probably one of my biggest accomplishments on this site is getting one of the big fashion blogs to block me over jk rowling lmao

A customer emailed us cause some historical fantasy book was misplaced in the YA section and contained "rampant homophobia and sexism" and probably a bunch of other things but my eyes glazed over reading it. And I have many questions.

Number 1, it is historical fantasy fiction, no shit it's probably not gonna show you some happy land of perfect equality, the question is are these subject matters being portrayed as look how awful things were or man wasn't this so much better. (I haven't read the book idk but we all know how adults who read YA are.)

Number 2, THIS BOOK IS A SEQUEL. DID YOU NOT READ THE FIRST ONE AND ALREADY HAVE EXPECTATIONS OF WHAT YOU WERE GETTING INTO. OR BETTER YET ON THE BACK, WHICH IM ASSUMING YOU READ TO GO AH YES LET ME BUY THIS IT SOUNDS RIVETING, IT WOULD HAVE DEFINITELY SAID THE SEQUEL TO BOOK.

Finally number 3, why bother emailing us? Assuming it's because the customer believes we purposely put it there as a title appropriate for the YA audience. No, that's not how that works. We cannot possibly know every single book that comes into our store. So guess what! The publishers in their infinite wisdom know this and tell us what genre a book is so we don't have to read it! Wow! And sure enough I double check our system and the book was correctly labeled as historical fiction. So once again, why email us for this? The customer didn't want a refund so clearly none of the apaling content offended them that much. If they just wanted to let us know in case of other misplaced books they could have just called and said hey I think some of your books are in the wrong spots. No need for all the details and "how dare you trick me!" tone.

IDK. Humans are confusing. Plz don't harass retail staff because YOU didn't know what you were buying. Or just ask for a refund or exchange if it really bugs you. "But it's your job to keep the store clean and fix mistakes like that!" Guess what I don't got the hours and manpower for that nor do I get payed enough to give a shit about the god damn YA section of all things (THAT IM NOT IN CHARGE OF). If I see hentai placed in the kids section by shit teens, yeah I'll move that back cause it's obvious. Some random novel gets put in the YA section? how am I supposed to know? I got 10 boxes of manga to unload you think I got time to comb the shelves?

Fic Recs Wrap Up  -  November 2020 (੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

Survival of the Species by Romaine 

Draco approaches Harry on the 9 ¾ platform, after their sons have boarded the Hogwarts Express, and invites him over for tea. The discussion they have leads them on an adventure that neither could have expected. Rec Post, Art Post by @artisticentropy

The Light More Beautiful by firethesound @firethesound

Thirteen years after Draco accepts Potter's help escaping the horror of his sixth year, he returns to England where he makes the unfortunate discovery that Potter is still as obnoxious as ever. And worse, more than a decade overseas hasn't been enough to dim Draco's obsession with him. Rec Post

parapraxis by pasdexcuses 

Harry doesn't think much about the fact that he and Malfoy have been exchanging dares for the better part of a decade. He doesn't think much about Malfoy's dares being this constant thread in his life. And he especially doesn't think much about how daring Malfoy is close to the only thing making him feel alive after the war. Rec Post

He Who Must Not Be Normal by��lettered @letteredlettered

Potter has fame and fortune and posh clothes and all he wants is a simple life. Draco has a flat and a cat and a steady job and all he wants is a complicated life. Which makes you think this story has something exciting like body-swapping, but it doesn’t. Instead it has Indian takeaway and a blue jumper and people wanting a whole lot of what they can’t have, discovering themselves as they discover each other. Rec Post

Super Rich Kids by trishjames @thusspoketrish

Draco Malfoy has become disillusioned by the glitz and glamour of the scandalous lives of the Post-Second Wizarding War Pureblood Elite. Enter: one existential crisis, one group of thieving cynical friends, and several terrible, terrible decisions. RecPost 1, 2 Art post 1, 2 by @junk-ren

It Takes a Village by Saras_Girl 

Eighth year isn’t exactly going to plan. Harry is definitely not running away, Draco is definitely not impressed, and it’s almost definitely not going to stop raining. Rec Post

Turn, Drop, Fall by Tessa Crowley (tessacrowley) @tessacrowley

In his father's world of staunch traditions and strict gender dynamics, presenting as an omega is the worst thing that could happen to Draco, although accidentally bonding to Harry Potter and being forced into a marriage with Antonin Dolohov both come in close second. Rec Post

Black Holes and Revelations Femme (femmequixotic) @femmequixotic

What was meant to be an unexpected one-off in the loo of a Camden bar turns into something rather different, much to Harry and Draco's surprise. Rec Post

Here are some other great fics you might enjoy! 

(ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

Starkissed by Zigster @zigster-ao3 

“Your tattoos!” The intruder says, boldly stepping over Ron’s chaise and crossing in front of Hermione to get to Harry, eyes wide and hungry. Harry immediately sits up, pulling the towel draped across the back of his chair down over his shoulders. “No! Don’t cover them. They’re beautiful.” . Harry hopes an indulgent trip abroad will help shake him out of the doldrums of his life. What he finds once he gets to Venice is more than he ever expected. Fic Claim Post 

Asking For A Friend? by RoonilWazlibMalfoy @evenmyzefronposter

Asking for a friend? Don't be shy! I'm Genna Russ with advice!

Draco Malfoy, drag queen and agony aunt for the Daily Prophet, is very happy with his life. He loves his job. He loves his drag queen persona. And he loves the fact that the wider Wizarding world doesn't know who is offering them sassy advice with their morning news.

When he starts receiving letters from one Harry Potter – letters that are too racy to publish – he does the only thing he can do: he replies. His carefully constructed secret life is at risk of being blown wide open, but he just can't help himself. Draco never did have any self-control where the Prat Who Lived was concerned. Fic Claim Post

All I Have to Do by fluxweed @fluxweeed

The Patented Daydream Charm (Adult Edition) allows you to enter a top-quality, highly realistic thirty-minute sexual fantasy. Solitude and privacy spells advised.

or: Draco finally has some alone time; Harry just needs to nip in for a book. Fic Claim Post

On Your Shore by xanthippe74 @xanthippe74

Clearing out a remote house full of cursed collectibles in the Outer Hebrides? Not a problem for an experienced curse breaker like Harry Potter. Spending a week with the straight, happily-married man that he’s starting to have feelings for? And sharing a bed with him at night? Surely Harry can handle that, too. But both the house and Draco Malfoy have secrets to uncover, and Harry might be in deeper water than he thought. Fic Claim Post

The Kisses Don’t Count, If No One Else Knows by oldenuf2nb @dianacopland

Minister for Magic Harry Potter does not love his job. The one bright point in his life is his secret relationship with Quidditch Super Star Draco Malfoy. When they're 'outed' by a peeping tom with a camera, Harry has to decide what's really important.

You Do Your Body Work, I Feel My Pulse Working Overtime by VeelaWings @veelawings

Harry did not have an addiction to watching Draco masturbate on camera. He could stop any time he wanted to. Really. Fic Claim Post

Take All That You See by GallifreyisBurning @gallifrey1sburning

Draco Malfoy has only two goals for his eighth year are Hogwarts: 1) stay as invisible as possible, and 2) get enough NEWTs to be accepted at a university abroad and get the hell out of the UK. Everything is going according to plan until he is unceremoniously outed by the Daily Prophet and subsequently disowned.

Finding himself the unexpected focus of unwanted attention and harassment, he is suddenly dependent on the good will and protection of the last people he would have expected — Harry Potter and his gang of do-gooder Gryffindors (plus Luna Lovegood). With his world turned upside down, how will Draco make it through the rest of the year? And worse still, as he grows closer and closer to Harry, how will he get out with his heart intact? Fic Claim Post

Always by Ischa @ischa-posts

In which Draco is the (in)famous erotica writer H.J. Belladonna, writing successful scandalous novel after successful scandalous novel and hiding his true identity, and Harry is questioning his sexuality after reading one of Belladonna’s books. Until ten years after the war their paths cross again, and Harry doesn’t only question his sexuality, but also the meaning of his obsession with Draco Malfoy.

Let's not wait for France by gnarf @gnarf

All Harry had wanted from his Eighth year at Hogwarts was a little peace and a little privacy but, from the moment that he stepped onto Platform 9 3/4, it was obvious that nothing was ever going to be that easy.

An accidental bond with Malfoy that resulted in them having to stay together at all times was the final straw.

Things couldn't be worse. So much to a quiet year in Hogwarts.

♡✧( ु•⌄• ) I hope you enjoy these as much as I have!  

So sorry for being a bit late posting this one!

As always, thank you so much for  following, reading, and reblogging! Your support means so much to me!

xoxo Carey ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

obnoxious songs they blast while picking you up | pt. 1

Ft. Daichi, Sugawara, Tanaka, Hinata, Kuroo, Yaku, Oikawa, Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Daisho

Warnings: Language, dorky boys, some songs are 18+ lmao sorry kids

A/n: I don’t really know where this idea came from. I was just vibing and listening to music and had the epiphany that I listen to obnoxious shit and decided to put some of them into writing and then it turned into this lol.  I feel like half the boys in this show are petty as fuck and would do this just because of a small fight.  This is also published to Ao3 and there will be a part 2!

Daichi – Bad Boys from COPS

This fucker probably pulls up to your job in a police car, windows rolled down, and blasts this song. Everyone in the general vicinity is just staring.  You are too, but you’re staying in place because your husband is the worst human on earth.

He points at you and motions for you to get in the car, smirking.

You can’t even see his eyes. He’s wearing the classic cop aviators.

Honestly, fuck this guy.

You’re head is lowered as you shamble toward the car, face red, before getting in the passenger seat.

“I’m never asking you to pick me up again, Daichi.”

“Awe, you love it, babe. Plus you’re riding in style.”

This isn’t what you’d call style, especially when he blasting this particular song.

He even has the audacity to turn on the sirens and the lights as he drives away from your workplace.

You’ll have your revenge. . .

Sugawara – Can-Can by Offenbach

You think the person pulling up in a car that’s blasting Can-Can is a genius while also being extremely annoying, until you realize that’s your genius but annoying ass husband.

Sugawara rolls down the window and smirks at you. He’s trying to look cool, doing the whole single-hand on the steering wheel and one arm out the window thing.

And really, he would look cool if he wasn’t playing Can-Can.

“Twerk for me babe.”

You pull the hood of your jacket up and awkwardly walk to the car.

Your face is bright red, but let’s be real, the second you are both in the car together you’re headbutting your asses off to Can-Can because it’s an amazing song.

Fuck y’all if you disagree.

(Jk I love you anyway)

Yeah, he blasts Can-Can a lot at home just because it's amazing.

Usually he does it before cleaning the house because it's very motivating.

Tanaka – Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes

First off, this is the best song that’s ever been created in the history of music.

You can fight me on that.

Anyway-

Tanaka pulls up in your guys’ mini van because it just had the oil changed, and as payback for making him drive a mini van, he thinks he’ll be a little cooler if he just blasts the most badass song ever.

It’s really not. . .

Everyone is staring at Tanaka because for some reason your mini van has hella bass so it’s just vibrating everything in the general vicinity.

You stare at him, smiling, but internally raging. Your husband stares back, smirking widely and very mischievously.

He even dares to lean over the passenger seat and open the door for you.

“C’mon, baby. Get in and be cool with me.”

Hinata – Fur Elise by Beethoven (Klutch Dubstep Remix)

He’s not even trying to be embarrassing. He’s just legitimately vibing with this song when he picks you up.

He probably just got out of volleyball practice, too, so he’s in a tanktop and shorts, sunglasses on his head, and looks like he’s on top of the world as he waits for you to come over to where he’s pulled up and he’s literally headbanging to the song.

It takes you like a whole minute before you realize that’s literally your husband.

You’re like *surprised pikachu face*.

Just let him vibe. . . Don’t ruin his vibe. . .

You just go to the car and get in the passenger seat quietly. He doesn’t even notice because he’s vibing so hard.  He’s doing hand movements and everything, as if he’s the one playing the piano.

When the song ends and he sees you sitting there, his face just lights up.

“Hey, baby! How was work?”

You smile and go on to tell him about your day. You don’t bother to tell him that your entire workplace just witnessed him aggressively headbanging to Fur Elise.

Kuroo – WAP by Cardi B feat. Megan Thee Stallion (but the Rihanna S&M mashup)

You and your husband had a fight earlier that morning. It was over basically nothing (it was about you not making him breakfast because you woke up late -.- This petty fucker—), and you did not apologize to him.

Never let a fight linger with Kuroo’s petty ass.

You watch your husband’s car pull up to the curb, where you’re waiting for him. The music could literally be heard from three blocks away.

Kuroo rolls down the window, smirking, and turns to you.

Deadass, this fucker is shirtless, and wearing aviator sunglasses that he casually pulls down to look at you from over the rim.  His hair is even slicked back and he looks hot.

His arm is dangling over the steering wheel and the song is just blasting.

“Hey, kitten~”

Your face is absolutely burning. Everyone in the general vicinity is staring at this shirtless, attractive motherfucker who you unfortunately chose to marry.

“I’m not making you breakfast for a week, Kuroo.”

You don’t even call him by his first name even though you literally have the same last name as him.

“What!? >:(“

This is probably how he picks you up everyday until you make him breakfast.

Yaku – S my D by Blood on the Dancefloor

This is another case of the man being a petty bitch because of a minor fight.

You may or may not have called your husband short earlier this morning, and you both laughed it off after he scolded you for calling him short. You genuinely thought it was over with until. . .

. . . he’s picking you up for work.

You didn’t even know this song existed until this exact moment, but the lyrics are so vulgar.

Yaku has all the windows down and is screaming this song as it blasts from the speakers.

You deadass just turn around and pretend you don’t know him.

You’re literally five seconds away from just walking home, honestly.

“Isn’t that your husband, Yaku-chan?” one of your coworkers asks.

You glance at the car where your husband is still jamming.

“Hm, nope. Don’t know that guy.  What a weirdo.”

Yeah, everyone knows you’re married to that lunatic but no one says anything.

Oikawa – I’m a Barbie Girl by Aqua

Why wouldn’t he? This fucker probably thinks he’s a living Ken doll.

Jk, but seriously.

You guys had a fight a whole week ago about his haircut. All you said was that he should cut it a little because it was growing into his eyes and he gasps like you’ve just murdered his whole family.

Yeah, he’s dramatic.

So, the next time you ask him to pick you up from work? Well, he’s obviously playing this song and he’s actually jamming to it.

He’s wearing sunglasses and staring at you like he’s staring into your soul.

He only sings the Ken parts and points at you at the Barbie parts like he expects you to actually sing back.

You’re so embarrassed because everyone is staring.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, knows the obvious implications of the song so all the older people around are mildly horrified.

“C’mon, Barbie. Let’s go home,” Oikawa says, winking.

You’ve never wanted to murder your husband as bad as you do right now.

Matsukawa – Skibidi by Little Big

First off, go watch the music video if you haven’t.

. . is this even a surprise?

Your husband is chaotic and he probably forced you to learn the dance with him. You both will randomly turn it on at inopportune moments and fully expect the other person to start the dance (someone do this with me).

You shouldn’t be surprised when your husband pulls up, looking innocent, before beginning to blare the song with all the windows rolled down.

Suddenly he looks like a maniac with the way he’s grinning.

Your jaw drops to the ground and you just stand there for a moment in shock.

Your face is bright red but you’re smiling stubbornly as you begin the horrific dance.

Matsukawa laughs. He literally gets out of the car and starts dancing with you like an idiot.

Everyone is watching in awe and honestly they should be jealous that you guys have so much fun.

Best husband.

Hanamaki – I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers

This is probably a common occurrence honestly. This bitch is chaotic as shit so if you think he wasn’t going to be harassing you every time he picks you up then you’re wrong.

At this point it’s just a challenge to see how far he can go.

Pulls up blaring this song and rolls down the window revealing him to be wearing a beach-themed button up (ya know, the classic dad ones) and he’s smirking like a fucking maniac.

Points at you just before the chorus.

You’re smiling like an idiot because he’s just so stupid and lovable.

“I WOULD WALK 500 MILES AND I WOULD WALK 500 MORE~!!”

He’s screaming so loud that you can’t believe his vocal chords haven’t snapped.

Maki starts doing the rope-pull thing and you play along and go to the car.

Yes, you guys sit in the parking lot screaming that song together until it ends.

Honestly, everyone at your workplace just thinks your husband is the coolest guy ever.

Daisho – Daddy by PSY

Probably thought he was the funniest guy on the face of the Earth when he pulled up to your job blaring this song. He looks like a real cool guy, too.

Sunglasses, short-sleeved shirt to show off muscular biceps, slicked hair.

Ya man has the whole shebang.

You just stare at him, jaw dropped when Daisho turns to you with a smirk. He’s nudges his sunglasses down a little to look at you over the rim.

“Hey, babe,” he greets, too casually for your liking.

The music is so loud that you barely even hear him.

His smirk only stretches wider when he sees your growing embarrassment.

“C’mon, you like my body, just admit it!” he calls.

You get into the car before he can keep talking. You quickly roll up your window but the other three are still down and you know in your heart that there’s no escaping your husband’s will to embarrass you.

“I’ll get payback.”

“Sure you will, babe.”

Welcome to the Murder House - Lights Up on Hampton High

Fuck it. I wasn’t going to post anything today, mush less this, but I thought I’d surprise you all. The only person who really knows about this is @theatergirl06 who read half of the first chapter way back during our ask war (it’s been over a month since then, I think!). I have the whole plot written out already, but I realized I would never finish this unless I started posting and pushed myself to work on it.

A little context! This is my high school/murder mystery AU that’s been in my google drive for a while now (no, it’s not based on WATT - not majorly, at least). PSA: I’m using American style high schools because I’m not British and I don’t want to mess something simple up. I’m cruel, and let’s just say there are going to be many, many plot twists. Also Parrlyn is in there. But enough rambling - it’s time I welcome you... Welcome to the Murder House, please enjoy your stay.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Talk of death, the typical amount of swearing/insults you’d expect from high schoolers, brief slut shaming/sexual harassment, high school bullying, mentions of parental abuse

Anne Boleyn was the most popular girl in school, and it was obvious to anyone just why. She was the prettiest girl around with the most desirable figure. She had a sharp wit, ready to cut anyone who got too close for comfort, yet at the same time drew everyone in. Everyone at Hampton High bowed down at the feet of Anne Boleyn, worshipping her very existence. Any newcomer to the school would immediately be enlightened on her legendary rise to fame.

The only thing Anne Boleyn was more infamous for than her rise to power was her fierce protectiveness over her cousin, Katherine Howard. Katherine was only a sophomore but she had quickly climbed the ranks at Hampton due to Anne keeping her close at all times. It was rare to see the cousins separated outside of their classes. 

Kitty Howard was an innocent lamb compared to the predator that Anne was among the student body. Anne sheltered her from any boy wishing her harm and attacked anyone who even looked at Kitty wrong. Unaware to Anne, this backfired on Kit, keeping her from making any friends of her own other than the seniors Anne deemed acceptable to be around Kitty.

This included Anna von Cleves and Cathy Parr, two of Anne’s classmates whom she had the most faith in. Anna was vulgar and unafraid to fight someone bold enough to challenge her, a butch senior with a history of disciplnary trouble. Anne had known Anna since elementary school when their teachers thought it would be fun to pair the two together due to their names. On the other hand, Cathy was quiet and supportive, but also a talented writer with distinct opinions and uncontrollable stubbornness. She had transferred to Hampton in junior year and Anne had taken her under her wing, hurling her up the social standings. The four of them were the golden quartet of Hampton High and no one dared mess with them.

Not when they were together at least.

Henry Tudor was a popular, brutish jock with as many brain cells as inches on his dick. In his time at Hampton, he had dated six girls, including all of the four aforementioned girls. His first girlfriend, Catherine de Aragon, had dated him for the entirety of freshman year and half of sophomore year. It was in their second year when Catherine found out that Henry had been cheating on her with Anne Boleyn, some popular queen at school. Catherine tried to confront Anne but was instead humiliated and kicked down the social ladder. Anne was boosted to the most popular girl after getting together with Henry.

But karma always came back, and Anne found out her idiotic boyfriend was cheating on her as well. Jane Seymour, the sweet student council member had been seeing Henry before he broke up with Anne. She refused to back off Henry, leading to Henry breaking up with Anne so the two of them could be together. But Anne wouldn’t let herself be pushed out of the light like Catherine, so she fired back at Henry, stepping on him to secure her spot at the top of the social ladder.

After a pregnancy scare, Jane broke up with Henry, too frightened to stay with someone like him. So Henry moved on and tried online dating, meeting HotAC and taking a liking to her. Too bad that when he tried to hook up with her, he found out that she was one of Anne Boleyn’s friends. Too embarrassed to admit that he was scared of getting on Anne’s bad side again, Henry accused Anna von Cleves of being an ugly horse and turned half the student body against Anna and the others.

Thus began the ongoing feud between Henry Tudor and his jocks with Anne Boleyn and her Golden Quartet.

Henry’s final girlfriend was Cathy Parr, if only briefly. When she first got to Hampton, Henry latched onto her and essentially peer pressured her into dating him. Barely a month into the two of them being together, Anne pushed her way into the relationship and saved Cathy from an unsavory high school experience with Henry.

The bad blood between Anne and Catherine and Jane kept the three from interacting, but Anne was fiercely protective of all the other previous girlfriends of Henry Tudor. Senior year, finally the drama with Henry had cooled down and the school seemed to be at a standstill, waiting for the next bombshell to drop. No one dared to talk about Henry’s fifth girlfriend to Anne’s face for fear of what she would do at the mention of his actions...

Like any other day, Anne was sitting at the quartet’s lunch table while Anna was on top of the table itself. Anna had one hand leaning against the table as well as one foot up while the other dangled off the edge. “It said some pretty nasty stuff, are you sure you want to know?” Anna asked hesitantly, her eyes on Anne’s clenched fists.

“Yes, I want to know what they’re saying about my cousin,” Anne gritted out through her teeth.

Nervously scratching her nose, Anna relented. “It was on her locker, thank God she didn’t notice. There was some cheap photo from a porno with the words ‘Slutty Kitty’ written under it.”

“Those dickwads!” Anne slammed her hands against the table.

Rushing to calm Anne down, Anna assured her, “Hey, Cathy and I cleaned it off before Kit could see it.” It was a miracle she managed to calm Anne down, even if only by a little bit. The popular girl was known for having a temper, and it had been a long time goal of Anna’s to balance her out.

What neither of the girls noticed was Kitty herself approaching the table, her backpack pulled tight around her body. She had overheard the conversation, but put on a perky attitude to make it seem like she was oblivious. Anne didn’t like when Kitty was sad, so she tried to avoid being sad around Anne. No need to worry her cousin about something stupid like high school bullying. “Hi Anna, Hi Annie!”

The two girls turned to face Kit and smiled. “Hey Kit,” Anna said, sliding off the table to sit on the bench across from Anne.

“How’s my favorite cousin?” Anne asked, scooting to the side so there was room for Kitty.

Shrugging, Kitty put her backpack on the floor. “I’m fine. Science was boring, as usual. But in history we started talking about the French Revolution, and I told my partner about the time you built a guillotine -”

Gasping in playful shock, Anne covered her cousin’s mouth. “I thought I told you never to talk about that incident!” Anna leaned forward dramatically, even though she had already heard the story multiple times.

“You tried to chop my head off for treason!”

“It was out of love -”

“How do you chop someone’s head off out of love?”

Before the conversation could escalate, Cathy entered the cafeteria and made her way over to the table, catching the trio’s attention. “Hey Cathyyyy,” Anne said, batting her eyelashes at the other girl.

Ignoring Anne, Cathy sat down on the other side of the table with Anna. “Are you still working on that article for the newspaper?” Anna asked before taking a bite of her rice and chicken (yes, she was the stereotypical black girl. She knew and was proud of it).

Nodding in confirmation, Cathy sighed and banged her head on the table. A moment later she lifted her head again and gave the others a tired smile. “Yeah, and it’s kicking my ass. I was just interviewing Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon about -”

“Woah woah woah, you were talking to Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon?” Anne gaped at Cathy.

“Well yeah, it’s for -”

“Why would you talk to them?” Anne exploded. “They’re massive bitches and you know our history. They’re the reason behind all the rumors at school and you entertained their bullshit?”

Giving Anne an incredulous glare, Cathy shot back, “Okay first, I was only talking to them because they’re both in charge of the student community service branch of council and I needed their interviews for the paper. And two, even if I did want to talk to them, who are you to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with? You’re popular Anne, but you’re not our dictator.” All the girls were open mouthed at Cathy’s tirade, but the girl in question only sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry Anne, but let me make my own decisions.”

Swallowing thickly, Anne nodded. “Right, I’m sorry Cathy. Just… the three of us don’t have a good history.”

Laughing lightly, Cathy made eye contact with Anne. “Yeah, I know.”

“More like the whole school knows,” Anna mumbled, giving Anne a fake smile when her head shot to the side to glare at her friend. But when Kitty giggled, Anne let Anna off the hook and laughed with her cousin.

“Hey Anna, you’re still good to walk Kit home, right?”

Shooting Kitty a cheeky grin, Anna confirmed with Anne. “Yeah, I’ll make sure no wild kidnappers jump out to catch her while you’re not there.” They all joked about it, but everyone knew how protective Anne was over her cousin. 

“And Cathy, you and I are still -”

“Still going to infiltrate the cafeteria in order to prove there is malpractice going on, yes.”

Rolling her eyes, Anne complained, “Come on, you make it sound so boring. We’re going to break into the school and cause chaos in the cafeteria.”

“That sounds like fun!” Kit agreed, bumping shoulders with Anne.

Resting her chin on her hand, Cathy exhaled loudly. “It is not fun, it’s important. If we can prove the food isn’t up to health standards, then we can finally take some steps towards proper changes around here,” the writer explained.

“Wait, does that mean they’ll get rid of the pizza?” Anna asked.

“NOT THE PIZZA!” Anne cried, far louder than she should have. Kitty shushed her when some of the nearby tables looked over. Protectively, Anne hunched over the last slice of pizza still on her plate. It was far from healthy but Anne was addicted to the grease.

The only ones at the table who didn’t have lunch were Cathy and Kit. Cathy tended to sleep or work during lunch, so she trained her body to run only on two meals and a plethora of snacks throughout the day. And although Kit wouldn’t admit it, her father never gave her any lunch money or provided her with lunch foods. If she asked, he would give her lunch but then refuse to serve her dinner, so Kitty learned to stop asking. “Look Anne, if you want to break into the cafeteria with me, you’re going to have to forfeit your pizza rights.”

In an almost comical moment, Anne actually contemplated whether to choose pizza or breaking and entering, but eventually she gave in. “Alright, I’m sorry pizza, my second love!” And then Anne devoured the slice.

The other three girls rolled their eyes. Whenever Anne made a comment about “my second love” it was almost always followed up with something like - “As much as I love you pizza, you never stood a chance against Cathy Parr, the apple of my eye.”

For as long as the quartet had been friends, Anne had been flirting with Cathy. None of them questioned it anymore, and even Cathy had become accustomed to the constant shows of affection. Both girls were obviously attracted to each other, but Cathy made it very clear she didn’t want to date anybody anytime soon. So instead, Anne kept serenading her with proclamations of love.

Later that day, Anna and Kit were talking home together, comfortably chatting with each other. “She built the guillotine to threaten Mary, but Mary scares Anne way too much - even though she’ll never admit it - for her to actually attempt it.” Anna nodded along to the story, even though this was probably the fourth time Kit was telling it. “So when I told Anne that the guillotine idea was stupid - which it was! - she accused me of treason.”

“How dare she,” Anna spoke in mock horror, playing along with Kitty.

“Right! Ugh,” Kit groaned, “so of course George was on board with it because he’s always on board with Anne’s shi-” 

Anna shushed Kit aggressively before she could curse. “I may not be your cousin but I don’t want my head chopped off if she gets wind I let you curse.”

Kit frowned but then continued her story. “So they got the guillotine which looked so scary, because I was only ten, and carried me to it execution style. George held me down and everything while Anne tied a blindfold around my eyes. By now I’m freaking out because no one’s stopping them - I didn’t actually think they were gonna kill me,” Kit scoffed in the self assured voice of someone who was most definitely lying. “And whoosh! The blade comes down and I don’t scream, and the two of them are laughing at me!” Kit pouted and stomped her foot in frustration. “The blade was fake, it was only styrofoam.”

Lightly punching Kit’s shoulder, Anna commented, “Must’ve been traumatising.”

“It was embarrassing,” Kit groaned.

“Well it’s your fault for hanging out with them.”

Perking up at those words, Kit ran ahead and spun around so she was walking backwards and facing Anna. “On the topic of hanging out with people…”

Quirking up an eyebrow, Anna invited, “Yes?”

“Do you think Anne would be mad if I hung out with other people?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Anna shrugged. “I don’t know, Anne’s pretty unpredictable. But it’s like Cathy says, she can’t control who you hang out with.”

“So…” Kit waited for confirmation. “Does that mean it’s okay to be friends with other people?”

“Of course Kit, you can be friends with whoever you want,” Anna told the sophomore. The two of them had known each other practically their whole lives, Anna remembering Kit from when she was a toddler. It gave her a lot of teasing material, but usually she left that to Anne. If Kit wanted to branch out and meet new people, Anna would support her without hesitation.

Unbeknownst to Anna, Kit already had an idea of who she wanted to befriend. In her mind, it made perfect sense. Together, the six of them all shared the misfortune of dating Henry, so why shouldn’t they be friends? Or at least acquaintances. She had never told Anne, but Kit found her rivalry with Jane and Catherine stupid. They had so much they could relate to, why let past bad blood govern their relationships?

Anna waved Kit goodbye when they reached her door. “I’ll see you tomorrow Kit,” Anne called, watching to make sure Kitty got inside safely.

“Bye Anna!” she replied, unlocking the door and moving inside. Once the door was closed, Kit let her backpack slide off her back as a smirk grew on her face. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Anne kept turning around in her seat to watch the cafeteria doors, completely ignoring her lunch. Whatever Cathy and Anna were talking about faded into white noise as she peered through waves of students passing through the doors. She couldn’t focus on anything, frantically searching for any sign of her cousin. “You alright Anne?” Anna asked, breaking her conversation with Cathy.

Removing her gaze from the crowds, Anne faced her confused friends. “Have either of you seen Kitty today?”

“I saw her during passing period,” Cathy commented, twirling a pen in her hand.

“Right,” Anne mumbled, shooting another glance at the door. “She’s late for lunch.”

“Maybe a teacher’s holding her up,” Anna offered, 

Still, Anne was unconvinced. “You think something’s wrong?”

“No,” Cathy waved her hand. “Kit can take care of herself, Anne.”

“But what if -”

“But what if nothing,” Cathy cut her off. “She’s not eating lunch with us for one day. It’s not a big deal. You’ll see her after school Anne, and everything will be fine.”

Sighing, Anne shook her head, glancing at the empty seat next to her. “Everything will be fine,” she told herself.

As for Kit, she was on a mission. Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon tended to stay away from others, not interacting all that much with the student body. They were both reserved, so Kit didn’t expect to be able to confront them easily. It was pure dumb luck she ended up where she did.

While leaving her classroom for lunch, Kit had been swarmed by a bunch of juniors who knocked her over without apologizing. All her books went sprawling across the floor, stepped on by her inconsiderate peers. Scrambling around, Kit tried to pick up her papers before they could be ripped or further damaged.

A hand came into view, holding her history textbook. Looking up, Kit was stunned into silence at the kind face of Jane Seymour. “You dropped this,” she prompted, holding out the book.

Hesitantly taking it, Kit murmured, “Thank you.”

Her eyes sweeping across the floor, Jane offered an apologetic glance at the mess of papers. “Do you need some help with this?”

“Uh,” Kit blanked. “That would be great!” she accepted a little too enthusiastically. Jane only chuckled and bent down to help grab the papers.

It occurred to Kit for a moment that Jane might not know who she is. But when Jane handed her the last of the papers and said, “There you go Katherine,” that thought went flying out the window. Biting her lip, Kit awkwardly shifted on her feet. She could leave right now and go have lunch with her friends or… Jane seemed to catch on to what Kit was waiting for. “Would you like to eat lunch with me?” she asked.

Without a second of hesitation, Kit nodded her head. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Well okay then,” Jane grinned, leading Kit away from the cafeteria. “Catherine and I - Catherine de Aragon,” she clarified as if Kit didn’t already know, “we sit outside. It’s peaceful and not many people come to bother us.”

“Sounds nice,” Kit replied, her voice still soft. Jane noticed but decided not to comment on it. She wasn’t one to judge people.

When the two of them made it out of the building, Jane was flagged over by Catherine de Aragon who was sitting on a blanket under a tree. It seemed like she had set up for a picnic, even though they were still on school grounds in the middle of a school day. “You brought a guest today?” Catherine raised her eyebrows at Jane, her lips tugging upwards.

“Sure did,” Jane replied, plopping down next to her. “You can sit down wherever you like Katherine.”

Awkwardly shuffling to the opposite side of the blanket, Kit sat down and hugged her backpack to her chest. She didn’t have any lunch, as per usual, so she used her backpack as a barrier between her and the other two girls. Suddenly, she cursed herself for wanting to make new friends. Where had this social anxiety been before she got here?

Catherine and Jane seemed to notice her awkwardness (who wouldn’t?), so they attempted to get rid of it. “So Katherine…” the other Catherine started. “Why’d you want to have lunch with us today?”

Mumbling lightly, Kit felt a small blush of embarrassment rise to her cheeks. “What?” Jane prodded, unable to hear Kit’s answer. 

“I wanted to make new friends,” she told them, burying her head in her arms.

The two seniors shared a glance before turning their attention back to Kit. “Of course you can be our friend,” Jane assured her.

“Really?” Kit peeked her head up.

“Sure, why not,” Catherine answered. “You seem nice enough, and there’s no reason for us not to be friends.”

Frowning, Kit picked at her fingernails. “But Anne.”

Visibly, Jane flinched and Catherine’s face morphed into a snarl. “You’re not her,” Jane spoke calmly, putting a hand on Catherine’s arm. “If you want to be our friend, we’re not going to let that come between us.”

For a moment, Kit almost ran away. This is what she wanted, but now that it was being presented to her, she was terrified. She had never had friends that weren’t also Annie’s. She didn’t know how to start her new friendships other than with, “Okay.”

Catherine and Jane shared a glance. “Okay.”

“Well this is going to be awfully confusing for me,” Jane laughed, “Two C/Katherines!”

“Oh!” Kit perked up, “You can call me Kat. Or Kit. Or Kitty. Any of them work.” Then to herself, “Wow, I have a lot of nicknames.”

Chuckling, Catherine stuck out her hand. “Kat’ll do. Well Kat Howard, I’m your new friend Catherine.”

“And I’m your new friend Jane. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

At the end of the day, Kit almost screamed in surprise when Anne practically rugby tackled her to the ground. “Where were you!” Anne demanded, hugging Kit tightly. “I was so worried.”

“I’m fine Annie,” Kit assured her cousin. 

“Then where were you?” Anna stood beside Anne, watching the scene unfurl. Anne was huffing, her face red, a cross between relief, fear, and anger. The Boleyn girl cared so much about her cousin, but sometimes she became overbearing.

Hugging Anne back, Kit explained, “With my new friends.”

“You have new friends!” Anne brightened, pulled Kit closer. “That’s amazing! Do I know them?”

Letting out an awkward laugh, Kit prepared for the worst. “Jane Seymour and Catherine de Aragon,” she admitted.

Freezing, Anne slowly pulled away from Kit. “What?” she asked, her face as hard as stone.

“Jane Seymour and Catherine de -”

“I heard what you said!” Anne screeched. “You of all people, Kit!” Turning around and stomping a few feet away, Anne screamed into her hands. She spun back around to face Kit and marched up to her. “Those girls aren’t worthwhile friends. They don’t actually care about your wellbeing -”

“How do you know that!” Kit fired back in frustration. “You’re blinded by this stupid fued that’s been going on for years. They were nice to me and we didn’t even have to talk about Henry or any of that.”

Clenching her fists, Anne tried to stay calm. “I don’t trust them Kit. I don’t feel comfortable letting you hang around them.”

“Good thing it’s not your choice then,” Kit stood up for herself. Anna continued watching to the side, frantically texting Cathy for backup. She wasn’t getting any response.

Yelling through her teeth, Anne pulled at her hair. “Kitty, my dearest cousin,” she spoke in a sweet voice. “You know I love you.”

“Don’t you dare and try and guilt me.”

There was a moment where Anne almost continued, but her conscience kicked in. She knew Kit’s history with guilt tripping, and that was a line she would never cross. Before either of them could make another comment, Cathy came bursting out the school doors, sprinting towards them faster than she had ever run in her life. Anna looked up from her phone which she had been repeatedly texting Cathy on. “Cathy? What’s wrong?” Anna called.

Gasping for air as she slid to a stop in front of them, Cathy’s face was ghostly white. “Christina Denmark is missing. The police think she’s been murdered.”

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

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thenicestnonbinary @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone @sixqueendom @frogs-in-clogs @timetoriseabove

Please, please, please publish Abby’s new diatribe as I have apparently been blocked (or perhaps just don’t know enough about tumblr to find it). I’m dying to see what she worked on for two months to justify her existence!

Anonymous said: Oh dear, looks like Abby’s family didn’t get her help after all, a lost cause then, what an absolute waste of a life. It’s actually sad. A shame her family didn’t get her help

Le sigh...she is not well. She hasn’t learned one thing while she’s been away and she still has the exact same grievances- mostly about how much she hates Mia and how much she feels sorry for herself because we aren’t lapping up her fantasy and showering her with adoration for being the leader of the ccship. Her main complaint, the reason she popped back in to write the same tired complaints and criticisms, is that she’s tired of people blaming Darren for the ccsituation. It’s always about her love for ccDarren and her need to absolve him of all responsibility for all of the things the cc fandom dislike about him and his life. IT’S ALWAYS MIA’S FAULT and the defacto fandom leaders aren’t reminding everyone “it’s never Darren’s fault” and “always blame Mia’s”.

She lashes out to criticize the “hate blogs” but ultimately she blames Ricky and Mia for EVERYTHING including the “attack on her family” (which of course, was NOT an attack on her family, it was a plea for her family to get her some help).  She claims “they” tried to shut her up and then lists all the evidence that “they” tried to end her blog:  HER copyright strikes (lots of us have one) and the “hate” blogs before listing individual grievances against several bloggers, amping up the grievance for dramatic effect and making it seem like they were coordinated, well-planned attacks against her. She negates her own part e.g. I published the photo ONLY after she dared me to several times. All of this because  “If this is what they were willing to do to me, a mere fan, imagine what they are well to do to him, their absolute life sources?” “They” aka Mia and Ricky.  

I found it hard to read. She’s not in a good place.  

***************************************  

Hello CCLand!  Have you missed me?  I know I have missed you all.  This post is not me coming back, frankly, I still have not decided how I want to navigate the future, but for the past 2 months all of this has been festering inside, so I need to post and make a few points.

First and foremost, I want to say that I am incredibly proud of my blog. I spent 5 years building a relationship with my readers and trying to provide a voice for 2 people who have been marginalized and frankly had their voices largely muted. I will never apologize for this or feel bad about it. Nor will I feel bad about pointing a finger at people that I know are truly evil.  

I am far from perfect and I admit, I made 2 massive errors.  I overshared because I was naive and never thought the information would be used against me.  And I did not pay enough attention to the hate blogs and their threats.

This was a blog that I started when I first learned about CC and frankly it grew out of love and a need to try to bring justice to a person that is absolutely a victim of a completely antiquated and abusive system.  Further, I don’t THINK D is closeted, I KNOW D is closeted.  And I have substantial facts to back up that statement.  I never intended to become the most read CC blog or to meets so many wonderful an amazing people that I admire, but that is what happened and that has given me great joy.

But with the good comes the bad, and what happened to me is absolutely sick and depraved.  And I am writing this post in hopes that someone will read it and see just how fucked up the behavior of a few “fans” has been towards me and to help them to extend this to what has been done to D and C.  Please do not feel sad for me, or send me sympathy, it is not my point.  But I hope that perhaps it will inspire some of you to be more active and to fight a little harder as I try to navigate the harassment that occurred to my family.

Pretty much since I started to write, I have been receiving hate, something to be expected when you join a fandom like this. But at some point, it became much more frequent and took a turn from manageable hate to harassment and bullying.  In October of 2017, I got my first ask with my full name and from that day forward there has been an active attempt to try to bullying me off the internet. Now ask why that is?  I am just a fan, with what most think is a crazy belief, with a relatively small following. I do not and have not tagged the players nor do I contact them directly. I have never been anything but incredibly polite to  D and C, and frankly I have ignored M whenever I have been in her presence because she is not worthy of my time or energy. I have never reached out to them over SM to make one statement about fandom. So why such an effort to silence my voice?  Especially if it is as insignificant as they claim?  

They tried deleting my blog, that failed. They tried with copyright infringements but I got smarter about making sure to post links.  So, what did they do?  They started with vicious attacks on my character on their hate blogs. Posting my full name and image.  Analyzing every word i wrote, desperately trying to debunk me, stating that i had severe mental health issues.  Tagged C, W, and A/lla to warn them about my presence at a book signing.  They stalked my friends and I at a festival, made false accusations, and published a photo. This meant that had to seek us out, locate where we were sitting and wait for a moment when they could get an image that they could twist to their favor.  That is insane. And there is no way to twist it to say its normal or expected.

But that apparently was enough harassment.  They threatened my work and my career.  Next, they started to stalk my family on the internet and use a devastating injury and a charity to harass and bully my family to the point that I did have to make the painful decision to not just stop posting but to protect my blog. This is completely vile and inexcusable behavior.  And the fact that it was not stopped, is a strong statement about the people clearly in control.

Why am I recounting? Because I want people to wake up and stop blaming D for every twist and turn.  If this is what they were willing to do to me, a mere fan, imagine what they are well to do to him, their absolute life sources? I am just another body left behind in the carnage, D is their source of money and fame. And not just his team and his “bride” but all of the people that have ridden his coattails to have name recognition.  

I wish people would realize this is not choose your own adventure book, D is a human who has been held against his will due to an enormous amount of power they clearly wield over him. How do you not see that if he could, he would end this?  This has not been about him being straight in so long, straight is how they control him and how they are able to make M relevant.  

And if you though this was a choice, how were you not woken up in the days following his dad’s death? I would guess not 48 hours after he buried his father, he was dragged from his mother’s home, forced to play dress up and pose for a ridiculous, cruel and inhumane set of pics.  D has lied about many things, but never about his parents, he has always been nothing but reverent when he speaks about them and his love and respect for them is clear.

Clearly, I have not gone anywhere, and I am still watching and reading every word. I have actually been incredibly proud of D during the majority of press for HW.  He has made so many statements that are a foundation for the truth, including telling us that young actors do things that they later learn to regret, telling us that HW has not changed, and stating that the person you see has a story we will never know.  

The press to legitimize and canonize M has been laughable and beyond transparent. It is so obvious this is on his list of required duties and the fact that they did not pause if for 1 week when his dad died is absolute proof that this is not a choice.

I do have to laugh at the irony of the d “quote” about fans being mean to his poor “wife” (that he himself has called a big girl).  So it is ok to bully a fan off the internet to the point that they stalked and harassed my family (and it does not matter if his was led by his team, her, her friends, or a fan in her name), but it is not ok for a small handful of fans to discuss the sad reality and point the finger at the truth?

Anyhow, this got way too long, but it has all been building up inside.  This blog was  such a massive part of my life and I miss it and you more than words can say. I encourage all of you to keep supporting these incredible men, I have no doubt they are worth it. I do think they next few months will bring about change, but what they change is, we still don’t know. I hope that D wins sooner than later. I am not certain how much longer he can be expected to sustain this weight.   If you reached this point, thank you for reading.    I am going back to my quiet corner now.  

Quick Review of the True Crime Books I Read in 2019 (Part 1)

Review of Books in 2018 Part 1 and Part 2

Review of books in 2017 Part 1 and Part 2

Review of books in 2016 Part 1 and Part 2

Review of books in 2015

Reasonable Doubt by Steve Vogel: One of the best titles I read this year was this very thorough account of the Hendricks murders, a mother and her three kids who were butchered with an ax and a knife in their home in Illinois in 1983. The husband and father, David Hendricks, was sent to prison but acquitted in a second trial seven years later, because there really wasn’t any concrete evidence against him other than a dubious motive. Vogel is one of the journalists that covered the case from the first day and he does a great job of going deep into the investigation and the trial, and also into who David Hendricks and the victims were. I’ve seen people comment that this book takes you to the jury box and I think that’s an accurate description, because you’re constantly weighing the evidence and trying to come up with a fair verdict. Vogel eventually reached the conclusion that Hendricks wasn’t guilty (at least in the legal sense) but he tried his best to portray all the evidence as fairly and balanced as possible, letting the readers come up with our own conclusions.

Wrecking Crew by John Ferak: This book is a slightly more in depth retelling of what you saw in the second season of Making a Murderer and a completely unnecessary read, in my opinion, unless you’re a die hard fan of defense lawyer Kathleen Zellner or are so convinced of Steven Avery’s innocence that you just want to read all over again why the police and the state of Wisconsin have screwed him over endlessly. My problem with this book is that I don’t feel it even tries to be a nuanced portrayal and investigation. The author is clearly set on showing what a corrupt system surrounds the whole Avery case, but at times it really seems like it’s just Zellner talking through him instead of it being an independent analysis, so I really struggled with its credibility. And I’m one of those that think the Avery case is very messed up, can’t imagine anyone who is convinced of his guilt enjoying this.

Obsession by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker: As always, former FBI profiling pioneer John Douglas offers a great selection of chilling cases with poignant and intriguing analysis, in this case focusing on crimes against women that involve stalking and rape. It’s not his best book and it feels a little dated at moments, since it was published in 1998 and for example the whole first section of the book talks about some unidentified serial killer in Wichita that we now know it’s Dennis Rader. Douglas also does something I haven’t seen in other books of his, and includes quotes and opinions from other people: one of them is Linda Fairstein, who maybe at the time of this writing was some champion of women’s rights but now we are aware of her unethical actions in the Central Park Five case and her connections to rapist Harvey Weinstein, so eww. There’s also a large section about a victim advocacy group and some of their recommendations and while it’s important information it kind of drags and, again, feels very dated in this day and age.

Murder in the Stacks by David DeDok: The case in itself is certainly interesting: this book covers the murder of  Betsy Aardsma, who was stabbed in the middle of Penn State’s library in 1969, and to this day no one has been convicted for it. Investigative journalist David DeKok goes pretty deep into Betsy’s life and in his own theory of who killed her, exploring the alleged culprit’s life as well (and boy is he a piece of work). It’s always both thrilling and complex to read a non fiction book claiming a version as an absolute truth, but I’ll say that DeDok certainly makes a good case to support his claims. That being said, Murder in the Stacks wasn’t the most compelling read in terms of narrative and I’ve already forgotten big chunks of it so I’m not sure if that’s very promising.

Cold Kill by Jack Olsen: Jack Olsen is one of the better respected true crime authors, even though reading his books you’ll often think you’re actually reading fiction. His writing style, which I can only assume comes from thorough and rigorous investigation, is getting in the minds of the people involved in the crimes, in this case, one of the killers, so by the time the crime actually happens you’re deeply invested in these people and everything is more impactful. Cold Kill tells the story of David West, a guy with some serious issues and conceptions about women and life, and how his toxic relationship with a woman named Cindy Ray Campbell (who at times makes Karla Homolka seem saintly) led to the murder of two people for no good reason other tan greed and stupidity. It’s a very well written book and the case in itself is both sad and fascinating. Recommended.

Targeted by M. William Phelps: I was thoroughly confused by this book and the author’s intentions. It is presented as an “excellent piece of journalistic investigation” into Tracy Forlson, a sheriff’s deputy who was convicted for murdering her boyfriend but she claims she was framed because she was accusing her department of sexual harassment. The summary of the book will tell you that it will “lead to questions about her guilt”, but to me at least that wasn’t true. This book more seemed like a personal vendetta of Phelps against Forlson because, as he says through the story, he felt she was trying to manipulate him and his ego couldn’t handle it. It’s a weird, ranting book with large sections of his interactions with Tracy and constantly repeating that she’s a CONVICTED MURDERER and how dare she tell him this or that, all after another ranting prologue of Phelps whining about the reputation of true crime authors. I finished the novel not coming even close to doubting Tracy’s guilt and pretty annoyed with Phelp’s defensiveness and arrogance.

A Clockwork Murder by Steve Jackson: Steve Jackson is very good at bringing to life lesser known crimes, which is kind of surprising because the crimes he writes about are often horrific. In this case, the book covers the abduction and murder of Jacine Galinski in 1997, although it mostly tells the story of the two killers, George Woldt and Lucas Salmon, a pair of despicable, sick human beings who you get to know more than you’d like to through Jackson’s compelling narrative. Can’t say it will be a book you’ll never forget but it’s certainly worth the read if you’re interested in the workings of criminal minds.

Precious Victims by Charles Bosworth Jr. and Don Weber: I quite enjoyed Silent Witness, another collaboration between Bosworth and prosecutor Don Weber. This book is not as twisty or compelling as that one but it is about a more well known crime, and the one that really jump started Weber’s career. In 1986, Paula Sims reported that her newborn daughter Lorelai had been kidnapped by an armed man. Her body was found some time after in the woods behind her home. Then in 1989 lightning struck twice and Paula again called police to say that her newborn daughter, Heather, had been kidnapped as well (by now she was living in a different place and had another son). Heather’s body was found in the garbage can of a park. With no real evidence of kidnapping and such a ludicrous story, Paula was eventually convicted of murder and is currently still in prison, where she eventually confessed to both killings. In November 2019 she asked for a new trial, claiming that she suffered from postpartum psychosis, but if you read this book you’ll doubt that’s true. Remember this was written by the prosecutor, and the theory presented here is that neither Paula nor her husband Robert (who was pretty shady but never got formally accused of anything) wanted girls and that’s why she got rid of them. You can expect a fairly awful portrayal of Paula here, as a woman who rarely showed (or felt) any emotion. Still, the book is quite interesting, especially during the trial process.

Anyone else just so fucking tired of the SwSh drama going on, regardless of what side you’re on?

Look, I’m gonna be reasonable and try to please both sides. I can definitely see where the frustration lies within the community. Game Freak should’ve really considered how bad of a backlash that their decision would make and how much damage this would do to their reputation and I hope they either consider pushing everything back to compensate (which I know is probably unfeasible) or patching the rest of the Pokémon in at a much later date whenever they can. It may take a while, but I’d much rather have them later than never. I won’t lose sleep over all this, but I do think it would appease the fanbase, however toxic they can be at times.

That being said, I personally am growing really tired of the whole “#BringBackNationalDex” movement and all the arguments stemming to either one tree or Wingulls. I was at first on their side, so long as they handled the matter civilly without resorting to pot shots or repeated (not to mention fucking pathetic) arguments. And at first, I thought that this was the case... until they resorted to spam, hate messages, and just outright callous jackassery that pretty much made Masuda go radio silent, and I don’t blame him.

Now, I’m not saying that consumers shouldn’t have a voice in what a developer does or not. I definitely agree that if somebody screws up or if a developer/publisher does something shady, they SHOULD be called out on it unless they make a course correction or explain themselves. And yes, the news does hurt a lot if you’re into competitive battling (I’m not skilled enough for it and wasn’t that into it) or collecting (Kinda into it but wasn’t batshit crazy about completing games 100%), but as shown in the parentheses, it didn’t hurt me too much. Disappointed? Yeah. But so incensed that I would continue to bludgeon the devs over the head with it? No.

I think a lot of how much this drama will affect you will depend on what kind of player you are, in my opinion. I’m not a competitive battler nor am I a collector. I usually play the games for the stories being told, seeing the new locales, and meeting the cast of characters, and if they’re not sound, then that does hamper my experience a tad. That’s why I loved Sun/Moon and B/W so much, and why X/Y’s story could’ve maybe needed a bit more fleshing out, in my opinion. Even the weakest of Pokémon’s plots still can at the very least engage me, because I love the world-building and the colorful assortments of Pokémon (though saying that out loud makes it sound like ice cream oof). There’s something in Pokémon for everyone, y’know?

Just to be sure, I asked a lot of my friends and my girlfriend what they thought about the drama (some of them either competitive battlers or collectors), and their reactions ranged from “disappointed, yet still optimistic” to “not caring at all about the drama” and even along the lines of “thank god now i can just focus on the new ones”, just so this whole post doesn’t just reflect my own opinion. I even asked some people in some of my Discord servers, and I even had civil discussions with some of them who really weren’t fans of this at all. It just goes to show that there are other ways of handling this discourse rather than rash or foolish hatred. The world already has too much of that for its own good.

Plus, this isn’t the first time discourse like this has happened. Remember the chaos that was when at first you could only catch Unova Pokémon in B/W? Granted, yes, you could still catch older Pokémon in the post-game, but it was still viewed as rather awful to hold back entire generations of Pokémon for one rather small post-game (even if I didn’t mind it due to me being eleven at the time and already have enjoyed the adventure). I’m sure all of this will subside in due time and we’ll probably have a laugh about all this.

Just a disclaimer that I am NOT supporting the whole “buy products then get excited for the next products” mindset. Again, I do believe that consumers should say something if there isn’t something good in a game they’re excited for or if a franchise is moving in a direction that maybe isn’t preferred by everyone. I just feel like there are other ways of going about it than either harassing developers in cruel ways or labeling people who are still optimistic for the games as “shills”, “apologists”, or saying that “you’re not supposed to enjoy these games”. And sadly, that seems to be the theme that I’m seeing as of late with these movements, and most of the fanbase as a whole, who I dare say have been acting like a cult akin to Eden’s Gate from Far Cry 5 more than anything. They took a reasonable argument that was arguably justified and turned it into a pile of whiny shit, to the point where I can’t seem to discern what the argument was even about anymore.

Me personally, I’m still gonna get the games regardless of the controversy. Gasp! I know, “so horrible” of me! But I think, just as long as the game is satisfying to me, I’ll probably have a good time. I know my friends are most likely gonna get it, and I hope to get the game for my girlfriend too! But that’s for another day.

Sorry for the long list of text, I just needed to get this off my chest. Hope you guys have a good day!

EDIT: Just a side note that I’m not expecting anyone to agree with me! If you don’t agree with what I have to say, perfectly understandable! You feel however you want! I just hope you can hear me out on how I feel. :D

Giving Love a Bad Name – Confessions of a Fanfiction Writer

I know we’re supposed to blog about our major projects this week and I promise I will get to that soon, but I’d like to go off book for a moment to address something that’s been bugging me since last Thursday’s class. As someone who’s always tried to engage with fandom in as creative a way as possible, I hoped a class on user generated content would offer a fresher perspective than the usual amount of prejudice and self-righteous superiority that sadly seem to accompany the subject of fanfiction even amongst people that make stories and their passion for it their bread and butter.

Guess I should have known better.

In the world of professional writers, fanfiction is still a filthy word. It sums up everything that’s wrong with the people you’re sharing your stories with: the obsessiveness, the entitlement, the disregard for boundaries, the penchant for making everything about sex. Worse, gay sex, as unspeakably dirty as it’s hilarious. Be warned, writers: if you make it big, your stories will inevitably become a free-for-all at the mercy of those people. A worse fate than even George R. R. Martin could wish on his own characters.

I’m used to seeing the world of fanfiction belittled and disparaged, of course, and I’m the first to admit that the community is often its own worst enemy. But for some reason it still hurt a little to sit in class and listen to people I’ve come to like and respect during these past few months buy into every bad stereotype associated with the form. Not because I felt called out (though yes, I do write fanfiction from time to time, and I happen to quite enjoy reading it too), but because of the underlying assumptions that 1. something that’s not 100% original cannot be art, it’s a violence in fact, especially if it twists someone else’s creation into something it was never meant to be (in this case, queer representation); and 2. there’s something wrong with creating exclusively out of love, without ever expecting to be paid for it. And I have Strong Opinions on that.

So let’s talk about fanfiction.

Actually, scratch that, let’s talk about my favorite subject – yours truly. As you may have gathered by now, I love fanfiction. A whole fangirly lot. My gateway drug into it was my obsession with Lost about 10 years ago and its pesky habit of offing every character I was foolish enough to get attached to. But lo! Someone was keeping them alive through their stories! I felt blessed. I got to spend more time in a world I loved, and I stopped flirting with the idea of giving up on the show every time another character I liked bit the dust. Everybody won.

Even more than as a fan, though, I appreciated the world of possibilities that fanfiction opened up to me as a non-native speaker. I come from a small town in the north of Italy; the access I had to foreign books in their original language was limited, and if I wanted to read something in English I’d have to spend quite a lot of money on one of the very few novels (usually chunky airport bookshop thrillers or housewife romances – not exactly my preferred genres) that shared a single shelf in the bookstore with German, French, Spanish titles. But fanfiction was free, accessible, and there was so much of it. If I didn’t like a story, all I needed to do was move on to the next. Suddenly there was an infinite library of engaging stories to help me make my English better. True, they didn’t all read like a published novel would – there’s a lot of unpolished, error-plagued, stream-of-consciousness-y material out there. But there are also so, so many beautifully written works, and believe me, even for a non-native speaker it’s very easy to spot the difference.

Fanfiction also gave me the chance and motivation to practice my English writing in a way school never could have done. I’ve been writing my own stories since I could hold a pen, but I didn’t dare write in English until I was a fanfiction-loving teenager. It was a marketing decision, really – my first foray into writing fanfiction was for a fandom so small that I wouldn’t be surprised to find out I’m the only Italian representative, so if I wanted any kind of feedback on my work I’d have to suck it up and try my hand at writing in a language that didn’t come natural to me. I would never argue that the feedback I got on my works made me a better writer – contrary to popular opinion, the fanfiction community is made up of the nicest, most supportive people, and alas, you’ll never get a comment on everything you did wrong with your structure or even just pointing out common grammar mistakes from them (though I was lucky enough to have someone explain to me how dialogue punctuation works differently in English than in Italian, so I guess something can be learned even from the Internet). It did motivate me to keep writing, though, and that made me a better writer. If you think I’m being too dramatic, dishing out this monster of a post nobody asked for just to declare my eternal devotion to fanfiction, it’s because it’s personal to me. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been told that I write in English as well as native speakers, and fanfiction is a big part of why that’s true. I doubt I would even be in this course if it wasn’t for it.

And then, of course, there’s the gay thing. I’m not going to argue about how heteronormativity sucks and representation matters because I’m sure everyone’s as sick of talking about it as I am, but please try to understand how it felt for a gay person like me, used to be depicted in media as a plot device or token secondary-character representation if at all, to be able to step into a world where queerness was the default for once. Where queer protagonists had meaningful queer love stories and queer friends and got to save the world from the Apocalypse too. Or to fight the Empire or go to Hogwarts or everything else fictional straight people have had a right to do since the dawn of storytelling in addition to romancing the hottie of their choice. I’m not asking you to feel as passionately about it, of course, but (especially if you’re straight) you might try and empathize the next time you think a fanart of two boys kissing is something deserving of your amused contempt.

I hope I’m not coming across as the person that screams “homophobe” at everyone who disagrees with her because I guarantee that’s not what I’m trying to do here, but I think the general distaste for slash says a lot about the way our society sees heterosexual relationships as love and homosexual relationships as sex. Yes, there’s a lot of gay porn in the world of fanfiction. But you know what you’re most likely to find? Romance. Not in the saucy literary sense of the word, but in its simpler, most literal acceptation. Fanfiction is just one more way for humans to express themselves, after all, and love has always been front and center in our art. Love, not sex – even if it’s gay. In fact, explicit material doesn’t even make up the majority of what you’ll find on a fanfiction website. Don’t worry, I don’t want anyone to taint their souls by visiting one of those dens of iniquity so I pulled some stats myself. Here’s the number of works for each rating in three of the most popular fandoms on Archive Of Our Own, the current go-to website for the fanfiction community (sorry Fanfiction.net) – Harry Potter, Supernatural and the Marvel Cinematic Universe as of 9/3/2019:

Even counting both Mature and Explicit works as straight-up porn (which I don’t think is quite fair, but that’s a discussion for another day), they only make up less than 1/3 of the material. Kinda disappointing, for a medium that’s supposed to be all about filthy graphic gay sex. Imagine if only one in three musicals actually featured singing and dancing, or superheroes weren’t in the majority of superhero movies. They’re lucky fanfiction is shared for free, or I’d be screaming for my money back.

Maybe I’ve just been brainwashed by SJWs, though, and this has nothing to do with my being an immigrant or a lesbian. Maybe my inability to see what’s so bad about appropriating someone else’s intellectual property for your own amusement is a cultural thing. I apologize – as mentioned, I’m Italian, and we all know Ancient Roman culture was basically just a ripoff of everything those inventive Greeks came up with. It’s in our blood. Hell, our 2€ coin, the biggest, has the face of Dante Alighieri on it, a writer most famous for having written 14.000+ verses of self-insert real-person-fic in which the girl he fancied as a teenager, his favorite author, and God himself all fall over themselves to tell him how awesome he is and he gets to prophesy an eternity in Hell for his political enemies. Talk about wish-fulfilling entitlement. Not to mention all those creatively arid Renaissance “artists” celebrated for stealing characters from the Bible and Greek mythology (seriously, the fact that Greece hasn’t unleashed an army of lawyers on us yet is nothing short of a miracle) and putting them in their cheesy paintings. Other countries can rely on a much stronger moral backbone and endless imagination – I’m sure Shakespeare, Milton, Goethe, those creative geniuses at Disney and countless others never had to resort to something as cheap and despicable as borrowing other people’s characters to tell the stories they wanted to tell.

Either way, I can’t help it – I see the prospect of creating something that will resonate with people so strongly that they’ll make it a part of themselves, that it’ll compel them to make more art, to reach out and connect with other fans, as something incredibly beautiful rather than scary. Maybe this is my usual naiveté speaking, and I will come to eat my words. It’s certainly disturbing that a bunch of entitled fans bullied the Mass Effect developers into changing the series’ ending, and sending actors explicit fanart of themselves is straight-up harassment, but is fanfiction really the problem here? Or is it social network culture, with its power to destroy all barriers and foster hive mind? To give resentment a platform to spread and be heard? I promise that the average fanfiction writer wouldn’t campaign to get an ending changed. They’d just roll up their sleeves and write a better one themselves.

Hamilton Omegaverse 3

His entire weekend was spent the same way and he was put into a cycle of work and Netflix all week, only watching Netflix at home, of course. He was more productive than before and decided to keep that system. It wasn't like he did much outside of work, anyways. And he kept reading the paper, mainly when his works were printed. Most of what he wrote was printed, but... there were a few articles with the same topic as his own written by someone else. Charles Lee? Who was that? John sighed and shrugged it off each time. It was probably some older journalist.

The rest of the month came and went faster than John realized and it wasn't long before some guy came over and knocked on his door.

"Hey, omega, the boss wants to see you and me right now."

"I have a name and it's not omega."

"You're the only one of them here. It's easier to remember that than a name I might not have to hear again soon," he remarked with a cocky smirk.

John furrowed his eyebrows. What did he mean he might not have to hear it again? He got up and followed him to Washington's office.

"We're here, sir."

"Excellent. Shut the door behind you and come over, take a seat."

"With pleasure, sir." The kiss ass alpha did just that and bumped John's shoulder as he passed him, sitting in front of Washington's desk.

John stayed quiet about it and sat down beside him.

"Thank you gentlemen for coming. I'm sure you're unaware of this, Lee, but John was given articles to write as a trial run for a position as a journalist, which is why his were published instead of yours. I'm happy with his results and-"

"And you want me to mentor him! How great. I'll have lots of fun making a new, omega friend."

John cringed. Why did he keep saying that word? It wasn't like his dynamic mattered that much. He knew he was so much more than an omega, not that he was ashamed of his dynamic.

"No. Quite the contrary, actually. Lee, your writing is stale and your perspective is different than anyone else here. You do nothing more than just blend in and go against anything that means the slightest conflict, even fighting the notion of bathrooms separated by dynamic, along with gender, despite someone you know being a victim of assault in a men's bathroom."

John frowned. He'd actually been assaulted and harassed multiple times when going into the men's bathroom, either because he 'just wasn't man enough' or 'an omega is no man' and to hear that someone didn't want to protect male and female omegas, who were just as easily harassed by female alphas, just because they didn't want the conflict made his blood boil.

"So, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that John Laurens is going to be your replacement. I've been trying to find one for a while, actually."

"You're joking. I've worked here for years and you want to get rid of me for some trashy little omega?" He jumped to his feet, enraged.

"It's only been two years and do not refer to any of my employees in that matter." Washington had made it clear to John that the only reason he was the only omega there was because no others ever applied.

"This is bullshit!"

He called security into the room and they, quite literally, dragged Lee out of the office and out of the building, guarding every entrance to keep him from coming back in. One officer even took out his things for him, at Washington's request.

"I'm honored that you think so highly of me, sir.."

"Don't let this get to your head, now. You're not without faults yourself, but those can be fixed with experience. A pay raise will be going into effect for you this month, since you will be handling the roles of both a cartoonist and a journalist."

"I won't let you down! I promise!"

Washington nodded, smiling a bit at John's enthusiasm. "I wouldn't expect anything less. You're dismissed."

John cheered himself all the way back to his office, where Alexander was waiting in his chair.

"Are you alright? We heard screaming and saw Lee get dragged out."

"I'm more than alright! I got that jerk's job! I'm now a proud journalist and a cartoonist!"

Alexander smiled. "That's great! You should totally come out with me and my friends for drinks to celebrate."

"I would be fine with that.. But I don't drink, again. I'm only 19."

"Not according to your computer. I didn't mean to peep or anything, it just popped up on the screen while I was sitting here, birthday boy."

John smiled. He didn't like making a big deal out of his birthday, but he would respect anyone else who did. "Alright, it's my birthday. But I still can't get into any bars."

Alexander nodded and thought for a second. "We'll make a bar. We can hang out at someone else's apartment."

"I don't know.."

"Oh, come on. I'll keep an eye on you myself. No alphas will try to touch you. If they do, I will drive you home myself and never ask you to go out again."

"Well... Alright." Alexander seemed to trust his friends so much, John couldn't help but think it was fair enough to do the same.

"Yes! I'll get the word out and I'll keep it small!"

And when Alexander said small, he really meant small. Besides the two of them, there were only two others, two more alpha males.

"It's nice to officially meet you guys. I'm John, the cartoonist."

"I'm Hercules and this is Lafayette. We're both journalists in different departments."

John worked mainly with the political department in his writing, but he did get cartoon requests from basically all other departments. "It's nice to meet you two."

"Happy birthday, by the way. We would have brought something, but Alexander didn't tell us until we were on our way here," Lafayette commented.

"Oh, don't worry about that. You didn't have to get me anything. Alex just dragged me out here to have some fun." Only after John made him take him to his apartment and feed his pets, though.

"You deserve it. I haven't seen this guy take a break since he started working with us."

"Sounds a lot like you a few years ago," Hercules commented with a laugh. "Alexander would not leave his computer for anything and it was ridiculous. We had to practically pry him away sometimes."

"Wow, that's the same guy that always comes into my office while we're supposed to be working?"

Alexander shrugged. "What can I say? I learned to chill. And you should to. You're way ahead in life, compared to some people. Hell, even compared to a lot of alphas I know. I mean, just look at Lee!"

John nodded. "I see your point."

It wasn't long before the alcohol started getting to the alphas, John didn’t want to drink, as they sat in a circle and played truth or dare. They were allowed to refuse, mainly because all three were so curious about the life of an omega, but John didn't have to. He took every intrusive question like a champ.

"So, what's it like to not have to deal with stupid knots?" Lafayette asked.

John had been expecting the question, but he didn't have an answer for it. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? Omega males don't have knots, right?"

"Right.. But I guess I wouldn't exactly be an omega male."

"What do you mean? Are you a beta or something?"

Alexander chuckled. "Oh, come on, Laf. He has the scent of an omega from a mile away."

John nodded. "Right. I am an omega, but I'm a trans guy. I wouldn't have a knot even if I was an alpha."

"Oh.. Sorry for bringing it up, then."

"It's fine. You didn't know. It's not like I make a big deal about it, either." He shrugged and took a sip of his soda. "I imagine it's a lot easier on omega males to not have a knot and to have a weak heat," he tutted. "I take suppressants, but it sucks that I have to go through that without them."

"Yeah, trust me, ruts are no fun."

"At least you can go to work on a rut. What are you going to do? Knot another alpha?" It was part of the reason that John had his own office, besides the previously mentioned workload. Alphas were still allowed to go to work during their ruts, usually carrying around toys to help them relieve themselves and nobody batted an eye. But the second an omega got in heat, they were locked up in their houses, especially females. Being fertile, they had worse heat than males and alphas usually couldn't resist the temptation. Typically, if an omega suddenly went into heat in public, they were surrounded by an omega pack and taken home, but there were less than rare occasions where an alpha took advantage of their state.

"It does suck that people just keep omegas locked up."

"Yeah, it is not pleasant." He rolled his eyes. He had toys to get him through his heats, but if he dared to go in public with one around him, he'd be socially crucified.

"What's it like to be knotted, then?"

"He's 19, Laf."

"Doesn't mean I can’t ask."

John chuckled. "I've never gotten a real knot, but even on a toy, it hurts unless I'm in heat or I prep myself or something, then it's great. I've got a question for you. How do alphas have gay sex?.. What happens to it?"

"Knots are weird. They know when there's no omega around and they just won't show up."

"That is weird. I guess it's like omegas and scents. When we're trying to pick up other omegas, we don't give off our scent nearly as strongly as around an alpha because it doesn't work on ourselves."

"Being a dynamic is weird," Alexander complained. "Why can't we all just be betas?"

John laughed and shrugged. "That'd be great. No more heat cycles, no more ruts for you guys."

Hercules nodded and looked over at his mate, who was suspiciously quiet and tense. "What's up baby?.."

"Um.."

Hercules realized what it was a minute or so later and became just as tense. "Oh.."

John furrowed his eyebrows and looked down, gasping and getting up when he saw the wet patch spreading in his pants. He wasn't quite in heat, but he wasn't used to being around alphas, to being so comfortable around them. Now that he was, he didn't even realize he was giving off very... friendly signals and was pushed into a pre heat. "I'm sorry... I'll go." He began to leave, but Alexander stopped him, grabbing his arm.

"No, don't do that. There's so many alphas in here.. I'll go with you, okay? I promise I won't hurt you or touch you."

John thought it over for a second before nodding. Alexander's defensive alpha scent would keep any others away.

The two went down to the lobby and waited for John's cab.

"I probably won't be in on Monday.."

"It's fine. I'll make sure Washington knows if you hadn't already."

"Thanks.."

The cab got there and John got in and went to his apartment, building a nest out of his pillows and blankets and laying in it, staying there for the rest of the night. He spent his weekend switching between dealing with his heat and writing his articles, Palomino and Turtle being his only company.

On Monday morning, Alexander went to Washington's office. "Good morning, sir. I was just wondering if you knew that John was going to be out today."

"I did, actually. He emailed me yesterday."

"Great. I didn't want him to get in any trouble or anything."

George shook his head. "No, he's not in any trouble. He's still getting his work done from home. Was that all?"

Alexander nodded. "Yep." He smiled and walked back to his area, pausing in the middle of the hallway as he passed an unfamiliarly familiar face. "Thomas Jefferson."

He stopped and looked at him. "Yes?"

"I have a few choice words for you."

He thought for a second. "Alexander Hamilton. I always imagined you'd be taller."

He clenched his fists and opened his mouth to yell, but stopped as he watched the other walk off. "Hey, I was going to talk to you!"

"I'm busy, but thanks. Go spam my blog with hate comments, if you want." He waved him off and kept walking until he reached George Washington's office. He knocked on the door and waited for an answer.

"Come in."

He stepped into the office. "Hello, Mr Washington, I'm sorry to disturb you."

He smiled. "Thomas Jefferson. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was thinking about writing a piece on how to move real high up real fast and I've been seeing a lot of that boy that interviewed me, John Laurens? I was wondering if I could borrow him from you."

"Unfortunately, Mr Laurens is out on a personal break. I'm not sure when he'll be back, it might be a week or so."

"Really? That is unfortunate.."

"I could give you his email, if you don't already have it. He's taking care of his work from home. He just can't be in the office."

Thomas nodded. "Alright. I should still have his email from when we discussed the interview. Thank you for speaking to me."

"Anytime."

He gave him one last quick smile before leaving, ignoring Alexander's glare and going out to his car, then going home. It was a shame that he couldn't see John Laurens then. He was smart and cute, not that his looks needed to influence his opinion of him much.

When he got home, he grabbed his laptop and began emailing his newest subject.

(Quick note: I know my rules of omegaverse are different from most others and it might be confusing to you guys, but its what makes sense to me.)

In the 1990s, the late Stanford neuroscientist Ben Barres transitioned from female to male. He was in his 40s, mid-career, and afterward he marveled at the stark changes in his professional life. Now that society saw him as male, his ideas were taken more seriously. He was able to complete a whole sentence without being interrupted by a man. 

A colleague who didn’t know he was transgender even praised his work as “much better than his sister’s.”Clinics have reported an increase in people seeking medical gender transitions in recent years, and research suggests the number of people identifying as transgender has risen in the past decade. 

Touchstones such as Caitlyn Jenner’s transition, the bathroom controversy, and the Amazon series “Transparent” have also made the topic a bigger part of the political and cultural conversation.But it is not always evident when someone has undergone a transition — especially if they have gone from female to male.

“The transgender guys have a relatively straightforward process — we just simply add testosterone and watch their bodies shift,” said Joshua Safer, executive director at the Center for Transgender Medicine and Surgery at Mount Sinai Health System and Icahn School of Medicine in New York. “Within six months to a year they start to virilize — getting facial hair, a ruddier complexion, a change in body odor and a deepening of the voice.”

Transgender women have more difficulty “passing”; they tend to be bigger-boned and more masculine-looking, and these things are hard to reverse with hormone treatments, Safer said. “But the transgender men will go get jobs and the new boss doesn’t even know they’re trans.”

We spoke with four men who transitioned as adults to the bodies in which they feel more comfortable. Their experiences reveal that the gulf between how society treats women and men is in many ways as wide now as it was when Barres transitioned. But their diverse backgrounds provide further insight into how race and ethnicity inform the gender divide in subtle and sometimes surprising ways.

‘I’ll never call the police again’

Trystan Cotten, 50, Berkeley, Calif.

Professor of gender studies at California State University Stanislaus and editor of Transgress Press, which publishes books related to the transgender experience. Transitioned in 2008.

Life doesn’t get easier as an African American male. The way that police officers deal with me, the way that racism undermines my ability to feel safe in the world, affects my mobility, affects where I go. Other African American and Latino Americans grew up as boys and were taught to deal with that at an earlier age. I had to learn from my black and brown brothers about how to stay alive in my new body and retain some dignity while being demeaned by the cops.

One night somebody crashed a car into my neighbor’s house, and I called 911. I walk out to talk to the police officer, and he pulls a gun on me and says, “Stop! Stop! Get on the ground!” I turn around to see if there’s someone behind me, and he goes, “You! You! Get on the ground!” I’m in pajamas and barefoot. I get on the ground and he checks me, and afterward I said, “What was that all about?” He said, “You were moving kind of funny.” Later, people told me, “Man, you’re crazy. You never call the police.”

I get pulled over a lot more now. I got pulled over more in the first two years after my transition than I did the entire 20 years I was driving before that. Before, when I’d been stopped, even for real violations like driving 100 miles an hour, I got off. In fact, when it happened in Atlanta the officer and I got into a great conversation about the Braves. Now the first two questions they ask are: Do I have any weapons in the car, and am I on parole or probation?

Race influences how people choose to transition. I did an ethnographic study of trans men and found that 96 percent of African American and Latino men want to have surgery, while only 45 percent of white respondents do. That’s because a trans history can exacerbate racial profiling. When they pat you down, if you don’t have a penis it’s going to be obvious (or if you’re a trans woman and you have a penis, that becomes obvious). If they picked you up for popping a wheelie or smoking weed, if they find out you’re trans it can be worse for you.

There are also ways in which men deal with sexism and gender oppression that I was not aware of when I was walking around in a female body. A couple of years after my transition, I had a grad student I’d been mentoring. She started coming on to me, stalking me, sending me emails and texts. My adviser and the dean — both women — laughed it off. It went on for the better part of a year, and that was the year that I was going up for tenure. It was a very scary time. I felt very worried that if the student felt I was not returning her attentions she would claim that I had assaulted her. I felt like as a guy, I was not taken seriously. I had experienced harassment as a female person at another university and they had reacted immediately, sending a police escort with me to and from campus. I felt like if I had still been in my old body I would have gotten a lot more support.

Being a black man has changed the way I move in the world. I used to walk quickly or run to catch a bus. Now I walk at a slower pace, and if I’m late I don’t dare rush. I am hyper-aware of making sudden or abrupt movements, especially in airports, train stations and other public places. I avoid engaging with unfamiliar white folks, especially white women. If they catch my eye, white women usually clutch their purses and cross the street. While I love urban aesthetics, I stopped wearing hoodies and traded my baggy jeans, oversized jerseys and colorful skullcaps for closefitting jeans, khakis and sweaters. These changes blunt assumptions that I’m going to snatch purses or merchandise, or jump the subway turnstile. The less visible I am, the better my chances of surviving.

But it’s not foolproof. I’m an academic sitting at a desk so I exercise where I can. I walked to the post office to mail some books and I put on this 40-pound weight vest that I walk around in. It was about 3 or 4 in the afternoon and I’m walking back and all of a sudden police officers drove up, got out of their car, and stopped. I had my earphones on so I didn’t know they were talking to me. I looked up and there’s a helicopter above. And now I can kind of see why people run, because you might live if you run, even if you haven’t done anything. This was in Emeryville, one of the wealthiest enclaves in Northern California, where there’s security galore. Someone had seen me walking to the post office and called in and said they saw a Muslim with an explosives vest. One cop, a white guy, picked it up and laughed and said, “Oh, I think I know what this is. This is a weight belt.”

It’s not only humiliating, but it creates anxiety on a daily basis. Before, I used to feel safe going up to a police officer if I was lost or needed directions. But I don’t do that anymore. I hike a lot, and if I’m out hiking and I see a dead body, I’ll keep on walking. I’ll never call the police again.

‘It now feels as though I am on my own’

Zander Keig, 52, San Diego

Coast Guard veteran. Works at Naval Medical Center San Diego as a clinical social work case manager. Editor of anthologies about transgender men. Started transition in 2005.

Prior to my transition, I was an outspoken radical feminist. I spoke up often, loudly and with confidence. I was encouraged to speak up. I was given awards for my efforts, literally — it was like, “Oh, yeah, speak up, speak out.” When I speak up now, I am often given the direct or indirect message that I am “mansplaining,” “taking up too much space” or “asserting my white male heterosexual privilege.” Never mind that I am a first-generation Mexican American, a transsexual man, and married to the same woman I was with prior to my transition.

I find the assertion that I am now unable to speak out on issues I find important offensive and I refuse to allow anyone to silence me. My ability to empathize has grown exponentially, because I now factor men into my thinking and feeling about situations. Prior to my transition, I rarely considered how men experienced life or what they thought, wanted or liked about their lives. I have learned so much about the lives of men through my friendships with men, reading books and articles by and for men and through the men I serve as a licensed clinical social worker.

Social work is generally considered to be “female dominated,” with women making up about 80 percent of the profession in the United States. Currently I work exclusively with clinical nurse case managers, but in my previous position, as a medical social worker working with chronically homeless military veterans — mostly male — who were grappling with substance use disorder and severe mental illness, I was one of a few men among dozens of women.

Plenty of research shows that life events, medical conditions and family circumstances impact men and women differently. But when I would suggest that patient behavioral issues like anger or violence may be a symptom of trauma or depression, it would often get dismissed or outright challenged. The overarching theme was “men are violent” and there was “no excuse” for their actions.

I do notice that some women do expect me to acquiesce or concede to them more now: Let them speak first, let them board the bus first, let them sit down first, and so on. I also notice that in public spaces men are more collegial with me, which they express through verbal and nonverbal messages: head lifting when passing me on the sidewalk and using terms like “brother” and “boss man” to acknowledge me. As a former lesbian feminist, I was put off by the way that some women want to be treated by me, now that I am a man, because it violates a foundational belief I carry, which is that women are fully capable human beings who do not need men to acquiesce or concede to them.

What continues to strike me is the significant reduction in friendliness and kindness now extended to me in public spaces. It now feels as though I am on my own: No one, outside of family and close friends, is paying any attention to my well-being.

I can recall a moment where this difference hit home. A couple of years into my medical gender transition, I was traveling on a public bus early one weekend morning. There were six people on the bus, including me. One was a woman. She was talking on a mobile phone very loudly and remarked that “men are such a–holes.” I immediately looked up at her and then around at the other men. Not one had lifted his head to look at the woman or anyone else. The woman saw me look at her and then commented to the person she was speaking with about “some a–hole on the bus right now looking at me.” I was stunned, because I recall being in similar situations, but in the reverse, many times: A man would say or do something deemed obnoxious or offensive, and I would find solidarity with the women around me as we made eye contact, rolled our eyes and maybe even commented out loud on the situation. I’m not sure I understand why the men did not respond, but it made a lasting impression on me.

I took control of my career’

Chris Edwards, 49, Boston

Advertising creative director, public speaker and author of the memoir “Balls: It Takes Some to Get Some.” Transitioned in his mid-20s.

When I began my transition at age 26, a lot of my socialization came from the guys at work. For example, as a woman, I’d walk down the hall and bump into some of my female co-workers, and they’d say, “Hey, what’s up?” and I’d say, “Oh, I just got out of this client meeting. They killed all my scripts and now I have to go back and rewrite everything, blah blah blah. What’s up with you?” and then they’d tell me their stories. As a guy, I bump into a guy in the hall and he says, “What’s up?” and I launch into a story about my day and he’s already down the hall. And I’m thinking, well, that’s rude. So, I think, okay, well, I guess guys don’t really share, so next time I’ll keep it brief. By the third time, I realized you just nod.

The creative department is largely male, and the guys accepted me into the club. I learned by example and modeled my professional behavior accordingly. For example, I kept noticing that if guys wanted an assignment they’d just ask for it. If they wanted a raise or a promotion they’d ask for it. This was a foreign concept to me. As a woman, I never felt that it was polite to do that or that I had the power to do that. But after seeing it happen all around me I decided that if I felt I deserved something I was going to ask for it too. By doing that, I took control of my career. It was very empowering.

Apparently, people were only holding the door for me because I was a woman rather than out of common courtesy as I had assumed. Not just men, women too. I learned this the first time I left the house presenting as male, when a woman entered a department store in front of me and just let the door swing shut behind her. I was so caught off guard I walked into it face first.

When you’re socially transitioning, you want to blend in, not stand out, so it’s uncomfortable when little reminders pop up that you’re not like everybody else. I’m expected to know everything about sports. I like sports but I’m not in deep like a lot of guys. For example, I love watching football, but I never played the sport (wasn’t an option for girls back in my day) so there is a lot I don’t know. I remember the first time I was in a wedding as a groomsman. I was maybe three years into my transition and I was lined up for photos with all the other guys. And one of them shouted, “High school football pose!” and on cue everybody dropped down and squatted like the offensive line, and I was like, what the hell is going on? It was not instinctive to me since I never played. I tried to mirror what everyone was doing, but when you see the picture I’m kind of “offsides,” so to speak.

The hormones made me more impatient. I had lots of female friends and one of the qualities they loved about me was that I was a great listener. After being on testosterone, they informed me that my listening skills weren’t what they used to be. Here’s an example: I’m driving with one of my best friends, Beth, and I ask her “Is your sister meeting us for dinner?” Ten minutes later she’s still talking and I still have no idea if her sister is coming. So finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I snapped and said, “IS SHE COMING OR NOT?” And Beth was like, “You know, you used to like hearing all the backstory and how I’d get around to the answer. A lot of us have noticed you’ve become very impatient lately and we think it’s that damn testosterone!” It’s definitely true that some male behavior is governed by hormones. Instead of listening to a woman’s problem and being empathetic and nodding along, I would do the stereotypical guy thing — interrupt and provide a solution to cut the conversation short and move on. I’m trying to be better about this.

People ask if being a man made me more successful in my career. My answer is yes — but not for the reason you might think. As a man, I was finally comfortable in my own skin and that made me more confident. At work I noticed I was more direct: getting to the point, not apologizing before I said anything or tiptoeing around and trying to be delicate like I used to do. In meetings, I was more outspoken. I stopped posing my thoughts as questions. I’d say what I meant and what I wanted to happen instead of dropping hints and hoping people would read between the lines and pick up on what I really wanted. I was no longer shy about stating my opinions or defending my work. When I gave presentations I was brighter, funnier, more engaging. Not because I was a man. Because I was happy.

‘People assume I know the answer’

Alex Poon, 26, Boston

Project manager for Wayfair, an online home goods company. Alex is in the process of his physical transition; he did the chest surgery after college and started taking testosterone this spring.

Traditional Chinese culture is about conforming to your elders’ wishes and staying within gender boundaries. However, I grew up in the U.S., where I could explore my individuality and my own gender identity. When I was 15 I was attending an all-girls high school where we had to wear skirts, but I felt different from my peers. Around that point we began living with my Chinese grandfather towards the end of his life. He was so traditional and deeply set in his ways. I felt like I couldn’t cut my hair or dress how I wanted because I was afraid to upset him and have our last memories of each other be ruined.

Genetics are not in my favor for growing a lumberjack-style beard. Sometimes, Chinese faces are seen as “soft” with less defined jaw lines and a lack of facial fair. I worry that some of my feminine features like my “soft face” will make it hard to present as a masculine man, which is how I see myself. Instead, when people meet me for the first time, I’m often read as an effeminate man.

My voice has started cracking and becoming lower. Recently, I’ve been noticing the difference between being perceived as a woman versus being perceived as a man. I’ve been wondering how I can strike the right balance between remembering how it feels to be silenced and talked over with the privileges that come along with being perceived as a man. Now, when I lead meetings, I purposefully create pauses and moments where I try to draw others into the conversation and make space for everyone to contribute and ask questions.

People now assume I have logic, advice and seniority. They look at me and assume I know the answer, even when I don’t. I’ve been in meetings where everyone else in the room was a woman and more senior, yet I still got asked, “Alex, what do you think? We thought you would know.” I was at an all-team meeting with 40 people, and I was recognized by name for my team’s accomplishments. Whereas next to me, there was another successful team led by a woman, but she was never mentioned by name. I went up to her afterward and said, “Wow, that was not cool; your team actually did more than my team.” The stark difference made me feel uncomfortable and brought back feelings of when I had been in the same boat and not been given credit for my work.

When people thought I was a woman, they often gave me vague or roundabout answers when I asked a question. I’ve even had someone tell me, “If you just Googled it, you would know.” But now that I’m read as a man, I’ve found people give me direct and clear answers, even if it means they have to do some research on their own before getting back to me.

A part of me regrets not sharing with my grandfather who I truly am before he passed away. I wonder how our relationship might have been different if he had known this one piece about me and had still accepted me as his grandson. Traditionally, Chinese culture sees men as more valuable than women. Before, I was the youngest granddaughter, so the least important. Now, I’m the oldest grandson. I think about how he might have had different expectations or tried to instill certain traditional Chinese principles upon me more deeply, such as caring more about my grades or taking care of my siblings and elders. Though he never viewed me as a man, I ended up doing these things anyway.

Zander Keig contributed to this article in his personal capacity. The opinions expressed in this are the author’s own and do not reflect the view of the Department of Defense.

You Can’t Cross the Same River Twice - Chapter 21

“How was Maine?” Trapper asks as Hawkeye slings his duffel onto the bed. It's not his army duffel - that had been thrown out as soon as he'd gotten it back - but a new one made of cheerful red canvas, the furthest Hawkeye and the Sears catalog could get from olive drab.

“It was good seeing my dad again. And Steve, who appears to be settling in nicely. He's going steady with an old flame of mine, so that's one less woman chasing after me – which I'm sure we're both relieved about.” He and Trapper share a conspiratorial grin. “So it was good to hear about all that, and about how he's getting on at the practice.”

A pause.

“And it was good to visit Tommy.”

Good in a way Hawkeye hadn't necessarily expected.

It's not that his visits are ever bad, per se. But they can be exhausting. Emotionally difficult.

But this latest visit had been free of the yoke of guilt Hawkeye had carried around since Tommy had died on his table and Hawkeye had had to move on to other people he could save instead of saying goodbye. Free of the wild grief Hawkeye had kept in his heart ever since he found out that Tommy's body had been taken away some time during the marathon OR session – and that Hawkeye would never see him again. Free of the trepidation, the uncertainty that had so haunted Hawkeye's first visit.

--

Hawkeye stands on the rocky shingle where his granddad used to launch his lobster boat and stares out at the ocean. It's a beautiful day for winter in Maine - sunny and clear, with no cutting wind to strip the flesh from your bones. Hawkeye feels like it ought to be overcast and miserable, the weather appropriately solemn for the occasion. But Hawkeye isn't in charge of the weather. And Tommy always did like to be contrary.

Well, there's no sense in putting it off any longer – it's taken Hawkeye long enough as it is.

His gaze turns to the rocky beach beneath his feet, searching out a tz'ror. The stone Hawkeye selects is smooth and flat and large enough to serve as the foundation for all the future tz'ror he'll leave. Because he may not be religious, may not believe in any gods or any kind of afterlife. But through him, the memory of Tommy – his first best friend, his first of many things – will endure like stone.

Then Hawkeye makes his way up the rise to the lawn where his dad and Trapper are waiting – patient through all of Hawkeye's introspection and dragging his feet. They make a strange little funeral procession through town and out to the cemetery, his dad carrying a bouquet of flowers and Trapper carrying the last of the bottle of whiskey he'd used to grieve Hawkeye's supposed passing. And they may garner some unwanted attention from the various busybodies congregated in the town square, but Hawkeye's glad they're here with him for this.

Glad he doesn't have to face his grief and guilt and love for Tommy alone.

Tommy's grave is neat and well kept – his family clearly take tending to it seriously - and Hawkeye is glad of that. But there's a fucking bible verse on the tombstone – something saccharine and terrible about fighting the good fight and keeping the faith.

As if there was anything good about the Korean war. As if they know anything of the the fights Tommy fought – in the streets, in the classroom, in his books and articles. As if Tommy wouldn't personally fight any god who dared welcome him into the afterlife barehanded and with a smile on his face.

Hawkeye's dad places his bouquet on the grave and steps away. He'd gotten to go to the funeral, he'd said – paid his respects and said his piece then. This visit is for Hawkeye.

Hawkeye places the tz'ror on top of Tommy's gravestone.

“Hi, Tommy.” And there's no way to stall, nothing more for him to drag his feet over. “The war's been over a few months now. I'm sorry I'm only coming to see you now but it's, it's been hard. Getting to feeling like myself – figuring out who that even is. And I'm not all the way there yet, but at least I've got a chance at it, unlike you.”

Hawkeye pauses to blink back tears.

“I'm so sorry, Tommy. Sorry I couldn't save you, sorry that they made me try – sorry that you were in Korea in the first place. I know you don't blame me for it, that you forgave me there on the fucking table as you were dying. And I appreciate that - I'm trying to honor it – but I'm sorry you had to do that, too.”

Hawkeye runs his gloved hand over the sun warmed stone.

“I miss you, Tommy – I miss you and I love you. And I'm so, so sorry.”

Trapper comes up beside Hawkeye then, and takes his free hand. It would be risky if anyone were here other than his dad, but the cemetery is empty and Hawkeye really appreciates having Trapper's hand in his right now.

“I'm sorry we didn't get much of a chance to get to know one another, Tommy,” Trapper says quietly. “I reckon the three of us coulda had some fun together – coulda been friends after the war. You were a good guy, and I'm glad Hawkeye had a friend like you growing up. Someone to get him into trouble and then back out of it. I hope you're restin easy.”

Trapper takes a drink of the whiskey and passes it to Hawkeye who takes a sip and then pours the rest of the bottle over Tommy's grave.

It's not enough, but it's all Hawkeye has to give.

--

Hawkeye had gone home to his dad's house and cried. Cried like he had for Tommy when he died. Cried like he couldn't for all the other kids who'd died over there, and for all the kids who'd lived. Cried ugly and snotty and wailing.

And then when he'd finished crying, he and his dad had told stupid stories about all the trouble he and Tommy used to get up to as kids – all the pranks played and the jokes told – while Trapper listened and laughed. And later, he'd whispered other stories about him and Tommy into Trapper's ear as they laid together in bed. Stories about first kisses, second kisses, hundredth kisses. Stories about love that went beyond friendship, beyond a puppy crush, beyond “practicing for girls.” Stories about things his dad had probably guessed at, but that Hawkeye doesn't think he wants to hear about – wouldn't understand the importance of them the way Trapper does, anyway.

It had been cathartic, letting everything he's feeling out like that – the sorrow, the joy, the love. Hawkeye finally able to mourn Tommy after years and years.

And his subsequent visits to Tommy's grave had been easier – though not without a certain solemnity, a certain sense of a debt owed.

But his visit this past weekend had been different still. There was still an understanding of grief and loss and love – but Hawkeye was filled with an air of expectant joy, as well. The kind of quiet excitement you get at having the chance to catch up with an old friend you haven't seen in a while.

--

By now, Hawkeye has visited Tommy's grave enough that there's a whole stack of Tz'ror making a little altar on the gravestone. A testament to all the memories Hawkeye has of the trouble they used to cause together. And a marker of all the goings on of the world that Tommy can't be there for.

Hawkeye sits down beside Tommy's grave and talks for hours – about Crabapple Cove in the summer, about people they both knew as kids, about Hawkeye's life in Boston. About the lobster boil he and his dad and Steve are having down at the beach this evening and about Steve's continued harassment by the single women of Crabapple Cove.

About how the war's been over for a year and it feels like both forever and no time at all. Like it's been forgotten by everyone but those who were part of it. Those who's lives were marked by it. Those who celebrate its passing the way he and Steve are doing here tonight – and Trapper and Charles are probably doing in Boston.

“Speaking of the war, Tommy, your book's getting published finally. They wanted to make a bunch of changes – turn it into a real flag waver, use it to recruit kids to come over to Vietnam to get shot. But your editor told them to get fucked – and I may or may not have sent a few dozen angry letters when I found out about it. Along with everyone else in my little anti-war social club. And I think Margaret helped as well – she sure can pen a diatribe, I can tell you.

“So the book's getting printed just how you wrote it – minus some spelling corrections, if I know you. And that's something, I guess, even if it's nothing close to enough. Other people will get to see you, Tommy, get to know you. Get to see the truth of how things were over there.”

Hawkeye sighs. “I just wish you were still alive to see it - and to yell at all those nationalistic idiots yourself. But you aren't and you can't – so I guess I better keep doing it for you. After all, what are friends for if not to keep your communist propaganda from getting rewritten?”

Hawkeye laughs softly to himself and just sits for a while, leaning back on his elbows, looking up at the clear summer sky. It's almost like the sweet summer evenings from his childhood – sitting out on the back porch or down at the beach or out on the lawn. Him and Tommy talking and laughing and just being together.

Eventually, it gets late – the sun low enough in the sky to signal dinner on the horizon. So Hawkeye gets up and brushes grass off his pants, stretches his cramped legs.

“Goodbye, Tommy, I'll be back to visit as soon as I can,” he says and then turns away.

And Hawkeye realizes he's looking forward to that next visit. It's not a duty or a way to assuage lingering guilt but a joy to get to come back to visit Tommy. To talk to whatever small part of him lives on in this cemetery in Maine and in Hawkeye's memories.

--

Hawkeye shakes himself out of memory and back into the present. Back into his bedroom in his house in Boston. Back to Trapper.

“All in all, it was a good trip. But I'm glad to be back home.”

“I'm glad you're back home too, Hawk,” Trapper says seriously. “Cuz I just spent an evening with Charles Winchester and I'm ready for some better company.”

Hawkeye smiles coquettishly. “Trapper, you flatterer. C'mon, it couldn't have been that bad.”

“All right, fine, it wasn't that bad. Honoria and Marjory were there so I wasn't just stuck with Winchester all night. And that sure was a good thing, cuz he got pretty soused and wasn't up for much conversation. Not that that's a big loss,” Trapper says a little meanly.

Hawkeye whacks him gently on the chest with the back of his hand. “Oh, stop. You don't really hate him.”

“Fine, I admit he's gotten a lot less snooty since I first met him. But that don't make it any more fun to sit through the endless stories about how smart and rich and well bred he is.”

Hawkeye laughs. “All right, all right – I take your point. It does get a little boring hearing about summering on the Cape for the fifth time.”

“This time it was all about how glad he is Korea's over and he ain't had to see none of the riff-raff from the 4077 in a whole year, so at least there was some variety to the snobbery. Though him listing out the names of every single person in camp – minus you and BJ and, weirdly enough, Max – got old pretty quick.”

Hawkeye smiles wryly. “I'm surprised I wasn't on that list – Charles couldn't get away from me fast enough back in Korea.”

“Well,” Trapper grins, “you do got a way of growing on people.”

A pause.

“And as big a pile of shit as Korea was, there was good stuff too. Friends I couldn't'a made anyplace else. People I love and care about that I never woulda met otherwise. And I reckon that's worth remembering – and I reckon Winchester thinks so too, or we'd've never started playing poker together.”

“That's true enough,” Hawkeye says. “Though I won't be sorry when it's been so long since the war I forget exactly which anniversary we're on.”

SHARING (ONESHOT) - JUNGKOOKxFEM!CHARACTER

Genre: escort!jungkook; fluff; COMEDY, light mentions of smut

{I’m not an english native speaker and I haven’t checked it before posting. Forgive my mistakes. Enjoy!}

- I bet everyone understands how I felt every damn time I went to my house and all my damn family asked me about my non-existent boyfriend. I was a doctor so I had no time to spare with men. Literally, my previous experiences had been all negative so I didn't really feel like sharing another one with one more fuckboy. And that was the answer I gave my parents everytime. But they weren't content with it.

"You're a grown woman." "When are we going to see our grandsons." Just thinking about that made my stomach turn upside down. Me? Children? Husband? Responsibilities? No, thanks, I already had too many with my patients and stuff. Plus, I wasn't THAT old. I was just thirty years old. I looked younger, though. Who said a woman has to get married early and have children to be a proper woman? If you're going to think like that, just go back to the fucking Middle Ages. Anyway, it got to the point where visiting my parents became a torture to me just because of that stupid question so I decided to come up with a solution. I literally had no male friends that could help me. Well, I had a few, but I couldn't trust them. If I asked them to be my fake boyfriend they would spread the news all around the city and I didn't want that. After speaking to my best friend, we realized there was only one possible solution. I was a doctor so I had quite a lot of money. That wasn't a problem. And after thinking and thinking and whole packages of cigarettes being literally depleted, I finally looked at myself in the mirror and made the decision. His office was... cute. I mean, cute for an escort. My strange imagination had made me think there would be dildos and handcuffs everywhere but there wasn't any. I was waiting on the couch when he finally made his appearance. He looked exactly like my friend had described him. Handsome, tall, dark. He was classy, though. His movements were fine and his little smile when his eyes were finally on me made my blush a bit. —Song Jaehee?— he asked. —If you are Jeon Jungkook, than that's me— I smiled. He chuckled.—That's me. Nice to meet you. We shook hands and he sat down. He asked me to explain what my situation was. —I've got annoying parents. They live in the countryside. Everytime I go to visit them, they ask me about my husband. Clearly, since I'm here, I don't have an husband nor a boyfriend. So I wanted to ask you to come along with me to visit them and pretend to be my boyfriend— I said, quickly. I somewhat felt embarrassed due to his gaze. As expected, he laughed.—This is the first time I am met with something like this!— he composed himself.—But let me ask you something inappropriate. How come you don't have a boyfriend even though you are so pretty? I wasn't the type to just blush and look away when people complimented me. I was most likely to make annoying ironical comments. And I did it in front of him, too.—Well, you know, not everyone has got good tastes. He smiled.—I know, I know. If people had good tastes, I would be a billionaire. —Aren't you?— I asked. —I'm not poor— he shrugged.—But I'm not a chaebol. I nodded and a few seconds passed. I felt like he was... analysing me? —How long is the visit to your parents? —Four or five days— I smiled at his face.—I know, that's a lot. But I see them rarely. —It's going to be tiring— he sighed sarcastically.—But I've got a great sixth sense and I feel like this is going to be fun. —I am an entertaining individual, so why not— I shrugged.—How much will you cost me? One arm? One leg? Both? He laughed.—A bit of your long hair will be enough— he commented.—Anyway, it depends on what you're looking for. But since we'll be in front of your parents, I guess you don't want to get intimate with me. —Unluckily for you, I don't. Sorry. He smiled.—That's your loss, not mine— he said.—Let's say 3000 dollars. I nodded.—I thought you would ask more. That's... a fair price. —Really?— he eyed me.—What do you do in your life? —I'm a doctor. —Wow! Doctor Song! I guess I'll come to you next time I feel sick. Tell me you're a gynecologist. I smirked.—I'm a cardiologist, so I hope you won't have to come to me. He nodded.—That's right. ____________________________________________________ We were in the car heading to my parents' house. He offered to drive, claiming my father wouldn't be happy to see the man standing and the woman driving. I had explained a few things about my household, mainly about my parents being... conservative. We spent some days together to get to know each other. He was really nice, actually. Apart from being an escort, he worked in a publishing house. He was the vice-director. We had some playful "dates" at his house where I even offered to check his health. My 3000 dollars were well spent, I thought. Also, the fact that they were not enough for the time he was giving me kept bothering me. —Are you an only child?— I asked. —No, I have an older brother. He is a soldier— he smiled. —Wow! A soldier! Let me meet him, so that we could play Decendants of the Sun together. Is he fine-looking? —I'm honestly better— he chuckled.—Also, my brother is veeeery serious. I don't think you'd get along with him well. —Are you implying I'm not a serious person?— I asked, fakely offended. —I'm not implying anything— he answered.—I just stated the truth. I scoffed.—I'm a doctor. I've got a reputation. How dare you offend me like that. —You know I'm joking— he smiled and placed his hand on my thigh. I stiffened automatically. He didn't seem bothered by his gesture nor by my reaction. Well, he was used to it. I wasn't, though. But if I said I didn't like it, I would be lying. I liked Jungkook... as a friend. I appreciated his company. I liked the attention he gave me. More than that, I liked the fact that he was giving me more attention than he should. I was aware of that, perfectly. I also wondered why he did that, but I guess the only precise answer I could obtain had to come from his mouth. I would ask him after the stay at my parents'. We arrived and my mother and my father were already outside waiting for us. I immediately felt embarrassed and I looked at him. —Please, if they say something stupid, don't mind them— I pleaded. He looked at me concerned.—Why are you so worried? Relax, sweetie. I shivered at the pet name and I rushed out of the car as soon as he parked. I ran to hug my momma and my papa. Even if they were annoying, I still loved them, and it was a pleasure to see them again. —Jaehee, it's been so long!— Mom cried drastically. —It's literally been two weeks— I laughed. I couldn't even complete my sentence, because mom pushed me aside to reack Jungkook. I could tell from her posture she was already head over heels for him. —Mom! Don't harass him too much— I joked. She grabbed his hand.—You... you are an angel sent from above. I swear. How could such a nice guy get paired up with my daughter? I sighed.—You don't even know him. —Shut up!— she said.—What's your name, boy? He bowed.—My name is Jeon Jungkook— he looked at my father for a second.—Nice to meet you. My father reached for him to shake his hand and I somehow felt emotional. Jungkook wasn't my real boyfriend. But it felt as if he was. He looked sincere. He seemed genuinely nervous. But then I shook my head and I remembered he wasn't accustomed to works like this. For God's sake, Jaehee, don't fantasize. ____________________________________________________ The days passed quite quickly... to my great regret. I was honestly having a lot of fun. The days at my parents' had never felt so cool. Mom loved Jungkook. Dad loved Jungkook. Jungkook loved them both. Also, you know, to make it more real, the boy occasionally grabbed my hand, ruffled my hair, kissed my cheek. The most shocking thing was that mom put us together in one room. With one bed. Jungkook obviously seemed fine with it. I didn't. I had literally never shared the bed with a man. Everytime I hooked up with someone, they either left of I did. Jungkook was being my first in too many things. And all of it combined together, made me feel things for him that I shouldn't. But I was a cardiologist. So I knew better than anyone that you can't control your heart. It was the last night and we were chilling on the couch, watching a film. I had my head on Jungkook's legs. Mom and dad were soon sleepy so they dismissed themselves and went to bed. We were left alone in the living-room but none of us spoke until the film ended. Jungkook stretched his arms and yawned. —What a loss of time. —Why? It was cool— I said, getting up. He followed my movements. —Not even one porn scene— he complained. I goggled.—I can't believe you're already undergoing abstinence from sex. —Four days is so much for me, you know— he smiled. —Can I help?— I joked. —Don't provoke me that much. I'm still a man and you're still a woman. Plus, we're on a couch in a dark room— he commented. —Moreover, my parents are upstairs! If you touch me, I'll get my daddy to kill you. —If I touch you, you'll think your daddy is somebody else— he smirked. I made a face.—Gross. But effective. —Let's go to bed, woman. —Wait— I grabbed his arm.—I need to ask you something. I gulped. The time had come. He looked at me with sleepy eyes.—Sure. —I... I don't really know how to say this— FUCK YOU! I AM HONESTLY SO FRUSTRATED BECAUSE OF YOU. I WANT YOU TO GET IN MY PANTS BUT I ALSO DON'T WANT TO. BECAUSE I AM A MESSY BITCH AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I WANT FROM LIFE. JUST DEAL WITH IT. This is all I wanted to tell him but I couldn't because otherwise he would think I was a crazy idiot. —Speak with your own words, I'm all ears— he crossed his arm. His veins were popping. Fuck my life. —I... wanted to ask you...— I sighed.—Just, why did you make me pay, like, half the price I owe you? You've spent more than two weeks with me. I don't know about your... world. But I think you should have had more. He smiled.—Let's say I don't have a fixated menu. I value many things when I make up prices for my clients. If I happen to like them, the price goes down a lot. Because it's like they're already paying me a bit by keeping me company. I blushed. Did he just say he liked me or something?—Be honest. What was the real price? —10000 dollars. —WHAT!?— I screamed. He tapped my mouth.—Shit, woman, do you want your parents to wake up?! —Do you like me that much? He looked at me.—Please. I looked away and I nodded.—Well, that's not a problem. I like you a lot, too. I slapped myself mentally the moment I said it. I quoted the whole slang dictionary in that five seconds. My face was burning and I could feel his stare on me. How would I wrap that up? Simple. By running. I got up and ran towards the room. Unfortunately, before I could lock it up he managed to enter because he was obviously faster and stronger than me. Fuck my life. Fuck my mouth. Why did I say that? —Did you just confess?— he asked me, trapping me against the door. What kind of question was that? Dang, this boy didn't know any manners.—I didn't. I like you a lot... as a friend! You really are the best company, Jungkook. I was always a bad liar. In fact, he laughed.—You're a liar. You like me. I looked away. —A LOT!— he underlined. —Oh my God! Can you please fuck off? I want to go to bed and forget this embarassing moment forever. Thankfully it's over tomorrow. I brushed past him and headed towards the bed, totally awkward. I heard him laughing and I decided to ignore him even though I wanted to smack him. I was about to throw myself on the bed when I felt him grabbing my arm. He pulled me into his arms and... kissed me. The asshole kissed me. I pushed him away.—This is called sexual harassment! —You're so overdramatic! I was just confessing back— he justified himself. I pointed my finger at him.—Hell, no! You're going to be a man with attributes and say it straight to my face! He scoffed.—You're childish. I was acting like every man would. —Say it!— I insisted. He sighed and pinched my cheek.—Baby! I like you sooooo much!— he exagerated. Then he went back to looking at me.—You're done? I observed him.—Did you really mean it? —Yes— he said, nonchalantly.—I've had this job for years, but it never happened to me to find a client this interesting. —How do you know you like me? Are you sure you don't just... want me? Sexually speaking? —I understood there was something more when I looked at you for about twenty minutes while you were sleeping— he smiled. —Creepy— I commented. He sighed.—You really know how to ruin the moment. —I'm just jealous because your confession was so cool while mine was an awkward mess— I scratched my head. —Are you really competing over this?— he said. —Can you please shut up and come over to kiss me?— I said bluntly. He goggled and whistled.—Wow. That was really cool. I rolled my eyes and attacked him instead. Soon his t-shirt was on the floor and so were my shorts. He grabbed my ass and I insinctively smacked him. —Ouch!— he caressed his cheek.—We're about to have sex and you smack me for touching your ass? Are you serious? —That was an automatic reaction! I'm sorry!— I smiled.—Oh, I forgot to say something. —Go on, you nuisance. —I'm not really into sharing, so I hope you are aware of the fact that you will have to leave your side-job— I commanded. He smiled.—That's obvious. I'm not into sharing either. Is someone at your workplace going after you? —If I say yes will you get jealous and go rough on me?— I asked. —Are you the type to go rough?— he commented.—I think you're pretty vanilla. —I'm actually a very kinky person. But this is for you to find out— I smirked. He grabbed my hips and brought me closer to him. He placed a peck on my lips and then he looked up dramatically. —I'm so glad you're a cardiologist— he said. —Why? —Because you'll have to... take care of my heart from now on!— he laughed. I smacked him again.

My Favourite Fics Ever — One Direction Fandom Edition

Or: The fic rec nobody has asked for that I made no matter what because everything is better than studying and I am bored.

Here's a list of fics in no significant order of importance that happens to be my favourite in the One Direction Fandom. Mind me, they are not all the good fics I read, they are the ones that I always come back to, or the ones that left me something emotionally speaking, the ones that will probably stay with me for a long time.

Have You Coming Back Again by whoknows (31K, Bottom!L)

It’s five o’clock in the morning. Louis has a lecture at half eight. He could be using this time to study or to do his readings or to go to the gym, but - well. He doesn’t have any exams coming up, he’s not going to his seminar today anyway and he hates the gym.

Instead he’s using this time to fuck with Harry Styles’ poor little brain.

Louis jogs across the street and jabs the key into the car door. It opens easily, not that he was expecting anything else. He copied the key for a reason, after all.

He’s got Harry’s schedule memorized, more because the guy keeps following him around than anything, so he doesn’t bother looking around before climbing behind the wheel and setting his bag on the passenger seat. It’s a Monday, which means that Harry doesn’t even get out of bed before noon unless he’s planning on harassing Louis.

It'd probably be easier just to say that everything whoknows ever wrote is gold, I adore everything she has written and I think I read at least two times everything she published on Ao3. BUT. This is the best. To me, this is her masterpiece. Not because of the marvellous slow building plot, not because of her beautiful and very entertaining writing style, not because of the hot (like HOT hot) scenes. Nope. The reason is Louis. This Louis is THE Louis. He's my favourite one. Ever. He's a little oblivious shit and he's amazing.

I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark At A Crow by sunsetmog (122K, Bottom!Louis)

The first time Louis Tomlinson kisses him, Nick is three sheets to the wind, wearing a pirate hat, and so fucking tired of Louis being a complete and utter knobhead that he's spent the last ten minutes snapping at him.

The kiss takes him rather by surprise, all things considered.

Or: Nick and Louis don't like each other, not even a little bit, not even at all.

I read over three hundred fanfictions in the 1D fandom, and the 98% of those where Harry/Louis. And yet somehow my favourite fic ever in this fandom is a Tomlishaw. When I think of it I feel I bit disconcerted, but honestly, it only makes sense. This fic is so good. I love the plot, the hurt, the smut. Louis. Louis is perfect. He's so tense, so thick, a little shit most of the time, a little baby the other times. I love it. Read it. I don't care if you don't like the pairing. Just read it.

Who Would've Thought by whoknows  (44K, Bottom!L)

The idea doesn’t come to Louis until they’ve been at the bungalow for a couple of days. Harry has no idea that he’s going to pop a knot. He’s been living his life with the expectation that he’s going to be a beta, and Louis isn’t going to tell him otherwise.

Louis is an omega, though, and most omegas want to be filled up with a knot, fucked the way their bodies are made to be fucked, and Louis is no different. In ten years he wants to have an alpha waiting for him at home who will hold him down and fuck him exactly the way Louis wants to be fucked without worrying that they’re going to expect him to stay at home, open a joint bank account, raise a litter of babies, cook and clean and, most importantly, be submissive. For that to happen Louis needs an entirely different kind of alpha.

And so the plan is born.

This is the ABO fic. Still haven't found one as good as this. As always whoknows fics get extra points for the way Louis is characterised. Also, the way the storyline has been structured, it's so smart. (I admit the first time I read it I didn't understand what was going on until I was almost halfway in, but when I did it made so much sense. I also may have re-read it backwards since then because it's easier, but I love how it is nonetheless.) (I won't tell you to read Swim In The Smoke too, another excellent ABO by the same author, otherwise this would turn into a whoknows fic rec. But.)

My English Love Affair by isthatyoularry (19K, Bottom!L)

The thing about sleeping with a member of a famous indie band is that the inevitability of having a song written about you is most likely a hundred percent. The second thing is that in the end, nobody's supposed to find out it's about you.

The one where Harry writes a song about his English love affair and Louis sleeps with someone in White Eskimo and all he gets is a stupid song written about him.

I simply like this one. It's no epic piece of literature, but it has everything I need. I love when they are in love with one another but they don't realize it until it's too late, I love the pining, I love the hurting each other while trying to get better.

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry (136K, Bottom!H)

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

So you may have realized that I tend to prefer mostly Bottom!L. Guilty as charged. You see, I don't have a problem picturing Harry bottoming. My problem is Louis topping. I can't see that, mostly because I like Louis' character with determinate characteristics, which in B!H fics he tends not to have. But this is not the case. I love this fic. I believe it's the one I read the most times, even if Louis tops. And the reason is because Harry and Louis are so beautifully characterised, in a way that goes far beyond sexual roles. It's amazing to see how their relation slowly changes and I love the way they act to one another. Also, I'm a sucker for enemies to lover fics. So.

Let the Words Fall Out by pertunes (6K, no smut)

It’s not a thing, he decides. It’s not going to be a thing, because his ears have been ringing for months and so what if some days he feels like he’s straining to hear what even Niall’s jabbering on about.

Probably the only story under 10K I will (ever?) rec. I don't like short fics, with those you don't have the time to get fond of the characters that the end has already come. Well, unless you don't stick to a very canon or vague context and I prefer a bit more of originality If possible. Though, as always, I've got my exceptions and this is the one. I've read this story more than ones and it hurt every time. Louis centric, touches a delicate matter such as hearing loss, very nice. It has a brief sequel.

A Castle of Twigs and Thistles by flowerheaddress (187K, Kid!Fic, Major Character Death)

In 8-year-old Louis Tomlinson’s world, things were bleak and desolate. Yet, when discovering the boy swaddled to his jumper that had been watching him pass everyday from primary since his arrival to the other side of the thicket, Louis’ life takes a turn in brilliance and beauty that had never graced him until the clouds were brushed from his eyes by the tiny hands and arms littered with the bruises of a conflicted past and a wary future. Swept into imagination, Louis must learn to love and let go when life interrupts the adventures that carry both boys far from the gloom of the tiny village nestled away to the hills just out from London’s crawling city limits. In again falling to his desires of a bustling, full life and the hidden world he’d never known to be reality tangled within the brambles and weeds, Louis must take reigning place to the side of the invisible boy and his kingdom no one had dared to find where nothing is what it seems.

This HURTS. And it's the kind of hurt that gets inside you and stays forever, which, I know it doesn't sound good, but it takes a lot for a work of fiction to create such a strong and long lasting mix of devastating emotions, and in this case I think it's all worth it. I really feel more people should read this fic, not only because I need to share my pain and my amazement for this story, but also because it may be the most well written fic I have ever read in this fandom and it's so so emotionally engaging. I fell in love with its phrasing and its style in a matter of a few paragraphs, it feels like going through poetry. It's beautiful and I think it's one of those story I will never forget. (But if you are easily upset by hard themes avoid this like the plague. The main character death warning is not there just for fun. Just saying.)

In the Crosshairs (24/?)

@lenxlvthor

In the days following Oberyn’s proposal, their situation changed radically. Oberyn accommodated them in the nicest home in Sandstone. Obara and her sisters became their own retinue of bodyguards, although Margaery wished they would disappear.

                    She should have learned after Sansa that a mafia was never truly dead. The Martells had never been a mob in the truest sense; they were more like a militia protecting their homeland from the scavenging Northern powers. Their vigilante organization was wider respected with the name of “mafia”. The mafia, however, disbanded after the fall of Aerys Targaryen. Shortly after, it became headline news that Elia Martell had been raped and murdered. The perpetrator was never found.

                    Margaery didn’t doubt that the Lannisters had been involved. Oberyn believed Tywin Lannister ordered Gregor Clegane to send a message to the Dornish. Now Oberyn had one to send to Cersei Lannister.

                     Margaery sits in her designated room playing with the buttons on the phone. Even with an untraceable number, she doesn’t dare call Jorah. As much as she needs him to publish, she knows that Cersei or the police, possibly both, likely bugged the line. Anything she said could be taken out of context and used to hurt the other members of the King’s Courier staff. Instead, she calls another number.

                    The first two calls go straight to voicemail, but on the third she picks up.

                    “I am not interested in whatever you’re selling. Now hang up and go harass-” Olenna Tyrell barks.

                    “Grandmother! Grandmother please,” Margaery interjects.

                    “Margaery? Sweet girl is that you?” she whispers.

                    Margaery blinks away tears and nods. “Yes, grandmother it’s me.”

                    The other end is quiet except for the shuffling of feet and the shutting of a door. “My rose, you’ve no idea what a relief it is to hear your voice. Are you hurt? Where are you?”

                    Margaery takes a shaky deep breath. It’s all she can do not cry. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I can’t tell you where I am. Just…just please tell Loras that I’m sorry,” her voice hitches and she sobs. “I’m so sorry. Please tell him that Grandmother.” She lets the tears come freely now.

                    “Margaery. Margaery, I will I promise. Where are you? We need to know where you are so we can get you. We’ll lock away whoever has done this to you.” Concern grows in her voice.

                    “I’m somewhere safe, where they don’t hurt their friends,” is all the hint Margaery will give her. She’ll understand. “I really needed to hear your voice. I love you.” The door creeks open. “Goodbye.”

                    She hangs up the phone the moment Obara walks in. She has a plate of cookies and a warm smile. Her smile turns into a frown when she sees the tears on Margaery’s face. “What’s wrong?”

                    “Nothing,” she wipes the tears from her eyes.

                    Obara sits down on the couch though Margaery wishes she would sit on the other side of the room. “Dorne is a safe place, Ms. Tyrell. You can feel free to admit the things that trouble you. I won’t tell. I only want to help.”

                    When Margaery doesn’t say anything, Obara scoots closer. “You’re a fascinating woman. Passionate. Brave. Cunning. Beautiful,” she tucks a hair behind Margaery’s ear. “You must be something special to have so many people trying to help you. Your parents, the King’s Courier staff, your girlfriend.”

                    “I don’t have a girlfriend,” Margaery mutters.

                    “Oh? But she’s been on the news looking for you?”

                    “I don’t care. She lied to me so we’re done.”

                    “What a bitch. I’d never lie to you.”

                    Margaery turns her head. Obara stares back at her. “Why do you care?”

                    Obara leans in closer. Margaery can feel her breath against her face. “Do I need a reason? That’s what friends do. I’d like to be your friend Margaery.”

                    The thought crosses her mind that she wants a friend too. Someone who doesn’t know the depths of the baggage she carries.

                    The door swings open again. Obara’s sister Nymeria stands in the door way.

                    “What?” Obara snaps.

                    “Father wants to speak with you. He says you have important business to run for him.”

                    Obara stomps up. She turns back to Margaery with a frustrated smile. “My apologies, Margaery. We can talk more later if you want.” She stomps out, scolding her sister after the door closes.

                    Later doesn’t happen. When Obara returns, she tells Margaery that she will be meeting Oberyn in the VIP room of the bar.

                    “Why is it always bars?” Margaery mutters.

                    “It’s the gods telling you to hook up already,” Ygritte teases.

                    “The gods don’t give a damn about anything,” Obara announces as she leads the women through the front doors. “The gods do what they will and we live with the consequences.”

                    “The gods just observe until they see fit to intervene,” Ygritte mumbles. Her gods, the old gods, had always been a touchy subject that rarely came up. Margaery had the sense that she had an affinity for them buried somewhere within her.

                    Oberyn has one leg crossed over his lap as he laughs at something the man standing beside him must have said. He turns his head and smiles when he sees Obara approaching with the women.

                    “Ms. Tyrell, Ms. Thenn. Please sit. Olyvar can get you drinks.”

                    “I’ll take the oldest drink you have,” Ygritte says.

                    “The oldest what?” Olyvar asks.

                    “Whatever you have that’s old,” Ygritte asserts.

                    He turns to Margaery.

                    “I’ll have water.”

                    He scurries off. Oberyn smiles and folds his hands over each other. “Have you considered my offer Ms. Tyrell?”

                    Margaery glances at Ygritte, then to Oberyn. “I have. And I have my stipulations.” She slides her own hand written contract across the table.

                    Oberyn reads over the contract and half-snickers. “Seems fairly standard Margaery. The way you reacted, I was expecting something difficult.”

                    “I’m not difficult to please if you do as I see Oberyn,” She remains stone-faced. She will not let him have leverage.

                    “Get me a pen,” he orders. Nymeria takes one out of her purse. Oberyn signs his name with a flourish and hands the pen across the table to Margaery.

                    She signs the line.

                    “Shall we drink to out new arrangement?” he asks cheekily as Olyvar returns with the drinks. He, Margaery and Ygritte clink their glasses.

                    “Now that that is done, Quentyn was going to ‘teach’ me pool,” Ygritte gets up with her drink.

                    “Don’t hustle the boy too badly,” Margaery calls after her.

                    Obara takes the seat that Ygritte left behind. “I believe we had a conversation to finish.” She smiles softly. Her braid falls neatly over her bare shoulder and over the top of her halter top.

                    “We don’t have to. I had nothing more to say.”

                    Obara drinks her wine. “Have you ever dueled anyone Margaery?”

                    “Like fencing?” Margaery asks.

                    Obara nods.

                    “No. My brother did. Does. He’s quite good at it.”

                    “It can be cathartic. Like boxing or running, but more stress on the mind than on the body. I could teach you some time, if you’d like. Or I could teach you boxing. A few self-defense maneuvers,” she offers.

                    Margaery cracks a smile, earning her one from Obara. “I think I’d like that. You should teach Ygritte too. As great as she is at using full force, sometimes she could be a bit more subtle.”

                    “Does she know the definition of subtle?” Obara grins.

                    Margaery laughs. Not the hollow laugh she’s been using, but a genuine one. She looks down at her glass. Perhaps a drink won’t hurt. She doesn’t need to keep an eye on Ygritte. She doesn’t need to be the responsible one tonight.

                    “What’s your favorite drink?” she asks.

                    Obara’s eyebrows pop up in surprise. “You’re getting alcohol? Well sweetheart, you have to try the Sundial.”

                    “Order me one while I use the bathroom?”

                    “Yeah. Sure thing,” The glow on Obara’s cheeks says everything about how she feels about Margaery’s sudden change in attitude.

                    Margaery even feels lighter. It’s as though signing that contract was signing away part of the burden on her shoulders. Oberyn and the Martells would help her free Loras. They’d take down Cersei and Margaery would have a fresh start. Far, far from here.

                    Perhaps in time she could forget about her lost love and how it was trampled upon.

                    She shouldn’t have let her thoughts drift back to Alayne. It feels like a betrayal, even though she knows Alayne was never real. Never hers.

                    When she exits the bathroom, a glimpse of a goatee and short dark brown hair drags her from her conflicting thoughts. “Garlan?”

                    The man walks into the bathroom. Without thinking, she walks in after him. “Garlan?”

                    The man turns around, startled. Another man grumbles about drunks as he zips his pants and bounds out of the bathroom. Margaery doesn’t notice him though. Because it’s him. It’s really him.

                    Garlan stares at her for a moment, before realization dawns on his face. “Margaery? Is that you?”

                    Margaery nods and starts crying. Garlan rushes up and gathers her in his arms. She wraps her arms around his neck tight. She tries to explain that she’s sorry and that she’s going to fix everything, but all that comes are sobs.

                    “It’s okay Margie. You’re safe,” Garlan mumbles.

                    A wolf-whistle echoes through the bathroom as the door swings shut.

                    “Mind your own damn business,” Margaery barks at him as she whipes her eyes. He scampers into a stall and slams the door shut.

                    “Let’s step outside. Come on,” he leads her out of the bathroom and out the doors.

                    She has so many questions. Why is here? How’s Leonette and Loras and father? Where is he going?

                    It’s the question he asks that catches her off guard. “Where is Ygritte?”

                    “Ygritte? She’s inside,” Margaery says. “Garlan what’s going on? What are you doing here?”

                    “I’d like to ask you the same thing.”

                    “I’ll explain Garlan, I promise. Just know that I’m going to fix it all. Loras, the Lannisters, everything,” Margaery implores. “I need you to meet someone. He’s going to help us. He’s been helping me.”

                    “There’s a plan in place already for Loras. Grandmother has been working on a plan. She and Sansa have-”

                    “Sansa? “You know? You know what the fuck they did and you’re working with them!?”

                    Garlan looks up and sighs. “I know you’re feeling hurt. And I know there’s been misunderstanding with you.”

                    “Is that what it’s called?” Margaery takes a few steps away, then paces back. “She is a mob boss. She fucking lied to me about who she was, she killed Renly. Hells, she’s probably killed dozens of people and you think I’m the one with a misunderstanding!”

                    Garlan reaches for her shoulder. “Marge look at me. Look at me. It’s all a fucked up situation and I’m so sorry. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want. Gran only wants you home. They gave us our best chance.”

                    Knowing that Olenna had known what Sansa did and still worked with her nauseated Margaery. She had pretended that she knew nothing on the phone earlier. Another lie from another loved one.

                    A commotion gathers inside, interrupting their argument. A crowd gathers toward the back, where the pool tables are. Margaery and Garlan follow the crowd. Margaery pushes her way forward until she can finally see.

                    A man with a buzz cut and plaid shirt glowers at Ygritte, who defiantly barks. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

                    “You’re giving half the bar a show. Is that what you want?” he yells and Margaery knows it’s Jon.

                    She charges forward to get between them as Ygritte clenches her fist.

                    “Why does it matter, asshole?” Quentyn shoves him. The crowd ooh’s.

                    Jon storms up and shoves him back. “Because you’re all over my girlfriend, “asshole”.”

                    “We’re not together! Why the fuck do you think we’d be together after the shit you pulled?!” Ygritte tries to push Margaery aside, but Margaery holds her ground.

                    “Ygritte, we’re drawing attention. Let Quentyn handle him.”

                    Over Ygritte’s shoulder, Margaery watches as Obara runs past. She spins around and sees Obara draw a knife. “Touch my cousin again and see what happens.”

                    “I don’t give a shit about your cousin. I want to talk to my girlfriend.” Jon calms his voice.

                    “Ex! Ex-girlfriend!” Ygritte yells.

                    The crowd suddenly hushes and disperses, except Garlan and the rest of the Martells. Oberyn slithers into the fray. He looks Jon up and down. “You’re not from Dorne.”

                    Jon pauses, distracted from Ygritte. “Who are you?”

                    “My name is Oberyn. Now why are you hassling my friends, boy?”

                    Jon shifts uncomfortably. “Sir, I just want to talk to my friends.” He looks at Margaery and Ygritte.

                    Oberyn walks slowly toward them, hands laced behind his back. “Do you mean Ms. Tyrell and Ms. Thenn? It happens that they have recently become friends of my own. So we should get along well, should we not?”

                    “Oberyn, perhaps we can take this in private. Us and the girls and you,” Garlan comes forward finally.

                    Oberyn raises his chin. “Now you, I do know. Last time I saw you, you were a tyke. Barely up to my hip.”

                    Margaery squinches her eyebrows together. “You know my brother?”

                    “Of course, Ms. Tyrell. You don’t think your grandmother played politics without working with us do you?” He goes to Obara. “Clear out the bar. I can see our guests need time to speak.”

                    Obara curtly nods.

                    “As much as I love company, I do not appreciate my nephew being assaulted. So, ah, what is your name?” Oberyn paces back and forth with the grace of a panther.

                    “Know-nothing,” Ygritte mutters.

                    “Jon,” says Jon.

                    “So Jon, what reason could you possibly have for so rudely disturbing by eastablishment?”

                    Jon stares at the floor, clearly unsure what to say.

                    “Oberyn, we’ve come here looking for my sister. While we appreciate the hospitality you have shown her, I think it’s best if you allow her to come home with me. My family is worried. You understand the importance of family.”

                    Garlan had always been eloquent with his words. Polite and professional. Garlan told her that before Willas died he had nicknamed him “Garlan the Gallant” for his manners.

                    Oberyn considers his appeal. “Of course I do. What do you say Ms. Tyrell? Do you want to go home? Highgarden, correct?”

                    She wants home. She wants the gardens, her father, familiarity. But she doesn’t know where Sansa is. She could be outside. She could be waiting in her family home. She could be drinking tea with her mother right now for all Margaery knows. She’s not sure how she feels about that image. But she wants home. She nods. “I want to see my family.”

                    “Very well. Obara, call Tyene and tell her to make preparations for a long trip.”

                    “My apologies, Oberyn, but we only intended for Margaery and Ygritte to come with us,” Garlan clarifies.

                    “And now you will make arrangements for a few more. Olenna will understand. Margaery and I have an agreement that I intend to honor to the last term.”

                    “Oberyn is coming or I’m not going,” Margaery ends the conversation and walks out. She makes it halfway down the sidewalk before the door swings open and foot steps fall in step beside her in the humid Dornish night air.

                    She hooks her fingers into her pants pocket. “I’m sure Quentyn would have helped you pummel Jon’s face in if you’d asked.”

                    “For now, whoever gave him that hair cut took my vengeance. I’ll have to come up with something else.”

                    Margaery glances at Ygritte. Her hair is falling into her face, but she can see the wistfulness in her eyes. “Are you going to be okay?”

                    Ygritte shrugs. “Are you?”

                    “I have no idea. I don’t want to see her.” She doesn’t want her heart to break again when it hasn’t even recovered.

Part Five – “I’m Embarrassed For You.”

In early 2011, I received an e-mail from the producer of Coast to Coast AM – a globally syndicated, late night AM talk show founded by Art Bell and eventually hosted by George Noory. The show covers the weird, strange and absurd in addition to other valid stories.  (Linda Moulton Howe, for instance, was a regular guest who frequently talked about the Honeybee Crisis, over a decade before it actually became an acknowledged “thing.”)  So, while a majority of the show’s content covered government conspiracies and the paranormal, there were legitimate topics discussed.

Apparently, George had come across my website while searching for information about Dorothy. He wanted to speak with me – on the annual Kennedy Assassination Special.  For an entire hour.  To put things into perspective, they wanted me to guest on a program following Mark Lane – a man Dorothy worked closely with in her research questioning the Warren Commission.  Lane is infamous in the Kennedy world – an attorney who is widely known for his bestseller Rush to Judgement – a critique of the Commission’s report.  

To reiterate:  George fucking Noory wanted ME to guest on his SYNDICATED SHOW following MARK. LANE.

I didn’t believe it.

Truly, I assumed that the email was just another ploy by David to get me to cough up my cell number. Cautiously, I bit the bullet and dialed the producer’s number (from a phone other than my own). It was a legitimate offer. I accepted, and without a publicist, wrote my own introductory piece to be presented on the C2C website.  I had no idea what I was doing but I was determined to rock it, regardless.

The night of the show was fraught with anxiety for me.  I chain-smoked as I sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor, files strewn about me in an organized yet haphazard way.  At the time I was instructed to, I called the number provided and was put through to the show.  That was it. I was live.

My interview is about 3 hours into the show.

Friends and family alike stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to listen to my segment and immediately, my inbox filled with e-mails from listeners across the world, telling me that they thoroughly enjoyed the interview.  My website blew up with views – over 10,000 in a matter of minutes – and the number continued to rise.  I couldn’t believe that what had once started as an interest in high school had turned into such an opportunity for me as an adult.

One of the e-mails I received was from a man named David Wayne (no relation to creepy stalker David). Wayne and Richard Belzer were writing a book, he explained.  Hit List, it was titled and an entire chapter was to be devoted to Dorothy.  Wayne wanted to know if I would help him with information.  Having nothing to lose and seeing that I could get even more of Dorothy’s story out there to a wider audience, I jumped on the chance.

David Wayne and I e-mailed back and forth for quite some time, discussing theories, different aspects of Dorothy’s death and various parts of her Kennedy research. Eventually, the book published and Wayne and I fell out of touch.  It wasn’t until late 2014 that I actually stumbled upon a copy of the book (no, I hadn’t gone out and bought it) in a thrift store.  I snatched it up and immediately flipped to Dorothy’s chapter. Wayne had used my information and quoted me many times, to the point where I made up a hefty part of the chapter itself.  I was honored, flattered and excited to be published.

Another e-mail I received was from none other than Lee Israel herself.  It was short – one line, in fact – and it cut me to the bone.

“I’m embarrassed for you.”

Four words.  Four hastily sent words at 4 in the morning by a lonely, bitter old woman who couldn’t bear to see anyone else gain any shred of recognition in relation to Dorothy’s case.  Four words typed by a woman who I hadn’t talked to in many years.  I knew Lee was trying to hurt me and, while it was a secret I have kept for years now, I will admit that she succeeded.

No matter the praise I received, her four words haunted me.  I had no idea why, either.  It wasn’t as if she was this pillar of excellence…  Still, what a bitch.  (It was of consolation to me that she had stayed up so late into the night to listen to my interview, though…  Ha!)

Prior to the interview, I had a very important phone call to make. One that I had put off since I began my research.  I needed to talk to Ron Pataky.  I needed to talk to the “dangerous” man that Lee had warned me about.  I couldn’t go on the air and opine on anything Kilgallen-related until I talked to him, I felt - so I took a deep breath, went outside on my lunch break and dialed his number.

I had done a significant amount of poking around online to get a sense of who Ron was before the call. Unfortunately, what I found wasn’t exactly making a good case for him…  In the years since Dorothy had died, he became a “doctor” (rumor has it, his diploma is from a mill) and a photographer.  He was also a “published author” of books of his “poetry” – which were short limericks that are so cheesy they are cringeworthy.  One caught my eye, though.  Then, another.  And another. Several of his poems were veiled confessions, it seemed.

It sounds dumb but they gave me instant goosebumps.  One poem alluded to silencing a reporter.  Another was of the same theme.  Yet another made thinly veiled references to Dorothy.  They were strange, at best and very creepy.  Was he making a confession?  Was he taunting those who believed he killed her?

She had loved him, despite his obvious and continual denials of their relationship.  They were “just friends,” he went on record as saying to both me and Lee (who had to rename him “The Out of Towner” in her book to avoid legal trouble with the man).  It is obvious to anyone familiar with Dorothy that she had fallen for him – having met him on a press junket in Sweden.  

According to some reports, he first met her and compared her to Clare Boothe Luce (wife of Henry Luce; the reference being an odd throwback to Luce’s connection to the CIA).  It is a well-known fact that Kilgallen let Pataky into her private world of Kennedy research.  She went as far as to allow him to contribute to her most sensational columns, especially around the time she received an advanced copy of the Warren Commission Report (another move of hers that terribly angered J. Edgar Hoover). There’s no question that Dorothy and Ron were close.

There are other rumors that Pataky went to assassin training in Panama, sent by the CIA.  Furthermore, the belief is that that he was dispatched to seduce and murder Dorothy for her dedication to unveiling the Kennedy assassination secret.  It sounds absolutely batty however, I still had to confront Pataky about the allegations. I didn’t feel right going on record, otherwise.

The phone rang for what felt like forever and I took an intense drag on the cigarette that was nervously balanced between my fingers.  Finally, there was a click and Ron answered.  His voice was smooth and deep, even in his age.  He was friendly and, dare I say it, charming as hell.  Even his laugh, when I mentioned the Panama connection, put me at ease – a response I absolutely did not expect.

I spoke with Ron several times, peppering him with questions about his relationship with Dorothy and attempting to get information from the source before I went on for my interview – something I was candid with him about.

“Ron, I have to ask,” finally having mustered the courage to bite the bullet on the most difficult question I’ve ever had to ask another human being.  “Did you kill Dorothy?”

That laugh, again.  “No,” his answer was short, as if the mere suggestion was lunacy.  “Absolutely not.”  

As for the other questions, he denied going to Panama and denied being a CIA assassin.  He denied being in New York City on the night of her death, stating that they talked that night over the phone and the conversation was “vanilla.”  He professed his love for Dorothy in strictly a platonic manner, speaking highly of her and in a tone that was fond.  He almost made it seem that Dorothy had an unrequited love for him without coming right out and saying it.

We discussed David, who had also harassed Ron for many years.  He stated that David was crazy.  (Amen to that.)  Additionally, we talked briefly about Lee.  I told Ron what she had told me so long ago and again, that laugh as if it was ridiculous.  He called her an alcoholic, among other things, and was absolutely not favorable toward her – something I agreed with him on.  At least we had a common ground, I thought…

He offered to send me scans of private photos of him and Dorothy, which I accepted, even if it was something akin to a buyoff.  Since neither my website nor the interview had or would have any implication of guilt toward Ron, I didn’t consider the gift a conflict of interest.  (For the record: I didn’t defend Ron during the interview; I said that I had spoken with him and that he had denied murdering Dorothy.)

The pictures he sent me were breathtaking and pictures that were previously unpublished online.  A young, handsome Pataky stood next to a perfectly-coiffed and exuberant Dorothy.  They were quite the contrast to my favorite photo of Dorothy, standing next to Richard, looking sad and forlorn.  The frailty I had seen in several episodes of What’s My Line? and in that photo of her seemed to melt away in the picture of her and Ron.  I published the photos, with Ron’s permission, shortly before I went on air with George.

I had conquered my greatest fear up until that point when it came to Dorothy’s case.  I spoke to the man I believed to be her murderer.  I conversed with him, laughed with him, was charmed by him completely and totally and still, my opinion did not change.

After speaking with Ron, I thought that the scariest thing was over.  That is, until David threatened my daughter.  

While the case had granted me an amazing opportunity – to not only be published in a legitimate book but also for a once-in-a-lifetime radio interview – I was more than willing to throw away all I had worked for to get David out of my life.  Even as I hit “delete” to multiple years’ worth of work, permanently throwing it all away in a millisecond, I still had my doubts that David even truly existed.  Afterall, Lee was a master impersonator and thief – a sociopathic liar.  It wasn’t beyond her reach to create a persona to keep the case to herself.  

I was grateful for the things I had learned, the people I had met and the opportunities afforded to me but I didn’t seem to know which way was up.  Sure, I had finally come to a conclusion about Dorothy’s death but another question lingered above my head – one that made me question my own sanity for a brief period of time.  

Was David even real?