in court, the writers saw their opportunity for an Alan Shore homage and they took it. Well done.

*****

That’s it, I hope some of you made it all the way to the end. There’s not really a conclusion to this except that I don’t think there really is some deeper meaning behind the many fish references other than the writers and/or James Spader obviously being into fish very much. The fish world offering a vast selection of potential metaphors and stories also fits in nicely with (the real) Raymond Reddington having been a Naval Intelligence Officer.

So long, and thanks for all the fish!

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE COURAGE OF PROJECT

Then when you start a startup anywhere. That's why mice and rabbits are furry and elephants and hippos aren't.1 The very design of the average site in the late twentieth century. He got a 4x liquidation preference. Google, it's hard to get into grad school in math. Can we claim founders are better off as a result of this new trend. Where you live should make at most a couple percent difference. But investing later should also mean they have fewer losers.

They make something moderately appealing and have decent initial growth.2 If you major in math it will be whatever the startup can get from the first one to write a paper for school, his mother would tell him: find a way to turn a billion dollar industry into a fifty million dollar industry, so much the better, if all fifty million go to you. The classic yuppie worked for a small organization. Before us, most companies in the startup funding business. The best way to get a big idea can take roost.3 4 or 5 million. This essay grew out of something I wrote for myself to figure out how to increase their load factors. But you can also apply some force by focusing the discussion: by asking what specific questions they need answered to make up their minds. This plan collapsed under its own weight.4 Startups happened because technology started to change so fast that big companies could no longer keep a lid on the smaller ones.

The only place your judgement makes a difference is in the industry.5 People who do great work, and it's a bad sign when you have a special word for that. One of the exhilarating things about coming back to Cambridge every spring is walking through the streets at dusk, when you can see into the houses. If you have steep revenue growth, say over 6x a year, no matter how many good startups approach him. Recently we managed to recruit her to help us run YC when she's not busy with architectural projects.6 This works better when a startup has 3 founders than 2, and better when the leader of the company in later rounds. I'm not saying you can get away with zero self-discipline.

We're not a replacement for don't give up. What you should not do is rebel. But while series A rounds from VCs. Someone who's scrappy manages to be both threatening and undignified at the same world everyone else does, but notice some odd detail that's compellingly mysterious.7 Even Tim O'Reilly was wearing a suit, a sight so alien I couldn't parse it at first. They can't tell how smart you are.8 The story about Web 2. Maybe one day the most important thing is to be learned from whatever book on it happens to be closest. This essay is derived from a keynote at FOWA in October 2007. They'll decide later if they want to raise.9

Sometimes it reached the point of economic sadism: site owners assumed that the more pain they caused the user, the more benefit it must be to them. It's cities that compete, not countries.10 Kids are curious, but the best founders are certainly capable of it. But investors are so fickle that you can fix for a lot of time on work that interests you, and don't just refuse to. But you have to be an insider.11 A key ingredient in many projects, almost a project on its own, is to step onto an orthogonal vector. So ironically the original description of the Web 2. Back when it cost a lot to like I've done a few things, like intro it to my friends at Foundry who were investors in Service Metrics and understand this model I am also talking to my friend Mark Pincus who had an idea like this a few years ago.12 0 seemed to mean was something about democracy. We didn't have enough saved to live on. There is another reason founders don't ask themselves whether they're default alive or default dead.13

So most investors prefer, if they wanted, raise series A rounds. They're unable to raise more money, and precisely when you'll have to switch to plan B if plan A isn't working. That doesn't mean the investor says yes to everyone. Miss out on what? It's so cheap to start web startups that orders of magnitudes more will be started. Investors evaluate startups the way customers evaluate products, not the way bosses evaluate employees. The bust was as much an overreaction as the boom.14 Startups are undergoing the same transformation that technology does when it becomes cheaper.15 Another way to fly low is to give them something for free that competitors charge for. After all, a Web 2.16 He bought a suit.

Instead you'll be compelled to seek growth in other ways. They all knew their work like a piano player knows the keys. But consulting is far from free money. They say they're going to get eliminated. What does it mean, exactly? If investors were perfect judges, the two would require exactly the same skills. And to be both good and novel, an idea probably has to seem bad to most people, or someone writes a particularly interesting article, it will show up there. The mere existence of prep schools is proof of that.17 So far the complete list of messages I've picked up from cities is: wealth, style, hipness, physical attractiveness wouldn't have been a total immersion. Don't just do what they tell you to do. But advancing technology has made web startups so cheap that you really can get a portrait of the normal distribution of most applicant pools, it matters least to judge accurately in precisely the cases where judgement has the most effect—you won't take rejection so personally. If raising money is hard.

There is no sharp line between the two types of startup ideas: those that grow organically out of your own life, and those that you decide, from afar, are going to get rarer. While some VCs have technical backgrounds, I don't know enough to say, but it happens surprisingly rarely.18 Most subjects are taught in such a boring way that it's only by discipline that you can never safely treat fundraising as more than a startup that seems like it's going to stop.19 It sounds obvious to say that you should worry? One reason startups prefer series A rounds? When I was in high school either. If you feel you've been misjudged, you can do. Google. Of course, someone has to take money from people who are young but smart and driven can make more by starting their own companies after college instead of getting jobs, that will change what happens in college.

Notes

Though they are themselves typical users. But it takes to get good grades in them to private schools that in three months, a valuation. Giving away the razor and making more per customer makes it easier to get them to stay in a time machine.

Apple's early history are from an angel investment from a mediocre VC.

In the beginning.

Plus ca change. But on the other.

And that is exactly the point of a stock is its future earnings, you now get to go behind the scenes role in IPOs, which allowed banks and savings and loans to buy it despite having no evidence it's for sale.

However, it will seem dumb in 100 years. Digg is Slashdot with voting instead of blacklist.

Sofbot.

I write out loud can expose awkward parts.

I've become a so-called signalling risk.

Hint: the way they have because they couldn't afford a monitor.

And it's particularly damaging when these investors flake, because there was a new search engine is low. They have no connections, you'll find that with a wink, to take care of one's markets is ultimately just another way in which income is doled out by Mitch Kapor, is to raise money after Demo Day, there would be easy to discount, but I'm not against editing. As one very successful YC founder told me they like the one hand and the exercise of stock options than any preceding president, he tried to shift back. At three months we can't believe anyone would think twice before crossing him.

Progressive tax rates has a significant startup hub. He, like speculators, that alone could in principle 100,000 sestertii apiece for slaves learned in the early adopters you evolve the idea is crack. As we walked in, we love big juicy lumbar disc herniation as juicy except literally.

It's sometimes argued that we didn't, they thought at least accepted additions to the modern idea were proposed by Timothy Hart in 1964, two years, it was cooked up by the National Center for Education Statistics, about 28%. I've come to accept that investors don't like the bizarre consequences of this essay talks about programmers, but I know of no Jews moving there, and should in some ways First Round excluded their most successful startups are competitive like running, not the original text would in itself deserving. This is not whether it's good enough at obscuring tokens for this type are also several you can't even claim, like play in a city with few other startups, because time seems to pass. Please do not try to avoid that.

This kind of people starting normal companies too. If Ron Conway had been raised religious and then using growth rate to manufacture a perfect growth curve, etc, and then a block or so.

But it is to trick admissions officers. I meant. The mere possibility of being harsh to founders. As he is at fault, since 95% of the class of 2007 came from such schools.

I started doing research for this purpose are still, as they are now. There was no more unlikely than it would be easier to say that it is dishonest of the next round, that suits took over during a critical point in the usual standards for truth. Wittgenstein: The French Laundry in Napa Valley.

It wouldn't cut their overall returns tenfold, because they wanted, so the best ideas, they mean statistical distribution. The original Internet forums were not web sites but Usenet newsgroups.

A doctor friend warns that even this can give an inaccurate picture. At some point, when the problems you have no idea what's happening till they also influence one another directly through the window for years while they think they're just mentioning the possibility is that in Silicon Valley. I find hardest to get rich by creating wealth—wealth that, isn't it? Look at those goddamn fleas, they have less money, the big winners aren't all that matters, just as if you'd invested at a famous university who is highly regarded by his peers.

Compromising a server could cause such damage that ASPs that want to pound that message home. He, like arithmetic drills, instead of blacklist.

Thanks to Tim O'Reilly, Peter Norvig, and the guys at O'Reilly for inviting me to speak.

[heartofsnark]

Hunting Ground (Vincent/MC Non-con)

Notes: Holy fuck, this is not for the faint of heart.  This is my first Boyfriend To Death fic on this blog and it’s also a birthday fic for my friend @piplup235, I’m really happy she wanted Vincent because holy shit this is something I’ve been wanting to write for a while.  Also, it’s been a while since I played BTD, so if Vincent is at all OOC, I’m sorry. 

Summary:  Vincent’s latest hookup discovered some literal skeletons in his closet and took off running, not a great idea. 

Pairing:  Vincent/Cis-Female MC 

Word Count: 1986

Warnings (Oh boy):  Non-consensual sex and sexual acts, fingering, violence, threats, humiliation, shame, minor blood, watersports (it’s piss wolf, my dudes), fetishized non-con

~Please if any of that makes you uncomfortable or triggers you, do not read. If you are someone who struggles to separate reality and fiction, do not read. This is fetishized non-con, it does not go over the full gravity of the situation and what is being done to the MC. Writing this does not mean I condone or endorse any of these behaviors in real life. Further more, if you are someone who regularly follows my blog but doesn’t want to see this kind of content at all, please blacklist or filter the tag ‘tw: noncon’~

Her breaths are ragged, her lungs burn with every frantic step. The forest ground is soft and muddy under her feet, slowing her down, like nature itself is trying to stop her from escaping. Branches and bramble scratch at her arms as she runs, the stinging pain just an irritant at the moment.

It was suppose to just be a fun hookup, a hot guy in a rough looking bar, a chance to get off then move on with her life. Then she saw the skull, she knew it was real, nothing smooth or plastic about it. That and his reaction, the way his expression darkened and he went to grab her. Instinct kicked in and she ran. She has no idea where she’s going or where she is, the area unfamiliar, but she knows she needs to get away.

 Her heart pounds in her chest, beating against her ribs. It might be paranoia or real danger, but she swears she can feel something just behind her. Something just ready to grab her. She can’t hear anything but her own breaths and heartbeats, has no idea if he’s chased her this far, but she can feel it. The hair on the back of her neck standing on end, a constant threat looming just behind her.

Something slams against her back, a heavy weight forcing her to the mud below. She doesn’t even have time to brace herself, face hitting the muck, the taste of rainwater and dirt heavy on her tongue.

“Really thought you could get away that easy?” A masculine voice, thick with a southern accent, taunt against her ear. The voice that turned it on just a few hours ago, makes every fiber of her being scream at her to run.

She tries to squirm out from under him, it’s all for nothing. He’s too heavy, pounds of muscle keep her firmly pinned and the mud prevents any hope of gaining traction.

“You’re not that bright, are you? Hate to break it to you, but all that running and struggling did was make me harder.”

He grinds his hips into her ass, his cock hard and hot against her. Her body betrays her; heat pools between her thighs and she can feel how wet she’s getting. She can’t seriously be getting off to this, her face flushes hot and she curses her body for it’s shameful reaction.

One of his hands stays firm on the back of her neck, he could easily break her neck with one hand. His other drags down her back as he pulls the mass of his body off her, just enough for her feel the cool wind on her back, but his warmth is still there against her ass and thighs.

She gasps the movement leaves superficial scratches down her skin, just enough to sting. His hand pulls away just before it drags down the curve of her ass, then his other lifts off of her neck. He’s still sitting on her thighs, she able to move her arms out from under her body, maybe she can grab a rock and-

The sound of fabric ripping is follow by cool air against her ass, she cranes her neck to look over her shoulder as Vincent rips and tears off what he can of her jeans, exposing her ass.

Her heart catches in her throat and she she tries to escape from under him again, the reality of what he’s going to do hits her full force. A throaty grunt leaves Vincent’s throat as her ass rubs against his hard on as she struggles. He grabs her hips, sharp nails digging into the tender skin and yanks back.

He’s able to move her like a rag-doll, putting her in the position he wants, ripping away what’s left of her jeans and her panties in the process. Every squirm to get away does nothing but make him groan and get rougher with her. Cuts from his nails mar her ass and hips, some small scratches while others are little punctures from where he’s gripped her tight.

He’s lifted her on her knees, ass high in the air while her face stays to the ground, like he’s making her present to him. The night breeze feels ice cold against her cunt, her hot slick cooling against her thighs. One of his hands stays firm on her hip to keep her in place.

“Looks like this little escape attempt turned you on too,” he taunt, pushing two thick fingers into her, “fuck, I think you’re actually wetter this time. Y’know, if you needed me to be rougher, all you had to do was ask.”

He pumps his fingers as he talks, every word and movement sending making her gush slick. Vincent already knows she can take him, which means he’s more interested in dragging this whole experience out than preparing her. Her pleasure is building higher and higher, tension stretching tight inside of her. She whimpers, she doesn’t want to cum, but her body is begging her to ride it out. Her hips try to grind, but his grip keeps her from fucking herself on his fingers.

Vincent pulls his fingers out and she whines at the loss despite herself. She brings a hand up to cover her mouth, she can’t control how wet she gets or how desperate her body is for orgasm, but maybe she can least keep herself quiet. The fingers that were just deep inside of her wrap around her wrist before she can fully cover her mouth, his grip is tight and firm.

“I’m gonna hear you scream, no matter what. It can be while you’re wrapped around my cock or ‘cause I broke every bone in your body, got it?”

“...yes,” she murmurs and relaxes her wrist. He lets go so her hand falls limply to the side, a few more bruises to show for it, but not broken.

He reaffirms the grip on her hips, quickly unzips his pants just enough to pull his cock out and lines himself up with her cunt, the head just brushing the lips of her sex. She barely gets a moment to prepare before he thrusts into her, a scream rips it way through her throat. It doesn’t matter how slick she is, his cock is huge and the initial stretch stings. He pushes in as far as he can, his full length deep inside of her.

She doesn’t get even a second to catch her breath before he starts fucking into her. The deep hard thrusts rekindles her building pleasure, that had just barely started to ease. Each thrust harshly hits a spot deep inside of her, dragging over every sensitive nerve inside of her. The side of her face grinds into the mud with the force of his movement, she can’t stop moaning, her noises mingling with the sound of his hips hitting her ass every time he thrusts into her.

Her nails dig into the muck, the tension inside of her stretching tighter and tighter, threatening to snap with each thrust. Somehow his pace gets harsher, hitting that spot harder than she thought possible and her pleasure hits it’s tipping point.

Her cunt clenches like it’s trying to milk him dry and her loud scream of Vincent’s name echos through the woods. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she feels disgusting for yelling his name, for giving him that ego boost when he’s done something so vile. But, the orgasmic fog over her brain doesn’t let her dwell on it, instead focusing on how his pace has gone from harsh to absolutely brutal.

He fucks her through her climax, making it last even longer. Her cunt is sensitive, but it doesn’t stop him, not that anything would. He’s chasing his own pleasure, just using her body as a means of getting off, of fucking through all of his rage and taking all of his aggression out on her slick sensitive hole.

Something between a snarl and a howl escapes Vincent’s mouth, his body wrought with tension as he cums inside of her. Load after load of hot cum fills her up. Despite, the tight fit of his cock splitting her open it’s just too much, his cum overflows her cunt and leaks down from where they’re connected.

It suddenly feels too quiet, just the sounds of them both breathing heavy. She still needs to escape, but she doesn’t know how. Fighting him is certain death and she clearly can’t outrun him. There’s a gross part of her that thinks maybe if this is what it’s going to be like, it won’t be so bad, maybe being his living fleshlight isn’t the worst thing in the world. She curses that part of her and writes it off as just a part of her riding off the high of her orgasm.

She yelps, all coherent thought ending as Vincent pulls out, a slow drag of his cock that still stimulates her sensitive body. This might have been a good chance to make another run for it, but she doesn’t think she can even stand, let alone run.

Her theory doesn’t even get to be tested, Vincent stands and puts a foot on her back. She can still crane her neck to watch him over her shoulder, even if she can’t move from the ground. His cock is still hanging out of his pants, smeared with cum, her mouth water more than she’d care to admit.

“Guess, I gotta make something clear,” he grumbles, aiming his now flaccid cock. What the hell is he do-

“Ahhh!” she yells out and tries to scramble away when she feels his piss hit her ass. It’s scalding hot compared to the cool air, the cuts on her skin burn as he empties his bladder directly on her, marking his territory.

“Fight too hard and I’ll make you drink it,” he threatens and she stiffens, completely still under his foot.

She’s whimpering as Vincent sighs, the stream of piss getting weaker under it ends. Her face is wet with tears and mud, her lower half a disgusting wet mess of cum and piss. All of the bodily fluids that cling to her are starting to cool out in the air, making her shiver. It was so hot she’d thought it’d burn her just a moment ago.

Vincent zips up his pants and pulls her up off the ground. Is he going to kill her now? Or just drag her back to keep torturing her ?

His movements are surprisingly gentle given what just happened, he gathers her in his arms and she wraps her own around his neck for stability. The position would be intimate if not for everything that just happened, if her ass and thighs weren’t coated in a mixture of cum and piss. The mess he made of her didn’t seem to phase him as began taking her back to his house. Every instinct in her told her to fight or run, but she’s far too weak, her thought fading to blackness as she passes out in his arms.

[hopelesshawks]

Physical Fatality Part 5- Proud

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Warnings for minor manga spoilers, oral sex (giving and receiving), facefucking, dom/sub themes

Masterlist

“You need better concealer Katsuki, whatever brand you’re using now is shit,” you comment by way of greeting as you meet Bakugo in front of the agency for patrol.

“The fuck are you on about idiot?” Bakugo scowls. “I can still see the hickeys Red Riot left on your neck,” you grin as you begin walking. His face goes bright red as he catches up to you. “These aren’t-“ he begins but you cut him off rolling your eyes. “Don’t bother, we both know whatever lie you try to come up with won’t be a good one. May I suggest trying Fenty brand concealer out before you have your next rendezvous.” “Whatever, keep talking shit if you wanna keep living on Deku’s couch forever.” “What does your shitty job at covering up hickeys have to do with my technically being homeless?” “I might’ve found you a new place but the more you open your trap the less inclined I am to tell you about it.” “Have I ever told you you’re my best friend in the whole wide world and I love you so much?” Bakugo rolls his eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t fall out or get stuck. “Look Kirishima’s got a friend who went to high school with us, Mina Ashido. If you paid any attention to the charts you might recognize her as the acid hero Pinky,” he explains. “Ohh I know her! I follow her on Insta,” you say. “I… y’know what? Sure. Great. Well, her roommate is moving out and Kiri says she’s looking for a new one.” “Aww, so he’s Kiri now?” “I swear to god (y/n) do you want the room or not?” “Right! Yes, I totally want the room! Thanks so much Katsuki!” you beam at him. “You’re lucky I find you entertaining dumbass. Here’s Mina’s number,” he sighs as he pulls out his phone and texts over her contact details. “Seriously though, I owe you one. I’ll give her a call later today,” you tell him. “Whatever, let’s just get on with patrol,” Bakugo scoffs. You know he appreciates your thanks anyway.

You love patrolling with Bakugo because the two of you are equally competitive. Sure, on bigger takedowns you both know how to reign it in and focus, but on days like today where all you get is a small time robbery or two both of you let yourselves go a little bit. It’s all about who can round up the most villains in the least amount of time. These competitions were a large part in why you earned Bakugo’s respect and had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship, not that he would ever call it that. Your favorite tradition of you and Bakugo’s patrols, however, was the race back. Once you guys neared the end of your route, you would pause, do a short countdown and then you were off. First one back to the agency wins, the only rule was that you couldn’t do anything that could draw a bad headline i.e. destroying property or getting civilians caught in the crossfire. It was such a staple of the two of you’s patrol that many people had come to know them and you’d get the occasional group of spectators to watch you and the explosive blonde racing. The current record is 112-113 in Bakugo’s favor but you’re determined to fix that now. The two of you finally reach your usual starting point and both of you get a grin of anticipation. “Ready to watch me widen that lead?” Bakugo asks. “No way in hell, I’m tying it back up,” you fire back. You both look at each other and together countdown

3…

2…

1…

Go!

You’re both sprinting forward careful to avoid any pedestrians. You see a clear path starting to open up ahead of Bakugo and quickly scan for an obstacle you can throw in his way last minute. Your eyes land on a mailbox so you reach out with your quirk and then wait to time it until just before he’s about to blast himself forward. Right as he’s surging forward, the finish line in sight and his hands sparking, you jerk the mailbox in front of him so he barrels directly into it. You give him a wink before sprinting the last bit inside, using your quirk to shove the doors open and slide into home as he is just getting back up off the ground. He runs inside shortly after you and you crow out your victory. “Eat shit, Katsuki! It’s 113 all now,” you laugh out of breath, panting as you bend over with your hands on your knees. “Can’t believe you hit me with a fucking mailbox,” he huffs back. “It’s not destruction of property so it’s valid,” you point out. You stand back up straight, chest still heaving with exertion and sweaty from the run only to look towards the elevators and see Hawks staring at you. You belatedly realize that Shoto is with him and also giving you a curious look and it only occurs to you then what an odd picture you and Bakugo must’ve made rushing into the agency like that. “We, uh, we race,” you pant out by way of explanation as you and Bakugo finally start to catch your breath and make your way towards the elevators.

As the four of you get into the elevator Bakugo asks “What brings you guys here?” “Apparently All Might and Father want us to get started on the investigation into the attempted terror attack at the gala last week. We finally got access to security camera footage, personnel interviews, stuff like that, so we should be able to make at least a little head way. Tokoyami and Midoriya are already upstairs getting started,” Shoto explains. Hawks is still fucking staring at you and you can’t figure out why but it’s borderline making you sweat again. Since that night in Shoto’s basement Hawks had been doing his best to woo you. He had sent not-so-anonymous notes and flowers to your desk signed off only as “From your mystery man” to avoid the potential scandal of you having a fling from the enemy agency. Even still you could tell that the lower ranking heroes were starting to whisper and wonder about who your new suitor is.

As the elevator reaches your floor and everyone steps out you’re keenly aware that you need to change back into your civilian clothes if you’re about to comb through security data and interviews for hours. “I’m gonna take a shower then I’ll join you guys,” you explain, jerking a finger towards the women’s locker room, before using your quirk to grab a duffel bag from your desk. “We’ll fill you in on anything we find,” Bakugo assures you and you nod before heading to the locker room. Once you’ve disappeared into the locker room Bakugo turns to Hawks and asks “Well? Aren’t you going to go after her?” “What?” Hawks asks as he’s finally snapped out of the trance you’d put him in from the moment he’d seen you sweaty and laughing, looking impossibly sexy in your hero costume. Shoto rolls his eyes. “You weren’t subtle. Something tells me you’d be too distracted to help right now anyway,” Shoto adds in.

Hawks tries not to look too eager as he follows after you but fails. He rushes to the locker room and locks the door behind him. It seems as if the top floor is pretty much reserved to you, Bakugo, and Midoriya but better safe than sorry. You’re already in the shower by the time Hawks arrives, the hot water rinsing away the sweat you’d worked up on patrol and any muscle aches that had been threatening to make an appearance. You hear footsteps approaching and immediately have a pretty good guess for who it is. “So that’s what all the staring was about,” you tease as you turn around to find Hawks leaning against the boundary between the showers and the drier part of the room where the actual lockers are. “How else did you expect me to react when you were looking so hot all sweaty and with that bright, beautiful smile of yours?” Hawks flirts. “Do you have an off button or?” you ask. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? We are a little pressed for time you know,” Hawks replies by way of an answer. You pretend to think for a moment but the reality is you knew and were hoping for this exact outcome the moment you heard the door open again. “Well, hurry up and get in here then,” you tell him. He’s all too eager to oblige.

He quickly strips out of his hero costume before coming to join you under the shower’s warm spray. He’s already half hard, and getting harder by the moment, as he presses you close to him and draws you in for a kiss. It’s slow and needy and addicting because he kisses you like you’re something precious. His hands slowly skate up your rib cage before moving to massage your breasts. You’re about to wrap a hand around his now achingly hard dick but before you can he’s pulling away from your kiss and giving you a devilish look. You’re about to ask why when suddenly he’s sinking to his knees in front of you and you wonder if there’s ever been a hotter sight. “Spread those legs for me Artemis.” There’s something about the way he says your hero name that makes it sound like absolute sin. So you do as told and spread your legs as his hands find their home at your waist but he doesn’t go straight to the main attraction. No, first he leaves open mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. So close to what you truly want but not quite. “What happened to being short on time?” you groan, desperate to have his mouth on you. He chuckles and you can feel his breath ghost against your sex. The feeling makes you shudder. “So impatient little dove,” he smirks but regardless he finally licks along the folds of your labia. You have to grab the wall for balance as his tongue begins to circle your clit before he pulls the nub into his mouth to gently suck on it. “Oh god,” you cry out as one hand instinctively goes to tangle in his hair and you can feel him smirk against you, the cocky bastard, but can’t find it in you to really care when his tongue is now sliding inside you. He eats you out like it’s his job and Christ does he deserve a promotion. He slides one hand down from your waist to provide extra stimulation to your sensitive clit and that’s all it takes to send you over the edge with a cry of his name. His real name.

He stands with a self-satisfied look on his face as you reel him in for a kiss. “Job well done I take it?” he asks. “Very well done. I think I ought to return the favor,” you reply and now it’s Hawks’ turn to watch in wonder as you sink to your knees in front of him. He curses above you just at the sight alone but then you’re taking him into your mouth and he already knows this isn’t going to last long. You take him in slowly, inch by aching inch, until you can feel the head of his cock kiss the back of your throat and the moan he makes as you hollow out your cheeks is music to your ears. You pull back enough so he sits more comfortably in your mouth and use your hand to work the remaining length as you begin to bob your head up and down along his shaft. You feel his hand tangle into your hair and hold on for dear life and he’s trying so hard to resist the urge to move his hips. You pull off and smirk up at him and he almost whines at the loss. “You’re being so good trying not to fuck into my mouth Keigo,” you say and while he wants to be indignant about the tone you’re using there’s no denying it makes his dick twitch. “So good I think you’ve earned a reward,” you continue and god Keigo just knows you’re going to be the death of him at this rate. “You want to fuck my face Kei?” you ask and it’s a miracle he doesn’t explode right there. “Fuck (y/n), yes. God, yes,” he pants out. “Then do it, I give you permission,” you grin before taking him back in. You don’t have to tell him twice. He fucks into the wet heat of your mouth like his life depends on it, tightly gripping your hair to hold you in place as he chases his orgasm. He tugs on your hair in warning that he’s close, so close. You tighten your grip on his hips to let him know it’s ok. Soon after his hips stutter as he begins spilling his seed down your throat with a groan. You take it all, swallowing every drop until he’s finally spent.

As you stand back up Keigo immediately pulls you in for a bruising kiss, still able to taste himself on your tongue, and it’s so possessive and demanding that in any other situation you may have gone another round. But you both have already been gone from the meeting too long so instead he pulls away and practically growls, “I’ll get you back for that mouth of yours later.” “Promise?” you tease. “Tonight. I’ll take you somewhere proper with no reporters,” he tells you before pressing a quick but rough kiss to your lips and then exiting the shower to go dry off and get redressed. Fuck, he’s going to be the death of you. You take another few moments in the shower before you step out to get dressed as well and find Hawks has already left the locker room, presumably to join the others in the meeting. After putting back on your civilian clothes you exit the locker room and head over to the conference room designated for the task force. Bakugo gives you a smirk as you walk in and you flip him off in return. Finally you take your seat and tune into the conversation, fully shifting into work mode.

By the end of the meeting you’ve managed to rule out the league of villains and most of the remaining yakuza groups out there but haven’t got much else. “There’s some similarities with a case I’ve been looking into from a month or so back. It was kicked lower down the food chain but I still have notes and I can probably get the files I’ll just have to swing back by Endeavor’s,” Hawks sighs. “Let’s deal with those tomorrow morning. Meet back here same time?” Midoriya asks. Everyone nods their agreement before rising to leave the conference room. “I should probably still grab those files tonight,” Hawks admits as you all walk out. “That’s cool, I’ll just roll with. No worries,” you shrug. “You’re the best you know that?” he grins. “Stop it, you’re embarrassing. Let me grab my shit real quick and then we can head out,” you tell him before running off to do just that. Shortly afterward Tokoyami walks up to Hawks. “I’m proud of you, Hawks,” he says and Hawks gives him an odd look. “What’re you talking about?” Hawks asks. “I was worried you’d freak out when you found out she worked for All Might. You know how Endeavor gets, still buying into the whole dumb feud thing. I’m glad you didn’t let that stop you though,” Tokoyami explains. “I mean yea Endeavor’s no fan of the guy, but he wouldn’t actually care about me seeing someone from All Might’s agency... right?” Hawks replies. Tokoyami’s eyes widen briefly but he coughs to cover up his reaction. “No, no, yea you’re probably right. Anyway, she’s good for you I feel like. I’m glad you two found each other,” Tokoyami finally says. Before Hawks can press any further you reappear in front of him and ask “Ready to go?” “Yea, I’m ready,” he says, throwing one last look at Tokoyami before shaking it off and following you back to the elevator.

Hawks is sort of quiet on the way over to Endeavor’s agency but you figure he must be thinking over the case still. It’s late so when you arrive at the office building the lobby is all but deserted except for one woman standing off to the side looking uncomfortable and lost. She’s older with thick hair and looks to have had a rough go of life if you had to guess. You notice her before Hawks does so you walk over to see if she’s ok. After all if she’s hanging out in the lobby of a hero agency this late at night she must be in trouble right? “Excuse me ma’am are you ok?” you ask the woman gently. She turns to you and the look in her eyes is almost distant. “I’m looking for my son,” she says mildly. You’re about to ask for more information on her son, like a physical description or where she’d lost him, when suddenly Hawks is right behind you. “What are you doing here?” he asks and his voice is cold in a way you’ve never heard before. You’re about to chastise him but stop short. You look from his face back to the woman’s. It can’t be. Can it? “Is that anyway to talk to your mother?” the woman asks and you have to resist the temptation to gasp audibly. Hawks grits his teeth, looking frustrated and you can’t help but let your eyes wander to the agency doors that any number of heroes could walk through at any second. You’re not sure Hawks would appreciate you showing him any kind of physical affection in front of his mom so you instead reach out with your quirk, giving his wrist a quick, hopefully reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t we take this upstairs, yeah? Hawks you can get that file you need and you two can talk with a little more privacy,” you suggest. The woman gives you an almost detached look but nods and Hawks sighs “yea sure,” before turning to go up the elevator.

The top floor is blissfully empty. You wish you could appreciate being in Endeavor’s agency a bit more but you’re more concerned for Keigo and the woman who is apparently his mother. She goes to take a seat at one of the desks and sits there quietly. “I’m sorry. I promised you a proper night out,” Keigo sighs and it breaks your heart a little seeing him like this. “It’s ok Kei, we can take a rain check,” you promise giving him a small smile before turning to leave and give him privacy. “Wait,” he says suddenly as he lurches forward to grab hold of your wrist. You turn back to look at him and find desperation so clear in his golden eyes.

“Stay?”

“Of course.”

He gives a relieved sigh before steeling himself and turning back to face his mother. “What do you need?” he asks, and the simple act of asking seems to be draining for him. “The commission money is running out. I didn’t know how to contact you so I waited until everyone had gone and came here. I figure being number two and all you could help me out?” she asks. “How much?” “Just enough to last me until I get a job.” “You’re not even looking for a job.” “I am.” “Stop lying.” “Fine then I just need enough to pay for food for awhile. You and the HPSC got me in that big, fancy house, the food is all I really need.” Hawks somehow doubts that’s true. “Fine, I’ll deposit some money into your account. Here’s my number too. Just call next time,” he tells her as one of his feathers unearths a business card from his desk and puts it on the desk she’s sitting at. For a moment she stares at the little card as if unable to register what it is, but eventually she does take it off the desk hesitantly, as if afraid it may disappear. “Thank you. Goodbye Keigo,” she says before standing and heading to the elevator. She’s about to walk out when she suddenly stops. “I am proud of you by the way,” she confesses but before Keigo can respond she steps into the elevator and then she’s gone. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” Keigo sighs. “Don’t apologize,” you assure him. “I ruined our evening. I think that warrants an apology,” he scoffs and you hate the self deprecating undertone you can hear in it. “Tell you what, why don’t you grab that file we need and then I’ll take you some place,” you offer. He gives you an odd look but nods all the same. You try to convince yourself this isn’t a horrible idea.

A cemetery. The place you had taken him was a cemetery. Hawks isn’t sure what to think but he can tell this isn’t necessarily easy for you as you lead him through the tombstones. You finally stop at a marker and sit down in front of it. Hawks joins you, eyes scanning your face before finally drifting to the tombstone. He freezes when he recognizes your last name at the top. There’s one name engraved below that, a woman’s, and Keigo finally puts the pieces together. “My dad was a big gambler,” you start to explain, “but he wasn’t very good at it. He was constantly betting big and losing it all. My mom would work long hours all day every day just trying to get food on the table and he would blow it all in a night or two. It wasn’t sustainable, obviously, so he started getting into shady shit to make up the extra funds. I guess eventually he screwed over the wrong person, they came to the house to settle the score so to speak but he was gone so my mom paid the price for him. I was on my way home from school at the time so, um, I ended up being the one to find her.” Keigo reaches over to gently take your hand but doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. “My dad was arrested about a year or so after my debut as a hero, just when I was starting to gain momentum at All Might’s. The press ate that shit up, it was all over the news. I think that’s why they’re so hard on me now. They’re just waiting for me to prove I’m no better than the situation I grew up in,” you finish. “Maybe your dad and mine are sharing a cell,” Keigo offers and it’s far more than you ever expected from him. “That’s why your real name is a secret.” Keigo nods. “It was a deal my mother struck with the HPSC. She gave them me, they gave her a fuck ton of money and both of us a fresh start. The Takami name was wiped from both our records,” he explains. “How old were you?” “Six or seven.” “That’s hard.” “Yea.” The two of you briefly lapse back into silence before you finally clear your throat, forcing back any tears that were threatening to fall. “Anyway, I didn’t bring you here to tell you how shit my dad was. I, um, like to come here sometimes to talk to her. I figured it was only fair that you meet my mom since I met yours,” you explain, “if you’re comfortable with it, that is.” “I’d love to meet your mom,” Keigo says, giving your hand a tight squeeze. You respond with a watery smile before turning back to the tombstone. “Hey Mom. I know it’s been a minute since my last visit, work has been kinda crazy. Midoriya and Bakugo are doing well! I think Midoriya is going to propose soon and Bakugo finally got his act together with Kirishima. That’s Red Riot’s real name. I don’t remember if I told you that last time. Anyway, there’s someone here I want you to meet,” you say before turning expectantly to Keigo. “Hey Mrs. (y/l/n), it’s really great to meet you. I’m Keigo, your daughter’s new friend,” he introduces himself and it warms your heart to hear him do it with his real name and not his hero one. “You raised a pretty amazing woman ma’am. I hope you’re proud of her,” he finishes.

The two of you stay at the gravestone trading stories with each other and to your mom late into the night. There’s something freeing about it and when the two of you finally do take your leave, one thought sticks out to you amongst the rest: Against all odds, you’re in love with Keigo Takami.

Author’s Note: THIS CHAPTER WOW. First of all I really be hurtin my own damn feelings 🥲 but also as y’all can tell I very much was inspired by the backstory we got from the latest manga chapter. I’m sure the FBI agent monitoring me was very confused why I was googling what Japanese cemeteries look like but here we are. This is one of very few parts in this series that isn’t directly linked to a song off the album so it was a little harder to write but we finally got there

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff @iikillerkitteh

[thearcanaartificer]

Hey, I would to like to know answers to questions 2, 3, and 7 please.

All excellent questions! Hard ones too, but I will do my best to answer them!

2. What things does your character love about their LI?

If she was musically inclined, she’d write sonnets about all the things she loves about this boy. Alas, she’s not. So she’ll more than happily write all the ways. The biggest thing she loved about Julian is his heart. He’s kind and caring and altruistic and charismatic. Ready to jump in to help others in need at the drop of a hat. Not only that, he’s adventurous and not afraid of getting rowdy. Yes, he can get really nervous and cowardly in elements he’s not confident about (i.e. ALL OF THE MAGIC REALMS) but, as long as Odelia’s there, he’s also brave despite going with knees shaking and proverbial tail tucked.

She loved his ability to talk too. Especially his stories. She never cares if he repeats them, because its a little different each time. Maybe a tidbit more detail in one spot than the last time or perhaps a bit more exaggerated in another detail. She doesn’t care if its a tall tale or an outright lie, he weaves the stories so well its engrossing to listen to- especially when he starts re-enacting the whole scene. She loved his grandeur, verbose vocabulary, and endless creativity.

And he’s so tender and thoughtful to her needs. But at the same time he doesn’t treat her like she’s fragile- simply someone he treasures. He never tells her that she can’t do something, always confident in her ability to succeed, even if others aren’t so certain. Being handicapped, that really means a lot to her. Yes, he still frets about her at times, but its never because of her handicap.

However, it has to be his intelligence that makes her heart pound and her face flush with passion. She’s a genius very smart woman, and, unfortunately, not a lot of people can keep up with her mentally. She finds it very hard to have a real conversation with others because she’s always having to mind that they won’t follow if she gets too far down a more advanced subject. But Julian? He perhaps struggles at a few subjects, but give him time, a few books on the subject, and something to take notes on and the man will come back much more acquainted with the topic- enough to understand what Odelia is telling him and offer useful insight.

3. What things about their LI annoy them?

Oh, for how much she loves him, there are still things about him that grate on her nerves, just like there are things about her that make Julian want to tear his hair out sometimes. Here are some of the bigger things though:

The biggest thing that annoys her is his tendency to drive himself into the ground trying to help or please other people. She loves that he wants to help others. She’s happy to support him in this mission, but when he’s driving himself to the point to of mental exhaustion, where he breaks down crying in frustration over simple things or tries to work through the night to make sure he’s got everything done or skips meals to push through- no, she’s annoyed. What’s worse is that he stubbornly refuses to see that he’s making it harder than it has to be or even accept her help. Everything turns into a minor fight when he’s like that and it takes her threatening him with a lockdown to get him to even concede that there might be a problem.

Another thing that annoys her is when he drinks too much. She doesn’t mind alcohol. She’s not super into drinking and only does so socially and never more than a glass or two, but Julian can and will drink like a fish when the good times are rolling- and she’s not had great interactions with drunk Julian. It’s not that he ever lays a hand on her. Goodness, he’d never mistreat her, but he can turn into a weepy, depressed drunk that verbally abuses himself in the worst ways. She can’t trust him to be by himself if he turns into that version of himself and he has scared her on several occasions, so no, she’s annoyed if he comes home drunk off his ass- because the only time he’s drunk anymore is when the friend he was entrusted to didn’t stop or encouraged the behavior. On a side note, there are friends that are blacklisted from drinking with Julian alone ever again- because he doesn’t like the fact that he goes blackout drunk and wakes to his wife being super distressed.

And the last super big thing that annoys Odelia is Julian’s perchance of being overbearingly protective and then not allow people to be remotely worried about him. If she’s not up to snuff, he’s right there fussing over her and making her rest in bed and ‘don’t you dare get up, my dear, doctors orders’. However, if he has a high fever or a grievous injury, he’s waving it off with some bullshit line like ‘I’m fine, I’m a doctor, I know my limits’. She’s tied him to the bed before because his stubborn ass wouldn’t rest despite how high his fever was or how much he was swaying. Also, on that note, she gets annoyed at how terrible he is at letting someone doctor him. He’ll happily let her fuss over small cuts and ‘boo-boos’ he wants her to kiss better, but she sometimes has to tackle him, hold him down, and do a body search to even know if he has a serious injury (and she usually only suspects him when he’s turning down sex to avoid being caught). And then forget about even treating it without him fighting every step of the way. Yes. Julian can piss her off at times with his more annoying habits.

7. What are some private jokes they share?

Haha, the biggest one is from when they first met. Well, more like, re-met. It was right before Asra had left on his journey and triggered the start of the whole nightmare called ‘Let’s not resurrect the Red Plague or, ya know, merge the dimensions, k, thanks, bye’. She ended up doing Barth a favor of getting him out of the Raven after he had passed out drunk by carrying him out princess style. The whole event ended up with him landing a rather embarrassing moniker (Pretty Princess Jules) at the Raven and no one let’s him forget it.

There are also a few jokes about Odelia’s habit of ‘attacking first, asking awkward questions after’ when spooked. She’s, uh, gotten Julian really good a few times when she had been badly startled- though the first time was the most embarrassing because she nearly did almost kill him.

Also there was an incident involving the mispronunciation of quiche. Odelia, Nadia, and Portia still laugh about it, though Asra and Julian definitely don’t.

Those are the main ones, at this moment, but I’m sure I’ll be thinking up more inside jokes as I keep writing.

If anyone else wants to ask me questions, please do! I fixed my blog site because I had made a mistake in a design choice that ended up with there being no button to ask questions. As you can see with this one, I have fixed that. Please feel free to ask me the April Apprentice Asks or just send me any free form questions you want to know!

[thewritewolf]

Rekindle Chapter 29: Werecat

A confrontation a long time in the making.

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@marichatmay

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Marinette watched as Adrien paced in front of her. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, she could see the tension in his jawline and shoulders. She knew that if he was transformed right now, his tail would be flicking back and forth. She reflected that, given the circumstances, his anger was entirely relatable. Even with a cursory glance through the papers, he’d found enough to get him riled up and that was before they’d taken them home and started really digging into them.

It had been a real shock to see what Adrien had uncovered at the mayor’s office. The rest of the night had ended up feeling like a formality - even the discovery of a shard of the peacock miraculous, blackened and pulsing with energy and locked in the mayor’s desk, had only ended up being met with almost business-like indifference. After a certain point, it was hard to muster the energy to get more upset.

Thankfully, the same procedure that worked to cleanse akumas was easily adapted to purify corrupted miraculous. She noticed that the miraculous cure didn’t seem as effective as usual, but considering that all the damage would be primarily in the mayor’s building, they hadn’t been too broken up about it. For both the mayor’s sake and their own, they hadn’t gone back to check on him. Watching Adrien in this state, she couldn’t regret that decision.

She reached out and grabbed the cuff of his shirt, stopped him in his tracks. “Adrien, take a seat. You’re going to wear a hole into the floor.”

“I can’t!” He looked at her with such helpless emotion that was breaking her heart all over again. “Mari, my father blacklisted you from your dream job! And that’s not even touching on all the other horrible things he did to our friends, either directly or by supporting that terrible person!” He crumbled to his knees and rested his head on her legs. “I’m so so so so sorry. I had no idea…”

She lifted his head up to look him in the eye. “Adrien. Listen to me - don’t you dare for one minute think any of this is your fault. It is all on Gabriel and Andre. Not you. Okay?”

“Okay…” With a hesitant nod, he got to his feet. “How can you be so calm about this? You got hit hard by this.”

“Honestly? I’m pissed. But I choose to take it as a compliment. Gabriel Agreste, head of his own fashion empire, thought that I was good enough to ruin him.” She leaned back and crossed her arms at Adrien. “And you know what the best revenge will be? Getting bigger than he ever did on skill alone.” She patted the seat next to her and gestured towards the papers. “Now come on and help me sort through this.”

Adrien seemed to be mulling something over. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I need to go for a run. I’m too angry to think right now.”

“Woah, kid, you sure about that?” Plagg piped up for the first time since they’d gotten home. It hadn’t been the lazy quiet she was used to from Plagg, but a very careful silence. As if he was waiting to see how things would play out.

“I don’t know if it is wise to-” Tikki stopped when she saw Adrien shake his head.

“I can’t help anyone right now. I just… I need some air.”

Marinette stood up and cupped his face. “Then go and get it out of your system. I’ll be right here waiting for you.” She rolled forward to kiss his cheek. “Don’t get lost out there, okay?”

He watched her with a tender expression, unable to do anything but nod. “Claws out.”

Once he was gone, Marinette collapsed into the couch. Tikki landed behind her.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?”

“Adrien is feeling a lot right now. It’s like Hawkmoth’s defeat all over again. I’m here for him, but this is something that he needs to come to grips with before I can do anything to help him. Once he comes back we can talk things out.”

Tikki considered this. “And what about you, Marinette?”

Marinette sighed. “I’ll be happy when I have my kitty back. Until then,” she leaned forward and started working through another set of papers.

---------------------------------------------

Chat Noir’s mind was empty of thoughts as he let himself fully sink into the mechanics of running, leaping, and swinging. He had no destination in mind, but ran like a man possessed. As if he’d be able to burn out his anger and frustration with physical exhaustion. For a while, it worked and he was able to outrun his emotions - he became lost in the moment.

Running, however, is only a temporary solution. It took a while, but even his superhuman endurance began to waver and everything hit him all at once. He slowed down, legs becoming tired from more than just physical weariness. His knee hit the metal roof of the building he was standing on and only there and then, alone, did he allow himself to shed tears.

There were plenty of emotions vying for his attention. The most obvious was anger - he was beyond pissed at Mayor Andre, and more especially his father. He had known that Gabriel was not a savory character, even when his mom was alive. It had only worsened over the years, but even at his lowest, Adrien hadn’t expected his father to be capable of such… corruption and vileness. Which lead to frustration. Even in prison, Gabriel was ruining his life and hurting his friends. Shame was hot on its heels - despite Marinette’s reassurances, he knew that if there was anyone that could have noticed this earlier, it would have been him. The money used to torment his loved ones was the same money he’d helped Gabriel make through years of modeling.

Belatedly, Adrien realized where he was standing. The same warehouse that Hawkmoth - his father - had held Marinette in to get at Chat Noir. Like the true coward he was.

His brushed his tears aside and stood tall. There was one stop he needed to make before he went home to help Marinette deliver justice. Gabriel Agreste needed to understand the enormity of his crimes. And who better to do it than him?

So single-minded was Adrien that he failed to notice the white fur taking shape below him and a throaty growl that echoed in the empty space...

------------------------------------

Gabriel Agreste stared at the wall of his small prison cell. He’d been put into maximum security, solitary confinement as he awaited his no doubt highly publicized trial. There had been no visitors to break up the monotony of his daily routine. Nathalie was gone, likely a victim of the same miraculous that had stolen so much from him already. Adrien hadn’t been seen in months, abducted by his hated enemies. And clearly, all of his business associates were doing their best to divorce themselves from any relationship they had with him. He did not even have Nooroo any more, his one constant companion for the past what? Twenty, thirty years?

Worst of all, he knew that his wife was gone. The machine could not have sustained her for much longer, least of all without his frequent maintenance and care. No, now Gabriel was entirely alone in the world.

...Or at least he was until he noticed the figure in black standing on the other side of his cage, just outside the reach of his pitiful overhead light.

Of course, even in the weak light he would recognize that figure. Even if he hadn’t been spending the last ten years trying to pry jewelry off his body, living or dead, there weren’t many people in Paris who wore cat ears and a leather tail. At least, none that he would allow within twenty meters of him.

His face twisted into a sneer. “Chat Noir. Finally come to gloat at how you defeated the mighty Hawkmoth? How you tore a family apart because of your desperate need to play hero?” He watched Chat Noir flex his claws as his glowing emerald eyes stared back at Gabriel. Despite himself, Gabriel shivered - there was a coldness in that look that he’d never seen in the hero before, no matter what akuma’s eyes he had been looking through.

Instead of a response, Chat Noir said, “Claws in.”

After blinking away the spots from his eyes due to the green light show, he eagerly looked one of his nemeses in the face for the first time. A knot of some unfamiliar emotion knotted in his gut. Despite the suit vanishing, none. "...Son?"

"Hawkmoth."

Gabriel frowned, the much more familiar sense of parental disappointment returning to him. "Still no respect for your father, I see."

"There's no one here by that title. No one here who deserves respect. Let me tell you about some people I DO respect though." Adrien pulls pictures out of his jacket and throws them one by one at Gabriel’s feet.

The first picture was a happy couple dressed in wedding finery that Gabriel could barely remember as one of Adrien’s circle of nobody friends. "This is Alya and Nino. You remember them, right? Well this is their wedding rehearsal dinner. In Venice. Why in Venice, do you ask? Because, as I just learned, they were threatened by Andre Bourgeois to the point that they had to leave this city. They now travel where Alya can report the truth without being blackmailed."

Another picture hit the floor. "This is my former fencing instructor. I'm sure you don't remember him, because you didn't care about how I lived my life as long as I was busy and quiet and cut off from the world. He ran against the mayor several times trying to bring real change and each time he was met with a smear campaign that ruined his reputation and his business. He moved, and last I heard he has a very nice fencing studio in Marseille. He hasn't been back to Paris since."

"Adrien-"

The last picture was tossed directly at his face and Gabriel caught it easily with one hand. He almost wished he hadn’t when he saw his son, smiling wider than he had in years, his arm around a young woman that he definitely recognized.

"And THIS.” His son’s face was a mask of anger. “This is Marienette Dupain-Cheng. The love of my life. And she's still here. DESPITE the horrible competition she endured trying to break into the fashion world. DESPITE the critics who will tear apart anything innovative for ratings. DESPITE the blacklist I found in Mayor Bourgeois's office that had her name on it. The list you gave him."

Long moments passed between them, a silence thick with tension.

“You’ve got nothing to say for yourself.” It wasn’t a question.

“Everything I did was for us, for our family-” Gabriel was cut off by Adrien laughing, a biting, hollow noise.

“You didn’t do it for me,” Adrien spat at him. “You didn’t do it for mom. You did it for your idea of us, some… some fictional version of us that only exists in your head.” He shook his head. “Do you really think mom would have ever wanted you to terrorize Paris for her? Do you think she wanted to spend her last days of life stretched thin in stasis? What the hell would make you think I’d want a supervillain instead of a father?”

Gabriel didn’t have a response to that either and felt his legs give out underneath him as he collapsed onto his hard prison bed. He barely registered the flash of green light as his son - who he realized with dawning horror he had tried to kill many times in the past ten years - left him.

He finally recognized the unfamiliar emotion he was feeling.

Guilt.

-------------------------------

Marinette took a big sip of her best red wine as her phone rang. She knew they were out of their league with this one, but she knew exactly who to call for help. It was a big enough story to entice her, but if she wanted this to work, she needed to be as honest as possible.

A voice answered on the other end. “Hey, M. What’s up?”

The time for hesitation was over. “Alya, I hope you’ve got a lot of time to spare.”

“For my best friend? I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Good.” Marinette took a deep, fortifying breath. “I’m Ladybug, and I need your help.”

[amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes]

Reclassification

I’m super late but this is my entry for @letsby 500 Freestyle Challenge. I want to take the time to thank her so much for allowing me to submit this late as March and April have been hell for me. My prompt is “I don’t know where you get your information from” and it is italicized. This will have multiple parts. 

Paring: Thor x Reader (not in this part, I’m getting there)

Word Count: 1,909

Warnings: None right now 

You had to admit that as far as jobs went, this one wasn't too bad. It wasn't bad at all. It was surprisingly amazing and you couldn't help but be suspicious. When the HR representative called you to offer you the position, you almost asked if it was a joke. Sure you had sent your resume to Stark Industries but you never expected a callback. After you hung up, you immediately went to type up your resignation letter to your current employer and prepare what you were going to wear.

The first year went by in a flash. You were nervous but more than ready to show that you could prosper in the big leagues. And you couldn't get much bigger than Stark. You caught on to the the work quickly and the higher ups noticed your hard work. They also noticed your quick wit and never back down attitude. When you knew you were right, no one could tell you otherwise. It was your strength and weakness. You may have ruffled a few feathers but no one really said anything, to your face anyway, because they knew you were right.

This Monday morning started about the same. You all had been sent a new employee contract addendum to review and “let us know if you have any questions” was noted at the bottom. After reading through the document, you scoffed; did they really expect the workers to agree to this crap? Pursing your lips, you searched your desk for your favorite item, a red felt tip sharpie pen. You went to work and an hour later, there seemed to be more red ink on the papers than black. When you handed it to your supervisor, he looked at you like you had lost your natural mind.

“You do know that this came from the higher ups. Like higher than higher ups? It wasn’t really up for discussion. They're telling you what's it gonna be.” your supervisor Andy spoke slow and hoped you would catch the hints he was dropping. You tilted your head and crossed your arms. There really were things that needed to be changed and if they sent it to everyone with that note, they must have wanted input.

“It does say to let them know if we have questions.” you replied simply with a shrug. The two of you stared either other down for a few seconds before he released a strained sigh. He knew trying to get you to concede was a losing battle. Looking at the documents again, Andy took a deep breath before rubbing his temples in frustration. You were going to be the death of him.

“Okay, I see your point. But you know if I send this up they'll come down hard on you, yes? I may not be able to protect you.” Andy sighed again while his eyes were still glued to the papers.

“I'm a big girl. I can handle a little heat.” you smirked, flexing your arm into a muscle. Andy snorted and shook his head. He opened his drawer to pull out a manila envelope to place the documents in. You watched as he carefully fastened the small metal clasp and turned it over to write on it. After he finished, he handed you the envelope which you took with a polite smile and curtsied as you left his office. You heard him snort as you dropped the envelope in the inner office mail basket and walked back to your desk. Your coworker, Desiree, had been watching your little trot to the mail basket and eyed you curiously. Sitting at your desk, you made eye contact with her and blew a kiss at her.

“What have you done now?” she asked in a faux annoyed tone. You grinned at her and offered her a shrug. When you didn’t verbally respond to her, she shook her head and let out a small laugh.

Desiree was the first person to speak to you and take you “under her wing” when you first started. And let her tell it? You took off and found your own wings. She was about 15-20 years older than you but was still as spry as “you young folks.” For every disagreement and discussion Desiree was in your corner. and you defended her to anyone who dared question her. You considered her a mentor and loved her with very fiber of your being.

“I’m sure I’ll find out eventually if you have a hand in it.” she teased with an over exaggerated roll of her eyes. You looked away from her, the smile still plastered on your face. You sent a silent prayer that your revisions would be considered and you wouldn’t get fired for being too outspoken. The next day you didn’t even think about the documents until you were coming back from lunch and a man dressed in all black stood by your desk. You had never seen him before and your mind went to the worst possible scenario: he was here to escort you off the premises. Approaching reluctantly but with your head held high, you cleared your throat to gain his attention. Might as well get this over with. He acknowledged you with a curt nod as he turned to fully face you.

“I’m here to take you upstairs. If you would follow me.” he spoke formally. You glanced behind him to see Desiree watching the exchange warily; worry etched in every muscle of her furrowed brow. Giving her a reassuring wink, you turned to the man and motioned for him to lead the way. He lead you to the elevators and using a key-card that you didn’t recognize, he pressed the button for the 22nd floor. You tried not to fidget as the elevator made its slow assent. The man stood unnervingly still and you wanted to ask him what was about to happen to you. Seconds ticked by and you were growing more anxious. Having enough, you were about to tap his shoulder when the elevator finally dinged and the doors opened slowly. He gestured for you to get out first and you followed his direction too on edge to do otherwise.

Once you were off the elevator, you couldn’t help but gawk at your surroundings. This floor was not at all set up like a work floor. It was more like a condo with glass windows and a white sofa built into the pristine marble floor. You stared out the window in amazement. It offered a breathtaking view of the city below and you found yourself walking deeper into the room to get to the window. Like a moth entranced by the flame, you reached your hand to the glass. A snicker caught your attention causing you to jump and snatch your hand back.

“It’s about time you showed up.” the voice spoke and you whirled around to find its source. When you did lay eyes on it, your eyes widen in disbelief. Standing at a long bar that you failed to notice was Tony Stark. He was dressed in a grey suit with a black dress shirt underneath; the top two buttons undone. In his left hand was a glass of whatever he was drinking. In his other, a manila envelope with familiar writing on the front. You knew immediately what was inside: your documents. Your mouth went dry as the severity of the situation hit you. You were about to be fired by the owner personally. There would be no coming back from this. Your mind raced as you thought of what city you were going to have move to and what your new name would be because if your were blacklisted by Tony Stark, you may as well throw your name in a garbage disposal.

“Do-” Tony began as he moved closer to you. Your fight or flight response threatened to kick in and you took a reflective step back. This did not deter Tony as he stopped a few inches away from you. “I don’t know where you get your information from…” he trailed off before looking at the documents again. “Do you have a moment to go over this?” he finished holding the documents up you as if to give them to you. Before you could respond or even reach for the papers, Tony began again. “This is smart, kid. Real smart. You go to school for this? Grad? How long have you been with us? ‘Bout a year? Sound about right?”

You stare blankly at him as he hurdles question after question in rapid fire; the words reaching you with a three second delay.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, year.” you managed to finally stammer out.

“Not very articulate I see but we’ll work on that.”

“Hey wait I-”

“So here’s the thing. We need like an editor or whatever and I think you’d fit the bill. Whaddya say, kid?”   

“But I already work for you, Mr. Stark. And I’m not an editor.” you responded with a tilt of your head and crossing your arms. “And I’m not a kid. I finished in the-”

“Good so you’ll do it. Here.” Tony had cut you off yet again while handing you a small, plastic card. You huffed and took it from him. Bringing it to your face, you examined the item that looked more like a credit card. You frowned in confusion. Tony must have noticed and answered the questions swirling in your head.

“It’s a key-card that’ll give you carte blanche to the building. You’ll love it, kid. And don’t forget to try the spa on the 18th floor. You’ll love.”

“Mr. Stark please. What are you- hold on there’s a spa here?”

Tony gave a laugh at that as he walked over to the bar. You took it as a cue to follow him and perched yourself on one of the high metal stools that looked more like fancy upside down bird cages rather than a seat. While his back to you, you allowed yourself the opportunity to examine the different carafes of varying colored liquid. The clanking of a glass brought your eyes forward as Tony filled a glass with ice and had turned back to you.

“What’s your poison? Vodka? Whiskey? Gin? Rum?” he asked while pointing to each carafe. You stared at him bewildered at what he was suggesting.

“I’m on the clock though.”

“Bourbon it is. Good choice.” he winked as poured the dark liquid in the glass. The spiced scent of almonds hit your nose and you gape at the glass as if it was talking to you itself. It was the good, expensive stuff. Way too expensive for your salary. He slid the glass towards you as he began to fill his own. You regard the glass, and him, suspiciously.

“Is this a test?” you accused, eyeing the man who was now bent over the counter watching you. He grinned impishly before raising his glass in a toast.

“Welcome to the team.”

A/N: Can yall tell that I have no idea what bourbon tastes like? 

Taggong just a few: @letsby, @pocmarvelworks, @risingphoenix761, @alwaysenjoythelifeyoulive 

[bountyofbeads]

Shoot Them in the Legs, Trump Suggested: Inside His Border War https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/01/us/politics/trump-border-wars.html

Shoot Them in the Legs, Trump Suggested: Inside His Border War(Trump is nothing more than a thug and wannabe mobster. 🤢🤬🤬🤬)

By Michael D. Shear and Julie Hirschfeld Davis | Published Oct. 1, 2019 Updated 7:19 p.m. ET | New York Times | Posted October 1, 2019 |

WASHINGTON — The Oval Office meeting this past March began, as so many had, with President Trump fuming about migrants. But this time he had a solution. As White House advisers listened astonished, he ordered them to shut down the entire 2,000-mile border with Mexico — by noon the next day.

The advisers feared the president’s edict would trap American tourists in Mexico, strand children at schools on both sides of the border and create an economic meltdown in two countries. Yet they also knew how much the president’s zeal to stop immigration had sent him lurching for solutions, one more extreme than the next.

Privately, the president had often talked about fortifying a border wall with a water-filled trench, stocked with snakes or alligators, prompting aides to seek a cost estimate. He wanted the wall electrified, with spikes on top that could pierce human flesh. After publicly suggesting that soldiers shoot migrants if they threw rocks, the president backed off when his staff told him that was illegal. But later in a meeting, aides recalled, he suggested that they shoot migrants in the legs to slow them down. That’s not allowed either, they told him.

“The president was frustrated and I think he took that moment to hit the reset button,” said Thomas D. Homan, who had served as Mr. Trump’s acting director of Immigration and Customs Enforcement, recalling that week in March. “The president wanted it to be fixed quickly.”

Mr. Trump’s order to close the border was a decision point that touched off a frenzied week of presidential rages, round-the-clock staff panic and far more White House turmoil than was known at the time. By the end of the week, the seat-of-the-pants president had backed off his threat but had retaliated with the beginning of a purge of the aides who had tried to contain him.

Today, as Mr. Trump is surrounded by advisers less willing to stand up to him, his threat to seal off the country from a flood of immigrants remains active. “I have absolute power to shut down the border,” he said in an interview this summer with The New York Times.

This article is based on interviews with more than a dozen White House and administration officials directly involved in the events of that week in March. They were granted anonymity to describe sensitive conversations with the president and top officials in the government.

In the Oval Office that March afternoon, a 30-minute meeting extended to more than two hours as Mr. Trump’s team tried desperately to placate him.

“You are making me look like an idiot!” Mr. Trump shouted, adding in a profanity, as multiple officials in the room described it. “I ran on this. It’s my issue.”

Among those in the room were Kirstjen Nielsen, the homeland security secretary at the time; Mike Pompeo, the secretary of state; Kevin K. McAleenan, the Customs and Border Protection chief at the time; and Stephen Miller, the White House aide who, more than anyone, had orchestrated Mr. Trump’s immigration agenda. Mick Mulvaney, the acting chief of staff was also there, along with Jared Kushner, the president’s son-in-law, and other senior staff.

Ms. Nielsen, a former aide to George W. Bush brought into the department by John F. Kelly, the president’s former chief of staff, was in a perilous position. She had always been viewed with suspicion by the president, who told aides she was “a Bushie,” and part of the “deep state” who once contributed to a group that supported Jeb Bush’s presidential campaign.

Mr. Trump had routinely berated Ms. Nielsen as ineffective and, worse — at least in his mind — not tough-looking enough. “Lou Dobbs hates you, Ann Coulter hates you, you’re making me look bad,” Mr. Trump would tell her, referring to the Fox Business Network host and the conservative commentator.

The happiest he had been with Ms. Nielsen was a few months earlier, when American border agents had fired tear gas into Mexico to try to stop migrants from crossing into the United States. Human rights organizations condemned the move, but Mr. Trump loved it. More often, though, she drew the president’s scorn.

That March day, he was furious at Mr. Pompeo, too, for having cut a deal with Mexico to allow the United States to reject some asylum seekers — a plan Mr. Trump said was clearly failing.

A complete shutdown of the border, Mr. Trump said, was the only way.

Ms. Nielsen had tried reasoning with the president on many occasions. When she stood up to him during a cabinet meeting the previous spring, he excoriated her and she almost resigned.

Now, she tried again to reason with him.

We can close the border, she told the president, but it’s not going to fix anything. People will still be permitted to claim asylum.

But Mr. Trump was unmoved. Even Mr. Kushner, who had developed relationships with Mexican officials and now sided with Ms. Nielsen, could not get through to him.

“All you care about is your friends in Mexico,” the president snapped, according to people in the room. “I’ve had it. I want it done at noon tomorrow.”

The Start of an Overhaul

The president’s advisers left the meeting in a near panic.

Every year more than $200 billion worth of American exports flow across the Mexican border. Closing it would wreak havoc on American farmers and automakers, among many others. Senator Mitch McConnell, Republican of Kentucky and the majority leader, said in an interview at the time that a border shutdown would have “a potentially catastrophic economic impact on our country.”

That night, White House advisers succeeded in convincing the president to give them a reprieve, but only for a week, until the following Friday. That gave them very little time to change the president’s mind.

They started by pressuring their Mexican counterparts to rapidly increase apprehensions of migrants. Mr. Kushner and others in the West Wing showered the president with emails proving that the Mexicans had already started apprehending more migrants before they could enter the United States.

White House advisers encouraged a stream of corporate executives, Republican lawmakers and officials from the U.S. Chamber of Commerce to tell Mr. Trump how damaging a border closure would be.

Mr. Miller, meanwhile, saw an opportunity.

It was his view that the president needed to completely overhaul the Homeland Security Department and get rid of senior officials who he believed were thwarting efforts to block immigrants. Although many were the president’s handpicked aides, Mr. Miller told him they had become part of the problem by constantly citing legal hurdles.

Ms. Nielsen, who regularly found herself telling Mr. Trump why he couldn’t have what he wanted, was an obvious target. When the president demanded “flat black” paint on his border wall, she said it would cost an additional $1 million per mile. When he ordered wall construction sped up, she said they needed permission from property owners. Take the land, Mr. Trump would say, and let them sue us.

When Ms. Nielsen tried to get him to focus on something other than the border, the president grew impatient. During a briefing on the need for new legal authority to take down drones, Mr. Trump cut her off midsentence.

“Kirstjen, you didn’t hear me the first time, honey,” Mr. Trump said, according to two people familiar with the conversation. “Shoot ’em down. Sweetheart, just shoot ’em out of the sky, O.K.?”

But the problem went deeper than Ms. Nielsen, Mr. Miller believed. L. Francis Cissna, the head of the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services until earlier this year, regularly pushed back on Mr. Miller’s demand for a “culture change” at the agency, where Mr. Miller believed asylum officers were bleeding hearts, too quick to extend protections to immigrants.

They needed to start with the opposite point of view, Mr. Miller told him, and start turning people away.

John Mitnick, the homeland security general counsel who often raised legal concerns about Mr. Trump’s immigration policies, was also on Mr. Miller’s blacklist. Mr. Miller had also turned against Ronald D. Vitiello, a top official at Customs and Border Protection whom the president had nominated to lead Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

By midweek, the campaign to change Mr. Trump’s mind about closing the border seemed to be working.

Maybe there’s another way to do this, the president told Ms. Nielsen. How about if I impose tariffs on the Mexicans, or threaten to impose tariffs? Tariffs are great.

But the staff worried that his retreat would only be temporary. The president never really let go of his obsessions.

They were right. On a trip to California late in the week, Mr. Trump turned to Mr. McAleenan, the Customs and Border Protection chief, with a new idea: He wanted him to stop letting migrants cross the border at all, with no exceptions. If you get into any trouble for it, Mr. Trump told him, I’ll pardon you.

The Turning Point

Once on the ground, Mr. Trump met up with Ms. Nielsen and worked a room filled with Border Patrol agents. Start turning away migrants at the border, he told them. My message to you is, keep them all out, the president said. Every single one of them. The country is full.

After the president left the room, Mr. McAleenan told the agents to ignore the president. You absolutely do not have the authority to stop processing migrants altogether, he warned.

As she and her staff flew back to Washington that Friday evening, Ms. Nielsen called the president. She knew he was angry with her.

“Sir, I know you’re really frustrated,” she told him. The president invited her to meet with him on Sunday in the White House residence.

Ms. Nielsen knew that Miller wanted her out, so she spent the flight huddled with aides on a strategy for getting control of the border, a Hail Mary pass. She called it the “Six C’s” — Congress, Courts, Communications, Countries, Criminals, Cartels.

Unbeknown to her, Ms. Nielsen’s staff started work on her letter of resignation.

When Ms. Nielsen presented her plan to Mr. Trump at the White House, he dismissed it and told her what he really needed was a cement wall.

“Sir,” she said, “I literally don’t think that’s even possible.” They couldn’t build that now even if it would work, which it wouldn’t, Ms. Nielsen told him. The designs for steel barriers had long since been finalized, the contracts bid and signed.

The president responded that it was time for her to go, Mr. Trump recalled later. “Kirstjen, I want to make a change,” he said.

The president said he would wait a week to announce her resignation, to leave time for a transition. But before Ms. Nielsen had left the White House that day, the word was leaking out. By evening, Mr. Trump was tweeting about it.

“Secretary of Homeland Security Kirstjen Nielsen will be leaving her position,” Trump wrote, “and I would like to thank her for her service.”

The dismissal was a turning point for Mr. Trump’s immigration agenda, the start of the purge that ushered in a team that embraced Mr. Miller’s policies.

Mr. Trump quickly dismissed Claire M. Grady, the homeland security under secretary, and moved Mr. McAleenan to take Ms. Nielsen’s old job. Within two months, Mr. Cissna was out as well, replaced by Kenneth T. Cuccinelli II, a former Virginia attorney general and an immigration hard-liner.

On Aug. 12, Mr. Cuccinelli announced that the government would deny green cards for immigrants deemed likely to become “public charges.” Nine days later, Mr. McAleenan announced regulations to allow immigrant families to be detained indefinitely.

In the months since the purge, the president has repeated his threat of placing tariffs on Mexico to spur aggressive enforcement at the border. Mr. McAleenan and Mr. Cuccinelli have embraced restrictive asylum rules. And the Pentagon approved shifting $3.6 billion to build the wall.

Mr. Trump has continued to face resistance in the courts and public outrage about his immigration agenda. But the people who tried to restrain him have largely been replaced.

In the interview with The Times this past summer, Mr. Trump said he had seriously considered sealing the border during March, but acknowledged that doing so would have been “very severe.”

“The problem you have with the laws the way they are, we can have 100,000 of our soldiers standing up there — they can’t do a thing,” Mr. Trump said ruefully.

This article is adapted from “Border Wars: Inside Trump’s Assault on Immigration,” to be published by Simon & Schuster on Oct. 8.

[otome-reviews]

Scandal in the Spotlight: Kyohei Rikudoh Review [SPOILERS]

Ah, Kyohei. One thing you should probably know about me before I get started is that I have been stanning k-pop boyband EXO hardcore for years and there is album art on both my phone and my computer, haha. So to say I was thrilled to learn Voltage Love 365 app has a boy band otome would be a MASSIVE understatement! But how was the route, you ask? Read on to find out!

The world of Scandal in the Spotlight is uh... pretty cut-throat, to say the least. Aspiring MC starts out getting blacklisted from the industry after rejecting Harvey Weinstein her creepy, powerful boss. :( Then her coworker/secret member of popular boy band Arashi Revance, freaking STEALS poetry she wrote for a screenplay and adapts it into Revance’s latest hit (!!!). And then Kyohei, band producer/member and subject of this review, strong-arms/threatens MC into ghostwriting erotic lyrics for their 10th anniversary, in exchange for getting her un-blacklisted afterwards...!!

...Yikes. Poor MC (I hope she got paid for the plagiarism and she’s getting paid for the ghostwriting?! Super important 💰). Anyway, at first glance Kyohei definitely comes across as your typical scary/aggressive and demanding alpha male ("I make the rules here. Anyone who gets in our way will be dropped, no exceptions”). He might not be the official leader of the group, but he sure acts like he is. Kyo is willing to do whatever it takes to ensure Revance’s continued success, including using his professional clout to stifle an up-and-coming rival group (which I found very confusingly attractive, lmao). And with MC, he’s just as bossy, but also SUPER FREAKING FLIRTATIOUS like you have no idea (“If you don't have enough experience...perhaps we can fix that”). And of course the guy has to claim it’s all in the name of inspiring MC to write sexier lyrics and he couldn’t possibly be attracted to MC, lmao.

But much like his giant adorable mop of a dog (named Little Yamada!! ^_^), when it comes to MC, Kyohei is all bark and no bite. From the start, he’s nice to MC his own bizarre, super extra way. When MC’s feeling down about her skills, he doesn’t hesitate to buy out massive amounts of ad space from Shibuya Crossing just to prove a point, lol. And after the turning point in the story, Kyo becomes downright protective of MC, keeping his manager and the other members off MC’s back while she struggles with writer’s block! Aww.

TBH, domineering types tend to be really hit or miss for me. But in Kyohei’s case, it’s a hit (mostly! more on that below). For starters, once Kyohei starts caring about MC he’s never mean ever again (even if he still loves teasing her) and I am so super weak to otome guys who pull off that transition well. I liked his tragic backstory/motivation, cheesy as it was. And finally, Kyohei plays into your typical diva-ish pop star romance fantasy really nicely. It’s all about expectations: a bad boy-type pop star is WAY more interesting than a super nice pop star imho, and this is one of the rare cases where I think a completely nice character wouldn’t be nearly as compelling as someone like Kyohei, who does turn out to be vaguely nice ish, but also has a bit of an edge to him.

Speaking of pop fantasies, I generally enjoyed the plot progression, which was one giant, unbelievably cheesy wish fulfillment fantasy. Poor, sweet MC’s struggles to come up with sexy lyrics tie in really nicely with her growing relationship with Kyohei, and I always do love it when the external plot and romance get intertwined. But one thing that I didn’t like as much is the plot’s main villain, who at once wants to produce for Revance, poach MC, and get in MC’s pants...?! It’s too much!! I personally think the story’s conflict would’ve been much cleaner if his creepy romance subplot were completely removed.

Also, this isn’t really a critique as it is a commentary, but: parts of this story were kind of sad/infuriating to read from a post-#metoo perspective. MC’s screenwriting career was completely screwed through no fault of her own, after all! And much as Kyo did grow on me, he did initially force MC into the whole ghostwriting gig. So, this might sound kind of weird, but I think an AU of Scandal in the Spotlight featuring Kyohei as a villain type would’ve been EVEN COOLER while satisfying my never-ending thirst for revenge against evil guys? Imagine: MC turns down Revance flat, and goes straight to rival group Grenade, romancing one of those boys instead. Her and Boy work together to start a viral internet campaign to take down both Harvey Weinstein and Revance. It becomes an epic tale of MC+Boy vs the world, and in the end Revance and Grenade resolve their differences IkeSen style (though Grenade wins), while former boss gets sent to jail. Now wouldn’t that be satisfying to read. :) (...okay maybe this is why I was rejected from creative writing class in school lmao)

And while we’re talking about #metoo, there is one specific scene with Kyohei that I didn’t like! Early on, he smacks MC’s butt (flirtatiously??). I secretly kind of enjoyed all the other sexy, aggressively flirty things he pulls, but that one’s just straight up harassment! :( Fortunately, later in the route, Kyohei makes it clear that a) he’ll quit the flirting if MC tells him to stop, and b) he asks for consent before actually getting it on with MC. So there’s that... Anyways, this incident is one of the reasons why, mid-way through Episode 2, I was certain I was going to hate Kyohei with a fiery passion and that this review was going to be an extended rant about celebrities. But it really speaks to Kyohei’s character evolution that I ended up forgiving him for his transgressions, mostly.

Overall, if you’re willing to accept a party size helping of cheese in your romance stories (or, if you have ever had a crush on any of 1D/NSYNC/The Beatles/etc), I think you’ll like Kyohei. His route is definitely not perfect, and it certainly isn’t high literature, but it provides some super satisfying wish fulfillment and is generally a fun, sexy read!

Choice quote:

“Kyohei...I think I’m starting to get the wrong idea...” “You don’t have the wrong idea.” 💕

Personality: 8/10. I really wouldn’t call Kyohei a nice guy in general, and I have beef with how he acted in the beginning, but Kyohei post-turning point in plot is pretty awesome. The guy manages to be nice to MC and super mega sexy at the same time. Also I love how extra he is. It’s perfect for a pop star.

Appearance: 8/10. This guy’s hair is simultaneously the most and least necessary thing ever, lol. 

MC: 6/10. I like how self-aware and determined MC is. However, she was too passive for my personal tastes, especially when it came to the asshole men in her life. (Also girl really needs to learn how to digitize/password protect her lyrics...)

Plot/Payoff: 6/10. I generally enjoyed how gloriously cheesy the plot was, especially with regards to MC’s lyric writing and her relationship with Kyohei, but I do think the main villain ended up trying to do way too much. Also, I really wanted to see the creepy screenwriter get his comeuppance in the story, and I would LOVE confirmation that MC’s getting paid for her troubles! 💰💰

Personal enjoyment: 7/10. I started out really disliking this route because MC gets screwed over way too hard in the beginning, but Kyohei himself really makes this story more enjoyable than it has any right to be! ^_^

I was sent this story to review honestly as part of @officialvoltageotome‘s review campaign! All thoughts are 100% mine. :)

Masterlist

[gluupor]

Idk if you are taking prompts/you know anyone who is willing to, but I just read a short story by the SOC author called Ayama and the Thorn Wood and I just thought of an andreil au. It’s about a girl who’s family doesn’t care about her at all and they send her to bargain with a beast in the woods as they will be compensated by the king. The beast tells her to tell him a story that will make him feels smth other than anger and she goes back a couple times, and they fall in love it’s so cute💕

This ended up being very long. Hopefully the Read More works; if it doesn’t I’ve tagged this post #long so you can blacklist it. It’s also available on AO3.

If you are the person who originally sent me the ask can you write back to let me know if you liked it?

Deep in the Western Mountains a spoiled and selfish King ruled over a lush valley. He lived lavishly, excessively, while his people suffered hardship. Their Kingdom was involved in several pointless disputes with neighbouring territories due to the King's easily bruised pride. The people in the valley grumbled angrily over the high taxes and hard living, but quietly, always quietly, not wanting to bring the King's wrath upon themselves.

The King had three advisors that he kept close by; he treated them as possessions and ensured that they all knew that they were his to command as he pleased. The least of the advisors called himself Neil, but only in his own mind. The King had other epithets for him.

The war in the East was getting particularly bloody causing both conscription in the army and taxes to rise at an alarming rate. The King's advisors begged and pleaded with him to forgive the slight, to call their people home, but their requests fell on deaf ears. The people of the valley began to grumble less quietly, angry and vengeful over their lost sons and gold.

Tensions were at a high when one day a goatherd went out to his pasture in the morning and found all his goats dead, their remains scattered. His was not the only pasture affected, causing panic among the commoners.

"No ordinary man could have done this," they whispered. "Only a Monster could do such a thing."

For some years it had been known that a Monster had taken up residence in the Thorn Wood. As a rule the valley people avoided entering the surrounding forest at all and so there had been an uneasy truce between them. One which the Monster had now broken.

The King promised to protect his subjects from this threat. "This is why your sons and tax money must support a strong military," he told them and they fervently agreed.

"Silvertongue," said the King idly to the least of his advisors, "you are finally to put your tongue to good use. You are to go and speak with this Monster to convince him to leave our herds alone."

"He'll be killed!" protested the King's favourite advisor, the man who was second only to the King.

"But he's so quick and clever with his quips," drawled the King, his beetle-black eyes boring into Neil with malevolence. "Surely he'll be able to talk his way out of danger."

"What will my reward be if I succeed?" asked Neil in resignation. He belonged to the King; he could not disobey him.

"Money," said the King. "I will reward you handsomely."

Neil strung a copper cup and a silver knife onto his belt and headed across the valley. The sun beat down on him relentlessly as he passed through now-empty pastures that contained only the remains of herd animals, their corpses obscured through black clouds of flies.

He was unafraid. All his life he had been at the mercy of violent men, the Monster could not be much worse than them. Perhaps it would even kill him quickly.

He approached the Thorn Wood cautiously, the magic of the place causing his skin to break out in gooseflesh. He pushed a thorny bramble aside and stepped into the forest.

Even without the tingle on his skin, he would have known that the wood was magical. It was dark and cool under the trees, the night sky above dotted with stars, even though it had been high noon when he breached the forest's boundary. A light breeze blew through the trees, soothing his overheated skin.

It was ominously quiet, no sounds of birds or insects, only the slight gurgle of a brook. Neil could never remember being quite so thirsty, so he moved forwards, taking the copper cup from his belt and dipping it into the fresh, cool water.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you," came an indolent voice from behind him, "unless you wish to become a beast like me."

Neil whipped around, cursing himself for momentarily forgetting why he was here. The Monster stood fairly close by. He was shaped like a man, albeit a very short one, but he had curling horns protruding from either side of his head. His eyes glowed yellow, and his nose emitted a thin stream of smoke when he breathed.

Neil slowly gripped his silver knife. "Monster," he said.

"Little rabbit," replied the Monster. "Were you sent to kill me?" he continued mockingly, before his hand darted forwards, impossibly quickly, and grabbed Neil's knife. He plunged it into his own chest, but the knife turned away, unable to pierce the Monster's hide. "This won't help you." He threw the knife down at Neil's feet and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, it was distinctively threatening, all of the Monster's pointed teeth showing.

"I am not afraid of you," said Neil.

The Monster cocked his head thoughtfully. "Interesting," he said. "Why are you here, rabbit?"

"You have killed our grazing animals," said Neil.

"Have I?" responded the Monster. "Well, the King's own herds have not been touched. I am sure that he will be able to make up the difference."

"While the King is happy to do so-" Neil's words cut off in his throat, choking him, and a loud siren echoed in his ears. He looked around wildly.

"Careful," said the Monster once the sound had ceased. "The wood has no rules but one. Speak truth."

Neil clenched his jaw in frustration. "Will you agree to leave our herds alone?"

"For nothing in return?" asked the Monster. "No."

"What do you want?"

"A story," said the Monster, after some contemplation.

"A story?" echoed Neil.

"Yes, a story," said the Monster. "If you can tell me a story that does not bore me I will agree to leave your herds be. If not," he smiled again, showing his teeth, "I will eat you."

"I can't imagine I'd be a very satisfying meal," said Neil, gesturing at his skinny frame.

"No," agreed the Monster, "but perhaps killing you would discourage future trespassers."

Neil rolled his eyes and tried to think of a story to tell. He wondered if the wood's rules would prevent him from saying anything untrue.

"Once," he started hesitantly, "there was a boy who was always hungry. No matter how much he ate he couldn't fill himself up and he was desperately unhappy. His parents consulted doctors and wise women and sages from far away lands but no one could tell them why their son had such an appetite.

"News of the boy's strange affliction travelled far and wide until it was heard by a doctor's daughter, a beautiful, compassionate, and intelligent girl. She brought the news to her father who had travelled all over the world and knew many things. She entreated him to help the boy.

"Together the doctor and his daughter travelled to the boy's hometown. The doctor examined him, making him open his mouth up wide so that he could peer down into his gullet. 'Ah,' said the doctor. 'I see.' He turned to the boy's mother. 'Did you ever sleep with the window open while the boy quickened in your belly?' he asked.

"The boy's mother was taken aback but answered in the affirmative. The doctor explained that while the mother had slept she had accidentally breathed in the night air and a small piece of the night, black and void, was now lodged in her son. The only thing that could fill the emptiness was the sun.

"The boy was perplexed. How would he reach the sun in order to consume the teaspoonful he needed to sate his hunger? There were not any ladders tall enough to reach the sky. The doctor's daughter was the one who came up with a solution. The sun, she realized, was not always up in the sky. In the evenings it touched the sea in the west. She and the boy sailed to where the sea met the sky and at sunset the boy collected a teaspoonful of sun-"

The Monster scoffed. "And I suppose it filled the void within him and he married the beautiful, intelligent doctor's daughter and had twenty babies and lived happily ever after?" he asked scornfully.

"No," said Neil indignantly, although that was how the story had ended when his mother had told it to him when he was a small child. "That would be nonsense. The boy did drink the teaspoonful of sun and it did cure his everlasting hunger. And he did marry the doctor's daughter and have many children. But despite all that, the boy found that he was still unhappy. Some people are born with a piece of night inside them - a hollow place that can never be filled with good food or sunshine. The empty void can never be banished and we must simply endure it, as the boy did."

The Monster watched Neil intently, his yellow eyes seeming to see through him completely. Neil regretted what he had said; he had not wanted to reveal so much of his own truth. Casting his eyes away from the Monster's knowing stare, he noticed pale, thin scars along the Monster's forearms.

"I thought that knives couldn't pierce a Monster's hide," said Neil in confusion.

"Not a Monster's hide, no," agreed the Monster, with a significant look over to the brook. Neil remembered what the Monster had revealed earlier.

"Were you once a man?" asked Neil.

The Monster was quiet for a long time. "I will not harm your herds, rabbit," he said finally, turning away from Neil. "Go now, and don't return."

Neil knew that the vow was good because the wood demanded truth, but he needed proof to bring back to his King. The Monster seemed to know this. "Take a sprig of quince blossoms," he said. "It only grows in enchanted lands. That should be proof enough."

Neil's return from the Thorn Wood caused widespread joy and relief. The word spread that the Monster would trouble their herds no more. The only one displeased by this turn of events was the King.

"And what did you have to offer the beast in order to protect our herds?" he asked snidely, his eyes cold and calculating. "What have you given away?"

"Nothing that couldn't be parted with," replied Neil placidly.

The King hemmed and hawed but under the watchful eyes of his two other advisors he granted Neil with the reward he had been promised.

Life in the valley resumed its normal rhythm, but Neil found himself often distracted. He thought often about the Thorn Wood, the cool, enchanted clearing, and the creature that dwelt there.

As the fear of the Monster lessened, the old complaints of the common folk started up again. The King had raised the taxes even higher to help fund his petty squabbles. Tensions were again at a high when one day a farmer went out to her field only to find that her crops had been ravaged and destroyed. Hers was not the only farm affected, and again fear spread among the commoners.

"Silvertongue," said the King lazily. "The Monster is at it again. Go to him once more and convince him to leave our crops alone."

"Just because he survived once doesn't guarantee the Monster won't kill him this time," argued the King's favourite advisor.

"He will do as I command."

"And what will be my reward?" asked Neil.

"Land," said the King. "I will gift you land carved from my best estate if you succeed."

Again Neil tucked his copper cup and his silver knife into his belt and journeyed across the valley. When he reached the Thorn Wood, he pushed eagerly through the brambles, heaving a contented sigh when he stepped into the cool, enchanted clearing.

The Monster was before him, pacing as if he had been waiting. He stopped as Neil stepped forwards.

"You must not be valued if they would send you to your death a second time," remarked the Monster.

Neil ignored that, knowing it was truth due to the rules of the wood. "You have destroyed our crops."

"Have I?" responded the Monster. "The King's own crops and stores have not been touched. Let him make up the difference."

"Will you make a bargain to leave our crops alone?"

"You know the only bargain I will make, little rabbit," said the Monster. "Speak truth and then I will decide your fate."

Neil had been prepared for this. His last story had revealed a truth about himself which had led the Monster to sharing a truth of his own. "A woman with a sad countenance came to a small village. There she met a man who was in want of a wife and they were married and before long they had a child. As the child grew he became difficult and disobedient. He was often sickly, which led to a deep unhappiness, and he was a great burden on his mother. The women of the village felt sorry for the mother whose countenance grew even more sad and they commiserated with her often.

"One day, an evil spirit from the North arrived, preying on the poor mother. It broke her cream pitchers, and destroyed the tinctures that she had made to keep her child healthy. It broke her husband's plow so that he was stuck at home during the day. But mostly it followed the child, as if drawn by his bad behaviour. It would rattle the windows and shake his bed so that he could have no rest and it would spill his dinner on the floor when he tried to eat."

The Monster growled. "Let me guess. The child cried and prayed and promised to behave itself which caused the spirit to leave, and this is a lesson to ungrateful children everywhere."

That was how the story had ended when Neil's mother had whispered it to him after he had endured another punishment from his father, but it was not how Neil's version of the story ended. "No, that would be nonsense," he said. "The child realized that the spirit was trying to communicate so one day when his parents were out he quieted down and sung a lullaby to lure the spirit to speak. When the spirit spoke it revealed that it was the spirit of the child's mother's firstborn son whom she had caused to sicken and die in order to gain sympathy from the women of her village. The mother had then travelled away to find somewhere new to repeat her crimes and it had taken the spirit several years to find her. It had then tried to protect her new child: smashing the tinctures that the mother fed him to keep him sickly and ill, destroying his food to keep him from eating poisons, keeping him awake so that she could not administer anything in his sleep. The spirit had even broken the plow to keep the child's father home more often.

"The child was shocked but he told his father what the spirit had revealed. His father was skeptical but he agreed to investigate and he found that all that the spirit had said was true. Because sometimes those that are meant to love us most are the ones who do us the most harm."

Again the Monster watched Neil intently, his eyes bright with understanding. "What happened to the mother?" he eventually asked.

"Bad fates do not always follow those who deserve them," said Neil. "But I believe that she was eaten by a dragon."

The Monster gave a little huff. "Very well, rabbit, I will leave your crops alone." He turned to leave.

"What is your name?" asked Neil asked, not wanting the Monster to leave yet. Why not rest here and share another story? Why not learn more of the Monster's truth?

"What is yours?" countered the Monster.

Neil opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it quickly. The wood demanded truth.

The Monster watched him silently for a long time. "Take another sprig of quince blossoms," he said finally, "and leave me in peace."

Neil's return was once again heralded through the land, much to the King's displeasure. After reluctantly agreeing to grant Neil the reward he had been promised the King regarded him shrewdly.

"Does the Monster trust you?" he asked.

"Not killing me and trusting me are two very different things," replied Neil.

"Still…" said the King thoughtfully. "It does let you get close."

"What are you suggesting?" asked the King's favourite advisor.

"Silvertongue," said the King sharply. "You will return to the Thorn Wood and slay this beast so that we all may live in safety."

"No blade can pierce the hide of the Monster," Neil protested.

"A blade carved from the enchanted quince that grows in the Thorn Wood can kill anything," replied the King, gesturing to his second advisor. The man came forward carrying a box that held a knife carved from the sprig of quince blossoms that Neil had carried back from the Thorn Wood.

"If you do this," said the King, "then I will release you." Neil looked up sharply. "If you plunge that blade into the heart of the Monster, your servitude to me will be complete."

Neil could scarcely dare believe the King's words. Freedom and a safe place to call home were all that he had ever wanted out of life. He reluctantly reached out and gingerly picked up the quince blade.

"Kill the beast," said the King, "and you'll be free to do as you please."

For the second day in a row Neil made the trek across the valley to the Thorn Wood. The Monster seemed taken aback when Neil walked into the clearing, but recovered himself quickly.

"Are you that eager to be eaten?" he asked dryly.

"Do you want to hear a story?" Neil asked in reply.

"In exchange for what?" said the Monster warily.

"You'll see," said Neil. "Can I speak?"

The Monster gave a hesitant nod.

"Once upon a time a boy was born to two parents who hated each other," Neil started. "Their marriage had been arranged by their families against the wishes of them both. But they did their duty and brought a child into their unhappy union. The wife came to love the boy, in her own way, but the husband was full of hate. He hated everyone and everything but most of all he hated his own son and he often punished the boy just for existing.

"After many years the husband found a way to rid himself of the son he despised and sold him into the servitude of a King that he had angered. The wife did not wish for her son to be sold so she absconded with him in the night. Unfortunately, her husband anticipated this and stopped them, killing his wife for her disobedience.

"The boy was not sorry to leave the house of his father, but the King was also very cruel and he often punished the boy for his words. Just as the boy was resigned to his fate he was sent to treat with a Monster."

Neil looked up and caught the Monster's eyes. "Twice he spoke with the Monster, trading truths. But the King was still not happy. He sent the boy back to kill the Monster with a magic blade. He offered the boy freedom and a home, the two things that the boy had always wanted. But the boy realized that more than those things he wanted a place to belong."

"And how does this story end?" asked the Monster.

"I don't know yet," said Neil. "But the moral is that sometimes we don't know what we're looking for until it shows up in a way we weren't expecting."

The Monster was silent for a time, staring thoughtfully at his old scars. "There once was a boy who was unwanted by everyone," he said haltingly. "The only people that ever wanted him desired to hurt him. No one could hear his cries for help and when he tried to make them listen they said that he was a monster inside. He tried to match his insides to his outsides, carving his pain into his skin for the world to see, but the world turned a blind eye.

"He retreated into the forest, isolating himself. One day he stumbled upon an enchanted wood. The wood was safe and solitary but only a magic creature can live in a magic environment. Knowing that it would change him, he drank deeply from the brook until his outsides finally matched his insides and everybody kept away."

"What was his name?" asked Neil.

"His name was Andrew," replied the Monster.

"Andrew," repeated Neil thoughtfully. "My name is Neil." The wood did not object.

"One day a nearby King needed to distract his subjects and so arranged to have the commoners' herds attacked and their crops destroyed to unite them against a common enemy. But the King was foolish and he sent a kindred soul to reason with the Monster and the Monster realized that his home was lonely." The Monster stepped forwards and gently detached the copper cup from Neil's belt. He knelt and filled it with water from the brook before offering it to Neil. "Stay with me?" he asked.

Neil never returned to the valley Kingdom. Within a week of his departure, the King was found stabbed through the heart with a quince blade. Soon after, evidence was found that he had been the one to kill the herds and destroy the crops. The King's favourite advisor ascended to the throne and he ruled the land with justice and benevolence. He decreed that the Thorn Wood was never to be breached by any of his subjects and so the two Monsters who dwelt within were able to spend their days together in peace, forgotten by all who would bring them harm.