#and then a bunch of articles came out saying he cried during the table read for the community movie

[jolteonmchale]

regarding the community movie being pushed back to next summer:

every time joel mentions the community movie, a new article comes out misinterpreting something he said. in this case, he did say they're shooting next summer, but he said it on a podcast that was recorded earlier this year (i don't know exactly when it was recorded but i think it was around march) and when joel said "next summer" i'm pretty sure he meant this summer because the writers' strike hadn't started yet and filming in the summer (2023) was the plan at the time. filming might end up being pushed back to next summer because who knows when the strike will end, but I don't think it's been officially pushed back that far at this point.

[ac3id]

Hawk’s eye| 18+

pairings: hawks [keigo tamaki] x female! reader

summary: hawks is in his rut, desperate for some relief. his annoying secretary won’t stop irritating him so he decides to take his pent up frustrations on her.       ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

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anonymous said:

hi!! so while the requests are still open, could you write some headcannons for Hawks x reader when he's in rut? maybe the reader is a bit clueless and doesn't even know he goes through stuff like that? dirty details are welcome 👀❤️

this was high-key inspired by @tainted-wine​‘s this fic. (i hope u like my take on it !! 💓) 

a/n: aaaa this took so much longer than i thought it would take 😭, also thanks @the-grimm-writer  for proof reading this! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) also this is porn w plot so if u just was to skip to da porn. skip to this ‘◌’ bhai 

ALSO THANKYOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS LMAO WTF FOR REAL 😭

tagging: @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa​, @koiibito​, @reinawritesbnha​, @shorkbrian​

warnings: noncon, hate fucking, one slap, she bites his dick at some point, scumbag hawks.

word count:  5862

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The sound of your phone buzzing on the side table with a loud, irritating noise jolts you awake. You roll around on the bed, your fingers reaching to turn the vibrating device off. Groaning, you sit up straight. The warm mattress under you threatens to lull you back to sleep but you shove the thought away instead choosing to stretch your arms over your head and yawn endlessly. You were tired, so goddamn tired. Rubbing your temples lazily you start thinking about the dreadful day you have ahead of yourself. You think about your boss: Hawks, the man who makes you hate your life and job. He has trapped you into a never-ending nightmare which starts the second you open your eyes till the moment you fall asleep and even then he still manages to haunt you in your dreams. 

Cleaning up after his messes, obeying his ever so pliantly. He has turned you into his little pet slave. He says that it’s your job as you are his assistant, his little helper there to make his job a little less hectic. You must listen to his needs and wants and to some degree, you do agree with him: it is your job, it’s what you signed up for after all but you can also sense him misusing his title when he is with you. He never listens to your suggestions which results in him calling you late after work hours to help with his problems knowing damn well you had already warned him beforehand. And, oh his flirty, suggestive comments which borderline sexual harassment. Hawks is a difficult man to work with and you often find yourself wondering how much calmer your life would be if you never worked for him but you do not have that luxury of leaving the job. It pays ridiculously well and you have bills to pay, your family to support. No, you cannot afford to lose this job. So you sit through his torment and hope for the best.

Seconds later after you have gathered your will to live you start scrolling through your phone, skimming through the morning news lazily. Your eyebrows furrow and eyes turn into angry slits as you glance upon a displeasing, astonishing article.

 ‘No. 2 Hero Hawks spotted partying with strippers–’

Your heart stops for a moment.

What the fuck was this? 

You hesitantly read through the article, your heartbeat increasing every second that your eyes focus on the led screen, reading the details of the damned article. Eyes widening as panic settles in your nerves, you realize the gravity of the situation you had found yourself under as Hawks’ manager. Hawks had been spotted partying with strippers in a nightclub with a bunch of celebrities. The crazy stalker who had managed to follow him succeeded in capturing exclusive pictures of Hawks dressed in an expensive suit, his hair styled to perfection dancing under the dim lights of the club with women in basically their underwear shamelessly grinding upon him. You honestly couldn’t have given a single fuck about what Hawks did in his free time but since he had managed to get a paparazzi to tail him and now that his career was at risk; it became your problem. Your first and foremost instinct was to call Hawks and ask him what the hell he was thinking. Not being careful enough, he had managed to taint his entire reputation. The people of Japan now probably viewed him as a reckless party animal rather than the No. 2 Hero! 

Before you could call him, your phone’s screen lights up illuminating a contact you dread. ‘Hero Commission’ it’s written in bold letters, your face drops. Your fingers shake, filled with anxiety as you accept the call. Inhaling and exhaling, you try to calm your nerves. If it is a call from the Commission, you know it’s bad. Bad. 

You pick up the phone and instantly regret it, “What were you doing?” an angry, masculine voice snarls through the screen. You open your mouth to answer but are not given a chance too. “How did you let him go to a strip club during patrol hours?” you bite your lip thinking of an acceptable excuse, “He had to go there for work! It’s a misunderstanding. He went down to the strip club undercover to meet up with a crook to get some intel– that’s what he told me. This is a misunderstanding, I–” your explanation was cut short as the person on the other end of the call deemed it enough. “Whatever it is, fix it and never let this happen again.” he sneers a warning before cutting the call. It wasn’t a complete lie, Hawks did tell you that he was investigating a case on his own and that he would be gaining information from shady people but you did not expect him to go to a strip club out of all places. The worst part: he never even told you in detail anything about this case neither did he notice the paparazzi tailing his back. You sigh in frustration, rubbing your forehead, you quickly ring up his number only for it be sent right to voicemail. You almost scream. Where the fuck was this bastard?

Managing Hawks was not a walk in the park. The hero commission had sent you down especially to be Hawks’ secretary. You had a reputation: you were known to be responsible, diligent, and punctual. You were one of their best, entrusted with the responsibility to manage Hawks and you did a good job but it was Hawks who just made the job so hard. 

Creating problems he could never solve by himself; on lucky days you would get a call from him at three in the morning, him begging you to come to help him. You want to say no, deny him any help. Let him suffer by himself but you cannot do that. If he screws up and you are not there to fix it. You lose your job, you can’t afford that. You give your 100%, you do but it’s Hawks. He has a problem with you, well, he has a problem with everyone in the commission but projects it mainly at you. He does not respect you. 

He chooses to ignore your decisions and suggestions, diminishing them with a cruel chuckle, “Look, I need you but just not now.” He would say with an apologetic smile, “just let me work at my own pace, I will call when I will need you. After all, I love seeing your cute face.” You would always have to force yourself from not slapping his smug face before he took off into the bright, blue sky.

The truth untold, it wasn’t his fault completely either. He was just so fast. It was hard for anyone to keep up with him and since he did his job right; bringing peace to the nation you could not deem him worthless. But it still was a bother at times like this when you were left completely in the dark while Hawks ruined his hard-earned reputation. 

You got into the building earlier that morning to wait for Hawks in his office, you needed to talk to him. This was not his first mishap. Not long ago, another article about him shamelessly flirting with a fan had been published. It had said the fan was visibly uncomfortable with him but Hawks didn’t seem to care, he kept presting. You had managed to cover it up as the two being close friends who were publicly joking around, there was no real harm done. It was a lie though, you had to pay the fan a large check to keep her mouth shut. She accepted the money and the story was lost and forgotten but you had no idea how you were going to cover this hell up.

The clock struck nine as the day began, people rushing into the building all tensed but there was no sign of Hawks. You tried calling him on his number but the call directed to voicemail yet again. You were growing impatient, did something happen to him? Sure Hawks fucked things over sometimes but he never disappeared like this. It got you genuinely worried. Something horrible could have happened to him. After all, he was on a case. 

You waited for another thirty minutes and there was yet no sign of him. His sidekicks came knocking on his office door only to be surprised to see you there instead of their boss. You told them to continue with their day and not worry about Hawks, he was just awfully late. Not a big deal, he will be here soon. Soon. 

Another hour passed by, no sign of Hawks and about now your phone was blowing up with angry calls from his sponsors and business partners, screaming at the top of their lungs frowning upon the scandal. Heck, even Endeavor called you after he couldn’t reach Hawks himself. The call made you nervous as anxiety crept in yet again. Hawks wasn’t answering to Endeavour something bad must have happened. Getting tired of the wait, you make up your mind to drop by his penthouse and to go see him for yourself. His silence was driving you crazy and worried at the same time, you just hoped he would be there well and safe. You could not imagine the ruckus that would create if something were to happen to him. 

You walked out of his office after waiting for an hour. Rushing down to the basement you got into your car and before driving away to his house. Just before leaving, you decided to test your luck by calling him. Hoping, praying he would answer this time and luckily he did .

“Hawks!” you cried, a wave of relief washing over you, “Where are you? What are you doing?” you began pestering him with questions, not letting him answer even once. Hawks, tired of waiting,  interrupted your monologue of questions with a chuckle. “Aw, you’re worried about me, baby?” his tone was low and mischievous, the sentence slurring almost into a moan at the last word. You rolled your eyes and clenched your fists in irritation, you weren’t new to his teasing. Hawks thought it was appropriate for him to casually flirt with his secretary. Send unasked comments about your figure, perverted implications about what he would do to a ‘cute little thing like you’ which made you very uncomfortable being around him at times. But it wasn’t that what made him get on your last nerves. It was the fact that he could even think about joking at a time like this which made you furious. 

You screamed into the phone, giving him a piece of your mind. Degrading him for not taking care of himself, complaining about how he had managed to put you in such a tight spot. 

“Once again I am asking, where the fuck are you. Hawks?” you ended your speech with spite in your words. Hawks sighed, “I am in the office,” he says your name with an edge in his voice, instantly shutting you down, “Where the hell are you?” The smugness in his tone remains and you can tell he is smirking on the other side of the screen as if he’s won. You hang up abruptly before walking out of your car and into the building, hurriedly making your way towards Hawk’s office. 

You slam the door open glaring upon hawks as he sits behind his table. Dirty boots resting pliantly on the shiny, polished wood. His wings out, stretched to their fullest, filling up the room standing on high alert. They have a deeper hue to them, they look darker– a darker red. How did that happen? You find yourself wondering. Is he on drugs? His face is tilted upwards, facing the ceiling. Eyes screwed shut. They open as he hears you enter and walk towards him, his wings falling back behind him calm and collected. 

“You’re late,” he says with a smirk, you bang your fist on the table beside where his feet rest, making him flinch and bring them down instinctively. His eyes widened in shock, he was not expecting you to be this furious. Sure, he knew he knew he had gotten you mad but he was not expecting you to be this angry. Without any hesitation, you start scolding him again. He watches you ramble in ominous glee. A poker face masking his expression, he watches you trot about how much trouble he is in. His job is to protect meek and weak citizens who cannot fight for themselves, what he was doing in a strip in the name of business is something you cannot grasp your head around. You repeat your lecture which you had already tortured him over the phone while the entire time Hawks drums his fingers underneath the table, waiting for you to get over with your dumb speech. His eyes trail on your lips, watching it move. Plump, pillow-like features tinted dark red ramble on about how much of an irresponsible person he was. Complaining about how much trouble he puts you through daily. Honestly, he doesn’t quite catch what you were saying. His mind busy imaging you shutting the fuck and letting him get through the day– or better yet how pathetic you would look underneath him while he shoves his dick down your throat. The thought makes his cock throb. His eyes change from an unbothered, bored look to something sinister as they start trailing all over your body. His eyebrows slightly furrow as he catches up on the few degrading terms you throw at him. 

You talked too much. Way too much, do you realize how much better you would look if you keep your pretty, little mouth shut? The entire time, it’s always: Hawks don’t do this, Hawks don’t do that. Don’t you ever get tired? He wonders whether your dumb little brain had any thoughts other than the ones which tell you to irritate him all the time. You should shut up, really stop talking. He might do something bad, he’s already stressed enough as it is being in his rut and having no way to relieve himself, he is going through a rough time here. The other night he escaped to a strip club in hopes of relieving some stress and it had worked but it had also brought along a mind splitting scandal.

The entire morning, Hawks was busy avoiding people. Whether it be his fans, reporters, or even someone he knew; he paid no mind to them trying to get to the office as soon as possible to deal with the mess he had created.

It wasn’t his fault entirely, he was in his rut and needed sexual relief which he was finding very hard to receive. With his work piling up and you breathing down his neck, he couldn’t even take represents as they slowed him down. He couldn’t risk falling asleep on duty. A stupid, little headline about what he does in his free time was much more favorable than a failed mission in which he would let countless innocent lives slip by his fingers. 

He watches you ramble, his eyes trailing over your body locking on your tits. He stares at them intensely, watching them bounce slowly every time you huff out of irritation and frustration. Your work shirt works him favors, the white almost translucent material shows off the slightest shadow of your black, lacy bra. It’s enough to get him going- imaging how your soft mounds would feel in his hands. How you would whimper under his touch as he tugs and pulls on your perky nipples, you probably wouldn’t sound as monstrous as you do right now. Your moans would be girlish, small whimpers would leave your lips as you would try your best to cover them up. You would try to hide your face under his assault but he wouldn’t let you, pinning you down instead and forcing himself on you while you cried for him to stop. Beg for his mercy. 

He can feel his jeans tighten. 

“So please, Hawks. Just be a little more responsible.” you finish, your voice turning into a plea. He hums and apologizes for his impulsive thinking, like always, he is not sorry. “Let's fix this mess, what do you say?” he asks with an apologetic grin, trying to be polite. You on the other hand don’t even spare him a glance, walking right out the door instead. It leaves him very offended. 

◌

“Ah! What a troublesome day it was,” Hawks chimes in walking into his office with you closely following behind, “It was all your fault.” you spit making hawks chuckle, “Whatever happens, happens for the good.” he says, a scoff leaves your lips, “What was good about that?” you ask annoyed. “I get to have you alone with me now~” Hawks winks at you making you roll your eyes dramatically. Both of you stand together in Hawks’ office after hours. The day is done, everyone in the agency building has taken their leave excluding the two of you. It had been a long day fixing up after Hawks. You were tired and all you wanted was a warm bath and some sleep. 

“Do you want to know why it happened?” Hawks asks out of the blue, “What happened?” you question, “Why was I at the strip club?” you sigh, “I don’t give two shits about your personal life, Hawks.” replying sternly. A look of disappointment arises on his face, “It’s actually more than that, really, I u-uh have this condition- it gets very hard to work during these times-”

 “What are you even talking about?” You interject confused and clueless. You turn to him, a glare evident on your face you stare at him sheepishly. What was he on about now?

“I am serious, I went into my rut, and that's why I went to the strip club-” “Into a what?” Hawks’ eyes widened, were you really that clueless? “A rut, [y/n],” he says like it is a matter of fact, something everybody is aware of. “A rut. You know like how some animals go into heat and they-” your face scrunches as he explains his rut to you, you visibly grow more and more repulsed. Hawks studies you face, his heart genuinely breaking at your expressions. “Why are you telling me this?” you screech, “jeez Hawks, I did not need to know any of that!” you continue. 

Hawks is hurt, he accepted a reaction which showed more concern. Maybe he went a bit too far imagining that you would offer him help but seeing you so disgusted by him shattered his heart and made him lose all his respect for you. You were a terrible human being, no different from those villains he put behind the bars every day. “I am telling you all of this because- this actually happens!  Many- fuck- millions of people like me actually suffer from this shit! You should be a little more emphatic.” he reasons. He accepts you to understand at least now but you gloriously manage to disappoint him yet again. A rude snarl leaves your lips followed by a scoff, “What are you really trying to tell me Hawks? That you don’t want to do your job and to justify your laziness; you are making lame excuses now?” you shove a finger to his chest, it pushes him off the edge. 

Something in his snaps, he looks down where your fingertip touches his chest. You are smaller than him, he’s at least a foot bigger than you. Where does your bratty, puny self get all this confidence from? His eyes darken as something sinister floats within him. He stares down at your finger, wanting to rip it off. He wants to see you cry. He wants to see you in pain and misery, suffering a great deal while nobody comes to help you. 

“Hawks, you know what? I am so done with your bullshit. I am leaving.” You turn away from him, heading to the door but before you could move a step. Hawks grabs you by writs, caging your delicate hand into a bone-crushing death grip, “What the fuck?” you question, “Hawks?” you continue. You wait for his response, turning to him. He is facing the floor, his hair scanning over his eyes making it impossible for you to read his expression, not that you could read what was going on with him normally but now; it’s even harder. “Are you going to let go?” you ask again only to be met by him squeezing your wrists even tighter. You bring your other hand over him to pry yourself free from his clutches but he doesn’t want to let go. 

“Hawks wha-” you don’t get to complete your statement as Hawks pushes you down on the floor making you fall on your butt. You let out a loud hiss. You frown, yelling out “What is wrong with you!?” You try to stand back up but his hands settle on your shoulder pushing you back down. You try fighting but it’s to no use. Did you forget he is the no. 2 Pro- Hero? He is much stronger than you, he brings down villains twice his size daily. What makes you think your weak kicks and punches will be enough to beat him? 

You keep struggling under him, screaming how you were going to report him and ruin his career, how he is going to be sorry for messing with you.

 “Shut. Up.” he finally speaks, he brings his gloved hand to your perfectly styled hair. Pulling tightly on your roots he stretches your face upwards, making it easier for him to look down on you while you cry in agony, “Stop crying.'' His voice is deep and raspy, much different from how he usually talks. You look up at him, fear swimming in your eyes as tears prick at the corners of your sockets, lips trembling. If you already weren’t terrified enough, your horror becomes tenth fold when you see his boner raging in his pants, “Come, on. Hawks..” your voice is small and weak, it's a broken cry. You know what he is going to make you do. He was going to violate you, break you beyond repair. 

This was so wrong. As much you hated Hawks, you never would have thought he would do something like this. Hawks was a hero. He is meant to fight for justice, punish evil. Why is he doing this? “Hawks no. Please. Was it something I said? I take it back I didn’t mean it-” 

“You know, y/n, you are not so different from those villains yourself,” if looks could kill, you would be dead. The pure, anger, and hatred he looks at you with bothers you. It makes you hate yourself, there is something sinister in his eyes which makes you sure about the fact that he is not afraid of hurting you. He has given up on you, after all, his polite gestures, generosity you always ignored- he’s fed up with your sheer ignorance and your ego. He hates you. He does and heck if he wasn’t in his rut; he would never bring his dick anywhere near you. He does not respect you as a human and in no way does he have any romantical attachment to you. All he ever saw was a walking alarm clock, bugging him every second, and now all he is going to see you as is his cocksleeve whom he can stuff his fat cock into whenever and however he seems fine. To him you are just a walking hole he can ruin whenever he wants to, you have managed to get on his bad side and he is going to show you his bad side.

He undoes his belt, his pants falling to his thighs displaying his expensive boxers and his growing hardness. His cock is throbbing within its confines, fighting desperately to come free. His free hand pulls his boxers down and his cock springs free, hitting his abdomen. It stands long and hard, the tip blushed red and angry, tiniest bit of pre-cum spilling sweetly from his slit. He pumps his cock in his hand before forcing it against your mouth, pressing it to your lips smearing his pre all over your lips. You whimper in protest, moving your head the littlest you can under his tight grip. “Bitch open up. You had this coming for a long time,” his dick slaps your cheek while his fingers try to pry open your mouth. Pushing his gloved digits forcefully into your mouth, the rough fabric feels disgusting on your tongue. His fingers capture the lower part of your jaw, tearing your mouth apart with deranged strength. A loud cry escapes from you as he stuffs your empty mouth full of his cock, “Yeah, that’s more like it. Fuck.” he bottoms out into your throat, his shaft hitting the back of your throat making you gag, “get on with it. A slut like you would have the experience, right?” he taunts you. You do as he says, puckering your lips firmly around his length, your hands resting on his exposed thighs while you stroke him with your tongue. You feel his chiseled thigh muscles flex under your fingers as he melts in pleasure, tiny moans leaving his lips shamelessly. 

As Hawks drowns in overwhelming pleasure, a criminal idea crosses your mind. Your eyes trail up to his face. His eyes are screwed close, he bites his lower lip softly. Carefully and slowly, you graze your teeth over his cock. Clamping down on it lightly, you hold your position. Your heart beats faster when Hawks stiffens and in a quick flash, he pushes you off his cock throwing you into the ground before backing up, squealing in pain.

 “YOU LITTLE BITCH!” he screams, you sprint to the door. Trembling fingers try to unlock the doorknob while Hawks cries in agony behind you. You can feel him loom behind you, ready to come for your neck. A part of you tells you that you will not make it but the adrenaline rushing in your veins calls to be hopeful. Just open the door and just run. 

Your cold, quivering fingers almost unlock the heavy wooden door but before you can push it open. Hawks appears right behind you, pushing his body onto your back. You feel his cock poking at your ass, his hand grabs your head pulling you, prying you off the door. You scream and cry trying to break free, grabbing his hand clawing on it to let you free. Hawks chooses to show no mercy as he drags you by your hair to his desk, your scalp hurts from his grip. You can feel tiny strands breakaway. He turns you around and slams your back to his wooden desk, you whimper at the contact. He stands in front of you, pressing his knee between your thighs. His hand reaches out to pull at your collar, forcing you to look at him. 

He is livid, eyebrows furrowed with a death glare his jaw clenched, and his eyes darker than you have ever seen before. He looks at you with murderous intent, you think he might as well kill you with his wings flared open. The feathers turning into knives, you beg for your life. 

Hawks observes your face. Broken, scared for your life your eyes are glassy, ridden in fear your makeup smeared all over your face. He thinks it's beautiful, he has finally got you begging for mercy, finally thinking of him as the man he is. He appreciates your submission but it does not erase the fact that you just bite oh his dick. You beg for mercy, your voice is small and broken. It comes barely above a whisper, “I am so sorry hawks, please don’t do this.” He doesn’t listen, staring at you head-on with his jaw clenched. He brings his free hand to the air, keeping it steady for a second before bringing it down with a horrendous force. You feel it before it happens; white, hot flashing pain erupts through your cheek stinging you hard. You cry out in agony as your face drops to the other side. The strike was powerful, it left you sore, you can still feel it sting your face. It leaves you swollen, you try to bring your hand up to your face lightly to carcasses you paining cheek but Hawks pushes your face on the wooden desk before you could, trapping your arms behind your back holding it with one hand. “You don’t realize your position, do you? You know what? I was going- planning to be gentle with you. I thought I would at least make you cum but now,” he pulls a feather out his wings preceding to tear open your pencil skirt with the sharp end. The ripped fabric falls to the ground leaving you in your panties and the pantyhose you always wear under your skirts, “There we go. I hope you are a pain slut, otherwise you would really not enjoy this.” he says with a small chuckle before ripping you out of your bottoms, leaving you in your panties completely vulnerable to him. He abandons his gloves, rubbing his fingers on your clothed cunt roughly trying to gather slickness from your dry hole. Pleasure shoots down your body as his digits find your clit, rubbing tight circles on the little pearl, “Does this feel good? You are getting wet.” a smirk scars his face, “Who gets off to being raped?” he says sharply. Your face scrunches up in disgust and embarrassment. A heavy lump forms in your throat and the waterworks that you had been holding off burst open. Big, fat tears roll down your cheeks as you cry for mercy. You didn't know why this was happening to you, for your entire life you had been a nice person: always helpful, sensitive, and kind. At least, that was what you thought yourself to be. Never in a million years could you- or anyone, in fact, could have ever thought that you would be crying pathetically while your boss: a person known to all as a Hero, the truest, most honest person to exist ever would be the one defiling you, tearing you down to nothing just for his pleasure. 

“Shut up, you like this.” He snarls at you, so sick of your loud wails he even shoves two fingers inside your mouth plunging them to the back of her throat, “Don’t you dare bite now, slut.” he warns. His fingers stop prodding at your clit when he notices the wet spot forming on your panties, he wastes no time shimming them down to your ankles, whistling when he sees your glistening pussy. You only wail louder pleading him not proceed any further. Hawks turns a blind eye to all your begging, “I should just shove it in, right?” he asks petting his finger over your hole, “but that won’t be fun,” he snickers. You feel his move away from your cunt and move higher. Panic settles, he couldn't be serious, “Hawks. Please no. Please don’t. I don-” finger rims along your asshole, inching to dip in, “What? Don’t want me to fuck your ass?” he spanks your ass hard making you flinch, “Please I’ve never-” you cry out hoping he would understand, “No one’s ever fucked you in the ass before?” you whine at the lewd words which shamelessly fall from his lips, “Guess there’s a first for everything.” he says with a scoff. 

His digits bury into your hole, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. The stretch burns, filling a fresh set of tears rolling down your eyes, smudging your mascara and eyeliner You looked like a whore. He keeps hammering his fingers inside you without mercy, a loud whine leaves your lips as you feel a tingle of pleasure from him hitting the right spot. “Do you like that? Too bad, this isn’t for you.” he moves his fingers from you before lining his fat cock to your almost too tiny hole, “How will this fit?” he laughs to himself, pressing his engorged tip in slowly, “Will be a tight fit,” he continues to shove his cock into your hole, his face turns off one to ecstasy as your walls take him inch by inch. You scream in pain, his cock was much bigger than his fingers. It was stretching you out, numbing your mind and soul, you did not know how much more you could take. Salty tears fell from your eyes as Hawks bottomed himself in you, he waited for a moment before starting to thrust into you unforgivingly. Dragging his fat cock out and your walls pulling him right back in. As he kept ramming into you. Slowly, you start to pleasure tingle up your spine as his tip smashed against the right spots. Your cries of pain turn to pleasurable moans. Hawks wastes no time in teasing you, “Look at you moaning like a slut,” he spanks your ass with swift force sending your rear to sting. You feel unbearable pleasure starting to build up in your abdomen, a straining coil wanting to burst which each of Hawks’ strong thrusts yet it is left unfilled as the simulation is not enough to make you cum from all alone. Hawks notices this, the pitiful crying for him to touch your swollen little clit which was begging to be played with. He almost thought he would give it to you, after all, he was a good person. Almost. 

Hawks just snicker, his cruel, sadistic laugh echoing in the room, “No, no, no.” he teases, “no matter how much you cry, baby. I am not letting you cum. This is your punishment, you deserve this. You’ve been a bad girl.” Hawks couldn’t formulate how he was able to form complete sentences. The moment he had caught you, he had let himself go feral. Dragging you down like a predator, he finally had you under him. He kept grunting and breathing profanity down your ear along with shameful praises about how well your slutty ass takes him. He is glad he is finally getting his much-deserved relief but he is not done yet. He won’t be done until he is filling your vulnerable womb with his seed, he won’t be done until he hears you asking him to give you his children. He is not going to leave you be until he has destroyed you, balls deep in your tiny pussy. He is going to keep you here all night fucking you, he is going to stay there all night fucking you with hate which he has buried within himself for you over the years. He is going to melt you in his hand, break you until only he can build you up, and maybe he will not let you go even after that. Maybe he will keep you after all hawks mate for life. 

Just hope he lets you cum the next time. 

[bnhabadass]

A League of Villains Christmas Special

A/N: So this scenario is somewhat inspired by of the Thanksgiving head canons that @monst did earlier this year. It’s not the same scenario in the slightest, I just had this idea after reading what they wrote last month.

It’s the first Christmas since your parents’ deaths and since you joined the League of Villains. You’re happy to be spending that time with your new family, but what happens when they all have their own plans and you are left alone?

Pairing: League of Villains Warnings: Kinda angsty but not really ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re a villain, so why would you have any family to go home to this season? Your name is (Y/n) (L/n), age nineteen. Your parents died not even a year ago in a plane crash. Without having them with you, you were lost in life. You had many jobs that you couldn’t manage to keep up, jobs like nannying upper middle-class children, housekeeping, cashiering at a skeezy convenience store. None of the jobs ever stuck, and by the time the third month had rolled around since your parents’ death, you were kicked out of your apartment.

You were out on the streets with nothing more than what you could carry in your backpack. You were a mess, stealing any food you could get your hands on. You lived on the streets for two weeks before you met a man with a patchwork face who promised to give you shelter and a new family. You’ve been with the League of Villains ever since, finding comfort with their ideologies and beliefs. It took you a long time, but you had eventually found a new family within the League, and as the months went by, you began to grow excited at the idea of spending your first Christmas with them.

You were shocked, however, when your new family said they would have their own plans on Christmas Eve. What kind of plans would a bunch of villains have?

“I have cousins out on the country,” Spinner said. “And I don’t wanna visit them, but it’s what’s expected of me.”

“I have a group of friends who all meet up around this time of year,” Mr. Compress told you. “I wasn’t able to meet up with them last year, you see.”

You were disappointed, yes. But you still hoped the others would be free. The next people you asked were Twice and Toga, but they already had some long winded scheme planned for that day, and according to Toga, “three’s a crowd.” It’s not like you mind, seeing that their plans would cause more commotion in your already hectic life.

The league took you in as a sort of domestic figure. Yes you can fight and yes you go on missions with the group, but when Dabi brought you to Shigaraki after finding you out on the street, he sold you to the group with promises of you doing the laundry and cooking for everyone. And you don’t mind at all. You can cook basic foods and everyone seems to be grateful that they are getting a hot meal, especially in these winter months.

You didn’t mind doing the laundry either. Sure it got tedious, and who knew that with such a lack of clothing belonging to the bunch of you the laundry would pile up. You did the laundry at least once a week and it was a pain to be constantly washing the blood and stains from other bodily fluids out of Toga’s uniform, Spinner’s cosplay, and everyone’s underwear. Saying that it gets tedious...well that’s an understatement.

“So what are your plans for tomorrow?” you asked Dabi. You were in the shitty laundry room with the somewhat broken machines. Grease stains and mold coated the walls. You were rinsing the left over soap scum off of Shigaraki’s shirt in the sink. A week had gone by since you asked Twice and Toga, and most of your friends had already left. It was December twenty-third.

You didn’t expect Dabi to have any plans. Dabi, your best friend, isn’t the kind of person to do big get-togethers. He’s more of a lone wolf. “Drinking buddies,” he said. Nothing more than that.

You nodded as you rung out the shirt and threw it into the basket with other wet clothing to hang up on the line. You couldn’t help but feel downtrodden, as any attempts you had of having a merry Christmas were ultimately destroyed.

“I’m heading out tomorrow and probably won’t be back until the new year.”

You looked up at Dabi as he lit a cigarette, but didn’t say anything. You felt truly and utterly alone. Your eyes drew back to your sock covered feet and you picked up the basket. “You shouldn’t smoke inside,” you said before leaving, refusing to even look at him.

It’s not that you were mad at Dabi. How would he know that you didn’t have any plans? You didn’t bother telling him or anything, but you still felt hurt and you didn’t know why. You made your way to the clothes line that ran between two walls in one of the back rooms. You pulled the cord to the light fixture and began hanging up the clothing. As you rung out each article further before smoothing it out and hanging it up, you couldn’t help but reminisce about a time before your parents deaths, drinking coco indoors during the first snow of the season, falling asleep in your mother’s arms when you were very young because you weren’t able to stay awake until midnight and the new year, helping your father cook Christmas dinner, accidentally spilling bottles of spices over onto the floor.

“Ow!,” you cried in pain as she had stepped on one of Toga’s knives she had left on the ground. You looked down at your foot. The knife had only nicked the bottom a little, but it was still bleeding. “Shit.” You waddled out of the room and over to the bar where you knew Kurogiri kept the first aid kit. You took a sharp breath in as you rubbed the antiseptic wipe over your foot. Blood and mats of dirt came off your foot with it.

“What the hell are you still doing here?” Shigaraki’s voice came from the back of the bar where he was playing a video game.

You didn’t notice him when you came into the room, so you jumped a little at hearing his voice. “What do you mean?” you asked, continuing to clean off your foot, pressing your sleeve to the wound in order to subside the stinging.

“You know what I mean.” Shigaraki paused his game, looking up at you through the spaces in Father’s hand. “Why aren’t you out there stealing shit with Twice and Toga or out drinking with Dabi. The two of you are practically inseparable anyways.”

You ignored the slight tinge of jealousy in Shigaraki’s voice. “He doesn’t leave until tomorrow,” you said. “Besides he didn’t invite me.” You rolled the bandage tightly over your foot before securing it with a safety pin.

Shigaraki let out a loud laugh. “Since when does that stop you? What, you don’t have annoying cousins like Spinner or old friends to celebrate with?”

You didn’t know what to say to that. No one had pressed you about your family since you joined the league. After all, family was a tender subject for everyone. “Shigaraki, I have no one,” you said as tears began streaming down your face. “My parents haven’t even been dead a year. I lost connection to all of my friends when I was out on the streets. Hell, I’m pretty sure they all think I’m dead!” You let out what was a mix of a sob and a chuckle. You felt so gross, sobbing like this in front of your boss, but this was the first time since the accident that you had truly allowed yourself to cry. “I don’t have a family to go back to, Shigaraki. The league is my family.”

Shigaraki was at a loss for words. He stood up and grabbed you a tissue from the box at the other end of the bar. He patted your back as you blew your nose, careful to keep at least one of his fingers away from you. He’s not the best at showing emotion, everyone knows this, so all he could think to do after that was leave you alone. You cried yourself to sleep that night.

The next day was Christmas eve. You were too tired to cook that night, but you knew that busying yourself with something would distract you. You pulled out a pot and began filling it with water. By the time you had already put the rice in you realized you had made too much. You were so used to cooking for the eight of you that you had accidentally poured in enough for eight servings. “Shit,” you said. “What a waste.”

That’s when you heard a knocking on one of the kitchen walls. Kurogiri stood there, dressed as dapper as usual aside from a more festive looking tie for this season. “(Y/n),” he said. “Why don’t you join me and Tomura Shigaraki for dinner tonight.”

You looked down at your feet. Shigaraki clearly said something to him, and while you were almost grateful that you were able to get everything off of your chest, you couldn’t help but feel like a burden onto them. Especially if Christmas dinner between the two of them was a tradition.

“I’m making rice,” you said, turning back around to stare into the pot. “But I, um, I made too much.”

Kurogiri nodded. “Why don’t you finish making it and bring it out to the table.” He left before you could say anything.

Why do I feel so nauseous? You continued staring into the pot as the grains of rice swarmed around. You continually shifted on your feet, keeping pressure off of your injury. By the time the rice was finished you had set out a large bowl to scoop it into. You didn’t bother with soy sauce or any seasoning for it. Your pantry had been running low anyways.

When you made it out to the table, you nearly dropped the bowl. Spinner and Compress were sitting on either side of Shigaraki. “What the hell are you two doing here?” you asked. “Spinner, shouldn’t you be visiting your family or something?”

“Tch, I can’t stand being in the same room as those people for five minutes,” he said. “I left after putting up with their bullshit for one night. There’s no way I’m going back.”

You turned to face Mr. Compress. “There will always be another time to visit old friends,” he said, smiling as he took off his mask. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to miss out on your cooking, afterall.”

You blushed as you looked down at the plain bowl of rice in your hands. But your eyes soon averted to the door as you heard a loud banging noise coming from outside.

Kurogiri stood up to answer it. The next thing you know, Toga and Twice are barging in, both wearing santa hats and panting as if they had just run a marathon.

“We almost got killed,” Twice said. “It was awesome!”

“I thought you two had a plan to rob a bank or go break into the zoo or something,” you said, setting down the bowl. Truth be told, you didn’t pay attention to the plans they were telling you about earlier.

“Yeah, but we just decided to steal this.” Toga held up a bottle of wine with a severed hand attached to the neck of the bottle. “And we got a gift for Tomura!”

“Piss off!” Shigaraki grabbed the severed hand and disintegrated it before grabbing the bottle and poured himself a glass.

“You idiot,” you heard the all too familiar voice of Dabi say from the doorway. “Why didn’t you tell me you would be alone today?” He made his way towards you and ruffled his big hand on the top of your head, tangling it in with your hair. “I’d have let you come drink with me if I had known.”

You smiled up at him before wrapping him in a big hug. The staples on his chest pressed into your cheek. “Thank you,” you said. “I’m just happy you’re here now.”

The lot of you sat around the table, ready to dig in to the small feast in front of you. You had sat between Spinner and Shigaraki and began serving yourself.

“I know you asked them all to come back for me,” you told Shigaraki once conversation had begun amongst the rest of the league.

“Yeah?” he said. He took Father off of his face and looked down at the palm before looking up to meet your eyes. “Well no one should be alone on Christmas.”

You smiled at him. “Thanks, Tomura.” You looked around the table at your friends. Twice and Toga were annoying Dabi with shouting Christmas music at him, Kurogiri and Mr. Compress were discussing some sort of incident between two villains who had their hands on quirk enhancing drugs, and Spinner was trying to pry a knife out of Toga’s hands as she waved it violently in his face. She and Twice had moved on to annoying both him and Dabi.

Still, you couldn’t help but smile as you enjoyed Christmas dinner with your family.

[tawnywrites]

Chapter 1 | Ordinacy | WIP

A THIN LINE BETWEEN REALITY AND FANTASY

   She’s not graduating, they all said to one another. An explosion of chatter extended across the room when Kasie waltzed into the cafeteria and carried her bag on her shoulders and her books by the other. She sat down alone on her table and lifted her bag on the desk with a loud thud after.

    It's 12:30 pm, she hadn't bought food and her stomach growled under the table. She winced and clutched her stomach, dismayed and impatient.

    It's been an hour and Anthony was nowhere in sight. She shrank on her seat and placed her head down to avoid anyone staring in her direction. A tired groan escaped from her lips. No one can give her a break in this school.

    She hated being alone in the cafeteria. People would stare at her and whisper to each other whenever they would see her alone on the table and the floor would crumble beneath her. She would bawl her hands into a fist and send a sharp glare down at her classmates.

   They looked away, avoiding her eyes like Kasie hadn't seen them gossiping about her.

    She raised her head from the table, endless chatter and bickers in the room wouldn't die down. It's high school. Students would gossip about one another. Live their life studying, partying or dying. They would do that until year's end.

   Freshmen have an opportunity to make a name for themselves, sophomores climb up the heights of their reputation, juniors stressed about the deadlines of their projects and seniors thinking about what to do in their lives after they graduate.

   But with all that, Kasie was nothing. She spent her freshman years alone in the courtyard, buried under books and sleep in class. She spent her sophomore and junior years away from anyone. After all, some people can be jerks.

   Today, she paid the price after discovering that her grades had slipped and finals were after her tail. For her classmates, this would be their end while Kasie would see this as her beginning.

    A loud thud knocked on the wooden table. She looked up to see who it was and she sat up hastily when she saw Anthony's wide grin. He placed a wrapped burger beside the milk carton.

   "Did you miss me?" He asked with a bright smile, he sat down in front of her and took out a few notebooks from his backpack. She frowned at him and snatched the milk from the table.

   "Did I miss you? I haven't bought anything!" She whined and settled herself down on her seat. She removed the plastic cover of the straw and stabbed it on the carton.

   In the corner of her eye, she could see Anthony perk his lip and recorded on his notebook with a small pad by the side of the table. "Why do you need to wait for me? You don't have to" He pointed out.

   She grabbed the burger, unknowing, that Anthony was going to reach for it. She unwrapped the burger and took a bite. She can't exactly say she's awkward without him right?

    His eyes grew wide when his hand moved around the table. He saw that Kasie took a bite of the burger. "That's mine!" He stretched out his hand.

      "You made me miss lunch!"

      "Is it my fault?"

    Kasie stopped waving around the burger and sighed. She sat back down. She offered the burger toward him. "Here"

    Anthony rolled his eyes, he waved his hand in negation. "Never mind, keep it," He wrote down in his notebook again. She sighed in resignation. She pouted and looked down at his paperwork.

     He's a part of the journalism club. It was the reason why she was friends with Anthony from the start. There was a time in school where she became a topic of the student's chatter when she transferred as a freshman. A spread of news that she came from France. Many expected her arrival.

     They expected a teenager who had a sketchpad at hand, those red tinted lips and a soft laugh on her smile but what they didn't know that the girl they were waiting for was an absolute mess.

     No sketchbooks, no red tinted lips and not a smile on her face.

    What stood in front of the school entranceway was a girl with blonde messy hair all over on her face, a tattered bag over her shoulder, and wrinkled bandages on her arm. Every one of them was shocked when she marched down the hallway that day.

    From then on, her infamous story began. A terrorizing failure strolling around the school with failing marks and thousands of call slips in the principal office and that story grew as rumors and gossip.

     When Kasie was at her worst times. She cried alone by the courtyard where no one could see her during dismissal where all the students are gone. There was Anthony who stayed late at school being reprimanded by the janitor for sneaking into the library when it’s close.

     That day, the sun sunk down and Anthony walked down the courtyard when he saw Kasie crouched on the floor with her head rested on her knees, bracing for herself as she let out a sob.

     Anthony knelt down in front of her and tapped on the shoulder. She raised her head in alarm as her bloodshot eyes were revealed in front of him. She wiped off her tears and glared at him.

    “What? Are you one of those gossip kids?” She growled, her voice was brash and controlled but her eyes tell a different meaning. There were fear and insecurity, Anthony sat down in front of her and raised both of his hands in resignation.

    “No,” He said, “I’m a simple guy with simple intentions,” He said calmly but back then, Kasie had her guard all the way up, nowhere for someone to poke through. She stood up from the floor and wiped her tears once more after they couldn’t stop falling.

     She warned him not to tell anyone that she cried that day and ran off alone, she made her way out of the school with her back turned on him.

   But that didn’t stop Anthony from talking with her continuously, that didn’t stop Anthony from befriending her. It didn’t stop Anthony from seeing her past the rumors that spread throughout the school.

    She's always grateful for that.

    Sometimes she doesn’t even think she would be a friend worth fighting for.

  After all the walls that she built around herself haven’t been broken and that feels like she’s been lying all this time to Anthony and yet he stayed.

 “Hey, Kas.” Anthony began, it snapped out of Kasie’s thoughts. She smiled awkwardly and sat up straight. She crumpled the wrapper paper from the burger before she shoved it on her pocket.

  “Yeah?” She asked and took the milk carton and finished it in one sip. She squished the box flat on the table.

  “What do you plan for college?” He implored and that made Kasie froze on her seat. She fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. She looked down at the table and pondered of what to say.

  “I-I don’t know” She stammered. Her feet dangled under the table and her fingertips tapped on the desk like playing keys on the piano. She glanced over at the other kids around her. She’s a senior like the others but instead of worrying what university to go to, she was worried whether this would be her end or not.

   “You’re not planning on giving up on your grades, are you?” Anthony asked sternly and Kasie tossed her hands on the air, out of ideas on what to say. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed deeply.

   “I try not to but where am I supposed to go from here? I don’t have any idea” Kasie admitted. She placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. She’s bummed out.

   “I don’t have any talents like you, I can play basketball but do they allow a female basketball prodigy? Not really”

  Anthony glanced at his side, folding his arms together in deep thought. He didn't look at Kasie, he was looking at his notes. Kasie snapped her fingers in front of him after being silent in a while.

    “I’m not that talented” Anthony spoke up and Kasie tilted her head in confusion. His eyes fell on her this time. “I know how to write articles but I am not that talented as you think”

    Kasie leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, observing Anthony skeptically like what he said was unbelievable. “You have something that can secure your future, I have nothing”

  Anthony furrowed his brows and his eyes narrowed at the thought. He had a dissatisfied frown on his face. “I actually thought about quitting writing” He stated and that made Kasie’s eyes expand in shock.

   “What!? But you love writing, don’t you?” Kasie implored and Anthony nodded slowly at that. More than anything, Kasie always admired Anthony for his works. She always admired his articles on the school newspaper. It wasn’t the usual rumor flicks but rather he would write scientific and interesting facts about certain topics but the sad part was no one would actually read those in this school.

   Kasie respected that side of him. He would always continue to write even if there was no audience to read it. He loves writing too much. He loves researching a lot. She respected that more than her family’s line of work. Both of her guardians were writers but sometimes she wondered if they even write for something anymore.

   “I do but passion is different on what I have to achieve,” Anthony said quietly as if on cue, the bell rings and everyone in the cafeteria slowly dispersed followed by a few groans and whines coming from the students.

   Anthony got up from his table and wore his backpack. He was prepared to leave but Kasie stood up and chased after him.

  “Wait! Anthony! Let’s talk about it over dismissal?” Kasie called out. Anthony glanced at her for a moment in deep thought.

    “I can’t. I have a meeting”

  “After your meeting?” Kasie corrected herself as she tries to reach for Anthony but the cafeteria’s exit was crowded with a bunch of students making their way to their classes. Soon, she lost Anthony among the crowd.

    She won’t give up here.

    It’s 5:30 in the afternoon, there’s barely any students left around the hallway. Kasie made her way towards the publication office. She crouched and twisted the doorknob to peek but much to her surprise, the office was locked. Anthony lied!

    She could hear footsteps from behind her, she looked around for a hiding spot and dived right into the corner and prevented herself from making any noise. She can’t be caught by the janitor.

    Her chest pounded like thundering drums from anticipation, she poked out her head that brushes upon the brick walls that hides the mystery of clicking footsteps that inches closer and closer to her. His footsteps filled the deafening silence around the school hall and his hands were locked tight at the black journal, his eyes traveled distant places with fear and caution and he takes another step before he reached the ends of the hallway.

  Kasie couldn’t take a moment to breathe and her heavy heart was starting to sink into her stomach. She shouldn’t be doing this, she shouldn’t have stayed here. She should have gone home. It wasn’t right to follow a friend. It wasn’t her business to invade her friend’s privacy.

   She bit her tongue in guilt. She watched her friend walk through empty halls where he least expected. Kasie stood up from the floor and takes her bag, she hesitated whether she would go home or not. She looked behind her once more, her curiosity grows the more she lingers.  

   Kasie observed Anthony flipped through the leaves of the book on his hands and stopped midway to the middle of the page where the bookmark lies. His fingertips glided to the smooth pages with glossy handwriting and rest at the bookmark.

     Kasie knows she’s a hypocrite to say that she’s disappointed. Anthony avoided her for this? A mere journal? What? Did he find a way to the fountain of immortality? God’s diary?

   She shakes her head and parted from the wall. She swung her bag over her shoulders. She knew it was a mistake coming here to fuss about him. She didn’t need to worry about him at all. Maybe, she worried too much that she worried for nothing.

   She could hear soft murmurs from behind her. It was probably Anthony reading the journal. No, it’s God’s journal, heaven’s sake. She stepped a foot forward and when she looked down at the floor. A mist stretched out to the surface of the school hallway.

   Kasie’s eyes grew in fear and uncertain. She hits her back by the brick wall and she slides down and fell on the floor. She forced herself to turn her head to where Anthony was but a light was blocking her view. She covered her eyes with her arms but she couldn’t see anything left.

    Gushes of wind wanted to blow her down when she tries to stand up but she ignored them and fought through with her blonde hair flying on her face and she slaps them away from her and reached where she thought Anthony stood.

   She stretched out her arms to find him and grab his sleeve but she couldn’t take a hold of anything, only empty space. She bolted up when she feels a presence made contact with her back. She’s being pushed forward and when she fell forward and lost her balance, she braced her arms together to face down the floor but she felt nothing. She was met with blinding darkness.

   She was embraced by water surfacing around her body, touching her bare white skin and her blonde hair was swimming freely but she wasn’t suffocating. She could breathe underwater. Every weight and burden she carries all started to wash away.

  She floats down and down along with her thoughts on where Anthony is and where could she be? Her inner thoughts sink at the back of mind and her fingertips were numb and her mouth escaped bubble of air. She closed her eyes. Nothing could harm her here. She wants to believe.

  She starts to cling to the idea, she starts to get attached to this silence. Her thoughts and worry we’re oddly fading away as she sinks deeper. Is she free? Is she released? How could that be? How could she think that here?

  She needs to find Anthony, she needs to go back to her father and she needs to go back into the light. The reality, people call it. That darn boring world.

    But in here, in lost waters, in vast silence. Everything was paradise.

  In closed off eyes, she could sense someone approaching her, with waters swishing and her body swaying to the current. Something was moving closer towards her and she opened her eyes to confirm her speculation.  

  From the distance, all she could see was a blurring red light approaching her as it got towards her it shaped into a human body with a hand reaching towards her. It hasn’t even reached her body but a sharp pain arises, something was forcefully being pulled inside of her. She struggled and she waved her arms violently and no scream escape her lips.

 Before she knew it the person was holding a bright white light and Kasie was able to see the holder’s face. Foreign for her to see, he has red hair that burns like fire below the dark waters embracing them. His yellow eyes that held mysteries that hid behind a blue mask with golden linings on its edges. For a moment, Kasie dared to touch it but she couldn’t feel her arms that was once waving violently to avoid the man.

  He mouthed words to her but Kasie couldn’t comprehend it. She could tell he was disappointed when he couldn’t hear her but he smiled dangerously soon after. He placed his hand on her shoulder and pushed her off of him.

  The former balanced waters enveloping her was gone and she was falling faster so was her heart pounds. Her senses returned and her arms started to move again. Everything in her body was in a panic.

  It was a nightmare. Everything was terrifying. She’s falling and she couldn’t tell when it would stop. She closed her eyes shut and prayed but she didn’t stop.

  She hoped she would wake up on her bed.

  She dares open her eyes again.

  She saw millions of stars falling with her.

[anothergracekellyblog]

McCall’s, January 1955

Article by Isabella Taves | Photo by Christa

Grace Kelly can be plain-jane or beautiful, self-assured or scared to death, icy or outgoing, but the public has just one word for this exciting new movie star - wonderful!

A slender young woman from Philadelphia, with fierce determination and gentle ways, has set a new style in movie stars. Her name is Grace Kelly. Refreshingly enough, it’s her real name.

Hollywood recently has produced a rash of little-girl heroines with little boy haircuts, and a series of well-developed sirens with low-cut necklines. Against these Grace is refreshing too. She is a lady - but a lady with talent and fire. Some people compare her to the early Ingrid Bergman. Certainly, nobody since Bergman has hit Hollywood with such impact or is in such demand. (In a little over a year Grace has already played opposite such box-office favorites as Clark Gable, Ray Milland, Gary Cooper, Jimmy Stewart, Bing Crosby, William Holden, Stewart Granger and Cary Grant, and the line forms to the left.)

But Grace isn’t like Ingrid Bergman early or late - or anybody else, for that matter. She is a complex girl, a shy introvert, whom nobody knows completely. Her family sees one side of her, the people with whom she works see another, and her best friends - mostly girls she met when she first lived alone in New York see another. Which is the real Grace Kelly? Says she, “Give me time. There isn’t any real Grace Kelly yet. Come around in ten years!”

Nevertheless, nobody denies that she has her own secret and very powerful weapon. Part of that weapon is her determination. Grace decided she was going to be an actress when she was eleven years old. Nobody in the family took her seriously. That is because all her family are ham actors at heart.

Grace was in school theatricals and starred with a local amateur group. But her sisters acted too. Once, when Grace had a featured role in The Women, she came down with measles on the night of the dress rehearsal and her older sister Peggy stepped into her part. The whole Kelly family can memorize lines like a flash. Neighbors say that when the four children were all living at home every night was amateur night, with the youngsters and father Jack Kelly vying with one another to get the floor.

One day when Kell (Grace’s only brother, who is two years older than she) was invited to a Main Line debutante tea his three sisters almost talked him into staying home by staging a preview of the party. Grace played the debutante, Lizanne (two years younger than Grace) played the dowager mother, and Peggy played Kell - falling all over everybody and disgracing himself.

Although Grace’s father never had any more than a grammar school education, he wanted all his children to go to college. Grace decided on Bennington, in Vermont, because of its drama and dance courses. But she flunked math - always a blind spot with her - on her college board examinations. Rather than settle for any other college, Grace set her determined little chin (her worst feature photographically, one of her best assets as an actress) and said she wanted to go to New York to study acting at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts.

Mrs. Kelly gave in, reluctantly. For one thing, the Kellys are a close-knit family (so far Grace is the only one who has left home). For another, both Mr. and Mrs. Kelly felt acting was a hard, overcrowded field. “But she had never wanted anything so badly before,” says Mrs. Kelly, “so we couldn’t hold out.”

At the Barbizon Hotel for Women, where Grace lived in New York, a model named Carolyn Scott had the room next door. They became close friends. (Carolyn is married now, with two children, and Grace is the godmother of her first child.) They exchanged confidences. Carolyn didn’t take Grace’s acting too seriously either, although she loyally attended all Grace’s plays at the Academy. She encouraged Grace to work as a model in the afternoon, after school. Grace was so good at modeling that eventually she was to earn up to $25 an hour, but she still haunted the Broadway casting offices.

Two years went by, and at last, she got a part with Raymond Massey in The Father.

Carolyn says, “I went opening night. Though I knew how thrilled Grace was, I didn’t expect to get goosebumps myself. But when she walked out on the stage, looking so fresh and pretty and heartbreaking, I burst into tears. I think it was then I realized that she was going places.”

The Father ran only two months, but that was all Grace needed. Fred Coe, producer of several television playhouse dramas, saw her and snapped her up. There was no question in his mind that she was going places. He says today, "She had talent and attractiveness, but so do a lot of other young people in the theater who never become stars. The thing that made her stand out was something we call style. She wasn’t just another beautiful girl, she was the essence of freshness - the kind of girl every man dreams of marrying.”

And then he added, “We all loved her. You can’t work with Grace Kelly without falling a little in love with her.”

That is the second part of Grace Kelly’s secret weapon. She looks lovely, and she is lovely. And fresh and nice and unspoiled. Long before the moviegoing public recognized her, she was a sensation - a genuine bona fide sensation in Hollywood, where she is under contract to M-G-M. Producers and directors and leading men capitulated the minute they started to work with her. She was in such demand throughout the industry that she rushed from one studio to another, making pictures on location from Africa to London to France to South America, and only took a breather finally because she was too exhausted to stand up before another camera.

A publicity woman in Hollywood told me, “She is completely devastating. She knows her lines, she gets there on time without headaches or hangovers, and she is considerate of everybody, from the producer to the lowliest grip. It is the most inspired technique I have ever seen for getting ahead in an industry which is hagridden by geniuses and stars who think they have to act like stars. I wonder why nobody ever thought of it before?”

The final triumph of her secret weapon was when she, a newcomer in Hollywood, got the coveted female lead in The Country Girl, with Bing Crosby and Bill Holden. Every actress out there went after the role—except Grace. She wanted it as much as anybody else, but she told roommate Rita Gam, "I’m not big enough yet to ask favors or tell them I want certain roles. I’ll just have to wait and hope.”

Bing Crosby, normally uncommunicative on the set, was not proof against Grace Kelly’s secret weapon. Usually, between takes, he sits in solitary in his dressing room reading bird books. But during The Country Girl, he never left the set. He and Grace and Bill Holden were around together all the time, lunched together, had tea on the set every afternoon.

Bing, who is old enough to be Grace’s father (and who, in fact, knew Grace’s father a long time before encountering his little daughter), once remarked, “If I were only twenty years younger.” Unable to do anything about that, he plays the role of family friend. When Peggy was visiting Grace he took the girls out on the town, one of Grace’s rare appearances in Hollywood nightlife. Photographers took a picture of the three of them sitting at a table, then carefully snipped Peggy out of the print, which ran in newspapers all over the country under the heading: Hollywood Romance. It was not the best picture ever taken of either of the principals. Said Grace, surveying her prominent chin coldly, "I look as if I had just thrown up.”

Grace has been linked in gossip columns with other of her leading men, including Clark Gable and Ray Milland. That is mainly because names make news. Whatever Gable’s emotions when he and Grace met on location in Africa for Mogambo and she knitted him a pair of red socks for Christmas, he now occupies the solid position in Grace’s life of a kind of Dutch uncle. When a New York newspaper columnist reported, with complete inaccuracy, that Clark had given Grace a diamond bracelet, Grace had such a comfortable relationship with Clark that she called him up and teased, "Where is it? I’m waiting.”

What the columnists didn’t report was the number of men whose names don’t make news who also became devoted to Grace. When she was making Rear Window (with Jimmy Stewart) an enamored song-plugger darted on the set each morning with a bunch of flowers for her, blushingly pretending they were from his garden. And on the Country Girl set the grips and camera crew became so fond of her that when she didn’t win the Academy Award for which she had been nominated last March (for her supporting role in Mogambo) they chipped in and bought her a big plaque, on which was engraved: “To our Country Girl - may this hold you over until next year’s Academy Awards.”

Grace has, by her own admission, been in and out of love several dozen times, but never deeply enough to want to get married. She has never been engaged. Grace loves children; she has four godchildren, whom she adores - and she thinks being married is the only life for a woman. But she has frustrated a long line of eager applicants by gently sidestepping the big question.

It is the more annoying because Grace loves weddings and usually cries harder than anybody else at one. Her bridesmaid appearance at Peggy’s (when Peggy was nineteen and Grace was fourteen) was definitely sodden. And when her brother Kell was married last spring and she couldn’t attend because of schedules on The Country Girl she had the only fit of temperament on the set that has been reported to me "until I had a good cry and got it out of my system,” says Grace.

"Her phone rings constantly,” says Peggy. “I know because I had to answer it in Hollywood. But she almost never went out. Even when she had a night off she would rather go out for a big dinner with me and have a lot of laughs. Family laughs.”

In the television days in New York, where Grace had an apartment on East Sixty-sixth Street, Grace was not a celebrity. “Taxi drivers and people on the street used to look at me funny, as though they recognized me, but they never knew my name.” She had more than the average allotment of beaus, though. She and Prudy Wise, whom she met at the Barbizon and who now lives with Grace and acts as a part-time secretary, had an answering service. When Grace was home she used to pick up the telephone and listen in to find out who was calling before she would come on the line.

"Men get annoyed at her,” Carolyn Scott (now Mrs. Malcolm Reybold) admits, "and they come complaining to me about how cold Grace is. Actually, Grace is far from cold. I think it’s just that she’s a single-purpose girl. And right now her purpose is to succeed as an actress.”

An actress who went on a few double dates with Grace reports. “She would be just darling and lots of fun. But let a man begin to get ideas and she’d reach in her bag and pull on her horn-rimmed glasses and put on the clipped English she learned for Mogambo. I have never seen such an efficient technique for freezing a wolf. No wonder she gives the impression of being cold.”

Inside, however, Grace is soft, the greatest sentimentalist in her family. All the Kellys cry at movies, but Grace is the ranking four-handkerchief girl. Once, when the girls were little, they forgot their handkerchiefs [while] at a movie. Grace and Peggy put baby Lizanne between them and wept into her cotton petticoat.

The attic of the Kelly house in Philadelphia is filled with Grace’s old scrapbooks - up to and including her first corsage - and her old dolls. Peggy has tried to get one or two of those dolls for her own two little girls with no success. Grace will buy her nieces new dolls, but she won’t part with the old. She also confesses that when she was small she loved her dolls so much she didn’t want to play with them - for fear of getting them dirty - and would use Lizanne’s whenever she had a chance. Grace collects things - clothes, shoes, pictures, letters. When her efficient mother offered to go to New York, while Grace was in Hollywood, and clean out her closets and dresser drawers Grace flared. “Don’t you dare! If you throw out even one old piece of Kleenex I’ll never forgive you.”

Grace has puzzled Hollywood for a number of reasons. First, she lives like a young actress instead of a movie star. She and Prudy Wise took a furnished apartment in Hollywood, a very simple apartment with one bedroom. It was November and they were cold because they didn’t have enough blankets. Instead of going out and buying some (which Grace, on her estimated $750 a week, might have done without hopeless damage to her budget) the girls slept in their coats. Finally, a friend took pity on them and brought over some blankets his children used to take when they went camping. “They were full of holes and sand,” Grace says, “but don’t think we weren’t thrilled to get them.”

She drove a small rented car and, because she hates to drive and doesn’t do it very well, tells friends that her very first extravagance when she gets to be a big star will be to hire a car and chauffeur “even before I get a maid, for I’d rather make beds and wash dishes any day than drive a car.”

After she came back from making Mogambo in London and Africa Grace wanted an organdy stole. After shopping around she decided they were all too expensive, and sat down and made her own. She likes to buy new clothes, but she does it on a very modest scale because she gets fond of her old things and feels comfortable in them.

She always has somebody living with her, whether it be a visiting sister, her mother, Prudy Wise or Rita Gam. When she goes to Hollywood cocktail parties she invariably turns up with her roommate or a female relative and spends most of the time sitting in a corner talking to her. At a Christmas dinner given by a young married woman who works at Paramount, Grace shunned the company of grownups and spent most of her time with the children.

The only men she dates are those she grew fond of while making pictures (notably Crosby and Gable) or old friends from New York.

Grace is genuinely shy and diffident. She hates to talk about herself, even to old friends. After her African trip, she went through a phase of refusing all invitations for fear people would expect her to deliver a travelogue on the country. Even Grace’s family had trouble getting much out of her. Her father told me, “You know the girl must have had a lot of fascinating experiences, but she just won’t talk.”

It cannot help but follow that Grace is the despair of press agents and interviewers from magazines and newspapers. "I hate text pieces about myself,” she told me, and later informed a photographer, "I hate posing for pictures.” Her good manners make it impossible for her to break a promise to see someone from the press, but she shies away from any subject that comes close to verging on the personal. You can come away from a series of interviews with Grace with a collection of the most uninteresting platitudes ever assembled from anybody in the public eye.

One reporter spent the better part of three weeks trailing Grace and talking to her. After it was over he tossed his notebook on the table and said to her, "There’s nothing here worth printing!”

Grace replied mildly, "I don’t think I’m very interesting either.”

A male magazine writer, watching her go over costume sketches, asked chattily if she wore falsies. Grace was so shaken and embarrassed she wouldn’t see him again.

She feels less shy with women. But a talk with the press is always an ordeal, and she usually tries to surround herself with friends or family when reporters are around.

Once, when she and Prudy Wise were lunching with an older woman writer from a women’s magazine, Bing Crosby was sitting at a nearby table. To tease Grace he kept sending notes over. Prudy, who is as uncomplicated as a puppy, kept giggling and answering them. Grace got more and more tense and embarrassed. Finally, the writer leaned over and told her, "Dear, if you feel the need of protection from that man you can come to me. I’m home every night.”

Afterward, in the privacy of her own bedroom, Grace tells a story like that very well and gets as giggly as the next girl. She also loves silly jokes on old friends. When she first moved into her New York apartment and was taking her time about buying furniture she used to dress up like a character from a Charles Addams cartoon and meet her dates in a bare room lighted only by a candle in an old bottle. Another time a beau called and found her and her roommate made up as corpses and laid out in sheets on the bare living room floor.

But it is only with old friends and family that Grace relaxes. "I can always tell when Grace is unhappy,” Carolyn Scott told me. "She gets kind of a glaze on her and begins to look like a china doll. A china doll that has been on ice a long time.”

When Grace was in one of her typical speed dashes last spring, finishing Green Fire (with Stewart Granger) and on her way to France to make [To] Catch a Thief (with Cary Grant), she was met at the airport by a newspaperwoman who asked, at eight o'clock in the morning, "Tell me, Grace, do you hunt men in Hollywood the way you hunted lions in Africa?”

At moments like this Grace gives the impression of being a very cold and determined little package. One Hollywood director was quoted as referring to Grace Kelly’s "stainless steel insides.” Grace, who is sensitive about almost every story printed about her, was deeply bothered. "I’m stubborn,” she says, “but I don’t think I’m cold or hard. That was cruel.”

The only way to learn anything about what makes Grace tick is to talk to her friends and relatives. The explanation for a great many things about her, including her determination and shyness, lies in her exuberant, extroverted family. She is number three of four children. Peggy, four years older than Grace, (Grace was twenty-five on November 12) was always her father’s favorite, the best of all the girls in athletics, a talented painter, and a natural clown. Grace’s father still says in bewilderment when he sees Grace’s name in lights on movie marquees, "I thought it would be Peggy. Anything that Grace could do Peggy could always do better.” Grace adored her older sister, counted on her help in arguments with the baby, Lizanne, and copied her taste in hairdos and clothes.

"She was a wonderful sister,” remembers Peggy. "She would always do things for me. Sometimes I wonder if I imposed on her.”

Brother Kell – John B. Kelly, Jr. – was also an object of hero-worship for Grace. She watched his athletic honors with pride and went on dates with his friends. But she also envied his stature in the family, because he was the only boy. And their father, Jack Kelly, had a particular reason for wanting a boy.

John Brendan Kelly, Sr. came from an Irish family which included producer-playwright George Kelly (Craig’s Wife, The Torchbearers, The Show-Off) and an older brother, Walter, who was in vaudeville. But Jack never had more than a grammar school education and started his career as a bricklayer. He was always a fine athlete, however, and, after World War I, in which he distinguished himself as a boxer, went to England to compete in the Diamond Scull races. At the last minute, he was disbarred from competition because he was not a "gentleman,” having worked with his hands. He went on to win the Olympics, beating the winner of the Diamond Sculls, but the insult rankled.

From the time Kell was six his father coached him in sculling. Just twenty-seven years after Jack Kelly, Sr. had been disbarred from competing in the Diamond Sculls, he and his family stood on the banks of the Thames and saw young Kell, a "gentleman” from the University of Pennsylvania, win the Diamond Sculls by eight lengths. He did it again in 1948, and now, at twenty-seven, an extraordinary physical specimen like his father, is the five-times American and Canadian sculling champion. He has never won the Olympics, however, but on his second try he met the girl he married, a swimmer on the American team.

Baby sister Lizanne was probably the greatest challenge to Grace. Lizanne is acknowledged even in the Kelly family as a leader. She has recently gone through the University of Pennsylvania collecting honors, from the captaincy of the baseball team to the presidency of her sorority, Kappa Kappa Gamma. From the time she was small, she was an excellent manager. ("She knew how many pieces of luggage we were traveling with from the time she was five years old,” her father boasts.) But she was a trial to the gentle and willing Gracie. She took dolls away from her - from Grace, who loved her dolls so.

Sometimes Peggy intervened on Grace’s behalf. But she wasn’t always around. And Grace, who grew up far less strong than her fierce little sister, had to develop an inner strength and self-sufficiency which friends admire in her today. One day Lizanne, in a fit of childish temper, locked Grace in a closet and went out to play. Several hours afterward she remembered Grace was still locked up and ran to their mother. But when Mrs. Kelly opened the door Grace looked up smiling. She had found some dolls on a shelf and had spent the time playing happily.

Later, when Grace came to New York, her mother urged her to look up her Uncle George, who by that time was famous. Grace refused. She was determined to make good on her own. And, although her father had made many friends among theater people in the sculling days, Grace refused to allow him even to write them about her. Grace’s mother says she will never get over the night they went up to Boston for the out-of-town tryout of The Father.

“We had called Grace,” Mrs. Kelly remembers, "and told her to invite the cast over to our hotel suite for supper after the show. When Raymond Massey arrived he was delighted to see Jack. Massey used to row for Toronto, and all old oarsmen know each other. But he didn’t understand why Jack was there. It took him several minutes to realize that he was Grace’s father, for Grace hadn’t said a word.”

Grace preserved this same silence later with Bob Hope and Bing Crosby. It is part of her quiet, stubborn creed that she must stand or fall on her own. Although she is deeply devoted to her family, she is the one who has broken the pattern.

Grace’s father is wealthy, a Philadelphia contractor who has built many important buildings, including the Thirtieth Street railway station. In 1935 he ran as the Democratic candidate for mayor, building up a big vote in a Republican stronghold. Later, under President Roosevelt, he ran a national physical-fitness program. Now a Philadelphia park commissioner and president of the Atlantic City, New Jersey, race track, Jack Kelly still has color, glamour, and drive.

Mrs. Kelly, whom all three girls resemble physically, dreamed of being a dancer, but she gave up that dream for the more practical one of teaching physical education. She was the first woman head of the physical education department at the University of Pennsylvania and was so pretty that she was seen frequently on the covers of Country Gentleman and Farm Journal. (To the readers of the latter she was known as “Peaches.”) German-born Mrs. Kelly was, in her way, just as strong a character as her husband. She says calmly today, “I wasn’t the sort of mother who waited to discipline the children until their father came home.”

Grace is glad today for that disciplined upbringing and for her convent training. She says seriously, "The people I know who respect their parents are the ones who were brought up strictly.” But, in her own way, Grace has defied the Kelly training.

Although Jack Kelly taught all his children the value of a dollar and had them managing finances from the time they were small, math and money are subjects that have eluded Grace. She is naturally careful with small amounts, but when it comes to big ones she is hopelessly at sea. Her father advises her on investments and her mother keeps an eye on Grace’s bank accounts.

Grace has also resisted her father’s generous habit of buying clothes for his wife and daughters and, now, his granddaughters. "Daddy has wonderful taste,” Peggy and Lizanne assured me and added they were always thrilled to wear the extravagant things he bought them. But Grace, from the time she was ten, was critical. She would not like the color of a dress he’d bought and would change into a skirt and sweater she’d owned five years. While all the rest of the family were sporting the new bathing suits Dad had brought home for the Fourth of July, Grace would insist on wearing her old one.

In fact, Grace, who at times can be breathtakingly beautiful on the screen, in real life can look like a plain-jane with her hair pulled back, wearing her horn-rimmed glasses and old clothes.

Grace’s half-smiling explanation is that she is loyal to her old clothes, just the way she is loyal to old friends. But her father, a fiercely determined man himself, knows that’s not the whole story. He understands that anything she achieves she must do herself, without his help. Although he is mildly astonished still to discover that Grace is the one who inherited the same relentless drive that goaded him to success, he is also proud.

"Why,” he says, standing before the John B. Kelly construction company and looking over the modern Philadelphia which he helped build, “do you know what I’m known as around here these days? I’m Grace Kelly’s dad.”

THE END

[seth-kate]

-love and hate are of the same kind

request: can you write a jughead x fem!reader where she's from out of state for the summer visiting archie (maybe they're cousins or something) and archie introduces her to jug, and she ends up telling him these stories about her home and whatnot so she's just waving her hands around and there's like pure happiness on her face and it just makes jug smile and when she leaves later in the summer they both get sad and she says "thanks for a great summer, jughead," and it's bittersweet? thanks, i love you!!!

a/n: I love you too!! and I also kind of changed this a little. I just didn’t realise it, my fingers kept typing whatever they wanted to. 

pairing: jughead jones x reader 

“Hey, Arch you coming to Pop’s later?”

Veronica’s voice cut through the silence that had hung around the student lounge for the last half an hour. The group of friends, that consisted of the usual bunch, had sat together in mutual quietness while trying to finish up last minute assignments or pieces of homework. Archie sat strumming his guitar while Betty edited an article for the Blue and Gold and Jughead sat quite contently in front of his laptop. 

But Veronica’s question had interrupted his train of thought, her voice sounding odd against the backdrop of silence that had enveloped them for so long. His fingers stopped drumming against the keyboard, his eyes now fixed on the raven haired girl. The question wasn’t directed at him, but he was already listening. 

“I dunno Ronnie, I might come by later” Archie replied, running a hand through his russet hair, the pieces standing up with the stickiness of sweat. 

“Well, Betty, Jughead and I are going after school” she told him, her brown eyes flashing with something hopeful. Jughead realised that no matter how many times Archie joined them in the usual ritual of having milkshakes at Pop’s diner, Veronica Lodge would never shake the feeling of euphoria whenever he came along. Maybe it was because his smile was a little wider when he directed it at her, or because she hoped that after each time he might offer to take her again. Alone perhaps. 

“Wait when did I agree on this?” Jughead asked, one elbow balancing on his knee while the other served as a rest for his laptop. His eyes looked between both girls who now had the same creased brows. Jughead couldn’t remember agreeing to accompany them. He didn’t fancy being alone with the two girls without a male to back him up with stable conversation. 

“Eh yesterday Jug, during Biology” Betty rolled her eyes “Kevin can’t come since he’s totally grounded -” 

“I won’t ask what he done” Jughead threw in sarcastically, much to the annoyance of the blonde. 

“So it’s just us three, if Archie isn’t joining us” 

“Wonderful” Jughead smiled, knowing he was in for an evening of the two girls gossiping about Cheryl Blossom or that new show they were hooked on. 

“Look guys, my cousin is in town today and I’m supposed to pick her up from the bus station with my dad after school” Archie explained, his fingers picking randomly at the strings of his guitar. 

“Oh that’s right!” Betty exclaimed with a smile “y/n isn’t it?” 

With that Jughead snapped his head up, eyes ripping away from the sentence he had just resumed typing and into the hazel ones of his red headed best friend. His mouth was agape, words stuttering to form while Archie’s face slowly turned to one of guilt. 

“Y/n...” Jughead spluttered “in town?”

“Um....yeah. Listen I’m sorry Jug, I should’ve told you but I know how you feel about her and I just didn’t want to put you out...” 

“How I feel about her? I hate her, that’s how I feel about her” Jughead scowled while Archie raised his eyebrows. 

“Oh come on, Jughead. You guys were like ten years old, just let it go” Archie gave a laugh, shaking his head at the thought his friend hadn’t gotten over a childhood spat. 

“Woah, I feel like I’m missing something major here. Spill it Archiekins” Veronica pressed, eyes jumping between the football player and to the baggy eyed teen writer. Jughead stayed tight lipped, his eyes narrowed in front of him. Archie gave a sigh along with an eye roll and turned towards Veronica. 

“Y/n came to stay with me for an entire summer one year, and Jug got into a huge fight with her and he made her cry -” 

“She pushed me out of a treehouse!” Jughead declared dramatically. 

“That’s a topic of debate” Archie interjected “but anyway she got so upset but they never really spoke again. I just think Jughead’s stubbornness is because he just doesn’t want to admit that he had a crush on her” 

“As if” Jughead scowled, trying to ignore the fact his cheeks were growing hotter. He did not have a crush on y/n, nor did he ever.

“How long is she staying for?” Betty asked with a smile. 

“A month and a half” Archie answered “that won’t be a problem Jughead?” 

“No not at all” he replied, a fake smile plastered all over his face. He was now living with the Andrews and had been for half of the year, and the thought of y/n staying with them was making him miss the janitors closet already. 

The sounds of her breath were loud and rapid to her ears and her heartbeat thumped in her chest. She felt around in the dark, eyes blind and fear crippling. She couldn’t help but feel their was someone watching her. She.....she...sh- 

“Damn it” Jughead groaned, his curly head dropping into his hands, his elbows leaning on the diner table. He couldn’t write or concentrate on anything. He even spelled there wrong. 

“What’s wrong?” Betty reached across the table, eyes full of concern. 

“Nothing, I’m just off today” he sighed, taking a swig of the vanilla milkshake that had sat relatively untouched for the past twenty minutes. 

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Archie’s cousin would it?” Veronica rose a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him. 

“Of course not” 

Yes, he thought inside his head, it has everything to do with y/n. 

He hadn’t seen her in years or thought about her for as long. But the constant reminder of her was always there in the back of his mind, a nagging reminder of his first childhood crush. Yes, he sighed, Archie had been right, he had had a crush on his cousin, a long long time ago. 

They had fallen out over a ridiculous fight when they were ten years old and hadn’t seen each other again until four years later when they were fourteen, and that visit hadn’t gone any better than the last one. Her opinion always rivaled his, her views didn’t match his views, she hated his taste in music, he didn’t like her choice of movies. Eye rolls, sighs and huffs always seemed to be the only type of communication they spared one another, but he hated how he noticed how pretty she had gotten once she had grown up. 

He hadn’t seen her in years since and didn’t have any idea what she was like now. 

“Well, I think we’re about to find out...” Veronica almost sang, nodding her head towards the diners door. Jughead spun around in the booth, his eyes taking in the two people who were coming through the door. He groaned aloud, not noticing how Veronica and Betty’s lips quirked into a smile. He felt like sinking into the booth, and then sinking further...maybe all the way to the bottom of the universe. 

Archie Andrews was strolling towards them, a big smile on his face and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that Jughead knew was meant for him. Y/n walked behind, staying close beside her cousin. 

“Hey guys, this is my cousin. Y/n you remember the gang right?” he introduced as he stopped beside the table “ and this girl right here is Veronica” 

“Hey” the dark haired girl offered her hand “I moved here a year ago” 

“Nice to meet you” y/n shook her outstretched hand “and yeah I remember. Hey Betty. Jughead” 

“Y/n” he greeted stiffly, slumping into his chair. 

After the awkward greeting he gave her, Archie shoved his cousin gently towards the space beside his brooding best friend. She sat down with a soft huff, her hands clasping on her thighs and Jughead stiffened, hating how her perfume was clouding the air around him. He also hated how she was just as pretty as always, with her poetic lips and sonnet worthy eyes. God he hated her. This month, he thought, was going to be the longest month of his life. 

Three weeks. Three weeks was all it took for him to fall head over heels for her. Tumbling and crashing into a swirling storm of adoration. Just like he had tumbled out of that tree house she had pushed him from all those years ago. 

Love made people foolish, and sappy and over the top with their declarations. That’s how Jughead had always pictured it as, how he had read about it and how he had seen it portrayed in countless movies. 

Love, he never imagined, would make you hate the object of your affections even more. 

“Love and hate are of the same kind” his mother used to tell him whenever he asked why she yelled at his dad so much. He never really understood it. How could two opposites be the same thing? 

He understood now however, since living under the same roof as her had provided him with every opportunity to learn the meaning of it. 

The first night she had spent with them at the diner. Every minute getting more comfortable, and relaxing in a way Jughead still hadn’t done around her. She had filled up the house with her laughter and her terrible music and the aroma of her peach body wash every time she stepped from the shower. He hated peaches. 

He also hated how she sang while making pancakes every morning and how she took one sugar, lots of milk in her tea. He hated how she sat underneath the tree in Archie’s garden and read Jane Eyre and also disliked how the sun had given her freckles right across the bridge of her nose. He was almost able to count them all one day. 

He hated how he couldn’t sleep, not with her in the next room being all pretty and interesting and infuriating. God, she was so pretty. Was she even really related to Archie at all? The possibility seemed highly unlikely. 

He tossed and turned on the mattress that rested against the wall, envying how Archie was fast asleep on the bed above him. Also, if the redheaded boy didn’t stop snoring Jughead was certain he would end up smothering him with his pillow. He groaned and sat up, peering at the alarm clock that rested on Archie’s bedside table. 

1:12 am. 

He decided to get up, a hot drink might make him more drowsy and anywhere was better than Archie’s bedroom since his snoring was getting louder. Jughead crept down the stairs, careful not to wake y/n or Fred who were sleeping in their rooms. 

It felt odd, he thought, to be sneaking around someone else’s house even though that house had been his too for a half a year. But somehow it still felt like he was intruding. He padded to the kitchen, a hand running over his eyes and a stifled yawn escaping his lips. 

That yawn nearly turned to a full on scream when he noticed someone was already vacating the kitchen. At the sound of him they whipped around, a silver spoon that they had been holding, clattered to the ground. Jughead squinted his eyes, letting them adjust to the sudden flood of light. 

Y/n. 

She was standing there with her shoulders tensed and her face frozen in a look of shock that was slowly leaving her. She bent down to pick up the spoon and then looked him straight in the eye. 

“Jesus, Jughead you scared me” she told him, her voice a quiet lull against the darkness. 

“Yeah well, I tend to do that a lot. It’s one of my many hidden talents” he replied sarcastically, trying to hide the fact that he too had gotten a fright. 

“Hidden?” she scoffed, turning around and opening a cabinet. 

“Ha ha very funny” he rolled his eyes, walking closer to her. Great Jug, you’re doing great, he told himself. Pretending to be the sarcastic brooding type, good for you. Now don’t be nervous, she’s just a girl. 

“What are you doing up so late?” she asked him, turning her eyes to his. 

Crap. She’s so close to me. What do I say? 

“What are you doing up so late?” Great Jughead, you’re a parrot. 

“Stayed up way too late reading. You?” she asked him, fiddling around with the kitchen cabinets until she found what she was looking for. 

“Just couldn’t sleep. Your cousin snores like a jackhammer, did you know that?” he asked her, delighting when she let out a small laugh. He liked the way her eyes creased when she did that. 

“Oh I know believe me. I once had to share a tent with him when we went on a family camping trip” she rolled her eyes, then gave him a smile that made him forget his name for a second. 

“Hey I was just about to make some cocoa, if you want some?” she added, and all he could do in response was nod dumbly. She smiled once more and turned around, grabbing mugs and the container of chocolate while Jughead sat himself on one of the tall breakfast stools around the kitchen island. 

She hummed under her breath as she poured the milk into the jug and microwaved it, the sound of its drum and her quiet singing making a melody Jughead felt oddly at ease around. 

How could hate and love be the same? 

“Hey, Juggie?” she asked him. Even the way she said his name sounded like a poem. 

“Yeah?” he answered her. 

“I just wanted to ask you....why are you living here?” 

It wasn’t something he was expecting her to ask, he hadn’t thought up the scenario in his head. But he knew in a way it was an unavoidable one, a question that was bound to come up sooner or later. He sat there silently for a minute, wondering how long was too long of a quiet pause. She must have sensed she made him uncomfortable because her cheeks grew into a blush, one that shadowed across the freckles on her nose. 

“Oh..Jughead I’m sorry” she stammered “if you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine, I just wanted to know if...it doesn’t matter” 

“I left home” he found himself saying, the words leaving him as if someone was writing his dialogue for him, like he did with his characters. She moved closer to him, a few shuffling steps at a time. 

“Mom left and took Jellybean, and I stayed behind” he shrugged, his eyes dropping to the marble pattern on the countertop “I didn’t want to stay at home anymore. Home wasn’t home without them, you know? Dad started drinking again and things just weren’t....good”

“Where did you go then?” y/n asked, now completely abandoning the milk that was slowly rotating in the microwave to come and sit beside him. 

“Here and there. I lived in a janitors closet at Riverdale High” he found that it didn’t sound so horrible when he was telling her. 

“Jug, you did not” she sighed with a shake of her head, aching concern in her eyes. He found that he hated how she cared so much. 

“It wasn’t so bad, I still had my friends. I had Archie and I was lucky enough that he and his dad took me in. I don’t know where I’d be without them” 

“I am so sorry that you went through all that” she told him, putting a hand on top of his and removing it almost a second later as if he had stung her. Her cheeks flamed red, and he noticed that blushing suited her. 

“I’ve never understood why people apologise for things that aren't their fault” he said “my mom leaving was not your fault” 

“I know...I just mean that I’m sorry that you had to deal with that and that I don’t like the idea of you living in a janitors closet” she said it with such sincerity that his heart wrenched inside him. Her presence disappeared beside him when the microwave beeped annoyingly. 

“It’s alright, everything’s better now” he reassured her with a crooked smile. One he didn’t know made her heart skip several beats. 

“You know I should be apologising for something that actually was my fault” she told him. He couldn’t help but blink at her in confusion. 

“Which is?” he mused, watching her as she carried the two mugs of steaming cocoa towards him. 

“For pushing you out of that tree house all those years ago” she giggled, eyes bright and lips wide. He forgave her for it, then and there. 

“You should be sorry” he pretended to be hurt with an indignant sniff “I almost broke my arm” 

“Well I’m terribly sorry about it, I honestly didn’t mean for you to fall” y/n smiled, her lips forming a perfect pout as she blew the steam from her hot chocolate. 

“Well while we’re apologising for childhood regrets..” Jughead told her “I’m sorry for spilling grape juice all over your white dress that year at Archie’s fourteenth birthday party” 

“I forgive you. So....friends right?” she asked him bravely, her eyes meeting his in a hold he felt he couldn’t look away from. 

“Yeah friends” he agreed with a smile. A genuine one. 

With that they were friends, and the next month was built for them and their new promise. His feelings never changed and he felt that maybe she felt the same. Laughs and smiles, and confidential secrets she only kept for him gave it away. It became habit for them to sit in the kitchen at night and talk about everything and anything. About their silliness as children and how they had outgrown that, and with every word she spoke Jughead became baffled that he had ever hated her at all. 

Maybe he never really did. Not completely anyway. Maybe all he hated about her was that she had changed him in every way. And as he said goodbye to her at the bus station at the end of her stay, tears glistening in her eyes and a smile playing on her lips as she told him she’d be back for Christmas, he finally understood his mothers words. 

Love and hate are of the same kind. 

[princessalethea]

“Hello, my name is…”

Everybody gets the story this month—Patrons and blog readers and social media followers alike. Everybody. Because I’m the Princess, and I said so.

*

Hello, My Name Is…

Katy. Simi. Justin. Ursula. Dallas. Kathryn. Bill. An unconscionable amount of good people have left this world since my birthday in January. Want to know the worst part? I feel like I’m forgetting someone. Literally so many people in my life died in the last month that I lost count. 

I light a lot of candles these days. 

Katy died on my birthday. Bianca had whisked me away to Paradise City con in Miami by the time I got the news, so there was no time to grieve. Quincy Allen was around that weekend to provide bear hugs whenever I needed. I left the booth to cry in the bathroom the few times Leanna texted me, but I didn’t respond to her. I was not ready for that conversation. I did not want to “talk to anyone.” I had work to do. So I did it. 

I needed time to think about what sort of farewell I could write to my Audio Dream Girl. I still can’t manage it. There’s just so much to unpack. So much to process. Too much. And now, several weeks later, we’re four or five deaths down the line. 

I feel this way in my career sometimes. The to-do list becomes overwhelming and I don’t know where to start. Logic dictates that I begin with the first item on the list. But that’s not always the thing “speaks to me,” as Sherri Kenyon is so fond of saying. 

Bianca and I were at Orlando Toy & Comic Con when Kathryn went into the hospital. That con only lasted one day, so I was home when she didn’t make it through the second round of surgery. I had time to pray for Kathryn. I had time to grieve. I had time to cry, and scream at the world, and cry again. I cried a lot.

I cried so hard that Tempest came in the room and just hugged me for a while. I told her how mad I was…and how I didn’t feel like I even had the right to be weeping over Kathryn, since I hadn’t had the time to properly grieve for Katy yet. 

“Alethea,” she said to me in that no-nonsense Tempest tone of hers. “That’s not how grief works.”

She was right, of course. I so desperately wanted to apply logic to this whole situation. But Feelings took Logic and laughed maniacally while tossing it out the window. 

But that’s me in a nutshell, isn’t it? The perfect fictional offspring of Mr. Spock and Deanna Troi. Though lately I’ve been wondering if I’m going to evolve into the Mad Hatter instead. Maybe I already have.

I don’t know what to say about Kathryn yet either—as Leanna pointed out this morning, we’ll probably have to wait for Dragon Con for those words and feelings to make themselves known to both of us. Kathryn’s spirit will be with us in the Green Room, no doubt about that. 

But Bill…I do have a story about Bill. A funny story. A story that pertains to writing. So everybody gets the story this month—Patrons and blog readers and social media followers—EVERYBODY. And to hell with logic. Because I said so. 

*

AlphaOops: The Day Z Went First released in the summer of 2006. My very first “appearance” was an official Author Event at Ingram. I’d been an Ingram Book Buyer for six years at that point, and I had attended every Author Event. Every single one. Being able to meet bestselling and debut authors from all walks of life, each at varying stages in their careers—it was the publishing education I never had. 

I also made a lot of friends at Ingram in those six years. I was known far and wide for the Happy Holidays mix-CD I made every December and inter-officed to just about everyone in the company. I learned that the more friends one had at a giant corporation like Ingram, the faster one could get things done. 

So I made a lot of friends. And I did a lot of things. It was incredible amounts of fun. I was the Miss Congeniality of Bookville. 

One of those friends was Susan, the woman in charge of Author Events. The day before my AlphaOops appearance, we had a very important conversation. 

“Susan,” I said. “I need you on Post-its.”

Post-its are a very important thing at Author Events. After the author gives his or her talk, the audience lines up to get their books signed. (Everyone in the audience at Ingram receives a signed book.) One person stands ahead of the signing table, armed with a pad of Post-its. They ask, “Who would you like the book signed to?” They write the name down, spell it properly, and stick it opposite the title page.

In elementary school I was known as “The girl who stars in every play and that PBS show on TV.” People often know my name, but I don’t always know theirs. It’s the down side of a reputation that precedes you.

There were going to be a bunch of people at this Author Event who knew me, but whose names I didn’t know, or who I blanked out on in the heat of OMGBOOKSIGNING. (To this day, I still ask my best friends how to spell their names when signing their books.) I had nightmares of scores of people saying, “Just sign this to me,” as I sat there with zero clue as to who they were. I knew it was going to happen. I just KNEW. So I tried to prepare myself the best way possible: with Susan. 

“I’m on it,” she said.

I had one of most well-attended Author Events in Ingram history. Bigger than Johnnie Cochran. Bigger than Dave Ramsey. Bigger than Al and Tipper Gore. There was standing room only, and people out the door. I told the story of AlphaOops, how it came to be, and how the title was originally The Telaphab from Z to A. 

“My poor mom and I made so many beaded bracelets with the word ‘TELAPHAB’ on them,” I lamented, and about fifteen people across the auditorium raised their hands. 

They were all wearing TELAPHAB bracelets. 

I was so touched, I almost cried. But I didn’t, because I had work to do. After the round of thunderous applause I walked over to the signing table, already piled high with books. Susan stood at the ready, armed with Post-its and a smile, and we made that signing happen. I signed over a hundred and fifty books that afternoon, and I spelled everyone’s name correctly. 

Later that day, flush with triumph and riding high on the wave of a job well done, I grinned as one of the artists from the ad department stopped by my desk. 

“Hey,” he said. “I couldn’t make it to your event earlier, but I had someone snag me a book. Could you sign it for me?”

“Of course!” I said chipperly, taking out my signing pens. But inside I was freaking out. Because I had no clue what this guy’s name was. 

Book Buyers had no business in the ad department, and the artists almost never left their magical, dimly-lit caves lined with twinkle lights. I recognized him, of course—he was the tall, handsome, really nice one. But what was his name?? I tried to remember where we might’ve met, or at what company function I had seen him last. Nothing. Nothing. 

“To whom shall I sign it?” If I was really lucky, the book would be for his daughter or something. 

And then those dreaded words left his mouth. “Oh, just to me is fine.”

GAH. 

I opened the book and uncapped a marker. My hand hovered over the page as if I were trying to conjure the perfect inscription. What went through my mind instead was actually a lot of cursing, followed by HOW THE HECK DO I GET OUT OF THIS???

I couldn’t sign this man’s book. I couldn’t. I was just going to have to own up to my ignorance. 

“How do you spell that again?” I asked sheepishly. 

“Bill,” he said. “B-I-L-L.”

Yup. Bill. 

THIS WAS BILL ELLIOTT. 

Oh my god, I freaking knew that. I mean, I didn’t know, but I knew. And now I was just embarrassed. I felt my cheeks flush all over again as I bent over to sign the page. 

“Well, hey, Bil Keane only has one L,” I blurted awkwardly. 

Bill Elliott was an artist. He’d know exactly who Bil Keane was. Score one for the nerd girl who read everything she could get her hands on: every single TV guide article, cereal box, and newspaper comic strip—including The Family Circus. 

I didn’t have a lot of interactions with Bill after that, but I never forgot him after that day. I made sure he got a Happy Holiday CD every year, and every year I was the recipient of one of his original Christmas cards, even after I left the company. 

When Bill was sent home to rest, before the cancer snapped back with a vengeance that surprised even his doctors, Bill drew a new card to thank all of his friends and family for the support they had shown him during his illness. 

The last card. 

But Bill’s message of thanks is universal—it’s what I would say to all of you—my friends, my family—who have supported my artistic endeavors in the past and who continue to support me still. 

Thank you for being one of my reasons to smile. Your compassion and generosity continue to touch my heart in ways I cannot put into words. May your life always be filled with love, laughter, and peace. 

I love you all—every single one of you—right down the the bottom of my illogical, overly-emotional, crazy-filled, tea-drinking heart. 

*

I will be writing a follow-up essay for my Royal Scholars (after I stop crying) that includes some tips on how to deal with the “Just make it out to me” situation, from both sides of the signing table. If you are not yet a Patron of the Wonderful World of Princess Alethea, I highly encourage you to come join the fun!

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