#HELP THESE GUYS HAVE BEEN THE ONLY THING IVE DRAWN ALL WEEK + WEEKEND?!?

[karimelthefloof]

[gotfuckingseven]

A New Place to Call Home

Hybrid AU

Namjoon x Reader

Masterlist

You were sleeping so peacefully, when someone nudged your shoulder, startling you awake and away from them on instinct, until you realized it was just Youngjae, who worked at the shelter you lived at.

“Y/n, you have a visitor. He’s asked for someone like you. Would you like to meet him?” His voice was soothing as you nodded your head, hopefully about to meet your newest owner. See, the shelter you were at, was designed for hybrids, like yourself, who had previously been in a bad home. The workers made sure that those who adopted from them wouldn’t mistreat the hybrids.

Youngjae left you alone for a minute, so you could change and prepare yourself for the new person. As a bunny hybrid, you were naturally shy, but even more so after your last owner abused you, physically and mentally. Stepping out of your room, you walked to the cafeteria, where you would meet the guy Youngjae talked about.

Before you saw them however, Jinyoung and Jaebum, the only two cat hybrids of the shelter, stopped you. They stood in front of you.

“So. Youngjae told us he has potentially found you a new owner. Are you gonna be okay? Or do you want us there with you for moral support?” Jaebum asked, making you smile at his over protectiveness.

“No, I think I’ll be fine. If I need anything, I’ll just come running to you two after Youngjae. That’s if something bad happens. But, I’ve gotta go.” You gave them each a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, before they left to the other side of the room.

Youngjae was talking to another guy, presumably the one who wanted to meet you. He was tall, and when he smiled there were dimples, which were cute.

“Ah! Y/n, come here sweetheart.” Youngjae caught sight of you, before ushering you over to him. “Y/n, this is Namjoon. He’s looking to adopt right now. Namjoon, this is Y/n. She tends to get shy with new people.” You had clung to Youngjae while he talked, still hesitant about him. “Oh, and please be careful what you say. And try to not raise your voice if something is wrong. She’s dealt with enough of that for an entire lifetime.”

“Go on.” Youngjae urged you forward and away from him, as he took leave of you two, giving you privacy.

“H-hi.” You gave him a small, shy smile, one which he returned.

“Hi there.” My god, those dimples would be the death of you. The two of you made small talk, you learning all about him as you gave him simple answers. You learned he was a lawyer, and that he went to work at 8 am, and came around 6:30 and 7 pm. He didn’t work weekends, unless it was a big case. He preferred to stay in most nights, and was really clumsy. “I think that’s the most I’ve talked about myself in a very long time.” He says with a laugh, before his face turns serious. “So, how would you like to come and stay with me? A permanent new home? You can come home with e today even, if you’d like.” He was so hopeful, and he seemed pretty nice after all.

You nod your head while saying, “Yes.” A smile spread across your face, once you realized you agreed to a new place to call home. One that would actually be a loving and caring home. He nearly picked you up to spin you around, but decided better of it, before bringing his hands to his mouth, and grinning even harder if that were possible.

He went over to Youngjae, you following behind him, as he told him he wanted to go ahead and sign the adoption papers and to take you home today.

“Awesome. If you’ll just sign right here, I will show you to her room, so she can get her things, and then you are free to take her home.” He was smiley as always, making you feel better about leaving the shelter.

“Namjoon, I could still come back here, right? To see Youngjae and the others?” You really hoped he said yes, you would miss never being able to talk to Youngjae, Jinyoung, or Jaebum again. They became your best friends while you’ve been here.

“Of course we can. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t let you come back to see your friends?” He smiled at you as the two of you followed Youngjae, before lightly ruffling your hair, fingertips grazing your ear, making you shiver.

“Ah, here we are.” Youngjae stopped in front of your room, and you walked in, grabbed the few clothes you had, and gave them to Namjoon.

“Here. This is all I really have here. Oh, and this.” You grabbed your two journals and pens/pencils. But you kept a hold of them. You didn’t want anyone else seeing what you’ve drawn. Clutching them close to your chest, Namjoon held your hand as Youngjae led you and Namjoon outside.

“Well Y/n, I guess this is good-bye. You’ll always have a place here, should you ever need to come back. I’ll miss you short-stack.” He had a sad smile on his face as he ruffled your hair, before lightly rubbing the base of your ears. Your eyes closed as you leaned into his touch. He was the one person, apart from Jinyoung or Jaebum, that you would let touch your ears, as they were very sensitive.

Your eyes opened when he stopped, and you had missed the face of longing Namjoon had, which disappeared the moment your eyes opened.

“Well, let’s head on home. Gotta get you some clothes later today, that way we can relax the rest of the weekend. See ya later, Youngjae.” Though you were saddened as you watched the shelter disappear from your sight, you were excited at the thought of a new home. Namjoon was very gentle as he led the way home, but also letting you look and sniff around at all the new sights. As you turned one last corner, he stopped in front of a very nice building. It was apartments, but they were obviously nice. He put a code in on the keypad, and then there was the audible sound of the door unlocking. He opened the door, and then went to an elevator, quickly pressing the button. Stepping in, you glanced down, and realized he hadn’t stopped holding your hand the entire way there. You grinned to yourself, as movement stopped, the doors opened, revealing a short hallway, where he used his key to open the door to the apartment.

It was beautiful inside. To the left was a kitchen, and straight ahead was a living room. A couch on the wall and one in front of the T.V. that was on the wall. On each side of the T.V., were windows, each with a window seat.

“C'mon. I’ll show you the rest of the place.” He smiled almost shyly as he spoke, before moving down the hallway. Your room was across from his, with a full-size bed, a desk, and another window. Then there was the closet and dresser along the same wall, across from the bed. His was set up similarly, but he didn’t have a window. Then he had a guest room, and the bathroom across from said room. At the end of the hallway was a washer and dryer.

“This is so pretty. Thank you so much.” You turned and gave him a hug, nuzzling your face up into his neck. When you pulled away, his cheeks were bright red.

“It’s nothing much, really.” He mumbled. “So,” he cleared his throat, “would you like to go shop for some clothes now?”

“Sure. But can it wait a bit? I’m a little hungry. I haven’t had lunch yet.” After a delicious lunch, with him tripping and nearly dropping it as well, the two of you went to different stores and bought you some new clothes. All the pants had a hole for your tail, as well as the hats for your ears. By the time you got home, it was time for dinner, and you were flat-out exhausted. Sitting on the couch, you slightly curled up, creating warmth as you waited for Namjoon.

As he called out, he didn’t get a response from you, so he was shocked to find you curled up and asleep on the couch. Smiling softly, he went to you, before picking you up, laughing to himself as you nuzzled into him, before he took you to your room and tucking you in. Taking his phone out, he took a quick picture of you laying there all snuggled up to a pillow, before halfway closing the door and going to bed himself.  

Over the course of the next few months, Namjoon had been nothing but kind and caring to you. Always making sure you were okay, and during this time, you were finally comfortable enough with him, that he was shocked the day you brought his hand up to your ears, a silent offer to pet them. Since then, he had taken a lot of opportunities to rub your ears, knowing now that it would help you sleep at night. Along with being cuddled by him. Everything was wonderful. Until this one day…

“Joonie! You’re back!!” You ran up to him, capturing him in a hug. He hadn’t been home much the past few weeks, as he had a very important case to work on. He was gone early in the mornings and gone until late at night.

“Y/n.” He gave you a tight lipped smile, making you tilt your head in confusion.

“Joonie? What’s wrong? Please tell me I didn’t do anything to make you angry with me and that’s the cause for your not being home.” You knew he had to work, but your insecurities came tumbling out, as you let out a squeak, realizing what you just said.

“Y/n, just stop for once, ok? I feel like I’m suffocating with how you’ve been hovering over me. I get it. You’re worried and all. But do you think you could tone it down a bit?”

Lowering your head, you mumbled out, “Ok. Good night Namjoon.” You kept your head low as you walked back to your room. You didn’t have the energy to slam it shut like you wanted to, but you did lock it.

You grabbed your little journal, and made an entry for the night.

*I waited up for Joonie. He hasn’t been home early lately. But I hover over him and suffocate him. Or so he says tonight. So, I guess I’ll stop with waiting up for him. And sleeping with him. Unless he explicitly asks, I just won’t do anything to ‘suffocate’ him. Well, I guess that’s all for now.*

After closing your journal, you climb into bed, hugging your oversized teddy bear close, drifting off to sleep.

—————————————————————

For the next week or so, you stopped randomly cuddling with Namjoon on the couch, instead opting to curl in on yourself with your head resting on the arm rest. You wouldn’t greet him at the door, and you’d begun to hide away in your room. He didn’t particularly seem to care about any of that, so you did it more often than not.

—————————————————-

Namjoon had finally finished the long case he’d been working on for weeks now, and felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. He couldn’t wait to get home to you and snuggle. He sighed just from imagining it. As he stepped foot into the apartment, he noticed it didn’t seem lively like normal.

“Hey, Bunbun, I’m home!” He called out, hoping to entice you to come running to him like normal. He was met with silence, and that’s when he began to worry. You would always come meet him. He made his way through the apartment, checking each room til he came to yours. There you were, lying there, fast asleep, with Jimin next to you. Jimin was a cat-hybrid that lived across the hallway. Jimin had sat up when he walked in, and when he tried getting closer, he actually hissed at him!

“What’s up with you? I’ve never heard you hiss before.”

“Well I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t make her cry.”

“Woah woah, when did I make her cry? And why?” He was beyond confused, but saddened at the thought of you crying because of him!

“You apparently told her to, and I quote, ‘Tone down the hovering. It feels as though I’m suffocating.’ That is what you told my sweet little bunny. Have you been so busy, that you don’t have time for her? That you don’t even remember what you say to her? You know how sensitive she is. Anything you say, will affect her. Now leave, she needs to sleep right now. She spent the last hour crying to me after I came over when she called me.” Jimin huffed, and cuddled back up to you, making you nuzzle your nose into him, your small little tail wiggling in your sleep. He left the room, shutting the door behind him, and went to sit on the couch, contemplating how this came to be.

——————————————————-

“Hey little bunny. Wake up.” Jimin’s soft voice woke you from a very peaceful nap. Still half-asleep, you clung onto him, mumbling a 'five more minutes’, making him giggle cutely. “No my little bunny. You need to get up. One because I have to go back to my home for dinner, but two because you’ve got a visitor. And he really wants to talk to you. Also, you can literally smell how bad he feels. You should go talk to him.”

“Ugh, alright. But if I really want you to, can you come back over after dinner? If I really wanted you over here for the night?” You stared while pouting lightly, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

“Fine, yes. But only if you don’t like what he says after all this.” He groaned, with you pumping your fist upwards in victory.

“Yes! But okay. You go on out, tell him I’ll be out shortly, ok?” You gave him one last, long hug, before he disappeared through your open doorway.

————————————————————

“She’ll be down shortly. Don’t go in there. Let her come to you. Also, I might come back over if she really wants me to. I just have to tell Hobi and Yoongi.” His owners were pretty easy going, as they were close friends with Namjoon, so it wouldn’t be a big deal for him to come and spend the night. Used to happen all the time until you got comfortable around him.

Ugh, why did he have to be such an idiot and say those things. If only-

“Hey.” You had finally come out after some contemplation.

“Bunbun, hey. I need to apologize to you.” He grabbed your hand, guiding you to sit down beside him.

“Listen. I am so sorry to you Bunbun. I had been so stressed out, work was hectic. And I know that’s no excuse for what I said to you. But it started a chain reaction. I wanted to work as much as possible to get out from under all of it, to try and do it fast. Since I brought my work home with me, I never really had a break. I am so sorry for how I treated you. Will you ever forgive me?” He pleaded, and you stared at him.

“Okay.” You finally muttered after some time. His face lit up it was almost blinding.

“Okay? So all is forgiven?”

“Yes.” All it took was that one word confirmation for him to hug you, one hand resting at the back of your head, the other on your back. You felt him hold back on rubbing your ears, and you grabbed his hand and brought it to your ear, a silent offering he happily took. You were then practically purring, content to finally have things back to normal. Or, as normal as it could be with the both of you.

[identitycris1s]

im back

hi just thought id pop in with a status update! maybe i’ll break this down into categories. feel like im doing an email update (ew!) but this rly is probs the best way to structure this post...

work / school (?)

work has been....aite. idk what to say. idk if i have unrealistic expectations of what work is supposed to be, but the idealist in me thinks its wrong to not even try and find something that seems meaningful / is deeply fulfilling. i think im mature enough to get that work isnt supposed to be fun / exciting every single day but bro this daily grind / sense of dread / utter disinterest / feeling of futility / frustration / disenchantment surely isnt the correct state of affairs.....at least let me try and find something that is a better fit, thats more stimulating, that feels more NATURAL to me? i just dont think im cut out to be a lawyer. sure i sometimes like arguing and making my point and i like that everyone i work with is smart and interesting and generally kind and reasonable and i like the prestige of the job and feeling like ppl respect me and i like the decent pay and the humane hours but.....i feel unmotivated to be a good lawyer. i think i find it difficult / disingenuous to always 100% get behind my client and advocate for their best interests. i tend to see things from a zoomed out perspective, like WHY are we fighting, WHY cant we just settle, WHY are the claimants pursuing this absolutely crap and unmeritorious claim and WHY do we have to defend it when its stupid and bound to fail (cos access2justice i guess but still, WHY), WHY cant we just hash things out in a meeting instead of sending emails here and there and wasting time, WHY do we have to answer stupid questions, WHY WHY WHY

and i think public policy is sort of an answer to that....i think theres more questioning of why we do things and why a policy will or will not work, in a macro sense - what is good for society at large. whereas in law (at least in litigation) its how can we just move this case forward and help the client, which is often not the most productive thing to do in a macro sense - very much a zero sum game. i get that shitty / unmeritorious claims still need to be defended against and someone has to do it and I GET IT but i just dont think i want to be that person defending these claims...or bringing them for that matter.....ultimately i cant fully / sincerely separate the overarching sense of futility from the duty to do a good job.

sigh. well at least ive kind of figured out this isnt for me. which is scary cos being a lawyer in this firm is pretty much a career for life - truly an iron rice bowl, i could probably make partner in maybe 4 or 5 years and live a comfortable upper middle class life...but i cant bring myself to do that. i cant bring myself to not give myself a shot at doing something i actually find interesting, stimulating and that i care about deeply. call me crazy! we’ll see where this brings me in 5 years’ time....:) 

anyway most ppl at work (at least in my team) know that im most likely gonna leave soon. i rly only told 2 ppl (my boss cos he had to sign off on my testimonial and G cos she was quitting anyway)...but somehow ppl found out one way or another. i dont rly mind and ppl have been taking it pretty well and have been kind and encouraging (i guess why would they not take it well, im hardly indispensable) but i get a bit antsy thinking - what if i dont get in...then what? do i just put my head down and continue here (BUT IM SO SAD) or do i just quit without any prospects and try to find a policy-ish job??

idk. will have faith that God will put me where I need to be. he is in control of it all and I BELIEVE THIS !!! I am just a bit scared that his plan is different from what i  think i want....but this is just my human instinct and i know in my head that there is no reason to be scared cos his plan is always the better one. head knowledge just needs to translate to heart understanding and real trust / faith.

ermmm relationships...???

i started using...cmb...idk why i find this so cringey. i guess about a year ago i couldnt imagine doing this and i kept thinking EW what if ppl i know see me and they think im a desperate saddo who cant find a bf irl and has to resort to an app EW shes so lame and ugly and gross. and i realised that is so stupid no one actually thinks that way and its very backward and dumb and insecure of me to be thinking that. and anyway as i get older i rly dont quite give a shit what ppl think of me (at least i tell myself that....)

i suppose i was also inspired by csm who has been quite actively using apps and meeting ppl and taking real..strides..(LOL) in her dating life. i used to tell myself hey God will provide u with a mans if he wants u to be with a mans. but also God can use an app to do that...and if i dont step out in faith that he will do something and i dont take any action at all, how is God gonna work?? should i sit at home and expect a man to fall into my lap??

for some ppl it has been way easier, e.g. my parents meeting in uni and falling i love. i always wanted that - the organic relationship, the meet-cute, the friends to lovers thing. (i guess i tried that last one before and it didnt work...) but i think theres no point in romanticising relationships anymore. thats a very modern thing to do and its not necessarily a good thing? like who’s to say a relationship that had organic beginnings is intrinsically better than one that started from an app?

anyway i havent had much luck haha i think its hard to find genuine GCBs (or maybe theyre just not attracted to me....) although recently ive been talking to this one guy B for a week or two and its been...ok i guess. hes rly nice and seemed cool at first - we talked about travelling and hamilton and the office, which was a good start. he is thoughtful and kind and doesnt seem to be put off by my very slow replies (he replies so fast......its stressful a bit) and he does the whole good morning text thing (which i frankly find a bit bizarre, we barely know each other..?? and ive never even met him irl.. but its sweet i guess :))

but DUDE his english seems to be not great - at least thats the impression i get from texting him. which is an issue for me. i dont want it to be BUT IT IS...first red flag was when he said some weird thing about not wanting to wear a mask at work (not a literal mask - like he didnt know if he could be his ‘true self’) and the wording was very strange. then he said “the weekends are almost here” ?? the weekend is not a plural though? then he used the wrong tense a few times and his apostrophe usage was wrong (”Gods’ love” - bro there is one God). he also uses way too many commas which irks me.

i mean i get that text is supposed to be an informal medium - come on look at this post, there r hardly any capital letters and plenty of short forms and hardly any apostrophes but u see its CONSISTENT and its obviously cos of laziness / convenience - but i think his problem is a bit different...u can sort of tell if someone doesnt have a 100% strong grasp of english. those r basic grammar mistakes man...i get that i sound petty and stupid and this isnt a huge deal but i feel like im settling by even talking to him cos this is not something i wld normally tolerate but hey maybe im getting desperate with age :(:(:( urgh 

on the other hand maybe i just need to be more generous with ppl and l have an irrationally high standard for english cos i am a lawyer and my friends all speak well / text well?? maybe im just being too nitpicky?? honestly hes very nice  and communicative and straightforward and seems mature and very God-fearing and idk why hes still talking to me cos ive been a bit cold and slow to respond. hes very patient which i dont rly deserve.....i myself have a million flaws that are probably way worse and egregious (ahem PRIDE...ahem ego....ie the source of this dilemma in the first place...) so maybe i should just close one eye abt the bad grammar.

i also realised how fked up i am - confirmed my suspicion that i am naturally attracted to emotionally unavailable ppl / ppl that just seem distant / out of reach (thats my avoidant attachment style right there). i think there was one day he didnt text me at all and omg...i couldnt stop thinking what i did wrong...like did i piss him off by being too cold for too long...did he get scared off cos i said i wanted to do a masters (idk this seemed like an irrational leap but i was being irrational)..then i started being nicer to him and replied more promptly hahaha turns out he was just rly bz at work that day. omg this pattern is real i think i did this with xj also - was eager to speak when he was in japan but after meeting irll i was just over it... (i am drawn to distance like a moth to a flame and i am repelled by availability like....a fire by a fire extinguisher (??)). yucks i rly hate myself sometimes but yknow what at least im self aware and im trying to fix this...kind of.. gonna hash this avoidant thing out with my therapist at the next sesh.

on the topic of xj i got a bit nostalgic and wondered why we stopped speaking (surprise surprise it was my fault, didnt reply then felt it had been left to long to pick it up again...) went back to look at our texts and aw we rly got along so well, i do miss him as a friend and im sorry about how poorly i treated him especially in dec 2018 / jan 2019 sigh.....i was a real bitch....

anyway im just gonna see how things go with B... if he asks me out i prob will go... just to give it a shot. update if / when that happens!

EDIT - he asked me out lol we shall see how it goes. 

[strawberriestyles]

Shakespeare (Part IV)

(Banner made by the incredibly talented @tiostyles)

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which Harry is a poetic frat boy who just so happens to be the TA for your new English class.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: Hi, hello!! An early update!! I wasn’t feeling too hot about this part but I hope you guys like it. Any and all feedback is appreciated, as always. Enjoy!

It’s not pleasant to wake up in a room without blinds.

Light pierces your eyes, even through the lids. The sun is blaring hot. You can feel an uncomfortable layer of sweat coating your back. When you open your eyes, it takes a few panicked moments to remember where you are.

“Stay.”

Your fingers move without thought, pushing the overgrown curls back from his forehead. You’ve wanted to do that since you met him.

“I have-”

“Please, love,” he presses, voice quiet and gravelly with the remnants of sleep. “Can’ walk yeh home. Would feel better ‘f yeh jus’ stayed.” His fingers rub at your jean-clad thigh as he yawns.

“Harry,” you warn gently, heart picking up speed against your will. “I’m not ready to…”

“T'what?” His eyebrows are drawn low as he looks up at you. He looks like a grumpy toddler who’s ready for a nap.

“You know,” you mumble, staring out the window. You can still see some lights changing colors from the yard, reflecting off the upstairs window. If you listen closely, you can hear the distant thumping music from downstairs. You’re surprised at how well this room shuts out sound.

“Mmm,” Harry hums, pulling you down gently by the grip he has on your leg. Your back slips down the wall until your head hits the pillow. “’M not askin’ yeh fo’ sex,” he explains bluntly. “Jus’ sleep here.”

You blink heavily, reaching up to rub the sleep from your eyes. Your attempt to sit up is hindered by a heavy arm hooked around your waist. It’s then that you realize the heat that has your shirt sticking to your back isn’t from the sun, but from the radiating body practically glued to you.

Harry’s chest is melded to your spine, warm breath condensing down the back of your neck. His nose is buried in the hair at the back of your head and his arm constricts around you like a vice when you shift your position.

“Harry,” you gasp, prying at his fingers where they’ve clamped onto the hem of your shirt. It’s like being trapped in a sauna.

You can tell when he wakes up because his entire body stiffens before he releases you. It’s a relief as air hits your sticky back. Your jeans aren’t any more comfortable, you realize, as you sit up on the mattress.

Harry is fumbling around on the floor for his glasses, running his other hand through the wild mess of hair atop his head. He slips the lenses over his eyes and squints in your direction, the bright sunlight around your silhouette blinding him momentarily. Recognition sets in when his vision adjusts and he lets out a heavy breath.

“Y/N.” He states your name like a recitation. “We didn’…”

"What?” You’re as confused as the expression that’s plastered on his face. You turn away from him and find your phone on the floor a few feet away, stretching out to reach it.

“Did we fuck?”

Your phone teeters between your fingers and then tumbles back to the floor as you spin around. There’s a crease between Harry’s brows and a deep frown set into his lips. He doesn’t remember anything. How that is, you’re unsure. He was having full conversations with you and didn’t seem nearly as drunk as you would expect someone must be to forget an entire night.

“We’re still wearing clothes, aren’t we?” Your tone is harsh as you push yourself back in the direction of your phone. The screen tells you that it’s ten thirty-eight and you’ve missed your only class of the day.

“So, why’d yeh sleep here, then?”

“Because you told me to stay,” you spit, slipping your phone into your pocket.

“Yeh always angry in the mornin’?”

You don’t know why your heart sinks, why you feel the smallest splinter in your chest. Nothing significant happened last night. There were no meaningful conversations or playful kisses in the dark. But you still feel like you cracked into his shell and saw a glimpse of what Harry was like.

“I’m not angry,” you hiss, stretching out your limbs and then stuffing your laptop into your backpack with too much force. For some reason, Harry’s room doesn’t look as magical during the day.

“Coulda fooled me.” Harry rolls out of bed and pushes his glasses up his forehead to irritatedly rub at his eyes.

“Well, I didn’t really get the help you were supposed to give me,” you mutter, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. “You just fell asleep on me.”

“Shit,” Harry utters, running his tongue over his lower lip. He understands what happened now, and the memories from the night before seem to flood back to him. “’M really sorry.”

“Yeah, you seem to say that a lot.” You stalk across the room and are out the door before he can reply, but you can hear his trailing footsteps.

“I don’ really see why yeh’re so mad 'bout this. I can still help yeh 'f yeh need it. Don’ have any classes t-”

“You don’t really believe that’s the only reason I’m pissed,” you say incredulously, glancing at him over your shoulder as you thump down the narrow stairwell.

“Yeh could jus’ tell me!” Harry complains, pulling on the waist of his jeans that have begun to slip down his hips as he follows you. “’M not a fuckin’ mind-reader, yeh know.”

“God, you’re infuriating,” you mumble as you weave through the mess of a kitchen and into the living room. Plastic cups litter almost the entire floor. A glance at the couch shows the boy that greeted you on the porch last night, shirtless and snoozing, shoulder-length hair twisted over the arm of the sofa.

“So are you!” he shouts, slamming his palm into the door just as you twist the knob.

“Let me out,” you order him calmly, staring at the rings that decorate his fingers.

“H,” comes a tired whine from the living room. “I’m glad you’re getting some again, but could you keep it down?”

Your eyes fall closed as you take a deep breath.

“Is that a regular thing, then?” you ask, twisting around to face Harry, who just stares at you incredulously.

“Is wha’ a regular thing?”

“You just get drunk, fuck some girl and then forget about it in the morning?”

Harry’s face shifts into something more angry and contorted than you’ve ever seen it. His gaze is searing as he glares at you.

“Don’ think tha’s any o’ your business, innit? ’M your TA, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” you say, almost angrier than you were before. “My TA. Pretend like that’s all." 

"That is all,” Harry dismisses, shaking his head incredulously at you.

You seem to deflate as you fall back onto your heels from where you’ve been poised on your toes, an extra few inches filling the space between you. “Why would you ask me to stay the night, then?” you ask quietly.

“Was drunk, yeah?” You and Harry stand in a moment of silence, you filling your collapsed lungs with air as the effects of rejection flood your body, him watching you as you seem to shrink in on yourself.

“Then let me out,” you whisper when you can speak again, turning back around to grab at the doorknob. You wait only another few seconds before his hand falls away and you can yank the door open. You slam it behind you and are down the steps before allowing hot tears of embarrassment to overflow onto your cheeks.

***

“H!”

Harry looks up from the cracked walkway to find Max hanging over the front railing of the house. He looks high off his ass already, though Harry knows he’s only been out of class for a half hour.

“I got two kegs. Do you think that’s enough?”

“Kegs?” Harry asks. He’s overtired, mind reeling with thoughts of the report he has due on Monday. He’s been working on it in the library, but now it’s five in the evening and he thought he’d call it quits for the day. The past week has been hell, and he doesn’t know if he can muster up energy to do any more work. He blinks fogginess from his eyes as he steps up onto the porch.

“Yeah, kegs,” Max repeats, shoving his way through the stubborn front door. He’s the typical frat boy: muscle tees and long hair and snapbacks. Star player on the rugby team, too. “It’s Thursday, British.”

“Shit,” Harry mutters with a wave of realization. He forgot. His report can wait, though. He has all weekend to do it and doesn’t have a single Friday class anyways. “Well, did yeh get anythin’ other than beer?”

“Ben was gonna pick up a bunch of bottles of vodka,” he confirms, leading the way back into the kitchen. Harry rolls his eyes at the mess that has become the counter. He swears it wasn’t that sticky when he ate cereal on it this morning.

“Should be fine.”

“Great,” Max says with a grin, pulling a bottle of whiskey down from the secret top shelf of a cupboard. “Why don’t we get started early, then?”

Harry twists the cap off of the bottle when Max hands it to him, taking a painful gulp and hissing as it burns deliciously down the length of his throat. The week is finally over, and any plans he had have vanished along with his concept of moderation.

***

’M your TA, Y/N.

The words continue to echo in your thoughts, ricocheting around the inside of your skull. How embarrassing. He’s supposed to help you with class work. Wasn’t that what he was trying to do? So what if he’s extra charming? That’s just a bonus. It doesn’t mean he was flirting with you.

Your thoughts drift to the night he walked you home, the closing distance between the two of you when you had a fleeting hope that he might kiss you. The smell of him is almost palpable, even just from memory. Then there’s Thursday night, with the soft caress of his fingers along your neck. That was the first time he touched you, and you’ve never known innocent touches to be so electrifying. And it kept happening. His hand in yours, guiding you up the stairs, his arms around you to move you away from his journal, his face buried into your hip, hand on your thigh. But it was all platonic. Even when you woke up with him wrapped around you like a second skin. He’s just a clingy drunk.

You flush with the memory of his chest pressed to your back, lips so close to your neck that you can almost feel them brushing your spine. Your body heats, just like when you woke up next to him, too close to the sun. How could something have such a profound effect on you and be completely meaningless to him?

In a flustered fit, you snap your laptop closed, pushing it from your lap to cool your thighs. Your paper is due tomorrow—Tuesday—and you’ve only barely completed it. The writing is mediocre at best, but it will have to do, because there’s no way you can get yourself to focus again, even in your secluded little nook of the library.

Harry isn’t the typical frat boy, you know. Maybe that’s why it seems like such a loss to realize that he’s not interested in you. Most of them are run by hormones. They’re competitive and they lack substance. Harry isn’t like that, with his thoughtful gestures and mysterious journal and massive collection of literature. He seems to have so much substance that you wouldn’t know where to start sifting through it.

’M your TA, Y/N.

The words pull you from your reverie. Harry is not your friend. He’s not some looming crush and you’re not going to be some pitiful, embarrassed girl around him. He’s your TA and things will be kept that way from now on, despite how uncomfortable it might be. You can get over it.

Part V

[thomaswarren]

♢ ( @vivbarnes​ ) The drive had passed far too quickly for the driver’s preference. Strained white knuckles, dishevelled windblown hair, and a seat-belt wrinkled shirt may have said differently --- but inwardly, it felt as if barely a half hour had passed since Tom had breached NYC’s limits. Even after triple checking the GPS co-ordinates, the bright green destination sign marked with a (too close for comfort) 10 attached to Lanford’s name was still surreal to read. But what else could be expected when, since the moment the engine started, he’d been constantly pushing speed limits and allotted himself no unnecessary stops whatsoever? There was just one reason to be visiting Lanford. Technically two, but both existed within one person. Surprisingly, no one else had seemed eager to make the trip --- deemed unnecessarily time consuming and solvable over email. That is, until Tom intervened with evidence highlighting how crucial Viv’s role had been to the budding business’ current state of existence. Stepped out of the picture or not, she deserved to make the final call on her status. Legally, it was un-ignorable. To solve the matter via satellite was too impersonal. And so heads were convinced to turn; opinions reformed; and Tom elected the guy for the job. The trip had been set up to be just as any other professional venture. This was just a way to get loose ends tied; accomplishing three simple steps was all there was to it. Ask a question, get an answer, take an exit --- that was the proposed retrieval outline to uphold when Tom had volunteered himself for the task, and it was one he would attempt to follow as accurately as possible. Certainly, attempts would be made. Tom’s colleagues trusted in his efficiency with the blind faith that strangers often did, but these feelings towards Tom’s abilities were not unanimous on all fronts. There were a handful of exceptions in the close friends who’d long ago witnessed the origin story of the budding beer business; when brewery plans amounted to no more than a drunken idea between two heart eyed roommates. The same friends who’s witnessed the defining shift in motivation the leftovers underwent when one part of the equation vanished. They knew, better than perhaps even Tom, that reaching the desired outcome smoothly relied on the flawed assumption that everything laying between the lines would go off with out a hitch --- in that nothing unpredictable would go off at all. Suffice it to say, Tom had thought through every possible direction things could go with Viv about as well as he’d done so before any other plan he’d ever carried out. Not at all. Accompanying his pint-sized plan was an equally small bag of essentials that had been thrown into the back of the car last minute, much like his departure, which had technically been scheduled to happen a day later. To say it had been an impulsive decision to take an early leave was a colossal understatement. Rewind to just a fresh few hours ago; he had just arrived outside the office building where his usual weekend meeting took place when he’d received the call that something unexpected had come up and it would need to be rescheduled. A day off should have been a relief. A day off meant free time (a near extinct commodity in recent times) and relaxation --- alas, even the word was something he struggled to know what to do with nowadays, let alone the act of participating in it. The first thing he should have done was call home and let Jay know he would be relieved of bottling duty, to pass the good news on to roommate-turned-fiancée... Indeed, there was a plethora of things that should have been prioritized instead of the unlisted option he chose. If it had been wrong to do so then it shouldn’t have been so easy to conveniently skip taking his usual turn off for home and merge onto the highway instead. Evidence of his unpreparedness for travel was obvious in the uncharacteristic choice of casual attire he still wore. An expensive suit ensemble had more or less become his everyday dress code with how often he was summoned to lead the way into rooms where first impressions were everything. No matter how hippy dippy the independent brewery concept sounded on paper, a billionaire investor’s office naturally commanded a very particular type of presence. The only act of rebellion Tom had engaged in against the polished presentation guise was insisting on having the top buttons of dress shirt undone to his liking, sans tie, as well as the inch longer he’d let his hair grow. The stubble shadowing his jaw had less to do with a consciously made decision than it had to do with losing his razor earlier in the week and forgetting to make time to go out and get a new one. Prolonged self-employment had set his pacing and concept of time askew, to say the least. A job that could be done in an hour, but with the freedom of an entire day, would be needlessly drawn out. Such habits bled into the fibres of his personal life as well; everything done slowly purely because it could. Only one thing was reliably fixed in place. Appointments. However, thanks to technology even that was a non-issue now. ‘Take as long as you need,’ he’d been told inbetween firm handshakes with contractors and CEOs. ‘Get it over with. This has already taken too long,’ she had muttered afterwards, tucked close by Tom’s side and out of others’ earshot. She was one of the rare originals of the bunch who had veritable sway over what was going on, yet her word hadn’t been enough for him to sign on that expensive dotted line that suddenly loomed over every conversation. She was tactical in all the ways that he wasn’t, seeing no use in digging up old relations or tackling obstacles that weren’t already in their direct path. Business and pleasure were best served exclusive of the other, and that was that. Part of him wondered if the journey to Lanford would have been better suited to being assigned to her. Hadn’t they been best friends once? He'd been trying to forget that. You have reached your destination. Not long after passing the blink-and-you-miss it welcome sign, Tom’s foot stiffly shifted to hover over the brake pedal until the flow of traffic gave way to a more densely populated area. Parking in what he presumed was the central part of town, relieved to be liberated from spending a minute more crammed into a vehicle, he barely spared a moment to breathe easy before he headed determinedly onwards. Ducking in and out of businesses with one name on his lips, at first the request had sounded as robotic as the GPS that had been his sole company during the ride over. So unaccustomed to forming those three syllables, thankfully the extra focus it took to do it casually didn’t allow for him to pause and think about what asking around for Vivian meant. That sooner or later, he’d locate the vanisher herself and finally have to form a plan of action. Despite the timeline that had been extended to him, there was no sense of urgency or anxiety in his searching. Phone stored in his pocket as usual, he predicted he had at least another free hour or so before it would go off when it was officially discovered he wasn’t running late at the offices or sidetracked somewhere in between. A particular pet clinic became the common thread between the helpful few who had known who he was referencing to, always after corrective clarifications were made (‘Vivian? Do you mean Viv?’) then accompanied by fingers pointing to the aforementioned business, located --- of course --- just across the parking lot. Only after the fourth pet clinic recommendation did he feel convinced to no longer put off following the instruction. Weaving his way between moving and stationary cars alike, he approached the establishment with decidedly downcast eyes. Afternoon sunlight reflected off of the clinic’s storefront windows, making it impossible to catch a glimpse inside until he was nearly directly in front of it, having stepped into the shadow of the building. Oh, how inexplicably interesting the concrete underfoot seemed to stare down at all of a sudden. Grasping onto the clinic’s door handle, a lesser entertained thought dawned on him as he gave it a hesitant tug it toward him --- what if Viv wasn’t here? The thought was swiftly followed by an even more uncertain notion; would her absence be a relief, or a disappointment? Once upon a time, Tom might have mulled a little longer on such things; perhaps even stopped altogether and retraced his footsteps until he was tucked back inside his car. Unfortunately, neither was a feasible option so long as he had someone to report back to in a city many miles away. It was precisely for this reason that Tom’s soft sense of childlike curiosity and unconditional tenderness had been heavily under construction since left to his own devices. Esteemed distributors and business execs alike had slowly by surely chiseled a new shape out of the rambunctious figure he’d been his mid twenties. Forcibly trained to adapt beneath suffocating ounce after ounce of feedback, Tom soon learned to differentiate between the valuable and time-wasting unrealistic ideas before enthusiastically leaping forth to make a suggestion. He’d learned to stay quiet, to listen more, to be prepared have a lengthly mature explanations for every damn thing, and a back up plan no matter how certain he was plan A was bulletproof. Harnessing what action would yield the best reaction was all that could and would be considered in the long term, always. Time was money, after all. Making calls with less emotional investment wasn’t so impossible to do anymore. Without hardened edges to forge the way, no progress would be made at all. Bearing the thought in mind, he summoned a deep breath of resignation and brushed any uprising of sentimental non-necessities off into a pile at the back of his mind where they belonged. Heading purposefully forwards, he stepped over the threshold of the pet clinic where Viv supposedly worked, eyes adjusting to the differently lit interior after a brief disinterested sweep of the room. There were only three impersonal things he should feel motivated to accomplish here, and that was final.

[gtforubie]

hi hello 

well, ive started my new online school! finally. 

i am also typing this on my brand new macbook which i saved up for so it feels good to have something new you know. 

i have my surgrey next week. today mum pointed out my weight loss which makes me want to go harder but i need to be healthy according to mum for my surgrey. so i guess thats what i need to do. im still going to only eat dinner everyday and have vitamin c along with my iron pills. 

i will have a snack during the day to help the day before my surgrey since im not sure if i can eat meals the day of my surgrey. 

my anxiety is getting bad. my depression is getting bad. i had a online therapy and i really just want help but i dont want them to tell my parents because honestly thats the last thing i want. i want to keep my mental health journey to myself as of right now. i dont need to tell my friends everything. 

all i want to do is delete every bit of social media, re do my bedroom, start something new, workout everyday, have a good sleep schedule, not procastante every fucking thing i do, maintain a routine, read books and invest in me. its hard. i want to love myself so bad but its always negativity. i feel constantly empty and not motivated to do anything at all. its fucking annoying and i just want to focus on me. i want to have a group of friends where i know i will be included and feel welcomed and have that undenying love for me. 

recently my manifestations have been coming true so i guess this means i need to manifest some more things? i guess to add on. 

i literally spent alot of money on new clothes but im going to feel so confident once i am able to wear them and actually look at myself and feel secure. im going to work hard for my body. im so exhausted today but tomorrow i want to try the 12, 3, 30 workout on the treadmill and then if i have any extra energy i will do a dance workout. burn the extra calories. feel confident. secure. 

i seriously need a hug, not from my parents, siblings or family members. i need a genuine *i am happy to see you and i missed you* hug. like not a quick little 2 second hug i want a good 10 second hug where we appreciate eachother for a moment and just absorb the warmth of another person. 

i honestly just need some company. the weeks of quarantine has drawn me away from so many people. idk what im going to do when i get out of quarantine, but hey its a chance idk. i hope we get to stay in level three for another week honestly, it gives me time to heal and be more sure to go out, cause i know im going to be in bed for awhile and i wont be able to go out and about and stuff. i read that im not allowed to wear a underwire bra after my breast reduction so i guess im going to be in bralettes which shouldnt be too bad. 

i want genuine friendships like yeah i have friends but sending face photos bac and fourth for days or even weeks maybe even months isnt exactly getting close or anything else in that perspective. 

im going to be in bed alot after my surgrey so im def gonna be on bed rest for around a week i think and then i can start going out after around two weeks. i think i need to buy some wire free bras. 

i dont think mum and dad can afford my surgery, they told me they could but then mum said theres alot of debt. so awesome making me feel shit for getting something thats been in the works for over a year and a half. apeareatice it. 

im really living in the past right now and i honestly just need to move forward with my life. i dont think there will be really any hosts during the week once quarantine is finished because we may go back to school and go back to our normal lives, but yeah i dont know. ill get to see people in the weekend i guess. 

i miss having guy friends, like a friendship where we are just friends. nothing more. like all my guy mates are taken and only care about their girlfriends so they push you away until they need something or when she goes to sleep. like come on. 

my mind is so over all of this. when coming out of quarantine i want to fully embrace alot about life, i want to take care of myself, work on my mental health and move forward with myself. this is the year where i want to feel mentally stable. i hate opening up to my parents. i fucking hate it. 

because they treat me differently the moment i say something which makes me angry. 

[viralhottopics]

Piers Morgan: Im just putting opinions out there. Its my job

This week Morgan has taken on the Womens March, argued with Ewan McGregor, and boasted about being Donald Trumps best British friend. Why does he do it? Does he even believe what he says?

Piers Morgan last cried when his grandmother died, a little more than three years ago. Before that, he cant remember. Im not a crier, really. He sees himself more as a pantomime villain, and I thoroughly enjoy playing up to it. I cant even imagine the pressure of being some kind of national treasure. So for me, the panto villain part, I actually enjoy that whole thing.

Even by his own notorious standards, Morgan has had a fractious week. His Daily Mail column on Monday, which criticised last weekends womens marches, provoked Ewan McGregor to cancel an appearance on Good Morning Britain in protest. Morgan retaliated with another column calling the actor a paedophile-loving hypocrite. Feminists were furious with him all over again when he defended the right of employers to compel female staff to wear high heels.

Then, as Theresa May prepared to meet Donald Trump, he taunted Downing Street by firing off a public memo in the Mail, advising the PM or, to put it another way, showing off about how to approach his friend, the president. If its all going horribly wrong, dont hesitate to mention my name or even give me a call directly from the Oval Office and I will smooth things over. Its the very least I can do for my country. A memorable highlight came with his mute appearance at the National Television awards. He stood beside his Good Morning Britain co-presenter Susanna Reid, who had gagged him with his own tie.

It was Susannas idea, he says. We were in the car on the way, and she said, I think I know exactly how to get a joyous reaction from the nation. And it was indeed one of the great moments in British television, and the nation rejoiced.

The only detail of the weeks dramas that appears to have troubled Morgan was the discovery that working with him makes Reid cry.

I was surprised, he says, suddenly quieter. Because shes never cried at work, never seen her like that at all. So it was an interesting thing for me to discover this week that my co-host quite often goes home from work and cries. Its probably not always unconnected to me. How does he feel about that? A bit uneasy, actually. Quieter still. Yeah. A bit uneasy.

Ive known Morgan a little ever since he was the loud, precociously young editor of the Daily Mirror in the 1990s, and have always enjoyed his company tremendously. But our paths havent crossed since Trumps bid for the presidency propelled the journalist into his surprise new role as the leader of the free worlds best friend in Britain. The pair have been on close terms since 2008, when Morgan won the first series of Celebrity Apprentice, and Morgan now performs the role of Trumps tirelessly loyal defender while constantly claiming to be not a political sympathiser but just a personal friend.

When I watched Morgan reduce a young female guest to tears on Good Morning Britain two weeks ago, berating her as the worst kind of mother, I wondered whether I would still enjoy his company. The tone felt uncomfortably ugly, more in keeping with an altright online troll than the mischief-maker who used to conduct playful feuds with clowns like Jeremy Clarkson. This weeks events could be read by critics as further evidence to support the unhappy impression that cheerleading for Trump has soured Morgan, and turned him into a rightwing, misogynistic bully.

If one is looking for further evidence to confirm that impression, Morgan doesnt disappoint. The 51-year-old bounces into his local pub, just off Kensington High Street, and opens with his reaction to Trumps comments about waterboarding and torture he is exercised by the BBCs misreporting of what Trump said. There is, as you know, a massive debate in America about waterboarding. I dont personally subscribe to torture. But its an arguable point as to whether waterboarding constitutes torture which is startlingly tepid for a man who once campaigned against the abuse of Iraqi detainees by coalition forces.

Morgan has been friends with Trump since he won Celebrity Apprentice in 2008. Photograph: Photowire/BEI/Shutterstock

He refers to a swarm of migration through Europe, and defends Trumps comment about wanting women to be punished for having illegal abortions. It would be a pretty logical thing for somebody who believes abortions a crime.

Critics who suspect Morgan will say anything to generate attention might equally seize upon his admission that this weeks controversies are completely connected to the fact that he has a new series of Piers Morgans Life Stories on ITV next week. He is strategising to maximise publicity all the time, he says freely. Of course! Everyone on TV is. Im just better at it than most of them.

Whether or not Morgan would welcome this, the truth is that I nevertheless find him much more nuanced and less cocksure than his public persona or Twitter feed might suggest. The reliably consistent theme in all of his feuds is intolerance of hypocrisy.

So his objection to the womens marches, he explains, is simply this. How does it help the cause for any woman on that march fighting for genuine issues, for equality and everything else, for one of the lead speakers Madonna to talk openly about having had dreams of blowing up the White House? Im not sure why Morgan would take Madonna seriously, when she herself has said she was speaking metaphorically, and he was willing to take Trump at his word last year (he denied he had meant to incite Hillary Clintons assassination during a rally speech). Because if you make a threat like that at an airport, youd be arrested and put in jail. Why should it be a different rule for Madonna? I point out that she wasnt at an airport, but another speakers incest joke about Trumps daughter struck Morgan as similarly offensive.

Ivanka Trump is a mother of three, very hardworking. I know her very well and I felt really incensed on her behalf when the sisterhood decided to be incredibly offensive about her whilst at a rally designed to counter the anti-women rhetoric of the President Donald Trump. Theres a hypocrisy there which I just found ridiculous. If your main issue with Trump is the way that he talks to people, and the language and the belligerence and the bombast and the wording, then I dont think you should be doing the same thing to him.

What drives Morgan quite mad is hypocritical virtue signalling masquerading as political engagement. Ewan McGregor was basically trying to position me as a great woman-hater. So, I decided to just take a look at his own record in this area, and load of interviews he gave about his great friend Roman Polanski, what a fine man he was, how sorry he was that he had to go to prison, blah, blah, blah and Im like, Really? I wonder how the sisterhood who currently have you down as the No 1 hero for womens rights in the world would feel knowing that Roman Polanski admitted his crime, then left the country to avoid justice when he was facing a long prison sentence for raping, drugging and sodomising a 13-year-old girl?

Why does McGregors affection for Polanksi discredit his feminist credentials, but not Morgans for Trump? Trump hasnt been convicted of raping anyone. Look, my position has been consistently, from day one,that I wouldnt vote for him. But I do know him very well, and I would just like to slightly offer a more tempered view of the man that is being described everywhere as the new Hitler and the monster. I just think now hes there, its like Brexit; I voted remain, but Ive always been a glass-half-full person, and Im prepared to have an open dialogue with people like Nigel Farage about how we now maximise the opportunity of Brexit. The same with Trump. I find the hysteria just pointless and absurd and self-defeating and ridiculous. Ive got friends of mine literally losing their minds. And Im like, calm down, please calm down. I know this guy.

Coming from Morgan, who personally wrote the paedophile-loving headline for his McGregor column, this will strike some as a bit rich, but he goes on: Its very important in this extremity of debate, the kind of thing that led to Jo Cox getting killed, to be calm. Isnt Morgan himself an arch professional provocateur? But Im just putting opinions out there. Im a columnist, its my job. Isnt anyone else allowed to hold contentious views? Of course! And coming from a highly opinionated family, Im drawn to people who have opinions and are prepared to argue them.

I would have thought Madonna, who Morgan never tires of attacking, would fall into that category. No, because she has an opinion quota based on this pure ability to shock and offend, which I find pointless, quite cliched and increasingly very nauseating.

Morgan never tires of attacking celebrities such as Hugh Grant or Steve Coogan either, for whining about the press. But all the complaints made by those two actors wouldnt amount to a fraction of Trumps grievances with the mainstream media, of which Morgan with two newspaper columns and three TV shows is unquestionably a member.

I dont particularly consider myself to be MSM. Id probably be more a kind of renegade; Im RMSM, renegade mainstream media. I dont think the mainstream media has ever fully made me a paid-up member of their club.. As he breaks off this line of thought to tweet about his latest Daily Mail column, I suggest hes on a sticky wicket here. OK, alright. But I am afraid that the journalists have to stop whining.

It was an interesting thing for me to discover that my co-host quite often goes home from work and cries Morgan with Susanna Reid at the National Television awards. Photograph: Jeff Spicer/Getty Images

As a fanatical champion of a robust free press, surely he thinks Trump should stop whining? Its a good point, he concedes. My honest answer is I think theyve all got to calm down . I think Trump has to have a more respectful relationship with the media and they have to have it with him.

For all Morgans ferocious rhetoric, he is surprisingly willing to concede points. Id found his defence of employers forcing women to wear heels suspiciously unpersuasive, and the more we talk, the more ground he gives. Im only saying it to keep the debate going, he admits at one point and when I remind him he praised Julia Roberts for going barefoot on the red carpet at Cannes last year, in protest at the festivals insistence that women attending screenings wear heels, for a fleeting second he looks sheepish. I thought that was quite cool, yes. In an interview with the Times last year, he in fact offered up Robertss protest as an example of what real feminism looked like, didnt he? OK, I think thats a fair point.

Real feminism, Morgan maintains, is not about being a man-hating victim but a strong woman. My mother is an incredibly strong, independent woman. My sister is. My grandmother was. I was brought up around incredibly strong, independent women. Im married to a strong, independent woman. I absolutely define myself as a feminist and take issue with people who think Im not, because by the yardstick of what I give to feminism, which is genuine pursuit of equality in all things for women, I think I pass that test, I do. I do, I love women. Ive always been surrounded bywomen who would never dream of being pushed around by men.

This, I suggest, might be the problem. Go on, he says, genuinely interested. Because Im actually on a learning curve here. When ones only ever known strong women, it can be easy to feel exasperated with those who have suffered experiences that make Morgans idea of strength a pretty tall order. It becomes dangerously easy to get angry with women who stay with their abusers, say, and mistake their predicament for weakness.

I get that. I get it. Totally. He thinks for a moment. I take your point. When I hear that Susanna went home and cried after the show, I would like to have known why, but she would see it as weak to tell me and I dont want her to feel that. He thinks again. You remember, we were put together on Good Morning Britain like an arranged marriage, and I think weve just got to know each other a lot better, and she sees a the upside of having these debates about sexism on air in real time, with me perhaps going on a little bit of a journey of discovery.

Morgans crusade against hypocrisy is, of course, somewhat undermined by the fact that he admits to being a total hypocrite himself Of course! All journalists are! For anyone looking for a reliable rule to explain his wild enthusiasms and fierce feuds, the secret, he says, is really quite simple. Im a human being. If people are nice to me, Im nice to them. An afterthought crosses his mind, and he laughs. Donald Trumps actually pretty similar.

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from Piers Morgan: Im just putting opinions out there. Its my job