#if you took every male actor's face and averaged all of them you would get ryan reynolds

[na-yiii]

Manager-nim (Kim Taehyung x OC) 1/2

Pairing: Manager! Kim Taehyung x Actress! Named Female OC

Summary: Actress Kan Hayan has been part of the acting world as long as she can remember. Just when she thought her world was about to collapse, she gets introduced to her new manager, Kim Taehyung.

There was something off about him.

Rating: M

Word Count: 12K

Warnings: Non Con (r*pe). Yandere. Smut. Stalking. Sasaeng Behavior. Smut. Abuse. Obsessive Behavior. Gaslighting. Swearing. Eating Disorder. Puking. Pubic Hair. Weight-Shaming. Masturbation (male). Manipulation. Fingering (female receiving). Oral (female receiving). Blood.

Part two: click here to read

A/N: Hey everybody, this is my first yandere story. While writing this story, different ideas kept coming up. This resulted in making a few changes in the warnings. Read the warnings carefully before reading this story.

A special shout out to @deepdarkdelights​ for encouraging me to write this story and giving useful feedback.

Let me know what you think of the story.

“Hold it. Hold it. Hold it…and let go,” a young man dressed in black said while the arms of a twenty-eight-year-old woman shakenly gave up. As a result, her upper body dropped on the rubber yoga mat. She could feel her core muscles burning. “Good job,” the charming young man said while reaching his hand out to the woman. “I hate it when you force me to do planks, Jungkook” the woman complained while putting her hand in the man’s hand. “Hey, I am just following the workout program,” Jungkook chuckled and watched how the woman pushed her bangs to the side.

Drops of sweat were visible on her forehead, some even slid down her face and eventually landed on the rubber yoga mat. It stunned the twenty-seven-year-old man how a woman could look so beautiful after an intense work-out routine. “You did well today, Hayan,” the doe-eyed man said while he turned around and grabbed a bottle of cold water. “Do you have to be on set tomorrow?” Jungkook asked as he offered the bottle of water to Hayan. With a smile on her face, Hayan accepted the bottle of water and took a few sips. When the cold liquid moistified her dry throat, the young actress felt euphoric. Instead of answering verbally, Hayan decided to take a few more sips while nodding. Jungkook chuckled when he was satisfied with the silent answer.

Once the bottle was empty, Hayan grabbed her towel and wiped away the sweat on her forehead. “Are you done for today?” Hayan questioned while she ran her thin fingers through her thick black hair. She slightly cringed when her hand touched the sweat on her head. “Unfortunately not, I have two more sessions. One with Yoona and afterwards another one with Jihyun,” Jungkook said while taking off his black cap. Gently he ruffled his long dark brown hair. “They are fun, so you won’t be bored,” Hayan said as she collected her stuff. “True but I just want to go home, eat some spicy ramen and play Overwatch,” Jungkook told the actress. The thought of ramen almost made his mouth water. Hayan chuckled. “Lately I have heard so much about Overwatch,” the celebrity informed her trainer while her mind reminded her the last time she saw an Overwatch ad. “Yeah it recently had a new update with new features,” Jungkook told her while he looked at her. “I see. Anyway, thank you for today,” the twenty-eight-year-old thanked the black-dressed trainer as she threw her towel over her shoulder. “It was my pleasure, Kan Hayan” Jungkook said and smiled at her. Hayan giggled when Jungkook said her full name with his thick Busan accent. “Have a nice evening, Jeon Jungkook,” Hayan playfully imitated his accent. Even though her imitation was impressively spot-on, it made Jungkook laugh. Hearing the actress speak in an unusual manner was always funny to him.

Quietly Kan Hayan walked through the hallways of the sports center. Usually, she would take a quick shower to get rid of the sweat but today the actress was in a good mood so she decided to deal with perspiration a bit longer while she walked to the nearest elevator. During her walk to the elevator, the young actress encountered a few fellow celebrities. Politely she greeted them. She respectfully bowed to her seniors and initiated a short conversation with her juniors. Even though Hayan has been living in the famous and luxurious apartment complex, Jinju Haneul, for a year now she still gets surprised when she sees a fellow celebrity.

Jinju Haneul is a high-quality residential compound that reflects the characteristics of wealth to the maximum extent. From the inside the floors were made from marble, walls were decorated with expensive paintings, crystal chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling and at every corner there was a statue of an influential figure. Even the stairs looked expensive. The apartments had a marvelous view over the Han River. There was a forest nearby where the residents could go to for a peaceful walk without getting bothered by the average folk, curious fans, or nosy reporters. The large building included a gym, an art gallery, daycare center for the celebrities’ children, a movie theatre, and a shopping mall. It was the perfect place if you were part of the group of people who made one million dollars annually.

Hayan looked at her Chanel watch and saw it was almost 9 PM, which means her mother will soon wake up from her nap. Hayan’s mother had some odd habits but since she is her mother Hayan just dealt with it without showing any complaints. Currently, Hayan was not in the mood to deal with her mother. The young performer was not sure whether her mother would be in a good mood or not. So Hayan decided to go to the park to get some fresh air and enjoy the peace while it lasted. With her arms crossed over her chest, the black-haired actress made her way to the nearby forest.

It was a quiet evening. The weather was on the warmer side while a gentle breeze occasionally caressed Hayan’s cheek. There were not many celebrities in the forest, which something Hayan did not mind. Occasionally, she crossed paths with a celebrity mother and her child but other than that Hayan enjoyed the solitude and silence. After walking around for some time, Hayan sat down on a wooden bench. She looked up at the night sky hoping to see some stars but unfortunately, there were no stars to spot.

While Hayan sat on the bench and enjoyed the warm weather, her mind started to wander. With eyes focused on the gravel, her brain reminded the actress of her child actor days. The days when she used to feel uneasy being surrounded by adults. The times her classmates used to bully and ostracize her after Hayan made an appearance in a commercial for a new type of ramen, which was also the same commercial that kicked off her acting career. Some days, the young actress wondered if it was a fair trade to exchange her salad years for her current fame. From time to time, Hayan wondered what her life would have looked like if she had never caught the attention of legendary movie director, Bae Jae-Hwan. Would people have looked at her differently if she had never played in the famous drama, Why Roses Are Never Green? Would she be dancing and drinking in a random club in Itaewon with her friends from college, instead of being trapped in this exhausting lifestyle?

As Hayan slowly delved deeper in her thoughts, she did not notice a dark figure arise from the bushes. Suddenly Hayan felt uneasy, it felt like someone was watching her. The sound of a snapping branch woke her up from her thoughts and brought her back to planet earth. The young superstar looked to the left and saw a silhouette. The silhouette belonged to a man. It was a tall man with broad shoulders. It looked like the man was holding a bag in his hand. Something that caught Hayan’s attention was the man’s bright red hair.

“Can I help you?” Hayan asked hoping that the voice of the stranger might reveal his identity. But alas she did not get any response from the mysterious man. The performer was not sure whether she should call the security or not. The silhouette just stood there. Hayan could feel his gaze burning on her skin. Suddenly the red-haired man started to move and walked towards Hayan. Anxiously, the film star stood up and walked in the opposite direction. She cursed herself when she realized she did not have her phone with her. When the footsteps came closer, Hayan’s heart started to beat faster while her brain tried to come up with an escape plan.

A scream came out of Hayan’s mouth when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. “Hey, are you all right?” a familiar male voice asked her. The female celebrity opened her eyes and looked at the concerned face of Lee Min Ho. “I saw you walking and you looked quite distressed. Is everything okay?” the famous actor asked Hayan while she looked around. There was no sign of the red-haired man. No footprints, no objects that possibly belonged to the man, just nothing. It seemed like what just occurred never happened. “Yeah, I am fine,” Hayan told to Minho and gave him a reassuring smile. Lee Min Ho’s presence made Hayan feel safe again. If the red-haired man decided to show up again, at least now she does not have to face him alone. “Did you spot a reporter?” Minho asked while he looked around, trying to find something or someone what might have caused Hayan to feel anxious. But alas, there were no signs of disturbances.

When Minho offered Hayan to walk her to her apartment, she gladly accepted the kind offer. The two superstars walked next to each other while talking about their latest projects. Once the two former co-stars stood in front of Hayan’s apartment, they wished each other goodnight before parting ways. Hayan’s worries and nervousness melted away when she closed her door behind her. She felt save in her golden cage.

The ticking sound on a keyboard was the only sound that could be heard in the dimly lit room. The source of the light came from a small green desk lamp that was placed on a wooden table.

A middle-aged woman stared intently at the laptop screen. Suddenly she stopped typing and looked up. “Come in,” the woman said and watched how the brown door got pushed open. Her son entered the room.

“Good day, son. What can I do for you?“ the middle-aged woman asked while she looked at her teenage child. “Mother can you do something for me?“ her son asked when he sat on a chair in front of her.

“What is it, dear?“ the woman asked curiously. The young boy grabbed a picture and placed it on the wooden table. It was a picture of a familiar face. A face that the woman has seen multiple times on her television screen.

“Can you make sure she gets accepted?“

It has been now a week since the incident with the red-haired man. The past week, Hayan did not go back to the park. Which was something she was unhappy about, the park was something the actress loved about Jinju Haneul. It was a place where she always went to when she needed to escape her chaotic life or avoid her mother’s outbursts. But Hayan feared that she might encounter the mysterious man again. She could not stop wondering what would have happened if Minho had not been there. Would the stranger have asked her for an autograph and then left quietly? Or would the stranger have disregarded her boundaries and attacked her? There were so many things he could have done to her. The day after the incident, Hayan reported the event to the security team hoping they would quickly capture the intruder and bring back the peace. Unfortunately, it was not her first time being confronted by a confused stranger. The young actress has had her fair share of getting bothered by obsessed fans.

Hayan has been dealing with sasaengs ever since she had her first big break at the age of nine when she starred in a movie alongside with veteran actor Chun Ho-Jin. She still remembers the day when a confused woman showed up at her school and attempted to kidnap her, luckily her father was there to protect Hayan. The incident impacted the nine-year-old girl immensely. So much so that she had to go to a therapist to learn to cope with it. One of the worst incidents she experienced was when she was nineteen. A male fan gave her a plushie during a fan meeting. Initially, the gesture seemed so innocent. The plushie looked so cute that Hayan decided to keep it but the kind gesture was just a cover-up. At the end of the day, she discovered there was a camera inside the plushie. That experience made her sick to her stomach. Causing her to suffer from insomnia for almost two years.

A deep sigh escaped from Hayan’s lips as she folded a pink handwritten fan letter and put it back in its envelope. It was a quiet afternoon in Seoul. Hayan finished early today, which was something she was happy about. She had been on set since 5 am. With little sleep and barely any food in her system, she had to film scenes that were physically exhausting and intense due to all the running and fighting. Hayan put the pink envelope in a box and grabbed another fan letter she received today from her fans, who were waiting for her outside the movie set.

Gently she opened the envelope and pulled the letter out of it. The moment Hayan opened the letter, a metallic and slightly sweet smell entered her nose. When the letter was fully unfolded, a bunch of short black hairs fell out of the letter and landed on Hayan’s hands. A few hairs fell from her hands and landed on her pink silk Burberry dress. Surprised Hayan looked at it but quickly her stomach turned. The black things were pubic hair. Shocked the young actress grabbed a tissue and wiped the black pubic hair off her hands and dress. She felt so dirty knowing that someone else’s pubic hair touched her. Hayan looked at the letter.

Do not talk to Lee Minho, princess. You are mine!!

The words were written in red. Horrified the performer stared at the letter while she tried to remember if she had seen a red-haired man today. No matter how hard Hayan tried but she just simply could not recall a moment when she had encountered the mysterious man. The metallic smell interrupted Hayan’s train of thoughts. A wave of nausea hit her when she realized the letter was written in blood.

Hurriedly, Hayan threw the letter in the nearest trash bin. Without thinking too much, Hayan grabbed the remaining fan letters and threw them in the trash bin. Her skin was crawling while her stomach tried its best to keep her lunch inside.

“Hayan!”

A feminine voice echoed through her luxurious apartment. Hayan recognized the voice, it was her mother’s voice. Hayan took a few deep breaths in order to calm herself. The superstar looked at the trash bin. I will call the maid after this, she thought to herself while she stood up and made her way to her mother.

“Yes, mother?” Hayan asked when she stood in front of her mother. Without saying anything, Hayan’s mother grabbed the young actress by her arm and dragged her to the bathroom. “Take off your clothes!” the middle-aged woman commanded while pushing the superstar closer to the scale. “What?” Hayan asked confused while she tried to understand the situation. “Take it off!!” her mother yelled while looking angrily at her daughter. Afraid and confusticated, Hayan took off her clothes. When she stood naked in front of her mother, she felt uncomfortable. Shivers ran down her spine. Hayan was not sure whether it was because of the chilly bathroom or her mother’s coldness. “Stand on the scale,” Hayan’s mother ordered and watched how her twenty-eight-year-old daughter moved closer to the scale.

Hayan’s mother sighed disappointedly when she saw the number that was shown on the scale. The silence between mother and daughter was killing Hayan. Moments like this she wished there were a script so she could give the appropriate reactions to her mother. Suddenly Hayan’s left cheek started to burn while a handprint became visible on her cheek. Her mother hit her. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want you to weight above that bloody number?!” the middle-aged woman yelled while she grabbed her daughter’s long black hair and roughly moved Hayan’s face to the scale’s direction, showing her the evidence of something her mother deemed as a sin.

“I am sorry,” Hayan said while tears started to escape from her eyes. After having seen her mother’s ugly side, Hayan was taught it was better to show no reaction. For her safety, it was better to endure her mother’s temper tantrums. But currently, Hayan could not help but let her emotions take over her. She had barely any chance to recover from that terrible fan letter. “Do you want to be seen as a whale?” Hayan’s mother questioned while tightening her grip. When Hayan did not respond, the middle-aged woman got furious. Aggressively, she dragged her daughter to the sink. “Spit the food out that you had earlier!” Hayan’s mother commanded. Hayan stood there while staring at the sink, not knowing how fulfill her mother’s wish. When Hayan’s mother lost her patience, she raised her hand and hit her daughter once again. “SPIT IT OUT NOW!” Hayan’s mother shouted while digging her long nails into Hayan’s skin causing it to bleed. Terrified Hayan attempted to force herself to puke but her body refused to cooperate. Suddenly her mind reminded her of the nasty letter she received a while ago. The blood and pubic hair flashed in front of her eyes while her nose was reminded of the nasty smell.

A satisfied smile appeared on the middle-aged woman while she watched her daughter vomit above the white marble sink. Shocked Hayan looked at the food in the sink while her brain tried to process everything that just had transpired. Gently Hayan’s mother cupped the young actress’ face and looked into Hayan’s red teary eyes. “You did well, darling,” she praised her daughter knowing that if her child continued this curse, she would be desired by the public again.

The silence was the only thing present in the house till a quiet moan disturbed the peace. A brown-haired man sat on a large chair as he stroked his hard length with his right hand. He closed his eyes and pictured the beautiful woman in front of him.

He gently pushed the woman on his bed and looked at her. She was so beautiful. Her innocent face made him almost feel guilty for doing this to her but her curves and her hardened nipples, which were poking through her dress, made him want to sin. He wanted to ruin her innocence and stain her with his filth. Hastily he ripped the green silk dress off her body. Gently his hands traveled over her soft skin while he buried his face in her neck and inhaled her sweet scent. “Please” she whined in his ear. Making him hornier.

“Fuck…” the man moaned while he opened his eyes. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and trickled down his face. Eventually landing on his naked chest. His eyes landed on a photo frame, prompting him to move his hand faster while he tightened his grip. “Aw baby,” he cried out when he reached his climax. He quickly moved closer to the photo frame and shot thick ropes of cum. The cum decorated the photo frame.

The man leaned back on the chair while he took a few breaths to come back from his high. He lowered his eyes and licked his lips while he stared at the picture of Kan Hayan, which was now covered in his cum.

“I love you,”

“Here we are,” Min Yoongi said when he parked the black van in the parking lot. Slowly he turned around and looked at Hayan. The superstar took off her AirPods and looked at her manager. The young actress’ eyes were red, it looked as if she had cried. “Are you all right?” Yoongi asked while looking concerned at Hayan. Lately, she has not been herself. Usually, Hayan would always have dinner with her co-stars to celebrate a successful shooting day but recently she turned down every invitation and went straight to home after she was done filming her parts. “Are you still upset about what happened at the park?” Manager Min questioned as he moved his hand to his bag and grabbed a small bottle. “Yeah, the security said they haven’t found him yet,” Hayan said softly. “That probably means that the guy gave up and found a new hobby. Here this will make the red lines in your eyes disappear,” Yoongi told to the young actress while he handed her the small bottle. The dark-haired man got out of the car to grab some stuff from the trunk. Hayan put a few drops of the solution in her eyes and blinked a few times while her stomach begged her to eat something.

After politely greeting everyone on the set, the superstar made her way to her dressing room to memorize her lines. She was seated on a comfortable chair. A cup of green tea was placed on the table next to her while her makeup artist, Remi, grabbed a bottle of foundation. “Why is your skin so swollen lately?” Remi asked while she looked at Hayan’s puffy cheeks. “Did the agency change your diet?” Remi asked while she squirted some foundation on the back of her hand before grabbing a foundation brush. “Yeah, can you be quiet for now? I am trying to memorize my lines,” Hayan said without looking at Remi. The way how Hayan spoke it was clear that she was annoyed. Hayan did not want to be reminded of her wrongdoings. “All right,” Remi said while she gently applied the foundation on her face.

The entire day, Hayan was on set. Today she had to film so many scenes with her co-star, Kim Seokjin. The two got along well. He was kind and cracked a few dad jokes to make Hayan feel comfortable before they had to shoot their steamy make-out scenes. Hayan and Seokjin are familiar with each other. Before getting cast for this movie, the two good-looking stars were the face of a skincare brand and last June they were on the cover of Vogue Korea. Due to their frequent collaborations, the public was convinced that the two stars were romantically involved with each other, despite both of their agencies had denied the rumor.

Currently, it was almost 11 pm and all cast members were preparing to shoot the final scene for the day. Kan Hayan was resting in her dressing room. She was enjoying the quietness until it got interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in,” Hayan said while she opened her eyes and watched her manager enter the room. “Hey, Jisoo wants to talk to you,” Yoongi said while he tried to hide his nervousness. “Kim Jisoo?” Hayan asked while raising her eyebrow. Yoongi nodded and left the room before Hayan could ask any more questions. Hayan did not understand why her other co-star wanted to talk to her. Ever since a reporter wrote an absurd article about Hayan and the nation’s favorite contemporary dancer, Park Jimin, there has been some tension between two movie stars. Hayan had multiple times explained to Jisoo why she was at Jimin’s house and that there was no romance between the two despite all the speculations. Maybe Jisoo had finally realized that her rudeness towards Hayan was unjustified and now she wants to apologize for it.

While walking to Jisoo’s dressing room, Hayan had a strange feeling. Her senses told her to turn around and go back but for some reason. Gently Hayan knocked on the door when she stood in front of Jisoo’s dressing room. “Enter,” Jisoo said from the other side of the door. When Hayan entered the dressing room, she got greeted by Jisoo and another woman. It took a moment before it dawned on Hayan who the other person was, it was Jisoo’s younger sister Jennie. Kim Jennie was a famous rapper and singer Korea, she was loved for her beauty and often praised for her singing and rapping skills. Hayan did not understand why Jisoo’s younger sister was present on the set. Suddenly Jisoo stood up from the bright pink couch and walked towards Hayan. “Have fun, Jen,” Jisoo said while she bumped her shoulder against Hayan’s. With a smirk on her face, the pretty actress left her dressing room. Hayan turned back to Jennie and watched how she stood up from the couch. She did not like the atmosphere in the room, it felt hostile and unsafe. Hayan wanted to turn around and leave the room.

“I heard you were spending time with Jimin,” Jennie said while she looked at Hayan. “Uhm I am sorry but what is going on?” Hayan asked while watching how Jennie came closer to her. “You don’t get it, sweetie? It’s because you’re just too dumb.” Jennie responded. Hayan was caught off guard with Jennie’s unkind remark. Before Hayan had the chance to respond, Jennie grabbed Hayan’s shirt and pulled her closer. “You think you are so precious, don’t you?” the rapper said while she watched how the actress looked shocked at her. “I need to g-” Hayan did not get the chance to finish her sentence, a painful slap landed on Hayan’s cheek. “You are always going from one man to the other. Don’t you think that your reckless behavior is hurting some people?” Jennie questioned. Tears streamed over Hayan’s cheeks as she tried to come up with a plan to escape.

With a smirk on her face, Jennie watched in silence how the talented actress seemed so small and weak. On screens, she portrayed herself as a tough woman but Hayan had a hard time defending herself. Suddenly the silence between the two celebrities got interrupted by the director yelling everyone to come on the set so they can shoot the final scene. Hayan looked at Jennie and started to wonder if this was the right moment to scream for help. “See you later, sister” Jennie suddenly said while she grabbed her black leather jacket and left the distraught actress behind. Not wanting to upset the director, Hayan quickly got up and wiped her tears away. With trembling legs, she made her way to the set.

“All right let’s quickly do the water scene…Action!” the movie director said as he sat back behind a screen and watched how the actors portrayed their characters. When it was time for Hayan’s character to make an appearance, the distressed actress remained in her position. Countless questions and thoughts floated through her brain while her stomach desperately looked for food in her system to keep her going. Suddenly a warm landed on Hayan’s shoulder. A scream escaped from her lips while her heart was racing. “Are you all right?” Jisoo asked while a devilish smile appeared on her angelic face.

Suddenly all the noises slowly got muted while the bright studio lamps became blinding. Hayan felt her body becoming weaker. Her heartbeat became irregular while her body tried to keep itself warm. Her brain was sending so many signals but none of them got received. Jisoo stood there and watched how her co-star fell on the ground while trying to stay conscious. Jisoo sat next to her and wiped her tears away.

“Don’t worry Hayan, he will take good care of you,”

The smell of carbolic acid and flowers made their way into Hayan’s nose when she opened her eyes and blinked a few times. The brightness in the room almost made the young actress believe she was in heaven but those thoughts quickly came to an end when she realized she was in a hospital room. She looked around the room and noticed a bunch of flowers, stuffed toys and baskets filled with food were placed on a table close to her bed. The quietness in the room got interrupted when a deep groan echoed through the room. Hayan startled when the sound entered her ears. Suddenly she realized one of her hands was warmer than the other one, she looked down and saw a large hand holding her right hand. She traced her eyes from the hand to a wrist afterwards following to an arm and eventually landing on the face of a man.

Who is this? Hayan asked herself while she stared at the sleeping man. He had thick dark eyebrows. His eyes were closed but they were big. His eyelashes were long, thick, and curled. His nose was slightly larger while his lips were pink with a layer of lip balm. His hair was dark blond and slicked back. His outfit looked quite formal. A white blouse hugged his body while a green gilet added some color. The green-tie matched his gilet. The guy was breathtakingly handsome.

Hayan stared at him. There was something familiar about him.

Suddenly the silence in the room got interrupted by the sound of a door getting pushed open. Hayan quickly pulled her hand out of the tight grip, causing the unknown man to groan and open his eyes. “You’re finally awake,” the charming man said while he smiled. His voice was a lot deeper than Hayan expected to be. The way he spoke it was similar to Yoongi’s. He was, just like Yoongi, from the south. His smile was unique, it did not have the sideways half-moon shape like everyone else. His smile resembled a square. The unknown man trapped Hayan’s hand in his large hand while looking at her with his dark piercing eyes. Hayan tried to look away but no matter how hard she tried, she just could not look away.

“Good morning Ms. Kan,” a feminine voice interrupted the somewhat staring contest between the two adults. Hayan wanted to pull her hand out of the grip once again but this time the man tightened his grip, making it impossible for her to escape his grasp. “I am doctor Yang. I hope you had a good sleep,” Dr. Yang said while she stepped closer to her. “Wha- what happened?” Hayan asked with confusion written all over her face. “You fainted on the set” the handsome mysterious man informed the young actress. “Who are you?” Hayan asked while roughly pulling her hand out his grip. Even though her hand was pressed against her chest, she could still feel his warmth on her hand.

“How impolite of me. I am Kim Taehyung, your new manager,” the dark-blond-haired man said while bowing to her. “New ma- Where’s Yoongi?” Hayan asked while looking around the room, hoping to see something that proved that Yoongi had been in the room. “He is fired,” Taehyung revealed to Hayan. “Why?” Hayan asked while looking disbelieved at Taehyung. “Because he failed to take care of you,” Hayan’s new manager said to her. “What do you mean? He took good care of me,” the young actress defended her former manager. “He failed to recognize you were suffering from an eating disorder,” Dr. Yang weighed in.

Hearing those words coming from a professional silenced the actress. It was something she was fully aware of yet she refused to admit it. “Aside from that you were also overworked and exhausted,” Dr. Yang added while Hayan was hesitating whether she should accept the revelation or not. “I know this is quite the shock but see it as a wake-up call. Being underweight will have serious repercussions on your health,” the doctor told to the actress. Hayan slowly nodded and looked at the doctor. “I will send the results along with the right recovery plan to Mr. Jung so that you can convalesce,” he said and gave the performer a hopeful smile.

“Hayan wake up,” a baritone voiced as whispered into Hayan’s ear as a warm hand gently landed on her hand. The black-haired actress opened her eyes and looked at her new manager who smiled at her with his famous boxy smile. “The plane has landed,” Taehyung informed her while he unbuckled his belt. Hayan copied his action and grabbed her red Burberry bag. Like a shadow the performer followed her manager and exited the plane. Hayan’s body was wide awake while her mind was still at sleep. Prior getting get stuck in a plane with her manager, she was on set for ten hours straight. Just as usually she gave it her all knowing that she will be able to catch up on sleep the coming two weeks.

While Taehyung was busy texting with Kim Namjoon, the CEO of RM Entertainment. The dark-blond-haired man informed his boss about their safe arrival in Toronto and the current wellbeing of Hayan. The actress’ head rested against the car window while she looked out of the window. The streets of Toronto look much more peaceful, Hayan thought to herself as watched how people walked through the streets. After a peaceful thirty-minute car ride, the two adults arrived safely at Shangri-La Hotel.

“So what do think?” Taehyung asked as he put the suitcases in a corner and looked at Hayan, who was standing in front a large window. “The suite is marvelous,” the actress said while enjoying the beautiful city view. “That’s great to hear,” her new manager said when he stood next to her. “Why don’t you take a shower while I order some food,” Taehyung suggested as he secretly admired the performer’s beauty. Even with dark circles under her eyes and chapped lips, she still looked breathtakingly beautiful. Hayan nodded and made her way to the bathroom.

The white marble bathroom reminded her a lot of her home back in Seoul. Hayan filled the bathtub with warm water and add a few drops of lavender as she undressed herself. Without wasting too much time, she stepped into the bathtub and unwind when the lavender scent entered her nose. Being in a foreign country without any work commitments felt weird to the young actress. Knowing that her schedule for the coming two weeks will be empty, made her feel weird. Hayan has been working as an actress as long as she can remember. When was even the last time she properly relaxed? While the warm water relaxed her sore muscles, Hayan looked out of the window and enjoyed the city view. Once the water had turned cold, Hayan got up and dried her wet body with a soft towel.

When the actress entered the bedroom, she quickly put a white blouse that provided gave her enough comfort to move around easily while a tight blue pair of jeans hugged her legs snugly. Just when Hayan wanted to blow dry her long black hair, something caught her attention. An orange velvet blanket was placed on her bed. Without any explanations or much thought, anger and disgust took over her body. “Taehyung!” Hayan called as she stared at the velvet blanket. “Yes?” Taehyung asked when he entered the bedroom and looked at the actress. “Get that hideous thing out of this room,” Hayan said as she pointed at the velvet blanket. “Uhm alright…?” Taehyung said and he walked to the bed. “Do you want me to get a new velvet blanket?” manager Kim asked as he grabbed the orange velvet blanket. “I hate velvet, you can use it but keep that thing away from me,” Hayan said angrily. She did not understand why the woven tufted fabric always made her feel disgusted but it for some reason. Every time Hayan saw something that was made from velvet, it did not only make her feel sick on the inside but it also made her skin crawl.

The first three days in Toronto was peaceful. Hayan was the entire time in the luxurious bedroom and spending her time reading the books she always wanted to read or sleeping. On the fourth day was about the end the same way as it did the previous three nights till a sudden knock on the door broke the silence in Hayan’s bedroom. “Come in,” the actress said as she looked up and saw her new manager enter the room. “Hey, are you hungry?” Taehyung asked when he sat on the bed. Hayan shook her head and looked back at her book. For a moment there was an awkward silent between the two adults. Even though they have known each other for a month now, but there is was always a strange feeling Hayan felt when she was around her new manager. “You know, food is not your enemy,” Taehyung said to Hayan. Surprised she looked up at Taehyung. “I know you are feeling a lot pressure from the company and the public to look psychically appealing but does not mean you should sacrifice your health,” the dark-blond-haired man said as he looked at Hayan’s collarbones. “I am fi-,” Hayan did not get the chance to finish her sentence because Taehyung quickly interrupted her by saying: “Hayan, please take a proper care of yourself. Look what your refusal of eating food did to you,” It were words the actress did not wanted to hear. She did not want to be reminded with the fact that something was wrong with her. “Don’t let your mother take control of what’s yours,” Taehyung as he carefully put his hand hers. Confused the young performer looked at her manager. How did he know something she had never mentioned?

Before Hayan could let Taehyung’s word sink in, she found herself sitting in the living room with her manager. Various types Chinese food was placed in front of her. The food smelled so delicious while everything looked so delectable. “Here try this,” Taehyung as he picked up four-leafed shaped wrapper with his wooden chopsticks. “What is it?” she asked while the smell entered her nose. “It’s called Cream Cheese Rangoon,” the dark-blond-haired man said and held it close to Hayan’s lips. “I am not hungry,” the twenty-eight-year-old woman said as she moved back to create more distance between herself and the delicious smelling food. Just at that moment Hayan’s stomach cried out for food. Taehyung chuckled. “I think your stomach thinks otherwise,” the twenty-nine-year-old said as he moved closer to her. “Please just one bite, if you don’t like it then you can go back to the bedroom and I will leave you alone,” Taehyung pleaded as he looked at her with puppy eyes. Hayan looked into his dark eyes. They were beautiful yet mysterious. His eyes shape, his eyebrows, the tiny mole on his lower eyelid. It all seems to familiar. Why does it feel like Hayan had experienced this before?

“Have we met each other before?” Hayan asked while her brain dug deep to find a memory. The question caught Taehyung off as he moved back and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “That’s very unlikely, Ms. Kan,” The man said as he looked away. The actress shook her head, she must have mistaken this moment with a scene she had played in a movie or drama. “Can I try some of the chicken?” Hayan asked. “Yeah sure, please dig in,” Taehyung said while he brough the plate of chicken closer to the female performer. When the honey sesame chicken touched Hayan’s taste buds, she felt overjoyed. The piece of chicken luscious. “Not bad,” Hayan said and looked at her manager. “Not bad? The chicken is succulent and well-seasoned,” Taehyung spoke with his mouth full of food. The actress could not help but to chuckle.

As the two adults ate while watching a Canadian tv-show. From the corner of her eye, Hayan kept an eye on her manager. Suddenly a tune echoed caught Taehyung’s attention. “An email from Namjoon?” Hayan asked as she picked up some noodles with her chopsticks and ate it. “No, a notification from my game,” Taehyung said while he put down his chopsticks and started to play a game. “Game? What kind of game?” the black-haired woman asked as she moved closer to him to get a glimpse of the game. Taehyung chuckled. Her curious face is so cute, he thought to himself as he pushes his laptop closer to her. “It’s a first-person shooting game,” he explained as he showed her how he shot someone in the game. “Do you want to try?” Taehyung asked out of the blue. “I have never played games like this before,” Hayan said as a hint of pink shade appeared on her cheeks. Oh, Hayan your cuteness is killing me, Taehyung thought to himself as he stared at her. “Well there’s a first for everything,” the tall man said and put his laptop on the actress’ lap. He quickly explained which buttons needed to be pressed. Once he was done, he grabbed his plate and continued to eat while he watched Hayan play the game.

After losing for the fifth time, Hayan pushed the laptop away. “You play,” she said as her lips formed a pout. Please Hayan do not do that, it reminds me of when… his thoughts got interrupted when Hayan poked his cheek. “Hey, pay attention, you almost got shot,” Hayan said. Her brief yet gentle touch gave him goosebumps.

While Taehyung was playing the game, the actress sat next to him and watched him play. Hayan looked at Taehyung and studied his features. From his eye-catching facial characteristics to the texture of his skin.

Why does he look so familiar?

Rays of sun found pierced though the small opening between the white curtains and illuminated the luxurious hotel bedroom. Hayan was sleeping peacefully. Her head rested on a red satin pillow while a thick blanket kept her body warm. Suddenly the tranquility came to an end when a warm hand gently caressed her cheek.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” a deep voice whispered. Hayan was too deep in her sleep to give a response. Taehyung chuckled and laid next to her on the bed. Adoringly he watched her sleep. In his eyes she looked like an angel. If he could, he would watch her sleep all day long. The dark-blond-haired man moved closer to the actress and gently placed a kiss on her cheek. The kiss was too light and gentle to be noticed. “I've missed you since you left me …Are you still mad at me?” Taehyung talked into her small ear. A smile appeared on the man’s face when the woman groaned when a sunbeam found its way to land on the actress’ face. She rubbed her eyes while moving her away to avoid the sun ray. Taehyung quickly got off the bed when Hayan opened her eyes and looked at him.

“Good morning,” she said with her morning voice. It sounded like music in his ears. “Good morning, did you sleep well?” he asked as he walked to the window and opened the curtains. “Yeah,” Hayan said as she kicked her blankets away. While Taehyung was ordering breakfast by calling the room service, Hayan took a quick shower. Once dry, the actress grabbed a green satin dress with a floral print. To complete her outfit, she put pink diamond earrings in her ear. When she was satisfied with the way she looked, the actress made her way to the living room.

“You kept those earrings from high school? How sweet,” Taehyung asked as a grin appeared on his face. “High school? How do you know that?” Hayan asked while she tried to remember when she ever told him about the earrings. “Yeah, don’t you remember? You told me about them when we were in the car on our way for your Harper's Bazaar shoot,” Taehyung told as he walked to her and stood in front of her. The actress raised her eyebrow. “I did?” Hayan asked while her mind replayed the memory of that day in her head. The only thing she can remember from that car ride was that it was quiet and awkward. “Yeah,” Taehyung as he chuckled. “You must have forgotten about it since you were so tired that day,” the dark-blond-haired man said as he gently wrapped a loose strand of black hair around his finger. Confusion was written all over Hayan’s face. She can clearly remember that day but she cannot recall the moment she mentioned the earring let alone talked about her high school days. “Don’t worry too much about it, the memory will come back again at some point,” Taehyung said while he carefully put the strand of hair behind her ear and looked at the pink diamond earring.

After having eaten breakfast, the two adults agreed to go to Art Gallery of Ontario. They walked next to each other while looking at the beautiful paintings. “Hayan look,” Taehyung called the actress as he stood next to a painting and imitated to comical facial expression of the woman on the painting. Hayan looked at him and laughed.

“Tell me something about this one,” Hayan asked when the man and woman stood in front of a painting of a woman. “This is called Portrait of a Lady with a Lap Dog and it is painted by the famous Dutch painter, Rembrandt van Rijn. Many people speculate that the woman in the painting is his daughter-in-law,” Taehyung lectured the actress about the painting. The way how the tall spoke about the painting felt like déjà vu to her. “You told me this before,” Hayan suddenly said as she tried to remember when Taehyung had ever told her about the painting. “Oh? When?” Taehyung asked as he looked confused at her. “A long time ago,” she said when she looked at him. Was the meeting in the hospital really our first encounterment? Hayan asked herself. “Silly how can I have told this long time ago when we have only known each other for a month?” Taehyung asked while he moved closer to her. “You are right. Sorry,” Hayan said as she shook her head. “Are you sure you had a good sleep?” the charming man asked while looking concerned at the actress.

“Yeah I did. I am sorry, I am not used to not working for this long,” the female performer expressed. That must be why I am having those weird thoughts, she told herself. “Hey, try to relax a bit,” Taehyung said as he put his large on her shoulder.

On the evening before their departure, the adults were in the living room. Keeping each other entertained with strong liquor and jazz music. The living room had an aura of serenity.

“You’re lying,” Hayan said as she grabbed her glass of strong liquor and took a sip. The strong drink burned her throat. Drinking was something she rarely did but being in the present of Taehyung she felt safe. “Aw that’s sad, you deserve better,” the actress told to the dark-blond-haired man, who just told a sad story about his high school crush who rejected him. “What about you? Have you ever had a crush on someone in high school?” Taehyung while he moved closer to the coffee table and refilled his glass. “Uhm this might sound stupid but I can’t barely remember anything from high school. During my teenage years, I was so busy with acting. I had hardly any time to make friends and live like a normal teenager,” Hayan told her as she tried to dig up some memories from her high school days but everything was just one vague time for her. “Do you regret it? You know having to miss out on the chance to live like a normal teen?” Taehyung asked with full interest. “I am not sure if regret is the correct term to describe it…I guess we all have to sacrifice something for happiness,” Hayan said and took another sip of her drink. “Wise words for a cute girl,” Taehyung said. The two adults looked at each other and laughed.

While the alcohol slowly started to take over her mind, Hayan started to feel tired. Her vision became blurry while her head began to spin. The actress watched how Taehyung’s lips moved but none of his words entered her ears. Suddenly she felt a warm hand massaging her shoulder. “Are you alright?” the deep-voiced man asked as he moved closer to her and his hands roamed over her body. His touch felt safe and gentle. A soft moan escapes from her lips when she felt the thin strap of her top slide off her shoulder. Before Hayan could comprehend what was going on, she found herself straddled on Taehyung’s lap.

“Shall I tell you a secret?” the man asked as he grabbed the hem of her top and slowly lifted it up. “Mmm?” was the only response Hayan could give. “You have always been my favorite actress. You are more beautiful than Shin Hye or Hyun Joo and definitely far more talented than Ji Eun or Tae Hee,” Taehyung told her as he threw her top somewhere in the room. His jaw dropped when he looked at her topless body. He wrapped his arms around her and gently pressed kisses on her collar bones and in her neck. Mindlessly Hayan combed her finger through his thick hair. When Taehyung found her sensitive spot in her neck, she grabbed a handful of hair.

A moan escaped from her lips when Taehyung gently bit her sensitive spot. “I knew I had to have you when you played in Little Soah,” the dark-blond-haired said while he placed his hands under her thighs and stood up from the couch with the actress in his arms. Without thinking clearly, Hayan pulled him closer towards her and kissed him deeply.

Once the two adults were in Hayan’s bedroom, Taehyung gently put her on the bed and hastily he took off his clothes. While Hayan was in and out of consciousness, Taehyung crawled towards her and kissed her again.

High-pitched moans and deep grunts filled the luxurious hotel room while the moon shone its rays of light into the room when a soft breeze gently pushed the white curtains to the side.

With eyes filled with lust, the twenty-nine-year-old man watched how Hayan bit her lip when Taehyung slowly pushed his long fingers deep into her pussy. The way how her walls stretched around his fingers gave him goosebumps. Her warmth and wetness were enough to make him cum right then and there, but he pushed his urges to the side and focused on the naked actress underneath him.

As a teenager, Taehyung used to fantasize about how it would feel to be inside his favourite actress. So many nights he spent wondering about what she would taste like. Every time Taehyung watched porn, all he could think about was what it would feel like to try out those positions with her. Would she enjoy riding him or did she prefer to get it from behind? But now that he finally has her in his hands, Taehyung was looking forward to turning his fantasies into reality.

Hayan let out a scream when she felt something wet touching her clit. She raised her head and looked down to see what caused her to feel this sudden tingling between her legs. Her cheeks reddened when she was met with the sight of Taehyung’s face between her legs. Just when Hayan parted her red lips to say something, Taehyung trapped her clit between his lips and started sucking. The moans that came from her lips sounded like music in Taehyung’s ears.

The young actress bit her lower lip while she tried to hold in her moan but failed to do so. A whiny moan echoed in the room while Taehyung curled his fingers. The way how Hayan frowned gave away that she was so close to climaxing. Taehyung smirked and decided to give her an extra push to reach her climax. While his long fingers went deeper in her, his tongue flicked her clit. His tongue movements were fast and hard while his fingers quickened its pace.

Hayan curled her toes and let out another high-pitched moan when she hit her climax. Amused and prideful, Taehyung watched how Hayan drowned in pleasure. She looked so beautiful when she came. Taehyung slowed down his pace and helped Hayan ride out her climax.

Hayan closed her eyes while she slowly came back from her high. Taehyung licked his fingers, she tasted so sweet. His fantasies are nothing compared to reality. Once his fingers were clean he moved closer to her and pressed gentle kisses on her cheek while his arm snaked around her waist and held her tightly. Being skin-to-skin was enough for him to become horny again. He wanted his dick in her mouth. He wanted to decorate her walls with his cum. But seeing how his favourite actress was slowly drifting into sleep, he suppressed his desires.

Now that we are finally together, we have all the time in world to get to know each other better, Taehyung thought to himself while he gently grabbed her chin with his thumb and index finger. Slowly he turned her head towards him. Their faces were close to each other that their noses were touching. Tenderly Taehyung pressed his lips against hers.

“Don’t worry Hayanie, manager Kim will take care of you.”

The tantalizing aroma of cooking onions and garlic in a pan wafted in Taehyung’s kitchen while he carefully moved the two ingredients around in the pan.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” a gentle voiced asked him. He looked over his shoulder and saw his favorite actress standing in his kitchen. “I am very sure. Don’t worry about it,” Taehyung said as he brought his attention back to the pan and added the cut vegetables into the hot pan. “Alright, if you need anything then let me know,” Hayan said as she walked back to the living room.

When she sat on the couch, the actress looked around. The living room had a cozy vibe. The colors warm toned made her feel comfortable while a few expensive looking paintings caught her attention. Even though it was her first time being at Taehyung’s place, somewhat the place felt familiar to her. As if she had been here before. She was not sure why she had that feeling. Maybe it was because the living room was organized like the typical rich people way.

“Dinner is ready,” Taehyung said from the kitchen. Hayan put a book down and stood up from the couch. “It smells amazing,” the actress said when she sat at the dining table and looked at the food on her plate. “Thanks, hopefully it tastes as good as it smells,” the tall man said as he sat next to her. “Is life fun when you are twenty-nine-year-old?” Hayan asked when she picked some noodles with her chopsticks. “It’s so fun, you will have the best time of your life,” Taehyung said sarcastically. The man’s response made the actress laugh. “29 really sounds old,” the female performer teased while she looked at the dark-blond-haired man. “At least you won’t be turning thirty later in the year,” Taehyung said and looked at Hayan. The woman laughed: “Well in that case, I will make sure 29 will be my best year,”.

When the two adults finished their meals, they decided to do the dishes together. “I cannot wait to see your reaction when you get your birthday gift,” Taehyung said teasingly. All day long, the man had been reminding the actress that he had a special gift for her without dropping any hints. Hayan sighed annoyed. “If you are not going to say what it is, then don’t mention it,” she said while she dried the wet plate with a kitchen towel. “Why? Is someone getting excited about it?” Taehyung asked as he splashed some of the water to her. “Hey!” Hayan giggled and threw the wet kitchen towel to the tall man. “I am done doing the dishes,” she said while stepping away from him. The man chuckled at her cute action. After all these you are still the same cute girl, he thought to himself.

“Alright close your eyes,” Taehyung said as he held a box behind him. Hayan gave him a suspicious look but still followed his instruction. Carefully Taehyung put the box in front of the actress and carefully took out the creature. ���Open your eyes,” the deep-voiced man said as he held the creature in front of her. When Hayan opened her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of a tiny Pomeranian. Her big eyes got bigger as she stared surprised at the tiny dog. “Happy birthday Hayan,” Taehyung said as he carefully placed the puppy on her lap. Attentively Hayan lifted the little black fluffy dog and look at it. “It’s a boy,” Taehyung informed the actress as he watched her observe the puppy.

“Taehyung, I am speechless. I don’t know what to say,” the actress confessed while she put the puppy in her arms and hugged it. “Luckily, you told me that you liked Pomeranians otherwise I had no idea which breed I had to choose,” Taehyung told her. “Have we ever talked about dogs?” Hayan asked confused as she put the puppy down, giving it some space to walk around. “Yeah,” was Taehyung response. You told it to me a while ago, he thought to himself as he watched her play with the dog. “Do you have a name for him?” Hayan’s manager asked when the black puppy ran towards to the man and jumped on his lap. “Maybe Yeontan?” Hayan said while looking at the dog. “What a cute name,” Taehyung said.

The adults played with Yeontan while they talked about random topics. Hayan did not know how to express her happiness. She looked Taehyung, who was playing with Yeontan, and felt a strange feeling in her stomach. Hayan had no idea who to describe the feeling but it felt pleasant. Is this what they mean with butterflies in your stomach? The actress questioned herself. Whatever you called this feeling, Hayan would not mind feeling that sensation in her stomach again.

“Oh no,” Hayan said as she watched Yeontan pee on the ground. “Tannie,” Taehyung sighed while walking towards the tiny dog. Yeontan knew he was in trouble so began to tremble, wondering what his owner would do. “It alright, puppies do that all the time,” Hayan said while she carefully picked up the dog and planted a few kisses on his head. “Here, hold him while I go grab a cloth,” the actress said while she gently pushes Yeontan in Taehyung’s arms. Before Taehyung could respond, Hayan had already turned around and left the room.

The black-haired woman walked through the halls of Taehyung’s mansion, trying to find the nearest bathroom. The young performer halted her tracks when a bright blue door caught her attention. That must be the bathroom, Hayan thought to herself. Carefully she pressed down the door handle and pushed the door open. When the actress was inside the room, she started to get shivers. It was not a bathroom but a bedroom. The room was big but neat. The walls were burgundy while the furniture was dark brown. The golden decorations made the room look expensive. There was a strange vibe in the room. Goose bump appeared on her arms as she slowly walked further into the room. The room felt familiar to her, she swore that she had been here before. While the twenty-nine-year-old woman walked closer to the bed, her mind dug deeper into her brain. When Hayan stood in front of the bed, she looked at the red velvet blanket. With trembling fingers, she reached out for the blanket. When her cold fingers touched the soft fabric, her mind unlocked a memory.

“I remember,” Hayan whispered to herself.

“Let’s talk here,” a nineteen-year-old boy said as he pushed the blue door open and looked at the eighteen-year-old girl. The way how she fiddled the hem of her skirt with her thin fingers it was clear that she was nervous. “Taehyung I already said what I had to say at school,” Hayan said as she looked into the big eyes of the boy. “It won’t take too long. Please listen to what I have to say,” Taehyung pleaded while he pouted like a puppy. Her mind told her to reject his invitation and to return to Jisoo but her heart convinced her to give Taehyung a chance. So she nodded and entered the spare bedroom.

When Taehyung closed to bedroom door behind him, he took off his blazer and moved closer to the girl. “I want to apologize for my rude remarks,” the boy said as he ran his long fingers through his thick long hair. Hayan did not like the atmosphere in the room, it felt unsafe. “Apology accepted. I also want to apologize for hurting you by rejecting your confession but I really cannot accept it,” the young starlet said without realizing that her words triggered the boy’s anger. Taehyung’s hands turned into a fist while his mind reminded him of the humiliating event that happened a few days ago. “It’s alright, but can I ask you something?” Taehyung asked as he swallowed his anger away. Hayan nodded as Taehyung reminded himself to calm down. “Would you want to give it a try after you are done shooting the drama?” the long black-haired boy asked. There was a silence between the adolescents.

Kan Hayan loved Kim Taehyung. There was no denying in that. He caught her attention the moment she entered the classroom for the first time three years ago. It was not a surprise why all the girls in school had a crush on him. He was an Adonis. She could stare at him for hours doing nothing and still she would feel fulfilled. She liked his personality. Unlike other rich teenagers, he was kind and well-mannered. A real gentleman stuck in a teenager’s body. When the rumor of Taehyung having a crush on Hayan made its way around school and eventually reached the actress, she did not believe it. How could to the eldest son of the Kim family fall for a young girl who aspired to be an actress?

Hayan’s heart told her to accept his confession but her brain quickly interfered and reminded the young starlet that she cannot be in a relationship. She needed to focus on her acting career. “I am sorry Taehyung but currently I want to focus on my acting career,” Hayan told the tall boy. His long black hair covered his eyes. The girl was not able to see the anger and disappointment in the boy’s eyes. “You like Hoseok, don’t you?” Taehyung asked angrily while the memory of Hayan and Hoseok in the park flashed in front of him. “No, there’s nothing between us,” Hayan explained. The anger in black-haired boy’s voice scared the eighteen-year-old girl.

Suddenly Taehyung grabbed Hayan by her arms and pushed her on the bed. Roughly she landed on the red velvet blanket. The tall boy jumped on her and grabbed her wrists. “Taehyung!” Hayan shouted as he pinned her wrists above her head. The black-haired boy held her down with one hand while his other hand aggressively ripped her shirt open. The view of her bra made his mouth water. He waited for so long to have her underneath him. A scream escaped from the girl’s mouth while she tried to break free from his tight grip. Growing tired of her struggle, Taehyung untied his Gucci scarf and tied her wrists to the bed.

Just when Hayan opened her mouth to scream for help, Taehyung bend down and placed his lips on hers. Her lips were soft, just like how he imagined. Hayan immediately closed her lips, refusing to let Taehyung enter her mouth. Like python, Taehyung’s long fingers wrapped around her neck and slowly his grip got tighter. His lips moved from her lips to her ear. “Did you really think I would not notice how you giggled at Hoseok’s jokes?” Taehyung’s hot air caressed Hayan’s ear while she tried to kick him off her. “Taehyung please stop,” Hayan sobbed as tears escaped from her eyes. Aggressively Taehyung placed his lips on hers and forced his tongue into her mouth. He moaned in her when his tongue meets hers. The way how Hayan’s tongue tried to push Taehyung’s tongue out of her mouth, turned Taehyung on. He tightened his grip around her neck as he kissed her deeper. Hayan attempted to kick him as she tried to catch her breath.

By the time Taehyung was done kissing her, Hayan had become tired from all the struggling and lack of oxygen. With a smirk on his face, Taehyung tore her bra. “Baby,” he groaned as he looked at her breasts. They were perfect. They were perfectly round and perky. Taehyung could not wait anymore, he let go of her neck and grabbed her breasts. They fitted perfectly in his hands. He roughly fondled it while he trapped a pink nipple from the other breast in his mouth. He sucked it, licked it, bit it. When he was done with it, he moved back and smiled proudly how the once pink nipple is red now.

“HELP!” Hayan screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping that someone would hear it. “Baby I need you to be quiet,” Taehyung said as he sat on her hips. “I beg you, please stop. If you let me go, I will stay away from you. I promise I will never tell this to anyone,” Hayan sobbed as tears ran down her cheeks. Her body started to tremble out of fear. The idea of what Taehyung wanted to do to her scared her. “I want you to be with me. I want you to be mine, Hayanie,” Taehyung said as he hands traveled down her body and stopped when his long fingers came in contact with her skirt. The way how her nickname rolled off his tongue made her nauseous. Another scream came out of her mouth when the black-haired boy pulled her skirt down. “Shut up!” Taehyung said as he looked at her and spat at her. The spit landed on her cheek. The idea of how her tear got mixed with his spit, made Taehyung hard. Without wasting too much time, the tall boy grabbed a pillow and placed it on the starlet’s face.

Taehyung licked his lips as he pulled down her underwear. The view of her pussy made him salivate. He planted gentle kisses on her stomach as he roughly pushed her legs apart. Taehyung collected some spit and spat it on her clit. Gently he rubbed it as he watched how his spit dripped down from her clit. He licked her clit. Suck it. Bit it. Slapped it. Pinched it. While Taehyung was playing with her clit, Hayan was trying her best to fill her lungs with air. When the eighteen-year-old heard Taehyung unzipping his pants, she started to panic.

Taehyung positioned himself between her legs. “I love you so much,” Taehyung said as he pushed himself into her cunt. The pain halted Hayan’s struggle. It felt like the world had stopped turning and everything became muted. The black-haired boy pulled himself back just to slam back inside the scared girl. While the sound of smacking of skin-on-skin echoed through the room, Hayan’s brain send multiple signals. It wanted Hayan to scream louder, to tug her wrists harder to break free, to raise her knees to kick him off. But none of the signals got received, her body was frozen.

The way how her walls clenched around his length made Taehyung moan. He drowned in a wave of pleasure when he pushed himself deeper, he could feel his length rubbing against her cervix. Feeling him hit her cervix hurt Hayan but her body showed no reaction. Taehyung removed the pillow from Hayan and kissed her roughly on the lips. His thrusts were fast and deep while his tongue gently and carefully explored her mouth. Ecstasy rushed through him as he felt his climax coming closer and closer. Taehyung’s grabbed her hips tightly as he slammed harder.

He felt euphoric when he covered her walls with cum. He looked through his bangs and watched how Hayan closed her eyes. Gently he kisses her tears away as he slowed his movements.

Once Hayan was untied, her body unfroze. She was in a lot of pain while Taehyung’s touch still lingered on her skin. She felt dirty, ashamed, and weak. So many thoughts went through her mind but it was impossible to get them in control. When the boy grabbed his shirt, Hayan got up and quickly collected her stuff. Taehyung sat on the bed and watched how Hayan limped hastily out of the room. “I will wait for you,” he quickly said to her.

“Mom!” the eighteen-year-old shouted as she slammed the door behind her. “Mom!!” Hayan sobbed as she walked to the living room. Every step she took, a wave of pain went through her body. “Hayan,” her mother said concerned as she looked at her distraught daughter. She looked like a mess. Her once neatly bun was not nothing but a mess, her shirt had a few rips. Her body was trembling uncontrollably while blood dripped down her thighs.

“What happened?” Hayan’s mother asked as she walked closer to her daughter and grabbed her cold hands. “Ta- Tae-…Taehyung di-did thi-this.ss..” the young starlet pushed those words out of her mouth with the little bit of strength she had. “Ca- call th-the po- pol- ice,” Hayan said while she held her mother’s hands tightly. She feared if she let go of her mother’s hands then she might breakdown. There was a silence between the mother and daughter. Hayan wondered why her mother did not give any reaction. Slowly her mother shook her head.

“No…We can’t,” Hayan’s mother said as she pulled her hands back. The movement was so simple yet it was strong enough to shatter the eighteen-year-old’s fragile heart. “Wh- Why?” Hayan asked when she looked at her mother’s face. All the concerns her mother had on her face was now vanished. There was no emotion. “Hayan, I know this hard but you will get through it,” her mother spoke as the sun set behind her. The young girl noticed that her mother had no halo. “All you have to do is to never think about it,” Hayan’s mother said she slowly approached her daughter. Terrified, Hayan took a few steps back. When she felt the wall against her back, she felt trapped. “Bu- but he hu- hurt m- me,” the starlet said. Hayan’s mother cupped her face with her hands. “If you continue to focus on acting and don’t ever think about it. Then you will be fine. Trust me,” her mother told her. Hayan was not sure whether her mother tried to convince her daughter that this is the best method or herself.

With a trembling hand, Hayan grabbed the red velvet blanket and lifted it up. The sight of dried blood on the bed sheets made her stomach turn. The memory kept replying in her head over and over again while tears escaped from her eyes. Is this real? Is this why she had a hard time remembering her high school years?

“Hayan…” a deep male voice interrupted the silence in the room. Slowly she looked over her shoulder and looked at the man who took her innocence. “Why?” the actress asked as she turned around and looked at him. “Because I love you. I have always loved you,” Taehyung said matter-of-factly while he stepped closer to her. “The first time I saw you on the tv screen, I knew I had to have you. We belong together, Hayanie,” everything was overwhelming for the actress. She had so many questions to ask, so many curse words she wanted to throw at the man.

Hayan looked up and suddenly noticed something. A few strands of Taehyung’s hair were red. The same kind of red that the stranger from the park had. “How did you get passed through the security?” the actress asked as her mind replayed the scene. A smirk appeared on the man’s face. “It’s crazy how many possibilities someone can have when your sisters are celebrities,” Taehyung asked.

When everything fell into place, Hayan dropped on her knees. “You planned all of this, didn’t you?” the actress sobbed. “You should be happy with the fact I gave you ten years to recover from that night,” Taehyung said with pride. “I was hurting too, darling. Do you know how much it hurts to stay away from you for ten whole years?” the tall man asked when he kneeled in front of her and wiped her tears away. Angrily Hayan slapped his hand away.

Just when Hayan stood up and got ready to run away from her nightmare, Taehyung quickly grabbed her by the arms and threw her on the bed. “Don’t make me mad, baby,” the man warned the woman while he grabbed a handkerchief. “Get away from me!” Hayan cried out loud while she tried to push him away. Taehyung got tired of her struggles. A painful slap landed on Hayan’s cheek. The sudden action halted her fight. “If you had accepted my love back then. You would not be here right now,” Taehyung said with anger in voice. While the man grabbed a bottle and wetted the handkerchief, the memories of the painful rejected replayed in his mind. It made him mad. “You are insane!” Hayan yelled as she tried to hit him, hoping it would him distract him enough for her to escape from his hold. “Oh baby, you have no idea how many boundaries I am willing to break just for you,” Taehyung told her and put the wet cloth on her face.

“You might be the doll but I am the puppeteer,” Taehyung whispered in her ear and pressed the chloroform-soaked cloth harder on her face while Hayan fought to stay awake.

Epilogue:

“And for our final news,” a short-haired news anchor said while she moved a piece of paper to the left and instantaneously glanced at the last page. In matter of seconds she absorbed the information about the new topic.

“Actress Kan Hayan has announced her retirement this morning,” the female news anchor announced as she looked into the camera. “The sudden news has the nation not only shocked but also confused as earlier this week there were rumors that Kan Hayan might be starring in Bong Joon Ho’s newest movie,”

“The news was announced on the actress’ Instagram. It said the following:

‘Hello, this Kan Hayan.

I am writing this as my final greeting to you all.

At a tender age of five years, I started my acting career and ever since then I have been in front of cameras more than anyone can imagine. During the course of my career, I have met amazing people and worked with numerous talented directors. It was truly a one-of-a-kind experience and I will never forget it.

I truly want to thank everyone for the interest and love you have shown me, it was because of you I was able to turn my dreams into a long successful career.

I wish everyone a healthy and happy life. I love you.’”

“Three month ago, the actress revealed that she will be taking a break from acting to recharge. Her announcement of her break came to a surprise to her fans but nonetheless they accepted her decision. Kan Hayan has been acting since the age of five and during her career she has played numerous famous movies and dramas. Her management agency, RM Entertainment, revealed that they were unaware of the announcement but they respect her decision. ”

“There have been some rumors flying around about the actress possibly dating someone but nothing is confirmed,”

Kim Taehyung yawned and turned off the television. He looked down and was greeted with the beautiful scene of Hayan sleeping on his chest. “I am looking forward to the days of us,” Taehyung whispered as his hand moved down.

“I will take care of you,” he said and planted a gentle kiss on her head while his hand caressed Hayan’s baby bump.

[things2mustdo]

Nature has given humanity a roughly one-to-one ratio of adult men to women, but the most attractive women are being taken out of circulation to either join alpha male harems or participate in degenerate lifestyle choices. This leaves the average man practically no choice in settling down with a mentally stable and cute woman in her prime.

In Islam, a man is able to marry four wives, which is what my wealthy Iranian grandfather did on his way to siring 24 or so children that included my dad (the exact number is a mystery). He took away three women that an Iranian man of lesser means could have married, creating a societal imbalance, but that’s nothing compared to what we have in the modern Western world, where a single famous man can command the sexual attentions of dozens—if not thousands—of women in their sexual prime, spoiling these women for normal men who don’t have the ability to tingle their vaginas with the same intensity.

How many actors, musicians, and sports athletes are trying to plow through as much prime pussy as possible? How many Hollywood directors and music producers are leveraging their positions for sexual gain? How many club owners, restaurateurs, Arab sheikhs, and politicians are doing the same? Each one is taking way more beautiful women out of circulation than men like my grandfather, all while elevating their standards to such an extent that no average man can ever gain their love, let alone two hours—or even two minutes–of their uninterrupted attention.

We also have to account for female lifestyle choices that are designed to delay or prevent pair bonding and marriage. The biggest is career. Most girls, while embarking on a career, balance out the boredom of working a meaningless job by hopping on the cock carousel and banging at least a few men every year. By the time a girl hits 25 years old, any man who meets her will have to deal with a walk-in closet of emotional issues and hang-ups from being pumped and dumped as much as a 1930’s brothel whore.

Then there is the Instagram and Facebook lifestyle that creates crippling dopamine addiction, which causes a girl to only be satisfied if dozens of men are actively thirsting for her every day. I estimate that if a girl has over 500 followers on Instagram, she is so used to attention from throngs of men that the love of one man cannot possibly satisfy her.

We must also throw in the growing “travel blogger” lifestyle where, instead of using only her body to get attention, a girl uses pictures and video from exotic locations to enhance her beauty. Other girls, with nothing substantial to offer the world, decide to showcase pictures of pets or their tasty overpriced meals, but even that puts them on a dopamine loop that ruins their future interactions with men.

By far, the most damaging lifestyle choice women make is becoming a sugar baby, a politically correct term for “prostitute.” For some easy cash, she whores out her body to the highest bidder (some women combine Instagram and prostitution in a seamless package). How can such an Instagram prostitute ever settle down with a man who has a normal salary? There are also the hundreds of women who enter porn every year, some from seemingly stable families. Sadly, men are so desperate for love that many would wife up a former prostitute or porn star, but it’s highly unlikely those women will make for stable families.

The Western world is a sinkhole for women. The prettiest of the bunch fall into the hole and get spit out years later an entitled #MeToo hag who can never be happy, making the Islamic four-wife rule seem downright egalitarian. The sad truth is that if you meet an attractive girl today, she was pumped and dumped by numerous sexy men, prefers to nurture her career than children, is addicted to attention via the internet, and has participated in some kind of scheme to exchange social status or cash for her pussy. She’s more than suitable for a bit of fun, but would it be wise to seek a relationship with her?

Even with the obesity and short-hair epidemic, I still see a bountiful supply of cute girls I would happily reproduce with. I would love them, let them caress my beard, and lay my seed deep within their vaginal guts, but the problem is that those guts are not for me—they are for the Chads who would never marry her, the beta orbiters who await her newest selfie as if it were a source of food, or the rich and lonely men who would sponsor her for thousands of dollars a month. They’re taking her out of circulation at the time I want her most, and by the time they are done with her, I no longer want her. I guess I’ll try to weasel in a bang or two when she is not yet fully degraded, and enjoy the fleeting pleasure that comes from it as much as I can.

https://www.rooshv.com/how-to-stop-the-fall-of-women

An acronym that you’ll often come across is AWALT, which stands for “all women are like that.” It is used in response to someone trying to point out that a particular woman is different than all the rest and more deserving to be placed on a pedestal of some sort when it comes to relationships. While that acronym is useful for newbies who are just beginning to de-program themselves from egalitarian ideas spewed by the establishment, it breeds a hopelessness among men that they can never extract more than casual sex from women.

Most men have seen firsthand how women change due to the presence of corrupting factors in the environment. If you give a woman an open bar, she will over-consume and make decisions that harm herself. If you give a woman a smartphone with social networking apps, she will become a narcissist in a short amount of time, falling in love with her own image. If you give a woman a liberal education, she will come to firm belief than men were born to bring pain and slavery unto women.

Only a woman with an exceptional upbringing can resist alcohol, social networking, and university brainwashing, and for the women who can initially resist it, she will surely succumb after enough time and pressure. It is in this way that AWALT is true: all women who face corrupt influences in their lives will become corrupt and behave in a similar way that degrades their virtue, making them unsuitable for long-term partnerships. But if AWALT is true in describing the universal fall of women in the presence of toxic influences, it must also be true that they possess universal purity in environments which lack bad influences that attack her virtue.

A reliable corrupter of a woman’s virtue is having plentiful male choice. If over the course of five years a woman in New York City has her choice of 100 alpha male cocks, she will be unable to resist the thrill ride that these men offer. She will begin to structure her life around a neverending alpha male sex party where she receives and expects fun, excitement, drama, and entertainment in exchange for willingly accepting her place on various booty call rotations. During this time, she loses most ability to be a suitable wife and mother, or even to be a good person, because the alpha males who use her for late night sex do not place demands upon her that make her more feminine, loving, or nurturing. She becomes damaged goods, suitable for nothing more than casual humping.

But now let’s imagine that instead of being born in New York City, this girl was born in a poor Ukrainian village that only has a population of 1,000 people. For whatever reason, she was unable to get out of this village and a complete blackout of internet prevents her from meeting thirsty foreign men. It’s quite easy to see how she marries a village man while still young because it’s a better prospect than suffering alone to earn her bread in a place where employment opportunities are few. The environment a girl is placed in will mostly determine her worth as a life partner.

Most women who are put in New York City will, within a few years, default to becoming a promiscuous slut. Most women who are put in a tiny village with no way out, with little choice in men, and with positive religious influences, will default to being a good wife and mother, possessing normal and acceptable human flaws like all men have. Women put in specific environments will act in specific ways, which is why looking for a unicorn in a Western city is fruitless, since she’s within reach of the devil’s workshop. He will get to her and make sure she experiences all manner of vice.

Western nations facilitate the “fall” of women from a state of purity and innocence to one of abject corruption. I don’t believe women are inherently born to be degenerate, just like how I don’t believe men are, but once we put a woman in an environment that enables, facilitates, and even encourages her corruption, she will certainly become corrupt. But what if you can catch a woman before she inserts herself into this environment and then shield her from it? What if you grab her at the time she is about to jump into the abyss, and through your diligence, power, and knowledge, protect her from Western influences that will destroy her? Would it be safe to give your time, energy, love, and commitment to this woman? It’s important to note that I’m not stating you save a corrupt girl, since by then it’s too late, but to prevent a woman from becoming corrupt in the first place.

It is completely your responsibility to create the environment of a good home, a good city, and a good country to prevent the fall of your women. It’s your responsibility to create the right environment where all women remain good instead of succumbing to an evil where within a short amount of time she becomes a useless, tattooed, overweight, and masculine slut. It should be clear to you by now that women absolutely can not save themselves, and have no inherent resistance to the pollution that tempts them in this world. It’s solely up to us men to shield their natural virtue so that they become the wives and mothers that allow you to fulfill your biological destiny while furthering the health of your society.

It’s not a matter of telling a girl that sleeping around is bad or that Facebook is bad, because by then the ship has sailed and her soul is likely long gone. It’s a matter of creating the environment where women are restrained from sleeping around, blocked from becoming addicted to taking selfies, and prevented from becoming brainwashed by social justice ideas. We must stop them from entering the environments that destroy them. We must guard the door of evil that they are hurtling themselves towards while resisting evil ourselves.

Before you raise your hands in despair and claim that this is an impossible task, that Western society is finished, I say this: what is a society but a collection of the people within it? What is a society but an assembly of living humans that include ourselves? We are a part of this whole, and it’s up to us to ensure that the truism of “all women are like that” serves in our benefit and our society’s benefit instead of being at the forefront of our most terrifying nightmares.[culturewar]

Read Next: Women Must Have Their Behavior And Decisions Controlled By Men

After a long period in society of women having unlimited personal freedom to pursue life as they wish, they have shown to consistently fail in making the right decisions that prevent their own harm and the harm of others. Systems must now be put in place where a woman’s behavior is monitored and her decisions subject to approval of a male relative or guardian who understands what’s in her best interests better than she does herself.

Women have had personal freedoms for less than a century. For the bulk of human history, their behavior was significantly controlled or subject to approval through mechanisms of tribe, family, church, law, or stiff cultural precepts. It was correctly assumed that a woman was unable to make moral, ethical, and wise decisions concerning her life and those around her. She was not allowed to study any trivial topic she wanted, sleep with any man who caught her fancy, or uproot herself and travel the world because she wanted to “find herself.”

You can see this level of control today in many Muslim countries, where expectations are placed on women from a young age to submit to men, reproduce (if biologically able), follow God’s word, and serve the good of society by employing her feminine nature instead of competing directly against men on the labor market due to penis envy or feelings of personal inferiority.

The reason that women had their behavior limited was for the simple reason that they are significantly less rational than men, in a way that impaired their ability to make good decisions concerning the future. This was eloquently described by German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer in his important essay On Women. He described them as overgrown children, a comparison that any man who has dated more than a dozen of them can quickly agree to after having consistently witnessed their impulsive and illogical behavior firsthand.

Women are directly fitted for acting as the nurses and teachers of our early childhood by the fact that they are themselves childish, frivolous and short-sighted; in a word, they are big children all their life long—a kind of intermediate stage between the child and the full-grown man, who is man in the strict sense of the word. See how a girl will fondle a child for days together, dance with it and sing to it; and then think what a man, with the best will in the world, could do if he were put in her place.

[…]

…women remain children their whole life long; never seeing anything but what is quite close to them, cleaving to the present moment, taking appearance for reality, and preferring trifles to matters of the first importance.

[…]

That woman is by nature meant to obey may be seen by the fact that every woman who is placed in the unnatural position of complete independence, immediately attaches herself to some man, by whom she allows herself to be guided and ruled. It is because she needs a lord and master.

When you give a female unlimited choice on which man to have sex with, what type of man does she choose? An exciting man who treats her poorly and does not care for her well-being.

When you give a female choice on what to study in university, what does she choose? An easy liberal arts major that costs over $50,000 and dooms her to a life of debt and sporadic employment.

When a female lacks any urgent demands upon her survival, what behavior does she pursue? Obsessively displaying her half-naked body on the internet, flirting with men solely for attention, becoming addicted to corporate-produced entertainment, and over-indulging in food until her body shape is barely human.

When you give a female choice on when to have kids, what does she do? After her fertility is well past its peak, and in a rushed panic that resembles the ten seconds before the ringing of the first school bell, she aims for limited reproductive success at an age that increases the likelihood she’ll pass on genetic defects to her child.

When you give a female choice of which political leader to vote into office, who do they vote for? The one who is more handsome and promises unsustainable freebies that accelerate the decline of her country.

When you give a female unwavering societal trust with the full backing of the state, what does she do? Falsely accuse a man of rape and violence out of revenge or just to have an excuse for the boyfriend who caught her cheating.

When you give a female choice on who to marry, what is the result? A 50% divorce rate, with the far majority of them (80%) initiated by women themselves.

While a woman is in no doubt possession of crafty intelligence that allows her to survive just as well as a man, mostly through the use of her sexuality and wiles, she is a slave to the present moment and therefore unable to make decisions that benefit her future and those of the society she’s a part of. Once you give a woman personal freedom, like we have in the Western world, she enslaves herself to one of numerous vices and undertakes a rampage of destruction to her body and those who want to be a meaningful part of her life.

A man does not need to look further than the women he knows, including those in his family, to see that the more freedom a woman was given, the worse off she is, while the woman who was under the heavy hand of the church or male relative comes out far better on the other side, in spite of her rumblings that she wants to be as free as her liberated friends, who eagerly and regularly post soft porn photos of themselves on social networking and dating sites while selecting random anonymous men for fornication every other weekend.

Men, on average, make better decisions than women. If you take this to be true, which should be no harder to accept than the claim that lemons are sour, why is a woman allowed to make decisions at all without first getting approval from a man who is more rational and levelheaded than she is? It not only hurts the woman making decisions concerning her life, but it also hurts any man who will associate with her in the future. You only need to ask the many suffering husbands today on how they are dealing with a wife who entered the marriage with a student loan debt in the high five figures from studying sociology and how her wildly promiscuous sexual history impairs her ability to remain a dedicated mother, with one foot already out the door after he makes a reasonable demand that is essential for a stable home and strong family.

I propose two different options for protecting women from their obviously deficient decision making. The first is to have a designated male guardian give approval on all decisions that affect her well-being. Such a guardian should be her father by default, but in the case a father is absent, another male relative can be appointed or she can be assigned one by charity organizations who groom men for this purpose, in a sort of Boy’s Club for women.

She must seek approval by her guardian concerning diet, education, boyfriends, travel, friends, entertainment, exercise regime, marriage, and appearance, including choice of clothing. A woman must get a green light from her guardian before having sex with any man, before wearing a certain outfit, before coloring her hair green, and before going to a Spanish island for the summer with her female friends.

If she disobeys her guardian, an escalating series of punishments would be served to her, culminating in full-time supervision by him. Once the woman is married, her husband will gradually take over guardian duties, and strictly monitor his wife’s behavior and use all reasonable means to keep it in control so that family needs are met first and foremost, as you already see today in most Islamic societies. Any possible monetary proceeds she would get from divorce would be limited so that she has more incentive to keep her husband happy and pleased than to throw him under the bus for the most trivial of reasons that stem from her persistent and innate need to make bad decisions.

A second option for monitoring women is a combination of rigid cultural rules and sex-specific laws. Women would not be able to attend university unless the societal need is urgent where an able-minded man could not be found to fill the specific position. Women would not be able to visit establishments that serve alcohol without a man present to supervise her consumption. Parental control software on electronic devices would be modified for women to control and monitor the information they consume. Credit card and banking accounts must have a male co-signer who can monitor her spending. Curfews for female drivers must be enacted so that women are home by a reasonable hour. Abortion for women of all ages must be signed off by her guardian, in addition to prescriptions for birth control.

While my proposals are undoubtedly extreme on the surface and hard to imagine implementing, the alternative of a rapidly progressing cultural decline that we are currently experiencing will end up entailing an even more extreme outcome. Women are scratching their most hedonistic and animalistic urges to mindlessly pursue entertainment, money, socialist education, and promiscuous behavior that only satisfies their present need to debase themselves and feel fleeting pleasure, at a heavy cost for society.

Allowing women unlimited personal freedom has so affected birth rates in the West that the elite insists on now allowing importation of millions of third world immigrants from democratically-challenged nations that threaten the survival of the West. In other words, giving women unbridled choice to pursue their momentary whims instead of investing in traditional family ideals and reproduction is a contributing factor to what may end up being the complete collapse of those nations that have allowed women to do as they please.

I make these sincere recommendations not out of anger, but under the firm belief that the lives of my female relatives would certainly be better tomorrow if they were required to get my approval before making any decisions. They would not like it, surely, but due to the fact that I’m male and they’re not, my analytical decision-making faculty is superior to theirs to absolutely no fault of their own, meaning that their most sincere attempts to make good decisions will have a failure rate larger than if I was able to make those decisions for them, especially with intentions that are fully backed with compassion and love for them to have more satisfying lives than they do now.

As long as we continue to treat women as equals to men, a biological absurdity that will one day be the butt of many jokes for comedians of the future, women will continue to make horrible decisions that hurt themselves, their families, and their reproductive potential. Unless we take action soon to reconsider the freedoms that women now have, the very survival of Western civilization is at stake.[culturewar]

Read Next: People Should Not Be Allowed Unlimited Personal Freedom

[doomonfilm]

Predictions : The 93rd Academy Award Film Nominations (2021)

As much as I try to prepare for the Oscars every year, even I’m impressed with how thorough I was in checking out the 2020 nominees.  Maybe it had something to do with the fact that streaming dominated the year, which therefore changed the nature of access, but in my humble opinion, I found no dip in the quality of the films and shorts that I took in.  I saw some familiar faces, I learned about some new talent on the scene, and I found more than a few films that spoke deeply on the human condition.  There are a few categories where a winner seems clear cut, and even more where it will be a genuine surprise at the end of the night.

With my confidence running high, it’s time to do my annual prediction list of potential Academy Award winners... that way, I can gloat if I end up being mostly right, and I can have counterpoints ready for the films that I get wrong.  Feel free to play along at home, and we will reconvene on after the day after the awards air (Sunday, April 25th for those curious) to compare numbers.

Editor’s note : Due to a lack of access to AppleTV, the films Greyhound and Wolfwalkers were not taken into consideration.  Due to a similar lack of streaming and theatrical access at the time of this article, The Man Who Sold His Skin, Opera and White Eye were also left out of my research and consideration.

Best Picture The Father Judas and the Black Messiah Mank Minari Nomadland Promising Young Woman Sound of Metal The Trial of the Chicago 7

PREDICTION : Minari

Every film this year has something poignant to say about the human condition : The Father is a frank and unflinching look at the aging process and the impact of dementia, Judas and the Black Messiah puts the focus on systematic racism and the far-reaching lengths used to disenfranchise minorities, Mank talks about how personal and political stances can get you blacklisted, Nomadland shines a spotlight on societal ills surrounding class and financial struggles, Promising Young Woman opens up a path for difficult discussions on sexual assault, Sound of Metal is all about depression connected to having your passion ripped away from you, and The Trial of the Chicago 7 is a damning portrayal about how political unrest manages to stay the same despite changing times.  

Minari handles its subject matter (immigration and assimilation, respectively) with the same weight as the previously mentioned pictures, but there is an artistic integrity to the overall presentation of the story due to the immaculate performances and beautiful production design that elevates the Minari experience a step ahead of the rest of the pack.  I would not be surprised if Nomadland continues its epic run right up to the top, but if there were one film set to upset the Best Picture category, it’s Minari without a doubt.

Best Director Lee Isaac Chung, Minari Emerald Fennell, Promising Young Woman David Fincher, Mank Chloé Zhao, Nomadland Thomas Vinterberg, Another Round

PREDICTION : Chloé Zhao, Nomadland

While I consider Minari to be the Best Picture of the year, I believe that comes down to a combination of look and performance for me.  When it comes down to the film that seems the most interesting in terms of how it is put together and the general choices made for execution, however, I think I’d have to continue giving  Chloé Zhao her flowers while she can still smell them.

As mentioned previously, Minari is a standout film, and two other films did threaten to give Nomadland a run for its money in terms of direction : Mank looks, sounds and feels like old Hollywood, while Promising Young Woman feels so much like an exploitation film from the 1970s with an infusion of high-style art that it saddens me it hasn’t received more recognition in the form of awards.  Nomadland, however, feels as close to a documentary as it can get without being one, and as dramatic as a film with a heavy documentary film can get, and all the while, Zhao’s choices make the camera feel like an observer and a confidant, to great effect.

Best Actor Riz Ahmed, Sound of Metal Chadwick Boseman, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom Anthony Hopkins, The Father Gary Oldman, Mank Steven Yeun, Minari

PREDICTION : Chadwick Boseman, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

From the second that the final credit rolled on Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, I had Chadwick Boseman picked as a lock for Best Actor in any award show worth its salt.  

Riz Ahmed makes us feel his pain in his characterization, as does Anthony Hopkins (though his delivery is connected to much more levity than Ahmed’s).  Gary Oldman embodies his chameleon-like abilities that we’ve come to expect and enjoy from his work, and Steven Yeun reaches depths I had no idea he was capable of achieving.  All that being said, however, Boseman left everything he had on the film reels, and even if not for his untimely death prior to the release of this film, I feel he would still be receiving universal praise for such an emotionally raw, daring and vulnerable performance.

Best Actress Viola Davis, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom Andra Day, The United States vs. Billie Holiday Vanessa Kirby, Pieces of a Woman Frances McDormand, Nomadland Carey Mulligan, Promising Young Woman

PREDICTION : Viola Davis, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

Of all the categories this year, Best Actress was far and away the toughest one to choose a prediction for.  I could give it to Andra Day based on the Golden Globes momentum she has coming into the Academy Awards and feel confident.  I would feel equal confidence in choosing Vanessa Kirby for the pain she captured in her frustration with her husband and her stillborn baby, Frances McDormand for her down to Earth nature and bold curiosity (not to mention her penchant for winning these things), or even Carey Mulligan for her brave and confident performance.

I am choosing Viola Davis, however, because while Chadwick Boseman could have easily made every other character’s performance irrelevant in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom with his sheer presence and execution, Davis simply refuses to be ignored as the titular character, and is the only one strong-willed enough to check Boseman’s character.  Her win would also be a historical moment for minorities and women when it comes to the Oscars, and I doubt that the Academy would miss an opportunity to make that statement, especially in today’s climate.

Best Supporting Actor Sacha Baron Cohen, The Trial of the Chicago 7 Daniel Kaluuya, Judas and the Black Messiah Leslie Odom Jr., One Night in Miami Paul Raci, Sound of Metal Lakeith Stanfield, Judas and the Black Messiah

PREDICTION : Lakeith Stanfield, Judas and the Black Messiah

This was another tough category to make a prediction in, mainly because of the conundrum that came with the choice.  On the one hand, choosing between the performances of Lakeith Stanfield and Daniel Kaluuya for Judas and the Black Messiah seems inherently wrong, not only because both were stellar, but because this nomination makes it seems like the film was absent of a leading male.  If Stanfield (who, in my opinion, would be the one considered lead in this film) were to be nominated in the Best Actor category, however, he would almost certainly be nullified by Boseman in that category.  No disrespect to the other nominees in this category, but Stanfield or Kaluuya feel like sure things for this category, and for my money’s worth, Stanfield left the stronger impression.

Best Supporting Actress Maria Bakalova, Borat Subsequent Moviefilm Glenn Close, Hillbilly Elegy Olivia Colman, The Father Amanda Seyfried, Mank Yuh-Jung Youn, Minari

PREDICTION : Yuh-Jung Youn, Minari

Initially, this was a tough category solely because of the films I’d seen from this category prior to this week.  Maria Bakalova was the front-runner by default for me, as it felt odd to consider Amanda Seyfried as the Best Supporting Actress of the year for such a marginal role, and Glenn Close felt odd because of Hillbilly Elegy and nothing else.  Up until this week, I’d yet to have seen Minari or The Father, and in my head, it felt like Olivia Colman would likely be my pick.

Then, I saw the movies.  Colman was great in her role, but with her acting chops so refined, and the story being one based so heavily in reality, the work she was doing seemed likely to be lost in translation for the average viewer.  Upon seeing Minari, however, my decision was immediately made for me, as  Yuh-Jung Youn easily displays the most range of anyone in the category, and does so while managing to be one of the funnier elements of the film, as well as the catalyst for the ultimate heartbreaking moment.  If  Yuh-Jung Youn doesn’t win, I will personally demand a recount.

Original Screenplay Judas and the Black Messiah Minari Promising Young Woman Sound of Metal The Trial of the Chicago 7

PREDICTION : Promising Young Woman

Sadly, I think Promising Young Woman will continue to be the bridesmaid and not the bride of this award season, but if there were a category that it seems like it could leave its mark in, it would be Best Original Screenplay.  While the other stories are certainly compelling (two of which give us deeper insight into recent race-related turmoil), Promising Young Woman is the kind of movie that can open up important conversations that many men and women are hesitant to have.  The film also cleverly sets itself up to be some sort of revenge fantasy piece, only to reveal how truly grounded and thought-provoking it is in a final act that will almost certainly take your breath away.

Adapted Screenplay Borat Subsequent Moviefilm The Father Nomadland One Night in Miami The White Tiger

PREDICTION : The Father

Of all the films nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay, The Father is the most compelling and well-put together screenplay, with its production execution feeling like it matches the high standards set by the narrative journey.  The White Tiger comes close in terms of the way it sets and subverts expectations, but it lacks the heartbreaking gut punches that The Father uses to fuel its melancholy, which in turn allows it to pierce the soul in a much more direct and easy to perceive manner.

Animated Feature Onward Over the Moon A Shaun the Sheep Movie: Farmageddon Soul Wolfwalkers

PREDICTION : Soul

Is there really any doubt that this is Soul’s category to lose?  I did the due diligence and watched all of the competition (minus Wolfwalkers), and while the rest of the field was entertaining, nothing in the pack can hold a candle to the technical prowess and appeal to humanity that Soul thrives in.

Production Design The Father Mank Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom News of the World Tenet

PREDICTION : News of the World

At first I wanted to give this award to Mank due to the way that the film feels authentically from the era it presents to us.  Not too long after that, I wanted to put my money behind Tenet, almost strictly as a way to offset the largely negative response to what feels like a strong piece of Christopher Nolan art.

Then I saw News of the World, and of the films nominated in this category, it is the only one where the world feels authentic and lived in (outside of The Father, which essentially takes place in a single flat).  From the levels of dirt on the clothes to the weathered nature of towns, News of the World feels like modern day cameras were transferred back to a simpler time, and in tandem with the acting prowess of Tom Hanks, it is certainly one of the slept-on gems of 2020.

Costume Design Emma Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom Mank Mulan Pinocchio

PREDICTION : Emma

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my many years of film-watching, it’s that a British film always seems to have the edge when it comes to Best Costume Design.  While Mank and Mulan in particular should be given recognition for their costume designs, Emma makes the extremely lavish and extravagant gowns and outfits worn feel and look like a million bucks, both in their fit on the cast and in the way they work with and offset the surroundings.  

Cinematography Sean Bobbitt, Judas and the Black Messiah Erik Messerschmidt, Mank Dariusz Wolski, News of the World Joshua James Richards, Nomadland Phedon Papamichael, The Trial of the Chicago 7

PREDICTION : Erik Messerschmidt, Mank

While the Best Cinematography award is usually one given for breakthroughs and innovations with the camera, Mank feels like one of the first films that could win the category for its dead-on emulation of an era that we have since evolved from and not looked back to.  2020 wasn’t necessarily absent of crazy camerawork, but it appears that this year’s nominees are more about capturing the feel of a world, and none of the films nominated have a visual style that does it to the degree that Mank does. 

Editing The Father Nomadland Promising Young Woman Sound of Metal The Trial of the Chicago 7

PREDICTION : The Trial of the Chicago 7

This was another surprisingly tough category to pick a winner from.  The Father does some extremely clean and subtle work with editing to make us feel just as disjointed as Anthony Hopkins does during the course of the film.  Promising Young Woman brings in exploitation style and flare, but ultimately settles down into a much more serious and somber nature where the editing loses a bit of its steam.

What really works best for The Trial of the Chicago 7 in terms of its editing are two key factors : its ability to manage such a large collection of main characters with ease, and the integration of real footage from the Chicago Democratic National Convention, not to mention additional footage from the film Medium Cool, in a seamless fashion.  Aaron Sorkin films are generally known for their writing, but this film shines in how well it was put together, as Sorkin takes a step back and allows the event to be the star of the show.

Makeup and Hairstyling Emma Hillbilly Elegy Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom Mank Pinocchio

PREDICTION : Pinocchio

It’s tough sometimes to separate your perception (and reception) of a film from its technical aspects, which is why it was ultimately hard to choose Pinocchio as my pick for Best Makeup and Hairstyling.  While I did not enjoy this film, I do have to give it respect for its lack of digital effects, with much of the creature creation and Pinocchio’s wooden look achieved solely through the use of makeup.  Emma seemed more about wardrobe, and Hillbilly Elegy felt a bit silly in terms of hair and makeup... I likely overlooked that aspect of Mank, and the acting held my attention in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, so maybe Pinocchio  is purely a sympathy vote for me.

Sound Greyhound Mank News of the World Soul Sound of Metal

PREDICTION : Sound of Metal

Sound of Metal is likely going to be the most overlooked film of 2020 in terms of awards recognition, but if there’s one category that feels like a can’t miss opportunity for the film, it’s Best Sound.  The narrative lives and dies off of our connection to the protagonist, especially when he starts experiencing his hearing loss, and if the production team wouldn’t have been able to capture that experience the film would’ve been a wash.  Luckily for everyone, they nailed this aspect of the film, and in turn, the world was gifted a modern day classic.

Visual Effects Love and Monsters The Midnight Sky Mulan The One and Only Ivan Tenet

PREDICTION : Love and Monsters

To my knowledge, subtlety doesn’t get you far in the Best Visual Effects category, which could likely be the reason that Love and Monsters was my pick to win this year, as the effects are anything but subtle for this film... the attention to detail in the oversized animals and bugs is as impressive as it is intimidating.  The only other film I considered is The One and Only Ivan for its work with the animals, specifically the way they were able to communicate with their eyes, but ultimately Love and Monsters feels like the bolder statement.

Score Da 5 Bloods Mank Minari News of the World Soul

PREDICTION : Mank

It feels like Soul is the favorite headed into the Oscars this year, which makes it all the more hilarious that the duo of Reznor and Ross will find the stiffest competition in the form of themselves.  I put my money behind Mank for the Golden Globes, and while I may have been wrong then, I refuse to believe that the Oscars would ignore the authentic-sounding era-specific music created by the duo.  A nod must also be given to the scores of Minari and News of the World, who if not for the Reznor/Ross tandem would likely be the ones fighting it out in this category.

Song Husavik (Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga) Fight for You (Judas and the Black Messiah) Lo Sì (Seen) (The Life Ahead) Speak Now (One Night in Miami) Hear My Voice (The Trial of the Chicago 7)

PREDICTION : Fight for You (Judas and the Black Messiah)

Lo Sì (Seen) may have stolen the Golden Globe, but I refuse to believe that any song on this list can beat Fight for You twice.  You never know, however, when it comes to the Oscars and music... just ask Three 6 Mafia. 

Documentary Feature Collective Crip Camp The Mole Agent My Octopus Teacher Time

PREDICTION : Collective

I am honestly and genuinely confused how any human with a working brain, heart and soul could watch a documentary like Collective and still choose My Octopus Teacher as the Best Documentary Feature.  No disrespect to My Octopus Teacher or any of the other nominees, but the light that Collective shines on the healthcare system is not only damning, but relatable to people all over the world (including America), and the story is told absent of narrators or interviews, which makes the presentation that much more piercing in its reality.

International Feature Another Round (Denmark) Better Days (Hong Kong) Collective (Romania) The Man Who Sold His Skin (Tunisia) Quo Vadis, Aida? (Bosnia and Herzegovina)

PREDICTION : Better Days (Hong Kong)

Trying to pick between Better Days and Quo Vadis, Aida? was like trying to pick between two exquisite meals... both had compelling trailers, both stories were well-told, timely and necessary, and both films stick with you after the point of resolution.  I think I have to go Better Days, however, simply because of the level of dramatic flare it brings to the table, not to mention its story being more relatable on a human level, rather than a political one.

Animated Short Burrow Genius Loci If Anything Happens I Love You Opera Yes-People

PREDICTION : Genius Loci

If any category were a personal sure thing for me, it’d be the Best Animated Short category, because Genius Loci spoke to me in a very real way.  I feel so strongly about this, as a matter of fact, that I’m going against what is likely the smart money pick, the moving and painfully relevant If Anything Happens I Love You, another hand-drawn affair (with Genius Loci also utilizing traditional animation) that frames itself around a school shooting.  Hopefully I will get to see Opera soon, as the small portions I was able to find looked impressive, but I have been sharing Genius Loci with anyone willing to listen. 

Documentary Short Colette A Concerto Is a Conversation Do Not Split Hunger Ward A Love Song for Latasha

PREDICTION : Do Not Split

The 2020 Academy Awards contains quite a number of nominees that focus on issues that are currently impacting our world, and the Best Documentary Short category is rich with content of this nature.  While Colette does find its center in the Holocaust, its main thread focuses on how people generations removed still refuse to face and accept it directly.  A Concerto Is a Conversation and  A Love Song for Latasha both speak on the modern day impact of racism from the past.  Hunger Ward is a gut-wrenching look at the struggles that war-torn Third World nations face.

The documentary short with the most impact and relevance of the bunch, however, is Do Not Split, a film that looks specifically at Hong Kong’s struggles against mainland China, and with a wider lens, the ever-evolving nature of protest in the information age.  The film walks right up to (and directly into the midst of) the COVID-19 pandemic, making it extremely timely, and it speaks a version of the struggle for identity that most anyone can relate to and feel on a personal level.  All of these nominees are worthy, but Do Not Split feels like the choice that would make the most impact if given a stage to raise its awareness.

Live-Action Short Feeling Through The Letter Room The Present Two Distant Strangers White Eye

PREDICTION : Two Distant Strangers

I’ve been trying to hold on for White Eye, because the word on the street is that it is a one-take affair, and with the competition in the Best Live-Action Short category all resonating on a feature-length level in terms of creativity and execution, it would take a magic trick like a one-take film to stand out from this crowd.

Out of the films I did get to see, however, the battle for my prediction spot came down to two films.  The landmark casting of a Blinddeaf actor in Feeling Through was not lost on me, and it’s always a pleasure to see Oscar Isaac do his thing (as he did in The Letter Room), but once I saw The Present, I felt it had all of the elements it took to win... a foreign setting with risk involved in the production, a father-daughter dynamic with an incredibly touching and inspiring arc, and some compelling things to say about prejudice, specifically in volatile conflict areas.

Then I saw Two Distant Strangers.  As touchy as the subject of fractured and damaged relationships between Black Americans and the Police is, this film not only found a way to address it directly, but also symbolically, and in ways that made you really and truly think about (and understand) how helpless the often tragic interactions can feel between the two camps.  On top of everything, who knew that Joey Bada$$ could act?

[krisrix]

how old were you when you transitioned?

Oof, my friend, I wish I had a simple answer for you.

The short version is: I haven’t medically transitioned, but I fully socially transitioned a bit over a year ago, at 30.

The long version is: every minute of every day of every year is an attempt at “transitioning”.

I’ve known I was trans since I was 5 or so. Not that I had the words for it or understood it or anything. All I knew was that there was something weird going on between my legs and I wanted it gone. TW self-harm: I straight-up tried to claw my junk off around 8 years old. My mom thought I had some kind of infection and took me to the gyno. I decided that repeating that experience was not worth it and left my junk alone after that.

I grew up with my mom and my sister, both of whom are very feminine. Even though my mom dressed us the same, I felt like I was a completely different species. Nothing ever made sense. I was in a constant state of discomfort.

I went to private primary school and was forced to wear a skirt. I get eczema, especially wherever I might be sweaty, so I convinced my mom that having the backs of my thighs against the chairs with so little protection was bad for me. She, in turn, convinced my doctor of this. I got a doctor’s note and was allowed to wear the slacks from the boys’ uniform.

I went to public secondary school, so no more uniforms. I mostly dressed like a boy. My friends and I joked around about it, but I was never firm with them. My mom routinely told me I had “penis envy”, and everyone just assumed (both in private and to my face) that I was a butch lesbian. When someone would say things like “you just wish you were born a boy”, I would say “yeah, that’s true”. But that was it. Everyone tried to ignore it, including me. I didn’t hold my ground.

At 16, when I met my husband, I was completely frank about it with him from the start. It was a non-issue—he’s trans, too. He told his friends and family about his own transness before we met, so it was very easy for me to do the same in his circles.

At 24, I moved to Montreal to be with my husband. Being with his friends instead of my own was the first time I had most people in my life treating me and talking about me the way I wanted.

At 30, I was crumbling under the weight of it. I had spent my whole life so far googling medical transitioning and being terrified. There’s far more info on the internet for gender confirmation surgeries for transwomen than there is for transmen, especially 20 years ago when my search began—but either way, it was really scary. It still is. But by that point, I knew I had to do something, because it was getting to be too much.

The perfect opportunity fell into my lap: a friend who works for CBC pointed Simon and me to a radio segment they were doing on gender and sexuality. The plan was to cover topics in way that gave the average listener a bit of a primer in these various things—a few 15-minute interviews with people from all walks of life that weren’t white, cismale, and heteronormative. We reached out, did a pre-interview, and talked with the producer for 2 hours.

She decided 15 minutes wasn’t long enough to tell our story, so we were brought into the studio for an hour-long live segment, with callers and everything. It was scary and amazing.

Two days before the show, I wrote an absolutely massive (surprise, surprise) Facebook post, informing all of my family members about my transness in no uncertain terms. They were supportive! And many tuned in to the interview! I was flying high!!

I thought, “okay, I’ve done the hard part. The medical stuff is nothing, after that! I can start HRT now!”

But then I remembered that I’m a voice actor, specifically for daily videos on a YouTube channel. And if I start HRT, I will lose my job. I can’t record voice-overs with a wildly fluctuating voice. And even if I could flip a switch and have a male voice the very next day, I know that I’ll likely stop getting work in that field. I have a very effeminate way of speaking. I sound like a contestant on Drag Race. That’s not a bad thing, but there are not a lot of clients who want that type of voice over.

So... for now, I’m a bit stuck. I’m going to keep on with the voice acting gig because I have nothing else I can consistently do. But if that falls through, or if I eventually cave, then I definitely want to try HRT and get top surgery. It’s something that haunts me every day. Hopefully, I will not have to wait another 30 years until I make that next big leap.

[izbiz333]

The Very Sad Race pt. 1

Description: So you are a girl and you hide yourself to go to an all boys school. It’s all good until something goes wrong.

A/N: Hi umm, this is my first au. So there’s not much anything yet. This is also based off a dream, and continued so the plot is unplanned but to be continued. 

Warning: Heavy Language, shitty writing

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

You start your strut to school, almost shitting yourself in worry. It’s just an average day in your not so average life. You check your hair. Perfectly pinned up. You check your chest. Wrapped up as tight as can be. There are no signs that you were female. What would all the boys think or even do if they figured it out? They won’t, you tell yourself as you approach your almost all male private school.

You learned to shut your mouth ever since you got to that school. If any of them heard your high-pitched voice, you’d be fucked. Figuratively and literally. You never spoke to your friends but still communicated physically. You learned sign language in middle school in hopes of meeting someone with the same ability, and you succeeded.

You walk in and meet Davey, Jack, Race, and Albert all sitting in the cafeteria, vibing to Fergalicious. You sign ‘hey, what’s up’ to Davey, the smartest of the four men. He repeats it aloud for the rest of the boys to hear. “Jammin’ out,” the blonde hair, blue eyed boy wasn’t lying. You blush at the comment and cover it up with some sign language. ‘it’s so fucking hot in here.’ You know they’d think you meant the temperature, but it was just Race. You’ve had a crush on him since you met the kid in science class.

You walk to homeroom with Albert, listening to his girl problems. You couldn’t even respond if you wanted to. He would have no idea what you signed, making him easy to rant to as well. You sign all of your feelings about Race and being a girl, and Albert would just watch the same way you would listen. “You know, you’s just the funniest person to me. You’s and your google translate chats are just hilarious. It’s too funny.” He looks at you and notices your confused expression. “I mean like Siri or whatever its name is, it just sounds so stupid answering about human anatomy and shit.” You wanted to laugh so hard, but you couldn’t make a sound. You just smile and keep walking.

After a few classes with the boys, you head to science. This class always took the most out of you. It was only you and Race, since you two were the only dumbasses in the school when it came to science. You never got anything done and were always fooling around. “Yo, Mute.” You can hear Race’s voice down the hall, as you try to stuff your emotions away. You nod your head in a ‘what’s up’ fashion, seeing as that’s the most common non-verbal way of saying hello. “Mr. Brear ain’t here today, and there’s a note on the board telling us to have a study.” You choke in his words. It’s just you and your crush.

“Shit.”

His head goes spinning your way, jaw wide open. You cover your mouth in disbelief. You blew your cover. Either you get soaked by the kid for lying to him, or you tell him the full truth. You knew you’d be fucked either way. “I- I- I can explain.” You high pitched voice makes him even more confused.

“What the fuck?” he pauses to think before figuring out the truth. “Ohh. Fuck! You’s a girl. Wow.” He stares at you in awe of the accomplishment. It makes your heart flutter in feelings.

“Umm… can we’s go somewhere private please?” You didn’t want anyone in the classrooms near you to hear anything.

“You’s voice is beautiful.” His piercing eyes stare at your lips. You stare at him, looking from his muscles, to his eyes, to his blonde curls. You guys both just stare. You don’t move and neither does he. Time had felt as it had slowed down, and you could stand there forever. Until the bell rings, breaking the trance.

“Shit.” You realize that next was lunch, with all of the boys. Race started to panic. You both knew he was a terrible secret keeper, and he wanted to talk about everything.

“Ummm… It’d be too suspicious to not meet up with them.” You both know that’s the truth. You nod in response and start out of the room. “Wait Mute.” You turn around to see him wondering. “What’s you’s real name?” You walk back in and write ‘[Y/N]’ on the board. You look at Race who’s back to staring at you.

“Come on, fucker, let’s go!” You whisper to him as you leave the room.

As you two walk the halls to the cafeteria, you contemplate how to tell Jack, Davey, and Albert. It’s better if you announce it rather than Race let it out. You look at him as you put a finger over your mouth. “So I should shut up? Do you’s have this covered?” You nod and make a sad face.

“Are you’s okay? Did I do something?” Race starts to worry and rush his hands through his hair. You shake your head. You point at Race and make a sad face again. “Ohhh. I should act sad.” You nod your head with a partially thought out plan in your head. He smiles in return, making your shiver in your feelings.

“Hey, Hey! How was science?” Jack looks at Race. He notices Race’s sad expression and darts his head at you. “Mute! Wha- What happened? He’s never sad.” You look at Davey to respond. Chills run down your back, as you know you’d be lying to your best friends.

You sign to him ‘Okay, so I need to tell you something. Don’t freak out, start off by telling Jack a lie of what happened.’ Davey turns to Jack, hesitantly before saying “He- he found out he was failing the class so bad that he’d have to stay in senior year, and couldn’t graduate.” Davey obliged, and was very interested in more information from you.

“Sorry man, you’s must be in some deep shit.” Albert patted Race’s back trying to cheer the kid up. Race looked up to you, and you slowly nodded in response. Race was an excellent actor. He made you sad, even though you were literally writing his backstory.

You turn to Davey to continue with the truth. ‘Don’t freak out. But I can talk, and am a girl, but Jack and Albert can’t know. Race already knows so, come up with another lie.’ Davey is just gawking at you with his mouth wide open. Davey turns to Jack an begins to lie about stupid homework assignments and such.

You look at Race and draw a tear down your cheek. He glares, but knows this is the only thing he could even do. He looks at Jack and starts to water his eyes. “Let’s go to the bathroom and give you’s some space.” Race nods and the five of you walk to the bathroom across the school, where no one was to be seen.

As soon as you arrived Jack began comforting Race, until he saw Race’s large grin. “What the hell?” Jack looked at you who still seemed nervous. You clearly weren’t worried about Race, but about telling Jack and Albert. You nod your head at Race, cueing the truth.

“So. First of all, I’m not failing science or anything. I’m doing just fine. But the reason Mute and I brought you here was to tell you’s something. I want to let Mute do the honors.” Everyone turns their heads to you in confusion.

“Hi.” You watch as Race stands up, just in case either Jack or Albert want to get a punch in. You let down your hair and all four boys just stare in awe at your beautiful dirty blonde locks. “I’m [Y/N], nice to meet you.” You all just sat in silence. No one could even form words. So you decided to break the silence. “This is probably the last time you’ll see me at school. You know, no girls allowed or anything. So, goodbye fuckers.”

“Wait.” You turn around to see your blonde haired best friend grabbing at your wrist. “Don’t go. It’d be fun to have a girl around here.” He meets your glance.

“And what about the rules, dumbass?” Albert feels sick to his stomach. He’d been telling this  girl about his girl problems. You knew who each and every girl was too.

“Well, we’d break them. I do it all the time and I turned out fine. Mostly.” Race giggled. It was the hottest thing he’d ever done.

“And what makes her any different than any other girl?” Jack couldn’t believe that Race wasn’t just as angry as he was. This wasn’t normal Race tendencies. If this was anyone else, Race would have left you out on the streets feeling betrayed.

“She’s kinda cute.” Race didn’t feel betrayed. No, he felt lucky. It gave Jack a laugh, but they finally all gave in. You were ecstatic. You worked out the rules of staying at the school. You’d continue as Mute and even got to dorm with Race and Albert.

[szopenhauer]

it seems that the average survey-taker is a white american female, aged 15-19, who has a car, a cell phone, and an extensive social circle. is this true for you? I’m a white female but not from America and I’m much older, have no car nor friends, just cellphone

have you seen any silent films? I love Buster Keaton 

would you rather be an actor, director, or soundtrack producer? actress and director

have you seen nbc’s ‘hannibal’? thoughts? (if you haven’t, do you want to?) no and don’t want to, yuk

on websites where you’re permitted to change your username, do you do so often, or do you keep the same one for long periods of time? I usually change after a few months

does your computer have a name?  I didn’t call this annoying piece of shit anyhow but maybe if I had a better computer...

are you eager to see how far science + technology will advance, or do you prefer an older way of doing things? do you think we are better off with these advancements, or not? I wish we had choice, I would like the world to be balanced, a bit of this and a bit of that, some advancements are necessary, some are cool but some are awful

what is your favourite comic book or graphic novel? does your favourite novel come in comic-book form? (if not, would you like it to?) I don’t read comics but from those I ever tried my fav manga was Doubt, webcomic (those I saw several but I forgot most of the titles by now) - Lackadaisy and I am fan of Aldebaran and Betelgeza 

Any friends who are constantly venting about their boyfriend?: it was common - me listening complains about my crush’es exes or current boyfriends/lovers/crushes

Have you ever been ice-skating?: once, in high school, didn’t like it

Does the sound of rain at night help you sleep?: yeah

Did the end of Public Enemies make you sad?: I didn’t finish the movie

Do you obsessively apply lip-gloss or lip balm?: ewww, not at all

Do you think you’d have what it takes to shoot someone if you had to protect yourself?: I believe

What’s your most noticeable flaw?: ugh...

Have you ever walked into a massive cobweb? yes and that was awful because it was full of dead bugs

When you can tell that someone’s lying, do you call them out on it?: often

How many other blogs do you follow on Tumblr?: more than 300 

Does it ever scare you how fast time can go by?: could say so

Have you ever replied “OK” when someone confessed they liked you?: possibly :x

What does your grandma call you?: sigh...

What would you do for immortality and infinite youth?: dunno, definitely wouldn’t sell my soul or kill an innocent person but I would do some stuff for immortality 

Would you rather have a pool or a hot tub?: neither

Have you ever worn a nipple tassel?: haven’t

Ever played hide and seek in the woods on horseback at night?: wow, that’s weirdly specific and now I want this somehow :o

Have you ever held a baby chick?: wild bird’s babies and I regret that because it’s not helfpul for them actually

Do you think wine tastes like rotten fruit? yep

Have you ever felt the need to hide something about yourself?: sometimes, from certain people, I should be myself most of the time tho

Do you think pearls are attractive?: umm...

Have you ever wished you had a different name? Which name would you choose? but I like male ones more or non polish

Have you ever customised an item of clothing? I designed and my mom helped me, made changes for me

Do you prefer drawing or painting?  prefer to draw but look at paintings

Are you saving up for anything right now? What? if I could/had money to save then I would save for a bike, laptop, my own apartment etc.

Do you own any figurines?  cats, dogs, elephants, clowns, horses and others

If you have any siblings, how much rivalry is between you all? it’s complicated

When did you last have itchy eyes? recently

Is it dark outside right now? it’s getting darker 

Do you prefer framed photos or just sticking photos straight onto walls? I prefer them in an album, takes less space 

What’s your favourite type of cake? used to love sękacz the most

Have you ever woken up from a dream and believed it to have been real? I was confused 

If there’s a bug in your room, can you sleep or do you need to get it out? it depends on how annoying/dangerous it is

Do you prefer travelling alone or with people? I like to travel with my dad

What was the last baby animal you saw? pic or irl?

Do you give people high fives or hugs more often? hugs

How long have you known the last person you kissed? I knew her 10 years ago for awhile then we lost contact until this spring

When angry, do you get loud or quiet? depends

What do you currently hear right now? my parents talking

Who of the opposite sex has seen you at your worst? dad

Last person you saw? parent

Did you have a nap today? nope

Are you easy to get along with? am not

When was the last time you were told you were cute? recently my gf called me cute and I’m like Catra about it

Have you ever forgotten to put on an oven mitt before you took something extremely hot out of the oven? not over, just hot pot

Do you own one of those airwick things that automatically sprays every few minutes? hell no

How many light bulbs are on in the room you are currently in? 3, one doesn’t work 

Have you ever had your phone taken away at school before? almost, teacher heard it calling but before they found out who’s phone that was it stopped ringing and I was safe

Do you look better with or without glasses? I’m always ugly 

What is your favorite type of bird? chicken, owl, flamingo, crow, barn swallow...

Did you go fishing a lot when you were younger? Do you now? I hate fishing, never been nor will go

Do you like more flowery scents or more clean scents? no scents, thank you Do you own a manual or electric toothbrush? manual, electric are horrible Preferred brand of toothpaste? m current is Meridol  Piece of make-up you cannot live without? I can live without it

Do you prefer heels or flats? flats are more comfy but I know how to walk in heels, just don’t like to

Do you eat meat? yep Do you still watch cartoons regularly? I recently started watching She-ra with my gf but before that I didn’t watch any animated shows for a long time (just fragments/episodes maybe) Do you leave the TV on and sleep to it? never Ever considered cannibalism? r u serious?... this is scary, I’m gonna puke :x Ever licked a battery? I’m not stupid What does your name mean? lily which was also going to be my name Do animals go to Heaven? hope so Babies are… irritating

When was the last time you saw a doctor? it would be easier to say when I didn’t because I see them too often Do you know anyone who is a firefighter? used to What was the last wedding you went to? my sister’s

What’s your favourite alcoholic beverage? blergh... Do you “binge-watch” tv shows? two episodes a day max What is your opinion of clowns? love Did you wear a necklace today? not today How old are your parents? about 60 What’s something odd you do when you’re anxious or nervous? personal Have you ever received a compliment from a stranger? I have, more than one time Is your wardrobe big enough for all your clothes? it’s not Do you plan ahead when it comes to your outfits? nah Have you ever shaved your face? I shaved my eyebrows (not whole)  What colour is your front door? silver with white paint coming off  Do you take the stairs or the elevator? stairs  Would you ever try herbal medicine as opposed to conventional medicine? I tried  Do you wear open-toed shoes? I despise those Have you ever been to a petting zoo? yeah, I was petting a raccoon <3 and chinchillas are so surprisingly fluffy  When was the last time you wore a button up shirt? weeks ago How many times have you consumed alcohol? once Do you often forget what you were just about to say? ocassionally when interrupted What’s your opinion of Australia? wouldn’t go there Do you own any striped sweaters? absolutely :) Have there ever been any forest or grass fires in your area? as every summer, also trash burn quite often

What color is the trash can in your kitchen? yellow What does the cover on the last book you read look like? it has two people sitting in front of each other Do you wear green on St. Patrick’s Day? I don’t celebrate this holiday, I dislike it Are you even Irish? not even partially Have you ever gotten a wig? What did it look like and what was it for? I have a bunch of wigs  How often do you use a shower cap? What does yours look like? I don’t own any If you wanted to get a cat, would you adopt from a shelter or buy from a breeder? Why? but I don’t want a cat What’s the shortest you’d be willing to cut your hair? almost bald? What do you do when you find a spiderweb in your room? leave it be or clean it

[selenekallanwriter]

TEMPTED: Demon/Cleric Short Story

"Wake up." Ethan groaned and hugged the pillow tighter, keeping his eyes firmly shut. He'd been having a pleasant dream, one of those where you can see a memory from another perspective. A hard poke with a sharp nail on his ribs made him flinch. "Ow, was that necessary?" reluctantly, he opened one eye. Purple cat-like eyes were the first thing he saw. Even after months of looking at those unearthly eyes he felt a small swoop on his stomach; not fear precisely, but the recognition that he was in the presence of someone with vast power. That someone lifted a brow in an unimpressed gesture. "You will be late for work, again." Ethan smiled. That accent, it had been his doom since day one. "And as you've been saying, your boss is already displeased with you," Zath'tarith drawled in his most bored tone. Ethan snorted and rolled to lie on his back. His boss, Bishop Rossi, had never hidden his deep suspicion and dislike for him. If he only knew half of it, Ethan mused. Rossi was a traditionalist, the recent tolerance towards demons was something he despised. Ethan was certain the old man would happily start another crusade if he could. But tides had changed, decades ago humans had been terrified of demons and the Church had happily hunted them down; that was until humans began to befriend and even fall in love with demons. Not all demonic races were the same after all, while some enjoyed causing havoc and pain, others simply wanted a life outside of the dark dimension they'd been trapped in for millennia. Zath was one of the latter of course. "Maybe I should perform an exorcism or banish a demon to get on his good graces, my post is in the balance," Ethan mused. "Any of your buddies fancies making a show?" Zath pinned Ethan with a look that blended exasperation and affection. "I'll ask, now get your pale ass in the shower." Ethan chuckled and sat, running a hand through the thick strands of brown hair that stuck up in all angles. He lived in a small apartment just a block away from the church where he worked as a Cleric. He could've had small quarters within the church, but the wards would not allow his half-blood and demon friends through and that would be a tragedy. He barely had time to register the movement before finding himself firmly pinned down by Zath. The high-class demon's pupils were blown, his eyes almost black. Ethan licked his lips nervously feeling the tremendous contained strength on the hands that held his wrists; he flushed bright pink when Zath's eyes traveled down his body. He'd always seen himself as average at best, lean and athletic but miles away from the Greek god looks of his boyfriend. "Weren't you the one telling me to get out of bed?" Ethan asked on a tremulous voice as Zath leaned down to kiss a torturous path from his shoulder to his neck. The demon grinned, ink-black hair half-shielding his eyes. "Maybe you can be 15 minutes late," Zath said, capturing Ethan's mouth in a kiss before he could respond. **** 15 minutes turned into half an hour. Ethan was fumbling with his robes as he entered the office on the back of the church, dreading the telling off he was going to get. Still, a stupid smile adorned his face. To his surprise, Rossi wasn't there yet. A sour-looking nun was waiting for him though. She was new, he wasn't sure of her name. "Bishop Rossi is indisposed, you will lead the mass in 15 minutes," she all but barked handing him a sheet with a sermon. Ethan blinked, trying to hold back the panic before it could begin to build. Speaking in public wasn't his thing. And giving sermons about purity and guarding oneself against evil demons didn't help. If the Church ever found out he was more than just acceptant of half-bloods, that he was, in fact, a very gay and definitely not chaste cleric they'd sack him. And he needed to remain inside to warn his friends of the unauthorized attacks the Church launched against demons. Cursing under his breath, he rushed towards the altar. He decided to tune out his own words as he led the congregation in prayer and began with the depressing sermon. Rossi has outdone himself, Ethan thought wrily. The candles began to flicker as the temperature in the room dropped. Ethan blinked to focus, the congregation began to whisper and look around searching for the source of what was an unmistakeable supernatural presence. A vortex of black and purple light formed right in the middle of the aisle. A 6-foot-5 male stepped right out of the portal, black hair falling straight to his shoulders. The demon idly flicked his fringe back in place as a collective gasp erupted from the congregation; no one dared to move. Ethan stared in disbelief at his boyfriend, standing right there and reminding every single faithful that high-ranking demons were capable of breaking the wards set by the Priests. 'This is not a good time,' Ethan thought, aiming his mental strength to Zath. The demon took a few steps closer to the altar, fixing the cuffs of his black shirt. 'I can see that.' Ethan could hear his drawl, he fought back a smile. 'Is there something you need?' 'No, it is you who needed something from me, remember?' Zath asked. 'Oh! Right, yeah.' Ethan bit his lip thinking about how to begin with the impromptu show, but his mind was still on swooning mode and not cooperating. 'Fuck's sake, Ethan, at least pretend to banish me,' Zath said, a malevolent grin spreading on his face. It should scare Ethan, it really should. Normal people feared 600-year-old demons. But Ethan had never been normal; his pulse was racing for an entirely different reason. "Shoo, naughty one!" as soon as the words were out, Ethan cringed. Zath's incredulous snort wasn't helping either. "You are not making me feel very welcomed, cleric," Zath said aloud, his deep voice carried the timbre he used when he wanted to terrorize humans. One swift glance at the still shock-paralyzed congregation told Ethan how effective it was. "You aren't welcome in these holy walls," Ethan said with faux sternness, Zath's arched brow told him he wasn't doing a good job. "Not unless you repent for your sins." Zath chuckled, purple eyes brimming with mischief. "But sinning is so delicious, cleric." A shiver ran down Ethan's spine. Don't I know it, he thought. Ethan took the bible from the pulpit, holding it as a shield. "Then I shall have to banish you. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, ego eieci te!" Zath took a step back and hissed, anger shining in his eyes. "We shall meet again, cleric," he warned and then disappeared in a burst of purple energy. Ethan schooled his expression into grim resolution and triumph, trying not to laugh. Zath was by far a better actor than he was. The congregation remained silent for a few heartbeats and then erupted in cheers and began to thank Ethan profusely. He plastered a reassuring, beatific smile on his face as he blessed them all and promised no demon would ever enter the church as long as he or Bishop Rossi were there to stop it. His position in one of the last openly traditionalist churches had been secured with the assistance of his demon boyfriend. Ethan was sure his friends would thoroughly enjoy the irony, he sure did. ©Selene Kallan 2020 ________________ Let me know what you think!

[tellywoodtrash]

Weekends are for watching truly trashy TV...

... (as opposed to irony-watching semi-trash) so this week I decided to forego my newest addiction Divya Drishti to binge the new AltBalaji show BOSS: Baap of Special Services.

[crowd yelling: “... But TT you’re always going on about not caring for KSG! You’re adamant about it and battle anon wank on the topic! How could you possibly......?????”]

Well kids, all I can say is don’t try to put me in a box. For all my highfalutin media snobbery, there’s also that side of me which has watched KRK’s Deshdrohi multiple times. (Only to discover that one of my college-mates was an extra in the songs. True story, mummy kasam.) I honest-to-god have a favt. movie featuring Sonu Nigam as an "actor". No, not the cult classic Jaani Dushman, but the equally noteworthy Love In Nepal. Which I have also seen multiple times, because the amount of cheap kicks I get from Sonu's ridiculous hamming is indescribable. Anyway, I’m trash for the professional-couple-with-opposing-personalities trope (especially in the field of law enforcement), and was majorly missing B99 (HOW LONG TILL THE NEXT SEASON GODDAMNIT?????)/Krishna Arjun (WHY WON’T YOU JUST PUT IT UP ALREADY, HOTSTAR?????????) so I decided to scratch the itch with this. (Also this blasted weather has brought an influx of mutant mosquitoes into my house, so watching this was also an attempt to keep my mind off those literal itches. I'm not an NRI anymore, but my body hasn't gotten the memo yet and continues to overreact to every bug bite.)

Plot:

It was pretty much what I expected from the trailer; a middling crime/mystery series with occasional moments of the mildest intrigue. It has a ‘case of the episode’ format, with each resolution sorta feeding into the larger mystery driving the plot. The smaller cases are completely unremarkable; always a murder (I used to think Shimla was a chill place with relatively low crime rates? Apparently not; in this show's universe the murdering is so bad, a whole special task force has to be formed - with like, national-level shooting champions and imported super-cops from other states.) The bigger mystery is the only compelling part of the show, keeping me invested to watch till the end. I wouldn't say it had a completely satisfying wrap-up (a too-tidily ghusaaya hua culprit and motive in the end; not to mention loose ends that just went nowhere. For eg. they introduce - never show - a character that the lead has been obsessing about for months now and goes to great lengths to track down, only to be casually told that he died a few months ago. And like...... nothing. We just move on, zero frustration.) but at least it brought like 2.67% complexity to the main lead beyond “Satyromanic Sherlock”.

A more appropriate name for the show would have been BOSH: Baap of Sexual Harassment, coz KSG's character spends most of his screentime leering at the nearest adult woman and propositioning her with the most unimaginatively sexist innuendo. Said woman (other than our stern female lead, of course) is so bowled over that she’s immediately willing to get it on with him on closest stable surface that can support the weight of 2 people. Each episode has on an average of 2-3 utterly tacky and tasteless sex scenes which I promptly forwarded the fuck through. Everyone knows I'm a tharki of the first order, so you can guess just how distasteful they were to get ME to do that. (Does KSG have some kinda clause in his non primetime-TV contracts that he must be given scenes to paw at a woman in the most unattractive manner?) The reaction to all this nonsense is always smirky admiration from the other men, and disgust from female lead. Except for when he puts the moves on her in later eps; then she reacts with coy exasperation. I cannot (yet somehow also can - because we truly do live in the darkest timeline) believe something like this got made and released in the #MeToo era? Forget #MeToo, the leads more than once wake up with the people in bed next to them murdered, and it has like zero legal repercussions beyond a withering glare, so THAT's the kinda universe we're operating in.

Cast:

KSG‘s made 'charming haraami with/without heart of gold’ his go-to role over the years now, so this is right in his wheelhouse. I've seen him give a waaaay more compelling performance in QH so eh... Can't say I was too impressed with him here. This was just Law Enforcement Armaan. An errant man-child doing whatever the fuck he wants and getting by in life thanks to conventional attractiveness. His facial hair situation is also very distracting; the continuity lapses rivaling Iqra Aziz's hair in SC2.

I haven't watched Sagarika Ghatge in anything other than Chak De, so I'm genuinely wondering: is she capable of anything other than ‘sullen girl who's constantly making an annoyed/perplexed face’? Her face occasionally relaxes into a wry smirk, but other than that, she could be Captain Holt's Desi Spirit Daughter. I couldn't quite tell if it's the stereotypical role of ‘female cop who has to be a strict stickler to be taken seriously in a male-dominated profession’, or if she just doesn't have the range. Maybe it's both? It’s probably both.

Gaurav Gera shows up as a sidekick to KSG - some kinda "hacker" who regularly comes to school the police's cyber-crime head - because she's a woman, how could she possibly be the authority on tech stuff? Anything that keeps him from making more of those dumb "shopkeeper" vids is a good thing in my book, I guess. Sagarika's character has two sidekicks - who contribute nothing to the investigation part, they just serve as muscle who chase the fleeing suspects and haul them into the police van. Ayaz Khan toh I suspect just took the role to get to hang out with best bro KSG in Shimla for a few days, coz his character is an undistinctive personality-less blob. The sidekick cop who's not Ayaz (aforementioned shooting champion) looked super familiar; it took me like 3 episodes to realize it's the dude who plays Komolika's deranged brother in KZK these days. The insta clips of him constantly attacking one Sharma sister or another is where I knew him from. He plays his character with some bright-eyed earnestness and is mostly tolerable, if completely forgettable.

Minor bright spot(s): Mishal Raheja as a grey character! Now there's the charming haraami I'd want to watch a whole show about! Also Daljiet Kaur in a tiny but important role; kind of a chilling AU version of Anjali from IPK, if she didn't have Arnav in her life to balance out her constantly-teteering-on-the-brink waala mental instability.

Overall Impression:

Lol, I can't recommend it or anything, but if you miss watching the OG 1990s/2000s-era episodes of CID, but with a 400% more cringeyass sexual situations straight out of soft porn, I guess you can go for it? Pretty sure it's no more a waste of time than the newest Bhai movie that's released on Prime.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

“After the disappointment of the Andrew Garfield-led Amazing Spider-Man movies, everyone’s favorite wallcrawler has been having a renaissance. Entering the Marvel cinematic universe in 2016's Captain America: Civil War, the webslinger fully redeemed himself with well-crafted live-action film in Spider-Man: Homecoming.”

 Yes...okay...that was definitely what Homecoming was....

 “and a wildly successful spin-off film Venom, ”

 I mean financially successful sure...

 “In the midst of all his success, Spider-Man has quietly become one of the most inclusive and socially conscious superheroes of today.”

*raises eyebrow*

 Okay...go on...

 “Last week, it was announced that Spider-Man: Far From Home would feature two out transgender actors playing trans characters, the first big-budget superhero film to do so. Spider-Man: Homecoming also featured a queer character, as well as numerous people of color.”

  Wait who was the queer character in Homecoming?

 “It’s also worth mentioning that Spiderverse included a Jewish version of Peter Parker, who is typically portrayed as either secular or Christian.”

 ....ehhhhhhhhh....yes and no.

 In media adaptations barring maybe one (the 1994 show cos I do not remember where he got married) Spider-Man is portrayed as...I guess secular but really it’s more that they just don’t say anything.

 It’s not that the character is not a believer in a faith per se, especially if you go by older adaptations during times when hardly anyone was secular. It’s just that they, understandably, aren’t saying anything.

 In the comics Peter is some kind of Christian but probably a Protestant (unless you go by Amazing Grace where he is an atheist but that’s hot trash we don’t talk about) but we don’t really talk about it that specifically.

 We just know that he and his family celebrate Christmas and very, very occasionally Aunt May references going to church and that she, Peter and MJ believe in a monothetistic deity they refer to as ‘God’.

 And really apart from the Church thing there is no clue to Peter’s religion and Marvel probably (wisely) would rather keep it that way. He even got married in a civil ceremony!

 However in the SUBTEXT...he’s Jewish. And it’s basically an open secret that he is and always has been Jewish.

 “The Spider-Man video game also featured a wonderful easter egg for queer fans by having a giant rainbow flag, as well as several smaller ones, scattered around the game’s fictionalized New York City map. ”

 I mean that’s wonderful but I wouldn’t call that an Easter Egg so much as...it’s just what you’d find in modern NYC.

 “Even the Venom film got in on the fun, with fans shipping Tom Hardy’s Eddie Brock and the titular male alien-symbiote after the two kissed in the film. Sony even encouraged the pairing, releasing a romantic comedy-esque trailer for the film to promote the home release. While some complained of queer-baiting, most felt that it was all in good fun and included queer people in on the joke, instead of making us the target.”

 Again, good for them but I don’t think that was the movie actively trying to be positive towards queer people.

 Brock and Venom kissed when Venom was bonded to Brock’s ex-fiance and had a pronounced female form, being an adaptation of a character literally called She-Venom.

 And it was based upon a script written in the 1990s so really it was more the movie did it and then people took it as a thing that was shipping Venom and Brock (even though Venom is sexless). Brock and the symbiote have been shipped numerous times in the comics but the subtext has always been that the symbiote, if any sex, is female. In the Spec cartoon it is referred to as Symbi (a pun on Cyndi) and in the Spider-Girl comics it is marked out as female (granted this happens after it’s bonded to a woman).

 And again, headcanon away but like...that probably wasn’t intentional at all Sony were just being goofy or unintionally made something people took a certain way.

 “Indeed, even in the comics, Spider-Man has always been a fairly inclusive hero. Miles Morales was introduced in the early-2000s, taking over the mantel from Peter Parker for several years. ”

 Okay, this is so weird for me to be correcting such a praising point but lets really look at this.

 First of all Miles didn’t take over Peter’s role for several years he did it permanently.

 Second of all Miles is from 2011 so that’s not the early 2000s, that’s the early 2010s, but okay maybe that was a typo.

 Third of all, is it really all that logical to say this franchise that began in 1962 has always been fairly inclusive and then cite a character from 2011 as proof of this? Wouldn’t examples from during the FIRST quarter century have been more apt?

 Fourth of all...eh. Has Spider-Man been fairly inclusive from the start? Yes, no, its complicated.

 Look there were exactly 0 LGBTQ+ characters in Spider-Man until maybe the 1990s and even then I couldn’t off my head tell you who they were. Felicia Hardy is bisexual but we didn’t find out until the 2000s and it was most prominent in an AU. Really the most significant LGBTQ+ character who’s had the fact that they are queer be more than a one off reference was Max Modell and he debuted 2011 and IIRC wasn’t established as queer until 2012. In defence of Spider-Man the Comics Code literally FORBID any character be anything other than straight until the 1990s and even then it was relatively rare, even in X-Men which you’d think it wouldn’t be.

 If we’re talking POC again this one is a bit complicated Glori Grant, Joe Robertson, Randy Robertson are frequently appearing POC characters but not in every run and they aren’t usually as prominent as like Jameson, Aunt May, Harry Osborn, MJ, etc. Characters of other ethnicities are even less frequent and I don’t even know what we should make of Puma/Thomas Fireheart. I mean A for effort, they wanted a Native American character who wasn’t really a villain and wasn’t exactly a sterotype so there is that I guess.

 Again though...most other Marvel franchises decade by decade weren’t much better with this and we should give credit where credit is due to the same guy who created Black Panther writing a nuanced scene where 2 black people in the 60s separated by age discuss different approaches to civil rights with neither being proven right or wrong.

 When it comes to disabled people, outside of evil insane villains, forget it, there is nothing before Flash Thompson in 2008 unless you count Aunt May’s chronically poor health.

 “Spider-Gwen quickly became one of the highest-selling female superhero comics. Spider-Woman was a prominently featured bisexual character, and the female Asian-American hero Silk also had LGBT supporting characters, Rafferty and Lola, who were in a healthy relationship. Additionally, many view vampire villain Morbius, who is getting a spin-off film starring Jared Leto next year, as a metaphor for those suffering during the HIV crisis of the '80s. ”

 Again...Spider-Gwen and Silk are 2010s characters so that’s not ‘always fairly inclusive’.

 I don’t even know if Jessica Drew is bisexual, I’ve never heard that but I don’t think she is.

 Morbius as a metaphor for HIV...MIGHT be true if we are specifically talking about his 1990s solo-book which I’ve never read. But the character as originally created 100% was never about that because he was created in the 1970s before HIV was known about.

 “Unlike his Marvel counterparts Thor, Iron Man and Captain America, Spider-Man’s world has accurately reflected real world diversity for years.”

 ....Not really.

 I’m not even saying Spidey maybe haven’t been comparatively better at it than those guys but he’s deffo not been accurate.

 Plus to be fair to the other guys, Captain America and Iron Man have had at least one major black supporting cast member and in Cap’s case he was fairly candid about social strife and issues.

 And with Thor it’s not that fair to throw shade at him for not reflecting the real world given that 90% of this characters and stories are literally pulled from fantasy and myth. I don’t even know if there are any queer figures in Norse myth let alone poc.

 “While it’s a seemingly simple idea that any of us can be a superhero, it’s sadly still a radical concept in a endlessly growing film genre that has predominetly centers straight cisgender white men. ”

 Well that’s mostly because the comics the movies adapt are about those types of people.

 “That is because relatability and inclusion has always been core to Spider-Man’s appeal and message. It’s why the late Stan Lee decided that, unlike other superheroes who expose parts of their faces, Spider-Man had to wear a full-face mask.”

  Stan Lee only speculated that that was part of Spider-Man’s appeal, he never had any input on that design choice it was all Steve Ditko...who frankly was unlikely to have been thinking about that...

 “Even further, Spider-Man isn’t the king of a country, a billionaire, a woman out of a Greek myth, or a brilliant scientist. He’s just an average high-school kid from Brooklyn who always strives to do the right thing even while struggling to balance his everyday life and hiding a secret identity.”

 WHOA there buddy...Spider-Man isn’t routinely ‘a kid’ nor is he from Brooklyn.

 MILES is from Brooklyn but Peter, as evidenced by that great big caption in Captain America: Civil War, is from QUEENS.

 “And it’s the idea of balancing a secret identity with everyday life that has always allowed Spider-Man to connect with queer audiences long before comic writers were allowed to explicitly include LGBT characters.”

 ...I’m not denying this necesarrilly but whilst i’ve heard stories from poc who connected with Spider-Man I’ve never heard this about LGBTQ+ fans of Spider-Man.

“Indeed, perhaps the strongest part of Spider-Man’s inclusivity is the subtlety to which it has been done. While Black Panther, Black Lightning, and Wonder Woman rightly put issues of identity front and center, Spider-Man’s quiet diversity allows audiences who typically cry “SJWs are ruining my favorite characters” to actually see diversity showcased without it being overt.”

 Errrrrrr...sure....*represses memories of when Miles Morales was first announced*

 Lets um...wait and see what happens when those trans characters show up in the movie this year okay.

[despairforme]

basics !

FULL NAME.  Nnoitra Gilga. ( pronounced; Noitora Jiruga ).

NICKNAME.   Nnoi, the Mantis ( stagename ).

GENDER.  Male.

HEIGHT.   7 feet / 215 cm.

AGE.   26. ZODIAC.  Scorpio.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English / Japanese. It depends on where the setting is. I tend to keep things ‘ open ‘ to not make it so difficult with interactions. But typically I tend to center it around an ‘ american ‘ setting, because I don’t speak Japanese.

physical characteristics !

HAIR COLOR.  Black.

EYE COLOR.   Nnoitra only has one eye, which is S\stormy grey. It appear a little purple-ish in certain lighting. Like a dark thundercloud. His other eye is completely gone. Before he got shot ( when it was just blind ), it used to be milky white. SKIN TONE.    Pale, and he doesn’t tan. In summer, he might get a little sun-burnt. 

BODY TYPE.  Skinny. Underweight. And he hates it. Nnoitra is extremely ‘ lanky ‘. His arms and legs are long and thin. His waist is small. His shoulders, however, are very wide. His entire body is ‘ bony ‘. You can see his ribs, collarbones, hipbones. You can see his ribs across his chest as well. His hands are large and bony as well.

ACCENT.   Heavy. Uses slurs a lot. Incorrect grammar. ‘ Ghetto ‘ dialect.

VOICE.    Hoarse, deep. Voice claim is his Japanese voice actor (  Nobutoshi Canna  ) - not the English. DOMINANT HAND.  Ambidextrous. Tends to favor his left hand a little bit when fighting, but usually writes with his right.

POSTURE.   Slouches a lot - depending on his mood. Often drags his feet.

SCARS.   A completely missing left eye. The scarring on and around his eye extends from his brow-bone all the way down to his cheekbone. He also has a small scar on his left temple ( and a bald spot here ), from the exit wound caused by the bullet. His knuckles are also permanently scarred. 

TATTOOS.  He has a big, black ‘ 5 ‘ tattooed on his tongue, and “Santa Teresa” on his upper chest, and a tiny infinity symbol on his inner right wrist. He’ll also be getting a black-and-grey sun tattoo on his inner right arm.

BIRTHMARKS.  None.

MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S).   His height is definitely what people notice the most about him ( only around 20 000 people in the entire world are as tall as Nnoitra ). His large eye-patch also draws attention, since when people wear eye-patches they usually aren’t this big. He wears such a large one because the scarring on his face covers a good portion of the left side of his face.

childhood !

PLACE OF BIRTH.    A small town. The kinda town that’s not so small so that everyone knows everybody, but the kinda place where you recognize people on the street, and if something happens ‘ everyone ‘ knows about it. HOMETOWN.    The town where he was born is also ( technically ) his ‘ hometown ‘ since this is where he grew up. However, he doesn’t exactly look at it as a ‘ home ‘. BIRTH WEIGHT.   Nnoitra was a small baby, but not so small that the doctors had need for concern. BIRTH HEIGHT.    He was about average size - a little on the small side maybe -.

MANNER OF BIRTH.  Natural. His birth took almost 24 hours, and was exhausting and very painful for his mother. FIRST WORDS. It took him longer than most children to say his first word. Most of his ‘ first words ‘ were just weird jibberish, and apart from ‘ yeah ‘ and ‘ no ‘, his first word was ‘ mom ‘. 

SIBLINGS.   Nnoitra has an older brother, Shinji. Though he’s not aware of this, since his dad left with Shinji before Nnoitra was born, and his mother never told him about any of them.

PARENTS.   Nnoitra doesn’t know who his father is ( his mother never told him about him ), but his mother was named Teresa ( that’s where his tattoo comes from ).

PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT.    Nnoitra was raised by his mother. She raised him to be a Christian, but she raised him with very little love ( because she didn’t love him ). She did her best to provide for him, and though they were ‘ poor ‘, Nnoitra never starved and she was never mean to him. She just didn’t love him. 

adult life !

OCCUPATION.  Nnoitra works at the club ‘ Hueco Mundo ‘ as a cage-fighter. He’s been working there for four years now, and is the club’s top fighter and hold the title of the ‘ undefeated champion ‘. His job pays well, and he absolutely loves it. 

CURRENT RESIDENCE.   He lives with Grimmjow, in a spacious, modern apartment on one of the top floors of an apartment building. The apartment has big windows in the livingroom, with great view of the city ( and even the nightsky ). Grimmjow bought this apartment for them for Nnoitra’s birthday in 2017, and they moved in shortly after. The apartment looks something like this ( only bigger and with larger windows ). 

CLOSE FRIENDS.  Does he have any ‘ close ‘ friends? Not really. He has some people who he would consider friends - Rangiku ( @jishintcra ), Ikkaku ( @yperifaneia ) and Emil ( @someidioticurl ), but he wouldn’t call these people ‘ close ‘ friends, and he doesn’t really share much with them or spend too much time hanging out. 

RELATIONSHIP STATUS.   Taken. Nnoitra is dating Grimmjow ( @grimmjxw ). They started dating in August 2017. FINANCIAL STATUS.   Middle-class. He’s got a good income, and pays for most of the living expenses they have as a couple ( since Grimmjow’s job doesn’t pay much - actually right now he doesn’t have a job ). Nnoitra has saved a lot of money ( he’s not even aware of how much he’s actually saved up ). Every month, he puts away money - out of habit. He’s done this for years, as his own personal ‘ medical insurance ‘. 

DRIVER’S LICENSE.  No. He doesn’t have one, and has never tried to get one either. He lives in the city, and everywhere he would want to go is ( to him ) within walking distance, since he likes to walk. For example, there is about a 20 minute walk to work. The chances of him passing the driver’s test aren’t that great either, and he has no plans of giving it a go.

CRIMINAL RECORD.   None. Off the records - YES. Nnoitra has done many criminal acts during his life. The worst one being attempted murder. In addition he’s done many acts of violence and theft. However, he’s never been arrested or charged, so for now, his criminal record is ( officially ) clean. It’s been a while since he did anything illegal, and he does try to live a life on the right side of the law, since he doesn’t want to ruin the life he has with Grimmjow.

VICES.  None, really. Nnoitra doesn’t drink too much, he doesn’t do drugs and he doesn’t smoke. He does tend to eat very unhealthily, but that’s about it.

sex and romance !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION.   Bisexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION.   Grey-romantic. Nnoitra rarely gets a romantic attachment to anyone. Actually, he’s only ever felt romantic love for two people. His ex - and Grimmjow. He has never fallen in love with a woman, or considered wanting a relationship with one. PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE.    Dominant. Nnoitra likes control ( even though he can’t really deal with responsibility ). He likes to feel like he is the ‘ man ‘, in a very traditional and old fashioned sense of the word. 

PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE.    Dominant. Nnoitra literally won’t bottom or submit. Being dominated is not an option for him, since he simply doesn’t find that arousing.  LIBIDO.  High. His sex drive is very ‘ healthy ‘. He relieves himself at least once a day, in addition to the sex-life he has with Grimmjow ( they have a good sex life ).

TURN ON’S.    This is a very long list. Tongue kissing, dirty talk, feeling wanted, biting, scratching, choking, blood, spit, cum, hair pulling, grinding, public sex. He enjoys firm touches - the firmer the better. As for physical aspects of his partner ( Grimmjow ), his abs are a big turn on. To be fair everything about Grimmjow is a turn on but yeah his abs are really hot in Nnoitra’s opinion. Also his thighs, dick and ass. Nnoitra likes it when Grimmjow is being pushy and a bit dominant, since Nnoitra enjoys being the one to dominate someone who isn’t naturally a sub.

TURN OFF’S.   Being dominated. Grimmjow being ‘ dominant ‘ from the bottom position is good, as long as he doesn’t expect Nnoitra to let him top. Nnoitra also finds crying unattractive ( though silent tears are nice ). Another turn-off for him is his partner using pet-names on him like: darling, sweetheart, angel ect. He’s okay with being called ‘ babe ‘ by Grimmjow, but he really prefers his name. Another thing that would be a big turn-off for him would be being physically restrained by ropes or anything of the sort. He also doesn’t enjoy sex if he’s too cold or if the scent of smoke is too strong. 

LOVE LANGUAGE.   Nnoitra’s love language is almost only physical. He doesn’t show affection through his words all that much. It’s all about the small touches. He doesn’t show much of this in public, but the small touches are always there. A hand on Grimmjow’s shoulder when they’re about to cross the road. Fingers through his hair. Walking on the road-side of the pavement. The looks he sends other people who seem interested in Grimmjow. Standing very close to him in lines. And in private? Hair touches. Cupping his face. Kisses - especially the top of his head. If they’re sitting next to each other, Nnoitra will always touch him, even if it’s something as simple as their shoulders pressed together. Nnoitra also loves to touch the back of Grimmjow’s neck. Another thing that speaks of his affection is how he looks at him - and how often he looks at him. Even if they’re watching something on TV, Nnoitra will spend a good amount of time looking at Grimmjow instead. 

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.  It can’t be denied - Nnoitra can be somewhat toxic. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. He’s controlling to the point of it not being healthy. He’s definitely way too jealous to give his partner much freedom when it comes to hanging out with others. He also constantly needs validation to feel like he’s loved. Because he rarely talks about his feelings, it’s often hard for Grimmjow to understand him and how he’s feeling. Nnoitra also has an act for always thinking the worst, and this causes unnecessary ‘ drama ‘. He’s simply not good at communicating ( neither is Grimmjow, to be fair ). He needs things explained to him properly in order to understand what’s going on. He’s also very bad at realizing when he’s doing something wrong. His over protectiveness is also so strong that it can sometimes come off as controlling and toxic. On the plus side - he is incredibly loyal. He goes out of his way for his partner and often compromises his own happiness or safety.

miscellaneous !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG.   Undead and Whatever it takes by Hollywood Undead.

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME.   Walking, or just spending time outside. If he didn’t live in the city, Nnoitra would be outside even more, since he really enjoys nature. He’ll often spend time in the park. He also likes to play Auralux on his phone. If he has time to spare though - he prefers to spend it with Grimmjow. 

MENTAL ILLNESSES.   Nnoitra is rather paranoid, but he doesn’t consider this a ‘ mental illness ‘. The same goes for him being dyslectic. He probably has ‘ chronic depression ‘, but he’s never been diagnosed, and he doesn’t consider himself mentally ill, nor would he ever agree to take medication. 

PHYSICAL ILLNESSES.   Nnoitra has a chronic undiagnosed heart and metabolic condition. His BPM is higher than average. This causes light paranoia ( so some of his paranoia is actually physical and something he can’t help ), a high body temperature and high metabolism. This is why Nnoitra is unable to put on weight. 

FEARS.  Losing Grimmjow is probably what he’s most afraid of. Either losing him, or anything happening to him. Especially if it’s his fault. As for irrational fears - Nnoitra has a fear of being paralyzed. 

SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL.   Low. Unless it concerns fighting, in which his confidence is very high. But other than that, Nnoitra’s confidence is low. His self-worth is low. He considers himself both a bad person and a worthless person. There are so many things about himself that he hates. VULNERABILITIES.   Depression. He’s incredibly pessimistic. His mental state is fragile. It doesn’t take much to make him feel down, sad, frustrated. He sometimes re-visits his suicidal thoughts. It’s hard for him to open up and trust others. He gets anxious when it comes to things he thinks he can’t handle. Another problem he has is that his pride doesn’t allow him to back down. Death before defeat. 

Tagged by: Stolen from @autumnswordsman ( now I know lots about Zoro, thanks! 8) ) Tagging: TAKE IT.

[fixaidea]

Paris, 1840

It was in the early days of the year 1840 when Monsieur Nicolas Barré, a young, moderately successful novelist fell in with Augustin Perrault and his group of friends. Perrault, done with University, was pursuing a career in journalism and met M. Barré for work related reasons. The working relationship quickly turned into friendship (a quick and easy thing with the young journalist), and soon enough, over a shared glass of wine, Perrault invited him to meet up with the rest of his closest friends.

‘I must say’ Nicolas huffed, clinking his glass against Perrault’s ‘Whatever you told your friends about me, they better lower their expectations. Sure I’m a delight, a true treat to have around’ he winked ‘But political I am not. Not nearly as much as you are.’

Perrault waved his hand in airy dismissal.

‘Never fear. You are no monarchist, and that is all they need. Clavier is more hands-on when it comes to politics but the rest like to hold such issues at arm’s length. No one will begrudge you for not keeping a pet guillotine in your backyard.’

Nicolas chuckled and refilled their glasses.

‘So you’re telling me buying a closetful of red caps to impress them was a waste? Ah well. Now, we are men of the pen, you and I, even if we employ our words quite differently. How about the rest? All writers?’

‘Alain Clavier certainly is, he’s a playwright. Well, in theory at least. In reality he’s a true Renaissance man, doing all things Theatre. Manager, designer, stand-in actor, all of it. René Giraud is an engineer, or rather, currently an assistant to one, Yves Belarbre is a painter. A portraitist, but he has some novel ideas about painting dreams, you’ll see.’

After a couple of more glasses Perrault announced that he still had some obligations to attend to. Just as they were about to part, he turned to Nicolas.

‘I must warn you about one of my friends though, Giraud. He has some peculiar habits, but the one that most concerns you is that he’s rather picky about who gets to touch him. He’s going to allow a handshake, but do not attempt anything more. If he takes a shine to you, he will come to you in his own time.’

Nicolas smiled and nodded, although he did not understand why he needed such a warning – certainly he was affectionate, but nowhere near as much as Perrault, pawning at random strangers was usually not the first thing on his mind. Surely keeping his hands off of one would not be much of a hardship. His nonchalance regarding the matter lasted exactly until the moment of meeting the man in question. René Giraud was on the shorter end of average height, thin and tired looking and, at least in Nicolas’ humble opinion, utterly adorable. He had fluffy, white-blond hair and big, pensive blue eyes.

They did not get to talk too much that first day – as Nicolas later learned this was not simply because Perrault and his friend Alain Clavier dominated every single conversation they took part in, but also because of Giraud’s own quiet nature. Still, all through the evening Nicolas kept sneaking glances at the man and, to his immense satisfaction, found himself being watched in turn. Just before the company disbanded for the night, Giraud sidled up to him. He cocked his head to the side and spoke, eyes fixed on the floor:

‘What do you call a medical-minded dog?’

Caught off guard, Nicolas scratched his beard.

‘I have no idea. What indeed?’

‘Un physi-chien*’

Nicolas blinked. For a moment he was not sure if he truly heard what he did, but René was watching him expectantly out of the corner of his eye. Nicolas’ big body began to shake and soon he was howling with laughter. Giraud, proud of his work, bounced on his heels and smiled, blushing with joy. Nicolas raised his hand to clap him on the back, but caught himself in time and hastily showed his fist into his pocket.

He wiped off his tears. That was it. He needed to win his René-touching privileges as soon as possible.

***

It was the end of May, but the weather resembled the worst of August and Nicolas was painfully stuck. Again. His serialised novel was running out of pre-written chapters at an alarming rate, he needed to catch up with it and soon. He could practically feel his editor breathing down his neck. He was sating at a blank page. In fact, he had been doing just that for the last half an hour, but the words stubbornly refused to manifest. With a deep sigh of defeat he donned his lightest coat and hat. If inspiration would not come on its own, the best he could do was to try and seek it out. After a brief consideration he headed to the Louvre.

He regretted his decision to leave the flat the moment he stepped out of his building. The streets were scorching hot, vibrating above the cobblestones. Dust filled the air and the sun was so blinding, that without the straw hat to protect his eyes, Nicolas doubted he would be able to see a thing. Still, he steeled himself and faced the inferno of the city.

He was richly rewarded for his effort – the inside of the museum was shady and blessedly cool. Few people took the effort or had the time to drag themselves here at his hour, so it was also mostly deserted. He sighed again, this time in relief, and was about to zone out and let himself get lost in the centuries of art surrounding him, when out of the corner of his eye he spotted a familiar mop of blond hair. René Giraud was sitting on a bench, an open notebook in his hands, though when Nicolas stepped closer he noticed he was staring at his feet rather than at the pages. He started when Nicolas greeted him.

‘Ah, hello there, Monsieur Barré! I mean. Nicolas.’

Nicolas smiled and plopped down beside him. He was pleased René was finally gave up on the formal ‘you’ with him, even if he still called him by his surname sometimes.

‘You must be quite the patron of arts to cross the city on such a wretched day just to look at pictures! Or are you, like me, in need of inspiration for something?’

‘Neither, I’m afraid’ René answered. He kept his gaze on his notebook. When they first met Nicolas wondered if he did this because he did not like him or was especially flustered in his presence, but had since come to learn that this was simply something he did with everyone. Avert his eyes or, remembering that you ought to look people in the eye, fix his unblinking gaze upon you.

‘I am here exactly because the day is wretched’ René went on ‘My quarters are unbearable and so are the streets. Everything seems to be so much more intense in this horrible weather. The people are loud and irritable and they stink. I stink, the horses stink, I can barely see, everything is bleached white by the sun, even the sky. It’s either white or that unsettling shade of lilac.’

‘Lilac? I never noticed that.’

‘It is though. A pale lilac. I find it deeply disturbing. Here though…’ he looked up ‘Here it’s cool and quiet and the smells are subdued. I like this place.’

‘Still, it must be boring to just sit here. Walk with me?’

Nicolas thought of offering his hand as they got up, but René was on his feet before him. They wandered the halls in silence for a while. Nicolas knew his friend was not exactly loquacious, but he wondered if this silence was stretching too far. Testing the waters, next time he spotted a particularly interesting painting he stopped before it and quietly started to explain what he knew about it. With others, he tried to guess what the artist might have meant, making up stories on the spot, one wilder and more colourful than the rest. René mostly kept quiet, but seemed to be enjoying himself none the less. Every now and then he inserted his own small remarks or chuckled lightly at Nicolas’ jokes. Encouraged by this, Nicolas was gaining momentum, spinning one astounding, ridiculous tale after the other, compensating for the low voice he kept with sweeping gestures and exaggerated expressions. Soon René was pressing his hand against his mouth, his whole body shaking with the laughter he desperately fought to hold in.

And then he froze.

His smile faltered and slowly disappeared as something behind Nicolas caught his eyes. Nicolas turned, following his gaze.

They were standing in front of a large painting. The canvas was populated by a crowd of figures, faces and bodies contorted by the pain of grief. In the centre, a male figure, a warrior, cradling the body of his fallen companion, face twisted into a mask of anguish.

‘Achilles and Patroclus.’ René whispered.

Nicolas nodded. He waited for his friend to turn away and move on, but he seemed to be hypnotised by the painting. They stood there in silence for a long while, before René finally spoke again.

‘I envy him, in a way.’

‘Who? I cannot for the life of me think of a single enviable character in that story.’

‘Patroclus. How much Achilles loved him, unashamed. He was no dirty little secret.’

It took the both of them a moment to fully realise what he just said. René, scrambling to save face, blushing so fiercely it was visible even in the dim light of the museum, and rushed to continue:

‘I-I mean it’s a touching story no matter how you look at it, I mean, anyone would be grateful for such loyalty from a friend…’

Nicolas took a deep breath and, momentarily forgetting himself, laid a hand on René’s arm. The little engineer froze. Nicolas quickly released him.

‘I understand.’

René peered up at him from under his curls.

‘Do you? Truly?’

Blood was rushing into Nicolas’ face and he suddenly felt very light and somehow detached from his body, as if he was watching the conversation from afar. Still, his friend laid his soul bare before him, if only on accident, he had to know he was not alone.

‘I do. I understand what you meant.’

René kept his big eyes fixed on him for a moment then slowly, so slowly, reached out and laid his hand on his arm. Nicolas’ heart leapt to his throat – carefully he raised his own had and covered René’s with it. They held the connection for a second before René stepped back. He cleared his throat.

‘I must be going now, I have some plans I need to double check. Thank you for this afternoon.’

‘My pleasure’ said Nicolas, eyes fixed on his toes ‘See you back at our café?’

‘Yes. Yes, certainly.’

***

Nicolas wondered if things will change between them and indeed, there was a small but noticable shift in their interactions. Nothing dramatic – unlike Augustin, Nicolas still was not allowed to just walk up to René and cuddle him. Though of course he never tried. Still, at least René would now touch him every now and then. Nothing too personal or overly familiar, rather he simply did not go out of his way anymore to avoid contact. Nicolas tried a little bit of flirting but as the engineer did not respond – or even seemed to notice his attempts – he soon ceased.

It was now July, and Nicolas was in the middle of revising his latest chapter (or more precisely re-arranging the bookshelves while thinking very hard about how he should be revising said chapter) when the knock came. He left the bookshelf somewhat begrudgingly – he was hard at work, creating, how dare people hinder his genius! – and went to answer it, grumbling all the way. He schooled his features into what he hoped was a polite but slightly haughty expression and he opened the door.

The corridor was empty.

Nicolas rolled his eyes – was the half a minute it took him to get to the door truly too long a wait for his visitor? He was about to retreat when he noticed a sheet of paper at his feet. A message then? A prank? A strongly worded appeal from his editor? It turned out to be neither. It was a poem. It was not written in pen, but in letters carefully cut out from a newspaper and glued to a sheet.

TO THE LOVE I DARE NOT NAME

FROM THE SHADOWS I SING YOUR PRAISES SCRAMBLING IN VAIN FOR THE RIGHT PHRASES YOU ARE ROUND AND WARM LIKE THE SUN IN JUNE THE COPPER OF YOUR HAIR IS THE CAUSE OF MY DESPAIRE

HAVE MERCY ON ME, O MUSE

He read it – and read it again. And again. It seemed to be a sincere if terrible love poem. Nicolas tugged at his beard. Was this dedicated to him? The mention of the subject’s bodily proportions and hair colour suggested so, but he was still uncertain. Humming lightly, he folded up the paper and got back to work. He resolved to show the strange little letter to his friends and thought nothing of it for the rest of the day.

When he did in fact pull the sheet out on their next get-together, the reaction of the group was, in the mildest possible terms, explosive. Alain ripped the letter out of his hand and studied it for several minutes, muttering to himself all the way through, before he was forced to relinquish it to a nagging Augustin, and then to Yves. René, reserved as ever, did not attempt to grab for the page, but followed the proceedings with eager eyes.

‘Well then’ Nicolas said ‘What do you gentlemen make of it?’

‘Why, my dear fellow’ said Augustin, leaning back in his seat ‘It is quite obvious. You have a secret admirer!’

Nicolas propped his chin on his hand and laughed.

‘Well, there’s no debating I’m a right catch, any lady would agree I’m sure, but don’t you think it more likely that this would be a nervous amateur trying to show his work off? Maybe try and get a foot in the door of publishing through me?’

Yves waved a hand with a little huff of dismissal.

‘Quite unlikely. If this were a poet interested in getting his name known, surely he would have included just that: his name! No my dear, this is quite obviously a love-stricken if unusually daring and forward lady!’

‘A true little firebrand!’ Alain exclaimed.

René remained quiet. Nicolas searched his face with a slight flicker of hope for any sign that he might be the one behind it, but then dismissed the idea. He could not picture him resigning himself to such bold a move.

‘All right then’ he said, folding up the sheet ‘I suppose my best bet now is to wait and see.’

And see he did. The very next day, about the same time, the knock sounded again. Nicolas, hard at work on his novel (he was cleaning his windows), took some time to answer, so the mysterious visitor was long gone by the time he got to the door. In her – his? wake he left an elegant box of high-end pralines. Nicolas inspected the gift for a message, but found none.

Well then. This certainly seemed to underline the ‘secret admirer’ theory, opposed to the ‘hopeful amateur poet’. Smiling to himself, Nicolas plopped a piece into his mouth and retreated. Excitement was starting to bubble up in his belly – who could this be? Sure, he had his secret hopes for a certain engineer, but with all his loveable qualities, René just did not look like the type for grand romantic gestures. Who else then? Nicolas made a list of all the ladies and gentlemen he knew, but found it entirely unhelpful. He had half a mind to drop everything and go seek out Augustin, even though they were not meant to meet up that day, but decided against it. The group regularly met on Tuesday and Friday nights, sometimes on weekends, and it was only Wednesday. Let’s not rush anything, let’s wait and see what happens next!

Thursday brought him a nice set of steel-tipped pens, complete with ink, all tied up with a bow. Now Nicolas was all but crawling out of his skin with excitement and resolved to catch the person responsible in the act.

On Friday he was fully expecting the knock, but he made a fatal mistake. The weather turned damp and cold, so Nicolas decided to make himself a cup of tea as he waited. The problem was only that his visitor was a full hour early compared to the previous days, so he had a kettle full of boiling water in his hands when the knock came, and by the time he managed to carefully put it down without spilling any of it on himself, his mysterious suitor was gone again. In their wake they left a bouquet.

Nicolas snatched it up and inspected it excitedly. It was a nicely arranged collection of reds, blues and yellows. On a whim, Nicolas quickly averted his eyes. He was keen to find out what message might be coded in there in the flirty language of flowers, but he wanted to decipher it in the presence of his friends. He placed the bouquet in a vase and resolved not to look at it for the rest of the day.

It was an excruciating exercise in temperance and patience and he came close to failing several times, sneaking glances at it every now and then, but miraculously he persisted. Still, it felt like the longest day of his life. He tried to proceed with his writing, but his thought kept floating back to the mysterious gifts and the sound of footsteps fading in the hallway.

When the clock finally struck five he practically flew out the door and did not stop until he reached their café, the Poule Rouge. René was already there, nursing a cup of coffee at his usual seat. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Nicolas flung himself down beside him. He looked up – only be greeted by a mass of flowers shown in his face.

‘From your admirer?’ he asked around the clump of vegetation.

‘I’m assuming yes!’ said Nicolas, leaning in close ‘What do you think?’

René regarded him solemnly for a long moment, then looked down.

‘I think it’s pretty. It has happy colours. I think whoever gave it to you wanted you to be happy.’

Nicolas could feel his lips stretch into a grin. He was about to answer but Alain’s booming voice cut him off. The man entered with Yves on one arm, Augustin on the other. Nicolas held up the bouquet like a trophy.

‘Well, well, well’ said Alain as he slid into the seat across Nicolas and pressed a cup of wine into his hands ‘What have we here?’

The three newcomers – all experts in courtship and all the delicacies it involved – pulled the bouquet into the middle of the table and began to pour over it. Nicolas watched in excitement, but his enthusiasm began to falter as their faces fell. After a couple of minutes they sat back and exchanged some deeply confused glances.

Yves scratched the back of his head.

‘Well this… All right, let’s see. The good news is the cornflower, which means wealth and fortune, the yellow rose, which stands for joy and friendship and the blue iris for faith and hope. But we also have marigold for jealousy and yellow carnation for disappointment and rejection. Also red poppies which mean consolation. So. There’s that.’

Alain propped his chin on his hand.

‘It might not mean anything at all.’

‘No no no, let’s not give up on this so quickly’ said Augustin ‘The lady went out of her way to play this intricate game, surely there must be some sort of message in there. So what do we have? Wealth, friendship or joy, consolation, hope or faith but also jealousy and either disappointment or rejection. This to me speaks of someone who was for some reason disappointed in you, but who values your friendship more than her pride and has hope in repairing your relations. It’s simple!’

‘I don’t think that’s it, not at all’ Yves objected ‘Look at this closely! The poppies and the yellow carnations out-weight the rest – to me, that says the sender has been disappointed to the degree she wants to now part ways. She includes the rose, the iris and the cornflower as a reminder to why she started this game to begin with, but does not wish to continue.’

A heavy lump settled into Nicolas’ throat. Still, he tried to hide his disappointment, so he arranged his features into a smile and laughed.

‘Well, I suppose we shall see about that. We’ll find out if she truly wishes to quit before long – tomorrow at the latest. If the gifts cease I can assume the lady truly meant it and lost interest.’

Soon the topic was changed as Augustin brought up a play he was interested in seeing and the rest of the evening was spent with amicable chatter, though René excused himself early. He had not spoken a single word all evening and after a quick round of goodbyes he hurried away without explanation. As he retreated Nicolas could have sworn he had seen him rubbing at his face.

Nicolas for his part was crestfallen. The presence and chatter of his friends took away the edge of the blow but he was sad to see this interesting affaire come to an end. Not to mention he had no idea what he did wrong to put off his secret admirer this much. With one last sigh he downed his wine. Ah, well. It was nice while it lasted.

The next day he all but managed to put his disappointment out of his mind, though a shard of it was still lodged in his heart like a persistent thorn. He tried to concentrate on his work, failed, tried again, failed, gave up and went for a walk. He went all the way to the Jardin de Luxembourg in hopes of clearing his mind. He was in great need of that – he wrote himself into a corner and had no idea how to rescue his own heroine. Sadly the fragrant air of the park failed to deliver any flashes of inspiration, so with a heavy heart he returned to his flat.

He was almost through the door when a flash of red caught his eye.

A red rose was lying on his threshold. Nicolas carefully picked it up and turned it over in his hand. There was a note attached to it, composed in the same manner the very first poem was, of letters and words cut out from a newspaper.

I HAD NO IDEA FLOWERS MEANT THINGS. THIS IS WHAT I MEANT.

Nicolas stood there, rooted to the threshold for a long time, grinning.

Now he was almost certain of his mysterious admirer’s identity, but still, he was curious about the reactions of his friends. When he entered the tavern the company gathered that night he held aloft the flower like a banner of victory.

‘Confess, gentlemen’ he said ‘Which one of you tattled?’

The rest looked back at him with wide, all-too innocent eyes.

‘What makes you accuse us so?’ Alain asked in the high-pitched, affronted voice of a man who had carried the gossip over half of Paris already. Nicolas showed him the rose and the letter attached.

‘That doesn’t prove anything’ Yves muttered, though he too was reluctant to meet his eyes ‘Your lady may have learned of her mistake independent of our conversation yesterday.’

‘But in such short a notice? Gentlemen, if not someone you passed the news on to, I’m forced to believe it might be one of you!’

Yves and Alain protested loudly, Augustin did not comment, merely shook his head with an amused grin. René, Nicolas noted with some cautious hope, was beet red and refused to move his gaze from his drink.

***

The next week went by without further communication from his suitor. Nicolas was beginning to fear he might have scared him (…or maybe her) away.  He was close to despair when finally, on a rather wet, gloomy Saturday the tell-tale knock sounded again. Nicolas raced to catch him, but as usual, his visitor was quicker. He left a letter behind, this time written in ink but in all capital letters so Nicolas still could not recognise the handwriting.

DEAREST,

MEET ME AT THE PÈRE-LACHAISE, AT THÉODORE GÉRICAULT’S TOMB, ONE O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON.

This time he did not wait for the agree-upon get-together, he flagged down a coach and raced all the way to Augustin’s lodgings. Luckily he found the man at home and, upon being let in, quickly pushed the letter into his hands.

‘Look at this!’

Contrary to his exuberant enthusiasm so far, Augustin frowned and scratched his head.

‘This could be very good or very bad news. All through this little adventure I had a feeling that all this is way too daring, shameless even, for a lady.’

Nicolas did not wish to draw unneeded attention to the fact that he was quite all right with the mysterious suitor being a man, so he merely hummed his agreement.

‘Still’ he said ‘What’s the worst that might happen?’

Augustin raised an eyebrow.

‘You could be ridiculed at best, robbed or even killed at worst. You will be in the middle of a graveyard. Secluded, with plenty of places for the members of a gang to hide.’

This gave Nicolas a pause.

‘None the less’ he finally said ‘I want to know who is behind this.’

‘At least permit me to go with you!’

Now it was Nicolas’ turn to frown and tug at his bear.

‘A kind offer, but I must decline. Actually…‘ he took a deep breath ‘I have a good idea who this might be, and in case I’m right, I do not want to compromise this person.’

Augustin chuckled lightly and swatted his arm.

‘A true gentleman! Very well then, but promise to be careful!’

Nicolas smiled and pressed his hand.

‘I promise!’

***

The graveyard was all but deserted – Nicolas came across a couple of elderly ladies, the sort that is a permanent fixture of cemeteries all over the world, but none of them paid any attention to him. Though he did ask for directions at the gate it still took him a long time to find Géricault’s grave in the dense labyrinth of tombs. When he finally did he found the scene deserted. Not a single sound, except for the distant murmur of the city beyond the graveyard’s walls. His stomach fell. Was all this an elaborate prank? All this for nothing? And the culprit would not even stick around to witness his humiliation?

He dejectedly kicked a pebble and was about to leave when there – just there behind the edge of the massive block of the monument – he spotter the rim of a top hat. In two quick strides he rounded the tomb.

René Giraud was standing there hunched over, dressed in his best dress coat and shiniest shoes. When Nicolas came to stand in front of him he made an attempt to raise his head and look him in the eye but the task proved too much for him. The rose clenched in his hand was trembling. He wordlessly held it out.

Warm fondness bubbled up in Nicolas’ chest. He yearned to pull René into a hug and never let him go again, but he knew better than to grab him without his consent. He took the professed rose and opened his arms. René shuffled closer, fisted Nicolas’ vest and hid his face in his chest. Slowly, carefully Nicolas completed the embrace. He took off his friend’s hat, set it and the rose aside and gently ran his fingers through his hair. René was trembling from head to toe – Nicolas could only imagine how much courage it must have taken him to go through with this plan. This courage evidently carried him to this point and no further. He looked ready to collapse on the spot. Nicolas held him tighter and began to rock him slowly, continuing to pet his hair.

They stood there for a long while, locked together in an embrace, gently swaying from side to side. Nicolas nuzzled René’s hair. The heart fluttering against his chest started to calm down a bit. Eventually René snuggled against him and spoke up.

‘I’m sorry about the first bouquet.’

‘Don’t be. I think it was beautiful, artificially assigned meanings be damned.’

René giggled and pulled back just enough to be able to rub the back of his neck. Not daring to initiate any other contact just yet, Nicolas quickly nuzzled his nose. René took a deep, shaky breath, latched on to Nicolas’ lapels and pecked him on the lips. Before Nicolas could react he ducked his head again.

Still carefully, as to not scare him away, Nicolas slid a finger under his chin. René allowed this and obediently tilted his head up at Nicolas’ gentle push. Emboldened, Nicolas cupped his cheeks and pressed their foreheads together. After a small pause he tilted his head to the side and kissed him. René’s lips were velvety soft and a little wet – he was clumsily pushing back against Nicolas, evidently unsure of what he was supposed to do. Nicolas slid his hands down onto his shoulders and moved on to kiss a line along his smooth cheeks and jaw. They broke apart, stepped back a bit – and dissolved in a fit of nervous giggles. Nicolas tried to stop but the laughter only intensified, relieved and yet slightly hysterical. Face burning, stomach flipping, Nicolas wiped at his wet eyes and swept René back into a tight embrace. René flung himself into his arms without hesitation. Nicolas smacked one more big, sloppy kiss on his cheek.

‘Sweet René’ he murmured ‘My sweet René.’

  *un chien = a dog

[terrifying-black-dragon]

A touch like the sun

My secret santa gift for @a-lesnikova I hope you enjoy and had a merry Christmas and happy new year!!

It's a shock what a single spar had lead to, but when life gives you chocolates or something. He'd been training in building five with Yamato again when the guard had come over and asked him if he'd spar with a special inmate, that inmate happened to be Musashi responsible for the incident at the new years festival a few years ago. He wasn't such a bad guy though, and after the spar while the two was relaxing they had a rather nice talk.

That was a while ago, it had been a few months now and it was around Christmas once more. Tsukumo hadn't gotten a lot of money but he'd gotten enough to get two hard plastic shot glasses and a half a gallon of eggnog. He was sure Musashi would of liked something alcoholic but as inmates they weren't allowed to drink. 

Yamato was currently guiding Tsukumo to building five, the guard had become like a father he'd never had. The former actor wore his usual mask, appearing as a ninja as usual but over his normal attire he wore a Christmas sweater, a gift from Yamato. As they reached they cell Kenshirou was already standing there, waiting. The dog guard gave them a silent greeting before unlocking Musashi's cell to allow Tsukumo inside.

"Hey~ I was starting to wonder if you were ever coming." A laid back, playfully voice spoke from the back corner of the cell called as the door closed and locked. Tsukumo smiled, reaching up and pulled down his mask, striding over to Musashi. "You'll forgive me, it took me a minute to get to the kitchen and get our treat." he said, noticing Musashi perk up a bit. "You didn't?" "Apologizes, we're not allowed alcohol. It's just eggnog. But I brought some shot glasses so maybe you can pretend." "Dang....here I'd hoped." Musashi said, seeming to calm down a bit as Tsukumo finished his walk to him, getting down in front of him. Musashi couldn't see him but he could sense him, feel his warmth and smell him.

The blind inmate reached out, wrapping his arms around Tsukumo a bit surprised when he felt something fuzzy. "What are you wearing? This fabric is odd...." "Ah, it's a sweater Yamato got for me. I thought it would be more comfortable against you then the fabric of my usual cloths." he spoke, shifting into Musashi's lap and leaned his back against the larger man's chest. "You're so considerate." Musashi muttered, placing his chin on Tsukmo's head and listened as he heard the seal on the egg nog crack before he felt something cold against his above average temperature hand, closing his hand around the glass and brought it up, drinking it as he heard the turning of paper. He couldn't appreciate most books, those written in bail were few so Tsukumo had started to read to him, the past week he'd enjoyed reading him Christmas books.

This one seemed to be about some reindeer born with a birth defect. It wasn't to far into it before Musashi had spoken up, causing Tsukumo to halt in his reading. "Wait they wouldn't let him play and picked on him because he was born with a defect?! It wasn't his fault!"

"Yes but it tends to be how life is..." Tsukumo said, smiling sadly and leaned back a bit more. "after all you've had your fair share of people being cruel right?" he said, placing a hand over Musashi's while the other held the book. Musashi nodded, rubbing his thumb over the back of Tsukumo's hand, hopefully the story would turn out better. He rested his head once more on Tsukumo's shoulder as he let go of the pink haired male's hand, feeling his fingers in his hair, petting him before he once more started reading again. His experience as a actor showed, he was good at reading, making the voices and showing emotion.

Tsukumo was starting to wonder if Musashi was starting to doze off to his voice as they enjoyed the eggnog, at least that was till he suddenly sat up and spoke again, seeming to have more commentary on the story. "Wait, they bullied him and Santa even exiled him, and now they're coming to him cause they can't see wanting him to guide the sleigh? Who needs Rudolph now." he said, laughing a bit. "They're lucky he's a good guy, proof you should be careful who you bully, you might need them some day." "You should, but at least he's nice enough to help otherwise the children wouldn't have Christmas and they're innocent they don't even know Rudolph at first. He'll also get lots of carrots for helping." he said, hearing Musashi yawn. "Perhaps we should lay down to finish the story." he said, closing the top of the half drank eggnog.

A bit of shifting later and both Musashi and Tsukumo were laying on the floor of the cell, some of the worst pillows the ninja had every had the displeasure of experiencing under them but it would do as he kept reading. As he read though his voice started to lower before slowly breaking off as he realized Musashi's breathing had even out, noticing the built man had fallen asleep. With movements that were ever so careful, ninja like even if he was only one on screen he closed the book, setting it aside. He shifted a bit so he was facing Musashi and wrapped his arms around him, closing his eyes. It didn't take long for Musashi's soft breathing and the warmth of his skin to lull him to sleep, that skin...warm...so much like the sun.

Meanwhile outside the cell Yamato gave a small chuckle while Kenshirou growled. This was going to be a pain and he knew Hajime was going to come here in a fit later..still he couldn't stand to rip them apart, they both had been though a lot and Musashi always did as he wanted, plus it was close to Christmas let them have their moment.

[shitfics]

Ace in the Hole; ontae; nc17 (1/4)

Becoming a personal chef for an esports team in LA isn't what Jinki imagined he'd be doing to advance his career -- but it's a job, and one that'll take him far from things he's been trying to forget. The distance will give him time to recover and spend time on himself. The only hitch in his plan is the Saviors' star offense player, Taemin, who seems all too happy to strike up a friendship with him -- and something more.

ao3 mirror

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Hi all! It’s been a while since I posted anything...part of that’s because of working on my big wip and the other part of it is because I wanted to wait till the next thing I post is 100% done before putting it out there. Once this is all posted, it’s gonna be just under 30k. ^^ As always, thanks to my wife and my best writer buddies @minsunshine and @fleckle for betaing.<3 New parts will be posted every other day until the story is finished.

I think I’ve mentioned before that I got really into overwatch league this year? And like always, when I get into something, I write a shinee au for it... ^^; Taemin’s a pro player and Jinki is the recently-hired chef for his team. The story doesn’t require any prior knowledge of overwatch/esports...I did it kinda like my dragon age au to make sure it’s accessible to anyone. Here’s a shitty edit of tracer with what I imagine their skins to be like. (And ofc, if you want the gritty details about Taemin’s hero pool/who he’s based on/who plays what on his team I’d be happy to answer.) I tried to do my best for the cooking part with research, but obviously I don’t have in-depth knowledge of Korean cooking, so...please forgive any errors.

The room flickers in the bluish light of the muted television. Jinki adjusts the pillows stacked besides him, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. He wants to at least have a chance of dozing off, considering his new job starts tomorrow. But the leather of living room couch is unworn and unforgivingly stiff -- no better than his new bed -- and the strangeness of being out of Korea for the first time in his life would keep him awake regardless.

Tucking an arm behind his head, he squints at the time on the setbox -- 3 AM -- and settles down to continue watching the drama he’d put on an hour ago.

Despite it’s poor ratings, he’d been following the show since it started. The plot’s cliche, the dialogue’s atrocious, and the actors are awful -- but he gave it a try when he saw how much the the male lead looked like Changsun.

Jaw clenched, he reaches back for the remote.

Don’t think of him. He’s on the other side of the world.

He flicks down a channel, then one more, until he lands on the last of the three Korean-language channels available in LA. A music show isn’t something he’d normally watch, but at least the ridiculous makeup and outfits make it easy entertainment...

“I was wondering when you’d change the channel. That drama’s pretty bad, from what I’ve heard.”

Jinki jolts up. The remote falls from his hand to the wooden floor with a clatter that makes both him and the man behind the couch to flinch.

“Sorry -- I didn’t think I’d startle you.”

“It’s fine.”

In the dim light, it takes Jinki a moment to recognize the man’s face. He’d only met Taemin that afternoon, when the manager had introduced him to the team over their take-out lunch.

He picks the remote up from the floor and sets it aside, saying nothing more. They hadn’t talked during their first meeting -- Taemin had sulked silently through the meal and left for his room the moment he was done eating. All Jinki knows about him is the few facts he’d picked up from reading articles about the Savior team.

His in-game name is ACE. All caps, like most of his teammates, which apparently was a common thing with pros. Taemin is -- or was -- their star player, until his recent slump. And now he’s bearing the blame of their loss streak.

Jinki doesn’t know enough about Overwatch to say whether or not that’s true, but he knows better than to bring it up.

Taemin stuffs his hands into his pockets. “You’re up late. Are you going to be cooking for us tomorrow?”

“It’s what I was hired to do, so yeah,” Jinki says. “I’ll be making all your meals from here on out. I’m just having trouble sleeping.”

“The move is tough at first. It took my body a while to adjust to LA.”

Jinki raises a brow at him. “If you’re adjusted, why’re you up so late?”

“I was grinding out some practice and lost track of time. Then I wanted a snack, so I came out here and saw you...” He shrugs. “Figured I’d say hello.”

Jinki stares at him for a long moment, unsure what to say. It’s hard to see the relaxed, smiling man in front of him is the same gloomy one he’d met that afternoon, but he’s more than willing to toss that first impression aside. He could hardly blame him for not being chatty after another loss.

He drapes an arm over the back of the couch. “Would you want me to cook you something?”

Taemin blinks at him, surprised. “Wouldn’t that take a while?”

“Depending on how stocked the fridge is, I can probably come up with something quick.”

Taemin’s lips spread into grin. “Well, if you’re offering...”

“Sure. It’ll be good for me to get used to the kitchen before I have to cook for all nine of you tomorrow.”

With a small groan, he stands and stretches to ease out the cramps in his legs. Being crammed on a plane for half the day had made even standing feel like a chore. The living room is separated from the kitchen by only a half-counter, but Taemin still follows after him to flick the light on for him.

“I’m not really allowed to use anything but the microwave, but I can show you where things are if you have any questions...”

Jinki snorts as he opens the fridge to look for ingredients. “What’d you burn?”

“I never said I’d burned anything.”

“Usually people only are banned from kitchens after they’ve started a fire.”

“I didn’t start a fire -- just ruined one of our pans.” Taemin scratches the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “I was trying to make ramen and burned all the water out...”

Jinki laughs and walks to the pantry, checking it as well. There’s plenty of rice cakes in the fridge, along with gochujang, but no anchovies for the starting broth -- which he’d want, if he were to make tteokbokki to his usual standard...

He doesn’t want to make anything average, but looking at Taemin’s eager expression -- and considering his admitted lack of skills -- he has a feeling even the lazy version will impress him.

Closing the pantry door behind him, he turns to Taemin. “How does tteokbokki sound? I don’t have the ingredients to make it up to my usual standard, but--”

“That sounds amazing,” Taemin agrees, eyes alight. “Will it take long?”

“Maybe thirty minutes, at most.”

“I can wait for that.”

Smiling, Jinki pushes up his sleeves to his elbows and begins pulling the ingredients he’ll need out of the fridge. Taemin circles out around to the half-counter, where several stools had been set up along the edge, and plops down in one of them to watch as Jinki sets a pan on the stove to heat and starts cutting the green onions.

As his knife dashes against the cutting board, Taemin leans further over the counter onto his elbows, mouth open in awe.

“Damn. You really are a professional.”

Jinki laughs. “Your team is paying me, so I should hope so.”

He starts on the mix of gochujang, sugar, and pepper flakes that he’ll add with the rice cakes once the flavor of the kelp has seeped-in enough to make a broth. The stove is on the other end of the kitchen from the counter, forcing him to keep his back to Taemin as he works, but he can still tell he’s being watched.

It should make him uneasy, probably, considering they’d just met. But it’s hard for him to be uncomfortable in a kitchen, and at such a late hour, it feels more like a strange and spontaneous form of intimacy than an intrusion.

After a few minutes of stirring, the rice cakes finally turn soft, and the sauce thickens to the shiny, orange-red coating indicating its done. He dumps out the pan of tteokbokki onto the plate, feeling his own mouth begin to water as the scent wafts up, then carries it over to where Taemin is waiting -- somehow, with chopsticks already in hand.

He sets the plate down warily. “You should probably wait a minute, it’s still hot--”

Without looking up, Taemin plucks one of the steaming tteokbokki and plops it in his mouth.

Immediately, his eyes scrunch up. He flaps his hands violently and leaps out of the stool. “Shit, shit!”

Jinki holds a hand towards him, as if to help, and watches as he struggles to swallow the too-hot piece of rice cake.  “I tried to warn you -- it’s not that it’s too spicy, is it?”

“No, it’s fine.” He hits his chest with his fist and coughs. “I’m just a dumbass.”

“Or just really hungry?”

Taemin grins back at him. “It can be both.” He picks up another piece, and this time he blows on it thoroughly before placing it in his mouth and letting out a small and satisfied moan. “These are good. We got some from this Korean place we found nearby, but nothing can beat having a personal chef make you a serving of tteokbokki at four in the morning.”

With a light laugh, Jinki grabs a pair of chopsticks from one of the kitchen drawers and takes a seat. Taemin eyes him suspiciously.

“I’m not that hungry, don’t worry. I just want a few.”

“I was just teasing,” Taemin says. “You made them, so you can have as many as you want.”

Jinki smiles and picks one up for himself, chewing it critically as Taemin quickly makes his way through another three of the rice cakes. After grabbing one more, he gestures for Taemin to have the rest, watching from the corner of his eye as he concentrates wholeheartedly on devouring the entire plate of food.

He’s cute, when he eats. Jinki hadn’t noticed before -- because of how surly he’d seemed, and because of how focused he’d been on making a good impression with the rest of the Savior team -- but now he can’t help but admire Taemin’s looks. His jaw is well-defined, his smile handsome, and his hair is a plain black that draws attention to his dark eyes and the silver piercings he has in both ears. Though his hair is messy, it looks good, and Jinki watches with a little too much interest when Taemin stops eating for a moment to run a hand through his bangs.

When Taemin finally shifts his attention away from the tteokbokki to meet his eyes, he quickly looks away.

Taemin frowns at him. “You want the last one?” His lips pout around the question as he pokes the rice cake with his chopsticks.

Jinki shakes his head. “No, you can have it.”

With a broad smile and a small mumble of thanks, Taemin picks up the last rice cake and eats it without hesitation. The silence that follows is comfortable, but Jinki finds himself zoning out and nearly staring again. He quickly pushes back the barstool and picks up the now-empty plate, bringing it with him as he hurries to the kitchen.

“I’ll clean this up. We should get some sleep, since you have a game tomorrow.”

“Yeah, probably.” Taemin agrees, though his head is tilted in clear confusion at Jinki’s dash away. “Thanks again for cooking -- I’m looking forward to breakfast.”

Jinki gives him a parting nod before he leaves the room, then turns his attention to the dishes and exhales.

* * *

Spoons and chopsticks clatter in the background as Coach Sooman goes over the Savior’s strategy for the match ahead. There’s no manners among the players in the scramble to finish off all the food Jinki had cooked for their first meal of the day. Elbows bump into hands as the players reach for second servings of side dishes, and squabbles over the last remaining pieces of meat are resolved with hushed games of paper-scissors-rock whenever their coach stops in his speech to look down at his playbook.

Coach Sooman flips a page and looks to Taemin and Joy, his partner on offense.

“We’ll have to be careful not to get caught up in any one-vs-one with the Lion’s offense. With Taemin’s performance lately, there’s no guarantee we’d win that duel, and we know they’ll use that as a distraction to dive on our backline.”

“Got it,” Joy says as Taemin grabs another piece of egg. When he hums happily and reaches for another, the coach sighs.

“I’m talking to you, Taemin. Stop stuffing your face and at least make a show of listening.”

Taemin’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he looks up. “Sorry. The new chef is just really good.”

Jinki hides his smile by looking down at the dish he’s washing, but not before sharing it with Taemin.

The coach grumbles and clears his throat. “Yes, we’re all hoping having you well-fed will get us out of our slump. But we can’t win with our stomachs alone.”

Taemin laughs lightly. “Yeah, but it’ll help.”

“We hope so,” Coach Sooman stands, lips tight. “Get ready to be out in ten. We’ll do our first scrim and warm up at the arena.”

The sound of chairs being pushed back fills the dining room as half the team stands to gather their things. Jinki wishes each player good luck when they pass the kitchen and file out the front door.

Once the team is gone, he finishes cleaning up the team’s dishes from the first meal and the rest of the kitchen so he has the whole counter to work on the post-match dinner. He’s planned to go all-out, with the coach’s permission -- short ribs and a few dozen side dishes -- and has to get started on the marinade and figuring out the grill in the house’s backyard.

The Saviors’ game starts at four. He puts it on his phone to watch from the corner of his eye as he washes and cuts vegetables. Though he hasn’t the slightest idea how to follow a game as fast-paced as Overwatch appears to be, the match casters’ commentary makes it obvious the Saviors are falling short.

The final score is a disappointing three-one. When the last map is lost, the camera pans out to the team’s faces, which scale between stoic to downcast. Taemin’s frustration when they stand to shake hands with the winning team is obvious, from the tension of his bows, and it’s then that Jinki closes the stream to focus on getting the grill started so it’ll be ready when the team returns.

Judging by how much the team had enjoyed the earlier meal, he’s going to be able to lift their spirits with the feast he’s preparing.

The team’s return brings life back to the team house, though the air is tense. Kibum, Joy, and Wonsik pile into the den for a hushed post-mortem of their match, while Minho and Taemin disappear upstairs into their shared room without a word.

Only when he begins bringing food to the table does the mood seem to lift. The first plate of ribs he brings in from the grill pulls the group from the den into the dining room, and a few minutes later, the rest of the team has piled in to eat the side dishes he’d placed on the table and watch him eagerly through the window as he cooks the next serving of meat. Every bite is followed with praise, and the coach waves him over after clearing his plate.

“We made a good move, hiring you. I haven’t ever seen Minho bounce back from a loss like this.” He nods to the tall, lean-built man on the far end of the table. “He and Taemin take losses hard -- they usually sulk in their room the rest of the night after one. It’s good to see at least one of them get out here with us.”

“I’m glad to help,” Jinki says. “Do you think there’s some kind of meal that could drag Taemin out, too?”

Before the coach can answer, Kibum -- who Jinki has pegged as the blunt one of the team -- scoffs. “If meat doesn’t bring him out of his cave, nothing will. I think he’ll always be testy when he underperforms.”

Coach Sooman glances at him sidelong. “Remember what I said about discussing your teammates?”

Kibum sighs heavily and reaches for another piece of cubed radish. “It’s not mean if it’s the truth...”

Before Sooman can respond, Jinki bows out by picking up a few empty dishes and returning to the kitchen. He might work for the team, but he’s not sure he wants to be privy to their grudges.

The rest of the night, thankfully, passes without any more internal strife. He cleans up after the team leaves, hand-washing the quality pans and cutting boards he’d used, and loading up the dishwasher with all the serving bowls and utensils that’d been dirtied over the night. By the time it’s done, he’s exhausted, and he eagerly returns to his single room to collapse into bed.

He opens up a phone game to pass the time, but loses interest quickly, and ends up in his contacts -- where Changsun’s name stills sit at the top.

Against his better judgement, he taps on the name. His heart clenches as he rereads the last few messages where he’d arranged to pick up his remaining things from Changsun’s apartment.

That’d been two months ago: just long enough to forget when he’s busy, and just long enough to remember when he has a moment of idleness.

Not wanting to be tempted into messaging him, he tosses his phone aside and rolls out of bed. He can at least make himself useful by taking inventory of what was left in the fridge after the feast he’d made today.

His room is close to the living room, and the glow of the television gives him enough light to find his way there.

Taemin is slumped on the couch, watching some music countdown show with glazed eyes. He barely glances up when Jinki enters, but still mumbles a greeting.

“Hey.”

Jinki raises a hand in greeting. “Hey. What’re you doing up this late?”

Taemin gestures to the television. “Just watching some garbage. Couldn’t sleep again. I took too long of a nap after we got back from the game.”

“That sucks,” Jinki says. He shuffles awkwardly when Taemin says nothing further. “I’m going to take inventory now to make my morning grocery trip a little easier.”

“Smart.”

It’s a clear end to the conversation. But when he moves to leave and breaks eye contact with Taemin, he sees his expression fall from dull  to something almost anguished -- and against his better judgement, he stops beside the couch.

“Did you, uh, ever eat anything for dinner? I noticed you weren’t there.”

Taemin shrugs without turning to look at him. “I found something to snack on.”

“Alright, but feel free to let me know if you want me to whip up something for you. I’m sure we still have enough ingredients left for a single serving of something.”

Taemin scoffs. “I’m not going to make you go through the trouble of cooking me a meal this time of night.”

“I’m fine with it,” Jinki says. “C’mon, I’m sure you’re craving something.”

Taemin frowns at the television, guilty, but eventually lifts his head to look at Jinki with a pout.“If it’s not too much trouble...pajeon sounds really good right now.”

“Pajeon coming right up, then,” Jinki says. He begins walking towards the kitchen, and hearing Taemin follow him, speaks over his shoulder. “And don’t feel guilty about this, I could make these in my sleep.”

Taemin’s lips pull into a small smile. “I’d like to see you try that.”

Jinki laugh and opens the fridge to pull out green onions. Taemin takes a seat on the other side of the counter and rests his head in his hands, watching in silence as Jinki’s knife moves up-and-down the cutting board. When he turns, he feels Taemin’s gaze shift to the back of his neck.

“What made you decide to take this job?”

“Um--” Jinki swallows and looks over his shoulder. He can tell Taemin’s curiosity is innocent, but the question still catches him off guard. He pulls out a pan and flicks on the burner before answering. “I wanted a change, I guess.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. Is there a reason you chose LA in particular?”

“Not really -- just heard of the opening through a friend. I’d have been happy to go anywhere outside of Korea.”

Taemin raises an eyebrow. “Bad breakup?”

He grimaces. “...Something like that.”

“Well, it’s her loss. You’re willing to cook on demand and you’re good at it. I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t want to keep a tight hold on that.”

“Thanks.” Jinki grins, but doesn’t correct him on the pronouns. Keeping the team in the dark about his sexuality is likely the only option he has for keeping his employment.

Taemin goes quiet again as he finishes mixing the batter and frying the two pancakes he can get out of the leftover green onions, but the mood is still lighter. The invisible weight that’d kept Taemin’s shoulders slumped seems to be gone, and when he drops the pancake on the cutting board to slice it up for easy eating, his eyes instantly light.

“That smells amazing. How long till I can eat it?”

“Just another minute.” Jinki grabs a plate from the cabinet, then arranges the pieces of pancake neatly besides the small cup of dipping sauce he’d mixed as Taemin frowns.

“You don’t need to do that fancy presentation stuff when it’s just me you’re cooking for.”

“It’s habit. And I only want to serve things that look good.”

“I guess that’s why you’re a professional, then.” Taemin smirks at him, not breaking eye contact until Jinki sets the plate in front of him and he grabs his first piece. His eyes close then, in food-brought bliss, and he bounces in his chair. “Fuck, this is good,” he says, mouth still full. He blinks up at Jinki as he grabs another. “You don’t mind me cursing, do you? I just assume it’s fine, since my teammates do it a lot and I’m around them so much...”

Jinki laughs. “I don’t mind. We’re practically the same age, right?”

“I’d think so. When were you born?”

“Eighty-nine.”

“Oh, four years older than me. I’m ninety-three.” He looks up through his lashes as he dips another piece of pajeon. “Can I call you hyung, then?”

Jinki’s voice hitches at the wide smile Taemin sends him. “Yeah, I’m alright with that.”

Taemin beams and takes another bite. The food disappears quickly, as they talk about random things -- the weather and traffic in LA, the annoyance of jetlag, their struggles with adapting to constant presence of English outside of the team house -- and Taemin sits back with a long sigh after finishing the last piece.

“This really makes me regret missing dinner. I can only imagine how good your barbeque is...”

“You’ll get to have it eventually.”

“Soon, maybe?” Taemin says, hopeful.

“We’ll see. I’ll have to ask the manager if he’s alright with me spending so much on meat again.”

Jinki takes the now-empty plate and gathers the rest of the dirty dishes to bring them to the sink. When he turns on the faucet, Taemin circles around the counter to join him and snatches the pan out of his hand.

“Let me help. It’s only fair, since you did all the cooking.”

As Jinki starts on the cutting board and plate Taemin picks up the second sponge from the rim of the sink to begin washing his stolen pan. Though the kitchen is fairly large, the sink is small.  Their elbows bump into each other as they work, making Jinki’s skin prickle. The unexpected proximity is making him notice again that Taemin’s an attractive man.

He clears his throat. “So, what made you decide to do play Overwatch professionally?”

Taemin shrugs. “I’ve just always been good at it. I’ve been pro since I was sixteen, though I played a different game back then.”

“Wow -- I had no idea anyone started that young.”

“A lot of us do. Most of my teammates have been in the sport for years.”

Jinki thinks back to Kibum’s comment earlier that day. “Have you been with them long?”

“Most of the team is new to me, but I’ve been with Kibum and Minho for years. It’s nice, because we know how we all play, so we work together well -- but we can see each other’s weaknesses, too. I think they’re frustrated lately because they know exactly how much I’m lacking compared to my usual standard. It makes the losses harder, knowing I’m responsible for them and everyone knows it.”

“I don’t know much about Overwatch, but it doesn’t seem fair to blame yourself for the loss. It’s a six person game, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re only responsible for one-sixth of a loss.” Jinki flings soap from his hand to tap his forehead. “Basic math.”

Laughing, Taemin shakes his head. He finishes cleaning his pan and sets it on the dish rack. After wiping his hands dry on his pants, he pats Jinki on the back. “That’s not how it works at all, but thanks.”

“Of course. I’m here for stomach and moral support.”

Taemin walks backwards, an amused smile on his lips as he exits the kitchen. “Get some sleep, hyung. I want to make sure you can get up and make us another big meal.”

“You’ll be getting it no matter what, don’t worry.”

He receives a cheeky two-fingered salute before Taemin disappears up the dark staircase.

When the team wins their first game since Jinki’s arrival, he goes all-out. He texts the manager for permission to splurge once the moment he sees the score -- a tight 3-2 that was a hard-won reverse sweep -- and hurries down to the local grocer to purchase every cut of fresh meat he can think of.

By the team is back home, riding high on their victory, he has the grill started and plates of meat prepared for cooking. The weather outside is pleasant, and the team piles onto the few pieces of patio furniture they have to eat the few side dishes Jinki had already set out as they wait for the meat to cook. Coach Sooman brings out what must be a half-crate of soju bottles, which are quickly opened and poured. The team’s appetite is voracious, forcing him to bounce back between the their table and grill to keep up as they consume everything he cooks the moment he sets it down, but he doesn’t mind.

All of the players are happier than he’s ever seen them. Taemin’s hands move rapidly as he recounts one of his plays to the group, broad smile infectious, and Kibum and Minho join in his story-telling to emphasize how surprised they had been when Taemin won them the fight.

The hours pass quickly until the last of the food disappears and the players begin to filter out one-by-one back to their rooms. The patio and living room are entirely empty by the time he’s done cleaning up, and for once, he falls asleep minutes after collapsing into his bed -- only to be woken quickly after by knocking on the front door.

With a long sigh, he shuffles out of bed and exits his room, squinting down the hall towards the front door of the team house. He expects it to be shut -- more than a few players on the team had locked themselves out of the house after late-night trips -- but the door is open, and Taemin is in front of it, passing money to a man in a blue uniform shirt. Taemin finishes the transaction in hushed tones before taking a box from him, then shuts the door.

When he turns around, he startles, nearly dropping the box in his hands.

Jinki meets him halfway down the hall. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to start startle you.”

“I should be sorry for waking you.” He sighs. “I told them not to knock when I made my order, but I guessed they missed those instructions.”

“It’s fine, really.” Jinki rubs at his eyes, then looks at the box in Taemin’s hands with disbelief. “You ordered pizza? After midnight?”

Taemin pouts. “I had a craving...”

“I still can’t believe you’d cheat on me like this after I made such a good meal.”

Taemin laughs. “If you join in, it’s not cheating, right? I’ll split this with you.”

“My stomach’s going to regret it, but alright.”

Taemin carries the box into the living room, not bothering to pick up plates on the way, and sets it on the small coffee table. Soju bottles from earlier are still scattered across the surface, and Taemin reaches for an unopened one to set in front of Jinki.

“You want to drink? I guess you didn’t get to much earlier, since you were cooking.”

Jinki twists the bottle open, then gestures for Taemin to pick up a glass. “Grab yourself one. I imagine you wouldn’t have offered unless you wanted to drink, too.”

Taemin raises a brow, then hold out an empty glass with both hands. “Caught me.”

After Jinki finishes pouring him a drink, Taemin does the same for him. They both knock back their first glass before opening the box, then pour each other another to have with it. The pizza is greasy, but good -- Jinki eats nearly half, and Taemin finishes off the rest -- and pairs well with the soju they down between each slice.

Taemin’s cheeks gain a drunken flush midway through his third glass. He reaches over Jinki for the remote, placing one hand on his knee for balance, then slumps back into the couch and flips on the television.

“What do you wanna watch?”

Jinki shrugs. “Whatever’s fine. We only really have a few channels to pick from, anyway.”

Taemin bounces between the three Korean channels they get before stopping at a drama. “This is that shitty drama you were watching the other night, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s watch it.”

Jinki side-eyes him. “Why do you want to watch it if it’s bad?”

“To laugh at it, obviously.”

He collapses back onto the couch, bumping into Jinki’s shoulder on the way. The room spins, just enough to make him secure about his decision to stay put, even if he should be going to bed at this hour.

The TV becomes a bleary fixture as they near the end of the bottle. Taemin empties the last of it into Jinki’s cup. The now-empty bottle of soju clinks against the edge of the table as he drunkenly tries to place it back, until Jinki grabs and does it for him.

“Thanks, hyung.” Taemin slumps back against him, with his head on Jinki’s arm, and a hand on his knee, and exhales softly.

Jinki bites his lip, trying to ignore the warmth that buzzes across his skin at each point of contact. Taemin’s palm on him is firm, and absently shifting upwards, but that doesn’t mean anything. There’s no way Taemin would be making a move on him. He’s just drunk.

Taemin sighs and adjusts again, settling further onto him, until his head is resting entirely in Jinki’s lap. Jinki holds his breath. If Taemin stays still, this should be fine, as long as he focuses on the television and keeps his thoughts as far away from Taemin’s lips as he can -- but Taemin doesn’t.

His hand moves higher. His cheek turns, and his weight adjusts, putting a pressure on his groin that makes heat prickle down his body. The sweatpants he wears hide nothing when he throbs.

Taemin stirs, turning to look up at him. “Are you...?”

“Sorry,” he interupts, throat tight. “It’s not on purpose.”

Taemin stares. The light from the television flickers behind him, leaving a shadow of his hand as he reaches up towards the bulge in Jinki’s sweatpants.  When the screen glows white for a commercial, Jinki can tell that his cheeks are flushed bright red.

“It’s alright,” Taemin says. “I don’t mind it.”

Jinki says nothing.

“...I’ve kind of wondered what another guy would feel like.”

He looks down, pulse racing. This is a bad idea. A terrible idea, considering his relation with the team is tied to his employment. But his body is already heating, from the liquor and the image of having a hand so close to his dick for the first time in months.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Taemin confirms, voice low. “In my hand, or you know --” He licks his lips and looks away. “Mouth.”

He swallows. Everything Taemin says has an edge of innocence to it -- as if he’s never done this before -- but Jinki can't shake the feeling that his approach was too deliberate for that to be true.

He’s not sure he cares either way.

Slipping a thumb into his waistband, he tugs it down an inch. “If you really want to try, then...that’s alright.”

Taemin nods to him, almost shy, but the hand that moves to him isn’t. He helps Jinki pull down his sweats, and a second later, his mouth is open and pressed to the opening of his boxers. Jinki twitches at the sudden sensation, biting his lip, and clenches the leather of the couch when Taemin begins massaging him to full hardness.

The tease is unbearable. He watches breathlessly as Taemin runs his lips along him, covering every inch of him through the fabric until a wet stain pools from the head of his cock. He keeps his lip pulled between his teeth, trying not to make a sound, but a hiss escapes him when Taemin reaches into the slit of his boxers and pulls him out.

The risk of the situation is obvious -- he’s in the living room of his team’s house, having his dick handled by one of their star players, that may or may not have ever slept with a man in his life -- but he’s too far along to want to stop.

Taemin looks up at him briefly, as if making sure he has Jinki’s attention, then licks quickly across the base of his shaft. When Jinki shivers, he repeats the motion, holding Jinki steady in his palm as he moves up with tongue. The thick taste of precome when he reaches the top makes his eyes scrunch shut, but his mouth continues on, pressing and circling around the head of his cock until Jinki is forced to stifle a moan into the back of his hand.

Taemin’s eyes flutter up to him at the noise. “Does that feel good, hyung? Should I keep going?”

“Please.”

When he places a hand in Taemin’s hair as encouragement, Taemin shudders under his palm and leans forward, lips parted, and slips his mouth over the tip of Jinki’s cock. Without any further teasing, he takes more of it, sliding down easily from the spit he’d left behind.

Jinki gasps - he hadn’t expected so much, so soon - and he barely has time to wonder at how naturally Taemin finds a rhythm with his hand and mouth. Heat rolls under his skin as he tightens a hand in Taemin’s hair, only to release it when that draws out a loud but muffled moan around his cock.

There’s no teeth, and no fumbling. Taemin strokes the half of him he can’t fit in and keeps his lips tight around the rest, moving faster until Jinki is gripping the side of the couch for some semblance of control. The brief glimpses he gets of Taemin’s expression through his bangs is pure concentration, and something about that makes the pleasure already building under his skin quicken its pace.

He grips the couch again. “If you keep going, I’m gonna come.”

The warning doesn’t make Taemin pull off. His tongue flattens out, no longer taking time to lave over his cock when he reaches the head, as his fist tightens and twists to match the faster pace of his mouth.

Jinki holds his breath and covers his mouth, too afraid to make a noise. His cock stiffens as Taemin’s head continues to bob in his lap, and after two more tugs, his eyes squeeze shut as he comes into his mouth.

Taemin pulls away from him once he’s done, sitting up on his elbows and swallowing thickly. He’s panting, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide when he looks up. His lips are spit-slick and red -- and on impulse, Jinki tugs him upright into a kiss. When their lips meet, Taemin's brows shoot up with surprise, but his confusion vanishes when Jinki cups his cock through his jeans.

“Shit.”

The curse is hissed through his teeth as he pushes into Jinki’s hand. He’s hard, all-too-easy to feel through the denim, and wastes no time in helping Jinki open them when he feels him fumbling at the button.

Jinki uses his other hand to pull him closer, until Taemin is forced to straddle him and he’s sinking back into the corner of the couch. The heat and weight of Taemin over him makes it hard to breathe, but it’s more than worth it. His cock is heavy and warm against his palm when he reaches up to grope him through his boxers, and warmer still when he reaches through the slit to hold him without impediment.

Taemin jolts when Jinki presses their lips together again, hips jerking down, but he doesn’t break away -- he crawls further into Jinki’s lap, deepening the kiss as he moves, until they’re chest-to-chest and he can feel the slick precome from Taemin’s cock begin to bleed through his shirt.

One of Taemin’s hands threads fingers into Jinki’s hair as he keeps the other braced against the couch for balance. The faster Jinki goes, the harder he trembles, until their haphazard kissing turns into nothing more than panting against Jinki’s chin. Jinki runs his free hand down over his back, then up under his shirt, enjoying the familiar smoothness of taught muscle under his palm before shifting his hand to squeeze Taemin’s ass.  

Another curse is muffled into his neck. Taemin hardens in his hand when his fingers dig in, body going stiff, and exhales softly. He twitches with each stroke, come spilling from him in short bursts that coats Jinki’s fingers and shirt.

The silence that follows makes Jinki suddenly aware of the television still playing in the background. He wipes his hand on his shirt, and Taemin backs away, breathing still shallow and fast.

Their eyes meet briefly. Taemin’s bangs are stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat from where he’d buried his head in Jinki’s neck. His lips pull in an uncertain smile, though his gaze is pointedly fixed away as he tucks himself back into his underwear.

“Sorry about your shirt.”

“It’s fine.”

When Jinki says nothing more, Taemin moves back, balancing carefully until he’s back on his feet. His eyes flick down quickly when Jinki tugs up his sweats, then up to his face.

“We should probably go to bed, huh? We both drank too much.”

Jinki tries to read Taemin’s expression in the dark, but comes away with no hint at his feelings, other than nervousness -- which he feels plenty of too, now that he’s more sober. He can only hope that Taemin’s skittishness won’t lead to something that would get him fired, kicked out, and subsequently deported.

He holds his shirt as he stands, careful to keep it away from any of the surrounding furniture.

“I guess I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah.” Taemin smiles tightly. “Sure thing.”

[camkablam]

Day Two - Actor AU

Hey, I got Day Two up. Nice.

Yuri was your average freak.

He was small and quiet and wore glasses that looked too big for his face. Every single kid in his year was twice his height and thrice his size. He’d been bullied so bad that his mum had actually gotten herself involved, but no matter what the school did, they never seemed to be able to get it to stop. So Yuri stopped telling them.

But when he got a part in Story Mode’s second season, he’d been certain he was going to burst with joy, shock and downright anxiety all in the one go. It was, without a doubt, one of the best things that had ever happened to him. Not that any of the bullies actually believed him; all he’d got from telling them was his head dunked in a toilet. But it didn’t matter. They’d see he was telling the truth when the first trailer came out.

Yuri wasn’t sure whether or not it would make the bullying better or worse. There were some people who thought Story Mode was stupid, after all. As though they’d actually bothered to go see it.

But it was more than just that. Because Yuri was honestly finding himself having fun.

There were twelve different actors playing Jesse; Yuri was finding it a little hard to remember all their names (they were startlingly similar, though), so he sort of just ended up calling them all Jesse, to their amusement (but it was fine, because they had taken to calling him Radar; he was fairly certain they couldn’t remember his real name either). They were all so nice as well. A lot like the popular version of the character they were playing.

Ashley was the actor that played Petra. Yuri had been embarrassingly excited when he’d first met her (okay, he’d been embarrassingly excited when he met every actor that played a role in the first season, he’ll admit it), but the redhead (which turned out to be dyed) had just laughed and ruffled his newly gelled hair, telling him she liked him and completely ignoring the angry cries of the hair stylist he’d just left.

Lukas’ actor (or Scott, although he responded to both) was just as kind as his character. He’d helped Yuri multiple times when he got lost and always shot him an encouraging smile whenever he screwed up his lines. Which was often. Embarrassingly often. To be honest, he was a walking embarrassment at this point.

But, at the same time, he had fun. An odd combination, but it was true.

Then there was Jack and Nurm. Or, rather, Fred and Mark. They hadn’t known each other before auditioning, but the two had practically clicked. Fred actually had a blind eye, too; something about getting a bit of glass stuck in it and getting it infected a few years ago (Yuri was still trying to decide if that was cool or just really gross). Mark was even quieter than Yuri; and when he did actually speak, it was in a low muttering that only Fred seemed to be able to hear. Which was just downright coincidentally amazing.

Yuri hadn’t really talked to Stella’s actor, but from their few interactions, she’d been nice. Her name was Ashley, like Petra’s actor, but she’d said that she’d always liked to have Stella as her name. Yuri hadn’t even realised until way later that he’d taken to calling her Stella instead of Ashley; the actress didn’t seem to mind, though.

JB was Romeo’s actor; he’d already made multiple jokes about Shakespeare, mostly (of course) Romeo and Juliet. One particular joke had been during screening, when he’d been dangling five foot in the air from a harness, and had proclaimed his everlasting love for Jesse while quoting something from what Yuri was pretty sure was the balcony scene (the fact that it was a male Jesse that was steadily turning red had just made it all the funnier).

He didn’t see Axel and Olivia’s actors all that much (he was fairly sure they were called Brian and… Natasha? Yeah, Natasha), but that was fine; apparently, they were only appearing briefly at the beginning and then again for the final thing. While Yuri, as a fanboy, was a bit disappointed by this, he decided not to voice it. He was embarrassing enough as it is.

The familiar ring of the bell tore him from his thoughts. Yuri looked up from where he’d been doodling equations on the side of his notebook, blinking as the teacher tried to yell over the chaos of teenagers eagerly packing away their things to go home to remind them that their homework was due tomorrow. Of course, Yuri’s mother had been sure that he was on top of his homework, especially with him needing to go to the studio for most of the day, pretty much every day. Then again, he’d always made sure he was on top of his homework. He just needed to make sure he did it faster and earlier than he used to now.

Yuri shoved his books into his bag and swung it onto his back, making sure to tuck his chair back under his desk before trailing after the other teens darting out into the hallway. His mum was still at work, so the Jesse’s had taken it upon themselves to take turns picking him up from school. Something Yuri had tried to stammer his way out of, because he was fairly certain (still was) that they had way better things to do than pick up some teenager from school, but they’d insisted.

He slipped out the front doors, pausing at the top of the stairs so he could see (sorta) over the hundreds of teenage heads, trying to spot Jesse’s car. He swore that they all shared one car, because he was sure it was the same one every time. Either that, or there were twelve identical cars parked in the studios parking lot. He wasn’t sure which theory was funnier.

He must have been lingering too long. Maybe he’d been blocking someone’s way. Or maybe they’d just decided the average little freak standing on the edge of the stairs had just been too good an opportunity to pass up.

He supposed it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that one moment he was standing there, and the next he was lying at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at the clouded sky in a daze. It was a considerably blurry sky. Where had his glasses gone? They were supposed to keep things from being blurry.

There was quiet laughter. Yuri groaned, pushing himself up and fingering the throbbing area where the back of his skull had met concrete with a grimace. His fingers came away wet with blood.

The laughing continued. Yuri looked to the top of the stairs, wincing again when he spotted the blurry figures of some of his particularly harsh bullies. Realising that almost everyone else had stopped to stare at him, Yuri ducked his head, heat rising to his cheeks. Spotting what he hoped were his glasses, Yuri reached out, half blind- a foot came out of nowhere and kicked them away. The laughing got louder. The uncomfortable heat crawled further up his neck.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Yuri’s head snapped around, somewhat useless eyes widening as his heart sank to his stomach. A blurry figure stood a few feet away, distinguishable from all the other blurs from the way they were inching away from them. But he didn’t need to see them to recognise their voice.

Jesse. Well, one of the Jesse’s. They must have seen what had happened from the car.

If Yuri had thought everything about him was embarrassing before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

Jesse marched forward, bending down to help Yuri to his feet. The laughing had stopped, but he had much preferred it when compared to Jesse seeing him get shoved down a set of stairs. They turned to him, close enough that Yuri could see the frown on their brow.

“Are you okay?”

Too mortified to speak, Yuri nodded. Jesse’s frown deepened, but they didn’t push, instead turning their attention to the teens still standing at the top of the stairs.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It was an accident,” one muttered, a tad weakly. Yuri could practically hear the sneer on Jesse’s face.

“Didn’t look like an accident,” they said; so they had been watching. Fantastic. “In fact, looked pretty damn deliberate to me.”

They didn’t answer. After a moment, Jesse scoffed, before bending down to scoop up what Yuri assumed were his glasses. The actor shot the teens one last glare, before wrapping their arm around Yuri’s shoulders and beginning to guide him away.

“C’mon, Radar,” they muttered, handing him his glasses. Yuri took them in silent thanks and slipped them back onto his face.

Neither he nor Jesse said anything as they slipped into the car, or as Jesse pulled out of the lot and onto the road. Yuri kept his eyes glued to his knees, unwilling to look at the older actor. The back of his head continued to throb.

After a few moments of tense silence, the boy swallowed, finally dragging his fingers up to prod carefully at the back of his hair. It was still wet and sticky, and that blood was going to be hard to get out of his hair if it dried in, and just ow. Why did they have to do that? Why did it have to be then? Why couldn’t they have done it when Jesse wasn’t looking?

Angry, embarrassed tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He blinked hastily, unwilling to cry in front of his hero. He’d already been shoved down a flight of stairs in front of them. He didn’t need them to see him cry about it too.

“Radar?”

He jumped, hand jerking from where it had still been prodding at the back of his head. Jesse frowned at him, still keeping one eye on the road.

“You okay, pal?�� Jesse’s eyes trailed over to his hand, widening as they came to his blood coated fingers, “Is that from your head?”

Yuri swallowed. He wanted to wipe his hand on something, but he’d rather not get blood on his clothes and he wasn’t about to wipe that, of all things, all over his co-worker's car. “Um, ye- yeah.”

Jesse frowned, turning their eyes back to the road as they reached a round-a-bout, “We’ll get you patched up when we get to the studio.”

The boy nodded. With the amount of action that takes place in Story Mode, there was a lot of stunt stuff and heavy equipment with the potential to horribly injure someone. So medical supplies were often kept handy.

They shifted into silence. After a moment of hesitation, Jesse broke it.

“Does this happen often?”

“Does what happen often?”

“Radar.”

Yuri sighed; it had been a weak attempt anyway, “Yeah. But- But it’s fine, I’m used to it by now.”

Jesse stared at him. Of course, they were only able to do so for a moment before they had to snap their attention back to the road, unless they wanted to crash.

“What do you mean you’re used to it?”

Yuri shrugged, “It’s been going on for years. I told my mum and the school, but they weren’t able to really stop it. So I just stopped telling them. I think they’re under the impression that it’s stopped.”

Jesse was silent. They didn’t really seem sure what to say. Finally, they grunted.

“I don’t understand people,” they admitted, “What do they gain from hurting you?”

“I dunno,” Yuri admitted quietly, “Maybe it’s their way of desperately trying to find something they can actually control.”

Jesse huffed, “Maybe. Either that or they’re just jerks.”

Yuri’s lips twitched. The silence returned, but it was a bit more comfortable this time. He dug some tissues out of his bag (because allergy season was, unfortunately, upon them) to press again the back of his head. They were just turning into the studio’s parking lot when Jesse spoke again.

“The other Jesse’s are hearing about this, just so you know.”

“What? Wait, no, I don’t think that’s-”

“Sorry, buddy. Jesse’s tell each other everything.”

Yuri groaned. But he couldn’t have helped the little smile that twitched onto his lips even if he’d tried.

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Shadow Over Seventh Heaven Review, Part II: Jenny Wren and Richard Redbreast

Image source: “Da Luna et Ramsès- Doberman – Frère et Sœur -” by ERAL. Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.0 license.

Welcome back to my review series for Shadow Over Seventh Heaven, the second novel by Ian Martin, original headwriter for Strange Paradise and second most prolific writer for CBS Radio Mystery Theater, published under the name of his second wife Joen Arliss. It’s been two and a half weeks, and I have been dying to go back to recapping this not-quite-rare-but-close piece of Martiniana.

In Part I, we learned of the late April Tennant, legendary star of the silver screen, whose glamorous life ended suddenly when she fell from the cliffs on her home estate of San Rafael. We also learned of her husband Richard Morgan, a legendary actor in his own right, and met his overly attached sister Lisa, who is not pleased by his recent remarriage, and Chita, their very Raxl-esque servant who clings to April’s memory. In this installment, we will meet Richard and his new wife, Jenny, themselves as they return from the Philippines to the former Spanish mission which may or may not be haunted by the spirit of his first wife.

Chapter 3

We open with our heroine, Jenny (née Summers), and her new husband Richard at the Manila International Airport, where paparazzi are hounding them. “She had seen [crowds] at fiestas, at rallies for President Marcos or even his opponents [1], at rush hours, church holidays, national holidays. The Philippine Islands abounded in inland fish, and in rice, but most of all, in people. But she had never seen a crowd quite like this” (p. 22). She is a little frightened, but Richard, for whom this is apparently a regular occurrence, tells her to keep moving until they get through the sea of people--which, given the current circumstances around the globe, sounds like a nightmare even though this book takes place about forty years ago.

A reporter starts to interview her and reminds her, almost right after their marriage, that she is replacing the legendary April Tennant:

“Mrs. Morgan--you are the envy of most every woman in the world as well as here in the Philippines. How does it feel to be Mrs. Richard Morgan the second?”

“You don’t have to answer,” Richard said protectively.

“But I want to,” she said. “It feels marvelous! I’m the luckiest woman in the world!”

“Aren’t you a little afraid?” the young man persisted.

Jenny wasn’t going to admit that to a stranger.

“Why should I be afraid?” she said.

“You are replacing a very exceptional woman.”

Now the noose of fear tightened around her neck, so that momentarily she could not answer. It was Richard who did for her.

“My first wife is dead,” he said with barely repressed anger. “For God’s sake let April rest in peace. For her own sake as well as ours. Now please--we have a plane to catch” (p. 23).

They leave him and hounding turns to harassing as rabid Richard Morgan fans begin reaching for them, tearing off pieces of her collar and the Filipino-style flower appliqué on her skirt and stealing Richard’s pocket square. “It was a good-natured, adulating adoring crowd,” the narration insists, “but like every mass of humanity, a possibly dangerous and uncontrollable force” (pp. 23-24). Sorry, narrator, but to me, it still sounds like a COVID nightmare--literally. I’ve had nightmares about this kind of thing for months. Generally, I try to avoid writing about current events on here because I don’t consider it appropriate for a blog about escapist Gothic melodrama, but this scene reminds me of some of my recent dreams.

Anyhow, the crowd and the reporter only reinforce Jenny’s feelings that she’s already in April’s shadow. Before Richard took an interest in her, she was only the daughter of an obscure American ambassador, not even an actress like April. She just got married and already she is having second thoughts, and not because of her husband:

Then that miserable worm of fear began to gnaw at her again, and she so desperately didn’t want to face the truth. But the words said themselves inexorably to her, marching across the inside of her eyelids as though chiseled on some granite rock that revolved before her inner sight, or burned so deeply on an indestructible tape that they could never be eradicated. The trouble is April Tennant. The woman the whole world revered and loved. They only wanted to see Jennifer, weigh her, find her wanting. They knew nobody could replace April--and that nobody had the right to try. Only without realizing what she was getting into, Jenny had done it. For once, she was the big attraction. But they didn’t think she could measure up, and she wasn’t sure she could herself. How had she ever thought she could? (pp. 24-25)

As they head for their flight, a crowd of “smiling brown people” cheer for them to return, and one little Filipina girl even chases Jenny down to give her “a woven garland of sampaguita flowers” (pp. 25-26). I must admit that I don’t know much about Filipino history, but I have trouble imagining that a crowd of Filipino people would cheer on the (presumably white) daughter of an American official who, given U.S. foreign policy at the time, would have backed Marcos’ repressive regime. Do I believe that they cheer for an international celebrity like Richard? Yes. Would they want to wish him a happy marriage? Probably. But I can’t imagine them liking Jenny much, for reasons that have nothing to do with April Tennant.

Chapter 4

This chapter begins with a description of Richard Morgan’s appearance that is an entire page long:

His mouth was full, the lips unusually red, with just the slightest quirk in repose which suggested sardonicism...The nose was classic, intriguingly flawed by some old injury...The eyes were brown, so dark that they were almost black, smoldering under somewhat sullen brows...His hair was a great, tousled, tawny mane, unruly, and resistant to brush or comb. His eyebrows had a fierceness about them that seemed to challenge anyone to cross swords; but this aggressive effect was completely belied by the way one or another would twitch and cock upward as though laughing at the world--or perhaps himself. His chin was probably too prominent, but again the feeling of overconfidence and overwhelming strength was softened by the deep cleft in the middle of it that broke the uncompromising line. He was not a tall man--perhaps an inch under six feet--but he carried himself with the lithe balance of a jungle animal or a trained athlete, and there was hardly anyone who did not think of him as tall and powerful. He was a man who even in repose radiated a sense of kinetic and tireless energy (pp. 29-30).

Richard Morgan, according to the cover artist.

Honestly, I was disappointed the first time I read this passage because he doesn’t much resemble Colin Fox. Virtually the only features the two have in common are the nose and the way they carry themselves--and (if we are talking about Jacques’ portrait) the lips. I always find it interesting how male authors describe the male characters whom others in the story find attractive, especially when said author is straight and writing for a female audience. Therefore, this is likely Ian Martin’s idea of what an incredibly handsome man looks like and/or his idea of what the average straight woman wants.

That, in turn, makes me wonder if this is how he visualized Jean Paul Desmond and his lookalike ancestor Jacques Eloi des Mondes, especially given that most of the other characters (and many fans, myself included) see them as incredibly handsome. Richard does have several facial features in common with John Bayliss, the actor originally cast in those roles, but there isn’t any evidence to suggest that their resemblance is anything more than a coincidence.[2]

The SP character whose appearance Richard’s description most closely matches, the Reverend Matthew Dawson. Lacks the unruly tawny hair and the sardonic lips and doesn’t carry himself like Richard, but the eyes are similar and they have the same chin. Not ugly (Dan MacDonald was better-looking IMO than the guy on the cover), but also not my idea of male perfection.

While relaxing on the plane, Jenny allows herself the luxury of thinking about herself instead of Matt Dawson’s tawny-haired twin. We learn that her name isn’t actually Jennifer--which contradicts the passage above where she calls herself that--but just Jenny, and that her parents named her after Jenny Wren from the (surprisingly dark) nursery rhyme “The Wedding of Robin Redbreast and Jenny Wren.” She relates in particular to the part where the wren says “I must wear my plain brown gown / And never go too fine,” because she dislikes not just putting on airs, but thinking about herself, period, which she attributes  to her strict upbringing. She’s almost cartoonishly modest, which is pretty typical of Gothic ingenues and of Linda Barclay, the protagonist of Martin’s earlier “romantic suspense” book, Nightmare’s Nest, who was even more so.

We flash back to the evening she met Richard, who was apparently an old friend of Nene Ilusorio, one of her late father’s friends who became her close companion following his death in a helicopter crash. At that time, April was not yet dead, so Richard had to keep his dates with Jenny secret. They traveled out to the mountains together, where she showed him the rice paddies the locals constructed on the mountains with their irrigation system and where he won her heart by quoting Robert Burns’ poem “My Heart’s in the Highlands.” Apparently women find men who like Robert Burns irresistible, at least according to this and the Kitty Soames storyline on Dark Shadows. I can’t confirm, though, because no man has ever quoted Burns to me or given me a book of his poems.

Chapter 5

A filler chapter about Jenny and Richard’s flight from Honolulu (where they had a layover) to San Francisco. I got excited at one point when Richard said, “We had a picture half done that had to be scrapped because of her death” (p. 46), thinking at first that he was referring to the portrait and being reminded of two certain other portraits of a certain character from Strange Paradise. But then I realized, no, he means “picture” as in “movie,” not as in “painting,” and got disappointed. We also learn that Richard has an encyclopedic knowledge of all the classic poets and playwrights, not just Robert Burns. In a flashback, Richard recites Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poem “How do I love thee?” for her in his amazing voice, leaving her “drunk on love” and “drunk on all [the poets to whom he introduced her]” (p. 54). If he sounds anything like Colin, I can understand why she’s so seduced by him reading poetry. Even so, if I were her, I wouldn’t be able to get past the fact that he’s quoting other people instead of using his own words to convey his love. If Jean Paul could come up with something new to say to his frozen wife four days a week for a month, then surely Richard can as well. He's just being lazy--or is he? The back cover (”WHAT LAY BEHIND THE MASK OF LOVE?”) hints at some possible deception on his part.

Chapter 6

Jenny and Richard arrive back in California, and the story starts to pick up again.  This is roughly where “Here Goes the Bride” begins, not counting the teaser at the beginning. They are driving along the Pacific shore in a red Mercedes  without air conditioning, and Richard refuses to let her roll the windows down because he doesn’t want anyone to recognize him. He angsts for a while about how, even though actors like him need the audience in order to live and “for the magic to come alive,” the audience has become increasingly like “a great, crouching tiger...a creature of emotion and whim that can turn on you suddenly and get completely beyond your control” (p. 59). He rants about how April’s fans worshiped her and made almost a cult around her, and about how they will most likely go ballistic if they see him with another woman instead of playing “the high priest, ascetic, mourning, forever dedicated to her memory” (p. 60). By driving the car with the windows up, he hopes to avoid the paparazzi and other stalkers on their way to San Rafael.

We learn in a flashback, by the way, that the car is Lisa’s and that Richard had Jenny disguise herself as her by putting on a hat and sunglasses. Jenny asks if she really looks like Lisa--which, if it were true, would imply that he reciprocated Lisa’s feelings for him, at least on an unconscious level--but he says no. Her hair is dark, while Jenny’s is “tawny gold” (p. 63), which I had forgotten, probably because Lisa reminds me too much of Cersei Lannister not to picture her as such. Also, Richard has dark hair now, too? Two chapters earlier, his hair was tawny like Jenny’s. I guess this book’s editor didn’t notice the continuity error--not that it was that important, anyway.

The woman on the cover, most likely Jenny.

While waiting for Juan to open the gates, Jenny stares in awe at the fortifications surrounding the estate--which, as you may recall from Chapter 1, Richard had built around the estate, allegedly to keep his and April’s rabid fans out, and even added the broken glass himself. “It’s like a fortress--barbed wire, broken glass,” she exclaims. “And the gate looks as though you borrowed it from the Bastille!” The mention of the Bastille reads like subtle foreshadowing of a later reveal, but, per my self-imposed rule against spoilers, I won’t say any more about it for now. The gates open and we hear Richard’s pack of snarling dogs for the first time, the sound of which makes her uneasy. She asks about them and Richard just says, “They’re our guardian angels. They patrol the grounds at night” (p. 67).

We also meet Juan, “a square-set Mexican...a man of some sixty years, with a sun-whipped face that was as craggy and seared with lines as the landscape they had just passed outside the gate” and “blackened teeth in a dark-brown face dried by so many days of sun that the oil had cooked from the skin until it was tanned like animal hide” (p. 67). Here we have the third piece of evidence of the dystopian nature of life at San Rafael. First, we saw the excessive level of security which Jenny compared to the most notorious prison of France’s ancien régime; next, we heard snarling from Richard’s kennel; and now, it is implied that Juan doesn’t get paid enough to afford either modern dentistry, sunscreen, or a good moisturizer. Combine this with Richard’s refusal to romance Jenny in his own words and his insistence that they drive with the windows up and no air conditioning in southern California, and his behavior abounds with red flags. It does make you wonder what lay behind the mask of love, and it’s quite reminiscent of early Jean Paul and his control-freak tendencies even when Jacques isn’t possessing him.

Unlike Quito, his Strange Paradise equivalent, Juan can speak and often does. Half of his dialogue is in Spanish, the other half in English. Sometimes he will even randomly throw a Spanish word into a mostly English sentence (ex. “They will not be tranquilo till they see you for themselves” (p. 68), which, even with my extremely limited knowledge of Spanish, I know should read “tranquilos,” because he is talking about the dogs). This, combined with his appearance and the mention that he stands “with Indian patience, unmoving and stolid” (p. 70), makes him come across as rather stereotypical. It’s surprising how SP, despite being a decade older, has actually aged slightly better than this book in terms of racial matters--although, given that this book is forty years old, that’s to be expected.

Upon meeting Juan, Jenny feels “an icy whisk of rejection that shuddered between her shoulderblades [sic]” (p. 68), as though she knows before he says anything that he is a card-carrying member of the Cult of April Tennant. He reveals to Jenny that the dogs “are trained to kill...anyone who does not belong here,” and that they will only protect her “if they learn to know you belong” (p. 70). Then he casts a huge heaping of doubt on whether that will ever happen:

Jenny’s voice was hushed and sympathetic.

“You must have loved her very much.”

He lifted his head proudly, the dark deep-set eyes flashing from under the craggy brows. “She was La Senora de la Casa!”

The statement was simple and obdurate. A declaration of faith that shook Jenny because it was so basic. She found herself fighting to keep her throat from tightening up as she answered tentatively, “I hope you won’t blame me too much for taking her place.”

The answer, although delivered with remote courtesy, was flatly uncompromising. “There is no one to take her place” (p. 71).

Richard interrupts them when he returns with all six of his dogs on leashes, which frightens her even more now that Juan has given her reason to suspect that the dogs, too, worship April Tennant and will not accept anyone in her place. He probably wants them to reject her, especially because he never thought to give her some bones or treats to use to win their loyalty. If I were in her position, I would be begging Juan for some good cow knuckles filled with marrow for them to gnaw on. Then--assuming that he obliged--I’m sure they would love me forever.

Chapter 7

Richard introduces Jenny to his dogs, six Doberman pinschers named for “the six noblest Romans of them all. Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Marc Anthony--Mark for short--Cinna, and Casca” (p. 74). He has them demonstrate their obedience to him--while he demonstrates more of his own control-freak-ness--by ordering them to sit, then charge, then shake hands with her. Much to Juan’s likely chagrin, Richard has every intention on making the dogs recognize her as their new mistress, and so he has her give them dog biscuits.

They all appear to like her except for Casca, who is slightly less quick to obey Richard’s commands and also reluctant to kiss Jenny’s hand, unlike the others. She’s relieved to have found acceptance from them so quickly, but Juan has to rain on her proverbial parade by staring silently “with no solitary hint that he shared the dogs’ enthusiasm for Jenny” (p. 77).

Chapter 8

They get back in the car and continue driving (how vast is the estate?), this time with the top down because of the lack of prying eyes. We learn as they drive to San Rafael that April’s mother had it built, something that Richard doesn’t want to admit, but which he makes obvious at least to the reader:

“When April’s mother-” He choked that off and rephrased, biting his tongue for bringing up her name. “I mean, when the property was first bought, some foundations were discovered where the house was to be built; and the architect sold Apr--ah--them on recreating a Spanish mission. It was picturesque, but not very practical for modern living, so when Ap--I mean, when I was married and entered the picture, some changes were made [like the addition of that portrait, I assume]” (p. 79).

Jenny expresses her doubts that San Rafael “will open its arms to [her] and invite [her] in,” and he responds by kissing her, which doesn’t answer her question, but whatever:

He lifted her chin, tilting her face toward him gently, his eyes flickering back and forth across hers, his own gleaming and almost mesmeric as the sun slowly slipped down over the horizon. Then very slowly he touched his mouth to hers, his lips opening against hers as he quite suddenly pressed against her ardently, his tongue lightly touching hers, engaging it, probing and awakening her mouth and the answering touch of lips and tongue, till all the world was blotted out, and there was only the rush of teeming blood, throbbing in the head and along all the nerves to the end, and the surge of desire that blotted out anything else (p. 80).

Unbeknownst to them, Chita and Lisa are spying on them, wondering why the car stopped! (ROFL) When Chita realizes what’s going on, she criticizes Richard in true prudish Raxl fashion: “That he would be so shameless in daylight,” says she. “To take this woman in his arms--” (p. 81). Lisa reminds her that they are married now; although the narration doesn’t mention a twinge of jealousy, I’ve no doubt in my mind that she wishes she were Jenny in that car.

Richard and Jenny get out and Lisa rushes to hug them. Surprisingly, she acts outwardly friendly towards Jenny, who notices that “[Lisa’s] dark blue eyes were penetrating as they took in Jenny in one swift appraisal. They might have frightened Jenny except for the deep spark of interest in them, and the wide smile which she didn’t realize was uncharacteristic for LIsa” (p. 82).

Then he introduces Jenny to Chita, whom she instantly dislikes. “From her long sojourn in the Philippines,” the narration tells us, “she was very conscious of relationships between employer and servant. Not that she subscribed to the sort of feudal system that existed there, but simply because she was an extraordinarily sensitive girl who was responsive to human vibrations. And she could tell that Conchita’s were not right about her” (pp. 83-84).

Conchita, likewise, has a bad first impression of Jenny, thinking her a snob because of her use of Castilian instead of Mexican Spanish. But Jenny doesn’t realize that, instead noticing and fixating on the portrait of April:

Either by accident or design, those were the lights which Conchita had turned on. In the gloom of the hall, the full-length portrait dominated everything. Every detail of that matchless beauty was so sharp and clear that the figure of this lovely woman seemed to be alive and breathing.

And to Jenny, to be warning her and saying, “Why did you come? You don’t belong. How did you dream you could take my place? Did you think I would ever allow you to? This is my home, and Richard is mine. I’ll never let either of them go” (pp. 84-85)!

Compared to the beginning, Chapters 3 through 8 are not very meaty. These chapters are like chicken wings compared to the drumsticks that were the intro and the first two chapters. The main similarities that I found between these chapters and Strange Paradise were (1) the revelation that, like Maljardin-era Jean Paul, Richard is a control freak who is obsessed with his privacy and (2) the introduction of Juan, who fills Quito’s role as loyal male retainer but talks using occasionally inaccurate gratuitous Spanish (the “tranquilo” line). There is a lot of filler and also perhaps a little too much repetition of the idea that no one can ever take April’s place as mistress of San Rafael, so not as enjoyable as Part I or the next part of the story.

Coming up next: We get our first set of hints about April’s mysterious past, while Jenny tries to adjust to life in a house that may or may not be haunted by her spirit.

{ <- Previous: Part I   ||   Next: Part III -> }

Notes

[1] Did Ferdinand Marcos even allow his opponents to hold rallies? As I said above, I don’t know much about Filipino history, but I do know that he ruled over the Philippines as a dictator and tried to suppress any opposition to him. Most likely either the above passage is inaccurate or what Martin is describing are actually political protests, but it’s worded in a way that suggests that he thought of Filipino politics in the 1970s-1980s as more democratic than they actually were.

[2] I did look up Michael Wager, the actor who played Richard in the original radio drama, and he did resemble this description (and was indeed quite handsome, if I do say so myself). However, it would be strange for Martin to have Richard look like his original actor when none of the other characters in the book do. Notably, Jenny’s description in the book as a gray-eyed blonde bears no resemblance to her original actress Ruby Dee--which I suspect may have something to do with the publisher wanting to avoid controversy for depicting interracial marriage, as Ruby Dee was black.

[holllandtrash]

Faith; Harrison Osterfield

pairing: reader x harrison osterfield

warnings: literally none its just cute

words: 1740+

summary: you hated airports and the thought of being up in the air, but there was this nice (and cute) stranger that was more than willing to help you out and make you feel safe

a/n : IDK I JUST LOVE HARRISON AND I WAS ON A PLANE ALL DAY I JUST HAD TO WRITE THIS OK

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to those on the taglist, i weren’t sure if you wanted to be on all of my fic’s tag list or just Rich Love’s so i added everyone to be safe. if you only want to be on the one for Rich Love then please shoot me an ask saying that, so I won’t include you on any more one shots/fics! thank you, i love you all

You were six the first time you traveled by air. That was also the last time you traveled by air. It was a family trip to Disney World and the trip was fun, you'll admit that. The airplane, however, was not. 

You hated every second of it. Your ears popped, the noise that surrounded the plane itself scared you into thinking there was something wrong with it. You were constantly at the edge of your seat, worried that out of nowhere, you'd be free falling to your death. 

You weren't sure why those fears came to you at that young of an age, but they sure did stick with you. 15 years later, you were still petrified. 

For the most part, you didn't have to worry about airplanes. You travelled by car all of the time, and only twice by train. But you had no choice except to fly this time. 

Your boss was flying you out to London for a week long training seminar to learn about the new computer system your company was going to install. The only reason it was you going to London was because you offered to be the one to learn and bring the information back, before you realized it was overseas. 

Once you were told it was in London, it was too late. Your boss booked a hotel room for you and arranged a round trip flight under your name. 

So there you were, sitting in the Toronto airport, impatiently waiting for the boarding derails to be announced. You still had about ten minutes before you could get on the plane, but you were eager for it, wanting it to be over and done with as soon as possible. 

You were beyond tired, deciding against your morning coffee when you woke up hours ago. Thinking that maybe you'd pass out on the flight so you wouldn't be stuck with your alarming thoughts of how the plane could easily be stranded in the middle of the ocean, leaving you out there to perish with a bunch of strangers who don't even know your name. 

You hated this airport. 

You hated the possibility of something going wrong mid-flight. 

You didn't want to go to London. 

"First time on a plane?" You heard a male voice ask from in front of you. You turned your head in the direction it came from and saw a young man sitting across from you. He had a smile on his face and you wished you could be even half as calm as he looked right now. 

"No." You answered, but the way your voice shook as you spoke didn't seem to convince him, "Might as well be though. I went on a plane when I was six. I hated every minute of it. I haven't flown since."

"Ah, it's not so bad," he assured you. It was then that you noticed he had a thick British accent. You wondered if he was on the same flight as you. That would make sense if he was, maybe he was going home. Or maybe Toronto was home and he was going to visit family. Either way, the sound of his voice distracted you enough for a few seconds that your leg stopped shaking beneath you. It was only momentarily, but nevertheless, it was a nice, short break for your leg muscles. 

"What if the plane just stops working and we crash into the ocean?" You leaned forward, placing your elbows on your knees. He mirrored your actions, lowering the tone of his voice, pausing for suspense before answering. 

"That won't happen, love."

"But how do you know?"

He chuckled and dropped his head momentarily. When he lifted it back up you were met with his icy blue eyes, "because I've been on more planes than I can count. None of them have just 'stopped' working. I have faith in the airline. We're safe."

"I have no faith in the airline."

"Then have faith in me." he offered. He smiled wider and you wondered if there was ever a time when he didn't smile. This guy seemed to radiate positivity. He seemed like the kind of person that attracted others just because of his personality, as if being around him would automatically make you a better person, "if anything goes wrong, blame me."

"We'll be dead."

"Then blame me in the afterlife." A single, breathy laugh escaped through your lips and you rolled your eyes, "Hey! She smiles!"

"That she does."

"I'm Harrison, by the way." He outstretched him hand towards you. The gap between your seat and his wasn't close so you both had to stand up briefly to actually be able to shake his hand. 

"[Y/N]." you said back, "So what's in London?"

"The Eye," he said, "the Queen, some really good beer..." it took you moment to realize that he was listing off general things in London that would attract the average tourist. 

"No, why are you going to London?" You clarified. 

"Oh!" He exclaimed, shaking his head at the misunderstanding, "I'm going home for a week to visit some family. Then flying back out here for work."

"What do you do?" You asked, resting your chin in your hands. By now, your feet had stopped tapping against the carpeted airport ground. You were no longer thinking about the large metal contraption and how a single pilot held your life in their hands.

"Well to be technical, I'm an aspiring actor," he told you, "but for now I'm just an assistant to one. It's not a bad job though, he's my best friend so it's not even a hard assistant job. I just tag along and make sure he's alright for the most part." 

"Do you bring him coffee?" You asked, "If I was an assistant for my best friend I would probably refuse to bring her coffee, just to piss her off."

"Sometimes." He laughed, "Only if he's really needing one and isn't able to leave the set."

"You're a good friend."

"I try."

Three short bell-like sounds rang from above you and then a voice followed, “Flight 2350 to London is now boarding passengers who require extra time or assistance getting settled in and passengers who are in Zone 1.”

Both you and Harrison looked at your boarding pass, even though you already knew you were zone 3. You weren’t going to be able to get situated on the plane for another 15 minutes or so.

“That’s me,” Harrison stood up. He definitely didn’t seem like the type of guy who needed help or more time buckling into a seat so you went ahead and assumed he was first class, putting him in the Zone 1 section with the other few people who were lucky enough to afford that.

“Oh,” you muttered, suddenly feeling very alone and scared again, knowing that you’d have to face flying over the ocean by yourself. You were always going to be yourself, but the short distraction from Harrison made you forget about that. In the short amount of time you spent talking to him, he made you feel comfortable, safe.

He noticed your features fall and immediately sat back down, this time beside you, “Hey, it’ll be okay.” He said as he reached for the hand that wasn’t occupied by your pass. His hand was warm, only adding to the comfort that radiated off of him. 

“You keep saying that but that doesn’t change how I feel about sitting in a flying metal container, thousands of feet up in the air over complete nothingness.” Your heartbeat started to pick up as more people stood in line to board the plane. You sunk further back into the chair and the thought of running out of the airport crossed your mind. 

He leaned over and stole a glance at the boarding pass, “Okay you’re 20A. That’s not a window seat. That’s an aisle seat. Which is good. You won’t feel confined and trapped and if you have to run to the bathroom for whatever reason, you can without making people stand up. And since you won’t be by a window so that means you won’t accidentally look outside. You’re in a good spot, I swear.”

“Yeah?” You looked up at him and he nodded in reassurance, rubbing his thumb over your fingers. Harrison knew nothing but your name yet he was treating you like a friend he’s known his entire life. He could have ignored how shaken up you looked and went on with his life, but he didn’t. He didn’t get on the plane right away when his Zone was called, he sat with you. This complete stranger was helping you and you couldn’t be more thankful.

“Yeah.” He repeated, his smile was soft and you made you want to smile back, “I’ll check on you. Every hour I’ll come back and make sure you’re doing alright.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you told him, even though you would have really appreciated it if he did. If he could calm you down while you were like this in the airport, you felt as though you were going to need him actually up in the air.

“No, no. I will. I want to. I don’t want this flight to stress you out more than it already has.” He squeezed your hand, “I’ll wait here too, until you can board.”

“Harrison, it’s okay-”  

“Let me be here for you.” he interrupted, “You’re so scared and I know I don’t know you but if I can help in any way then I want to.”

You were silent as you stared into his eyes. Inhaling and Exhaling deeply. For some reason, you trusted him. He had given you no reason not to and he had been nothing but caring since his first sentence to you. So you nodded, giving him the approval to help you out. 

“Have faith in me,” he said, repeating his earlier words.

And that smile, the same one that had yet to leave his face, the smile that drew you to him and allowed you to feel at peace, was too pure for you to even consider turning down his proposal. 

So you sat there, hand tightly clenched to his as you waited for your zone to be called. With Harrison at your side, you pushed your fears behind you because for the first time since you arrived at the airport, you were finally able to breathe.

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