#is literally only evening the playing field of ‘influences’

[ahalliance]

learning about semiotics in english this year was great bc it’s like a baby level introduction to gender

[beginningofwonderland]

Stay Focused - San

Pairing: university student y/n x office worker San

Genre: smut with plot (MINORS DNI!)

Word Count: 12.5k (I don't know what happened)

Summary: Your mother insists on getting you a tutor for your studies. You want to resist until you meet Choi San, your tutor. His sweet talk and good looks make you focus on anything but your studies and you do everything to finally catch his attention in the same way.

Warnings: San is a few years older (5 to be exact), some nipple play, fingering, some orgasm denial, lots of dirty talk, blowjob (face-fucking leaning), protected sex, mirror sex

The reader in this is so horny omg. Just straight up trash for San (relatable). Also very long build-up.

"Good is not enough in this family," your mother repeats to you for what feels like the 100th time. „Your grades have to be exceptional if you want to work in my business."

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you change your phone to the other hand to stir your pasta around. You just told her about your recent test results which of course are not satisfactory to her.

The problem is that you are actually doing pretty good. You never missed or failed a class, you passed all your courses with at least a good score and you had even fulfilled additional classes to broaden the spectrum of your studies. But just like she said: Good is not enough for her. She won't shut up about your grades until you reach 100% in all of your classes - which is basically impossible, especially in your field of study.

"Do you even still want to work in the family business?" your mother asks you provokingly. And the problem is, you do. You really do. Your mother is the CEO of a big pharmacy company and ever since you were a kid you followed her interest in chemistry. You even chose your pharmacy major without her influence. But now that you are taking the same path as her, she is all in your business about being the perfect little mini-her.

"I do, mom. I'm working hard on it, I promise. The next exam is in four weeks and I already started studying."

She makes a huffing sound before answering you: "You said that the last three times as well and still didn't get a full score. You should really get a tutor."

"Mom! I'm the best in my class. Why should I get a tutor? I'm doing great!" You are glad you're only talking to her on the phone so that she doesn't see the way your hands clasps over your face. She can't be serious with you. Getting a tutor with your grades is just embarrassing.

"But not great enough. You know what? The son of a close business partner recently started working at the company. He graduated a few years ago with an honour's degree and seems to be a very promising young man. I'll ask him to tutor you."

Your cheeks start to heat up just at the thought of how embarrassing the whole thing will be for you. Getting a tutor that worked for your mother is literally the worst case scenario. You feel like a high school student that doesn't pay attention in school and now gets scolded for it.

"I do not need a tutor, mom." You state once again but her mind is already made up.

"I'll give him your number and he will contact you. And don't you dare be rude to him, his father is very important for our business!"

You can't believe her words. Since when have you ever been rude to anyone she introduced you to? Your mother ends the call before you can protest any more.

Angrily, you fish a single spaghetti out of your pot to taste it. It's perfectly cooked when you munch on it in annoyance.

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

This is Choi San.

Your mother told me you needed tutoring on your pharmacy classes and gave me your schedule.

I can teach you Tuesday and Thursday afternoon from 6PM. Would that work for you?

You fall back onto bed with a frustrated groan as you read the messages. She really asked him. Now you have no choice but agree to him tutoring you because your mother would kill you otherwise.

Typing a reply you take a deep breath. This will be such a waste of time for the both of you.

Hello! Tuesdays and Thursdays are good. Thank you so much.

You hate how pathetic you sound. What are you even thanking him for? You don't want him to tutor you and he was definitely forced by your mother so why even play pretend?

No problem. We can use meeting room 117 at the company since I reserved it for us. I'll see you on Tuesday.

You dread Tuesday every single day from now on. When it finally arrives you feel ridiculous as you enter the large building of your mother's company. You have been here countless times but you never thought you would get tutor lessons here.

Even worse is that your mother made you go greet her beforehand. She specifically texted you to visit her office before the appointment with Mr. Choi. You walk past her assistant with a polite greeting and finally enter her office.

The luxurious room sat at the top floor of the building with a nice view over the city. Sometimes you forget how successful her company actually is. It can be quiet intimidating.

"There you are," she greets you with a mere look up from a bunch of files on her desk. "I hope you prepared well for your tutoring session. Please don't embarrass yourself in front of Mr. Choi. His father is an important business partner of mine and he himself seems to be a very promising employee. I don't want my own daughter to make him think worse of the company."

Of course she only worries about the company. The idea that this is incredibly humiliating for her own daughter does not even cross her mind.

"Hello, mom. Of course I prepared well, I always do. I won't disappoint you."

She nods at you, satisfied with your answer before looking at her watch. "Then you should head to the meeting room. He is always ridiculously early for meetings so he's probably waiting for you already."

Great, you think to yourself. You hoped you would be able to grab a coffee beforehand.

"I'll go right away. Bye, mom."

You walk to the elevator with heavy steps and check your own watch. It's still fifteen minutes until 6PM so there's plenty of time to grab a coffee before, no matter what your mother might say.

Entering the elevator you select the floor of the meeting room with the plan to walk to the coffee pantry first. Half-way down, the elevator stops on a different floor. When the doors open you almost choke on your polite "Hello" as your eyes take in the person in front of you.

Walking into the elevator is easily the most attractive man you have ever seen in your life. Dressed in a tight pair of dark pants and a perfectly fitted dress-shirt the handsome stranger repeats your greeting with a small bow and a mind-numbingly attractive smile. His eyes carry a little glimmer even behind the round pair of glasses he wears and as he pushes back his black hair you feel like swooning.

You have to keep yourself from staring when he takes his place in the elevator and both of you wait for it to move. Just now you realize he hasn't pushed a button, which means he is heading to the same floor as you. Out of the corner of your eyes you can't help but watch him.

He is a few inches taller than you but appears even bigger due to his broad frame. You wonder where that man even finds clothes that fit his stature with his broad shoulders and tiny waist. He checks his most definitely expensive wrist watch before looking at the display counting down the floors.

When the elevator doors open with a ding, you almost jolt. You were so caught up in thinking about how good he looks that you didn't even notice arriving on your floor. The handsome man gestures for you to step out first with another deadly smile in your direction.

"Thank you," you barely breath out as you step out of the elevator in front of him. It feels like the air outside is ten degrees colder. Without looking back you head to the pantry of the floor. You need a coffee even more than before now that you can only think of that guy from the elevator. There is no way you can concentrate on tutoring now without some caffeine.

The benefit of being the CEO's daughter is having a card with unlimited access to the coffee machines so you happily press the button for a black coffee. At the familiar buzzing sound you can finally relax and take a deep breath. No man has ever made you so flustered before just by existing. Maybe you should visit the office more often if that was the kind of employees your mother hired.

Taking your coffee into one hand and your study bag into the other you turn around to head to the meeting room. Caught up deeply in your thoughts you almost run head first into the person behind you.

"Woah, careful there. You don't want to spill that coffee do you?" his voice is smooth like honey, with a joking tone to it. You blink up at him a few times before you find your words.

"I'm sorry. I was distracted."

The man from the elevator smiles at you and you feel your body warming up from the inside out.

"Don't worry, nothing happened." He looks you up and down quickly before holding eye contact once again.

"Excuse the question, but do you happen to be director Kim's daughter?"

You stare at him in confusion. "Yes. Yes, I am. How did you know?"

He moves past you, grabbing a cup from the pantry himself and turning on the coffee machine before he answers:

"You share her eyes. But more importantly, your bag has a pin of the pharmacy faculty of the university and because I'm supposed to meet her daughter for tutoring on this floor in - " he checks his watch again: "exactly 12 minutes, I figured it might be you."

You are impressed. His looks are already enough to have your eyes turn into hearts but there is probably nothing that makes a man more attractive to you than his wit. But what hits you even more than that is the fact that THIS was your tutor.

I take everything back mom, I love tutoring. Sign me up for another year.

"Well, you figured correctly," you reply weakly, at a loss for words. "Nice to meet you Mr. Choi."

You put your cup on the pantry table to reach your hand out to him. He takes it with a smile.

"Nice to meet you too, Miss Kim. I was going to get the two of us some coffee but as I can see you already helped yourself."

Oh, so he's a gentleman as well.

"Next time you should let me take care of that," you said showing him your free access card. "I happen to own the key to infinite coffee."

"Does the caffeine addiction come for free with that as well?" You chuckle at his joke.

"I think it's the requirement to get it in the first place."

"Well then I will happily let you get us coffee next time."

Next time, you think. The reality that you will be seeing this man on a regular basis hits you.

For a second the two of you just smile at each other. Then Mr. Choi notices that his coffee is done and he grabs the cup.

"Let's head to the meeting room then. I wouldn't want to waste your time."

You sir, can waste my time any day of the week, you think to yourself but obviously keep silent as you follow him to the room.

He holds the door open for you and you settle down onto one of the meeting chairs. You always hated these things. They are designed to make you sit upright and therefore terribly uncomfortable. You desperately want to fold one of your legs under yourself like you always do at home but you have a good image to keep. After taking a seat across from you he puts his bag onto the table and looks at you expectantly.

"So what topics exactly are you struggling with? It's been a while for me but I'm sure I can help."

"To be honest with you, I don't really need help on anything."

San raises his eyebrows behind the round glasses on his nose. "What do you mean?"

You sigh, not knowing how to explain this dilemma best. "My mother made me get a tutor because she believes I need better grades. In fact I'm the best of my year with perfect attendance and an average of 95%. She says that everything under 100% is not enough which is why she must have thought of you as a tutor."

San just stares at you with a peculiar look on his face. He looks almost impressed from your words.

"I knew director Kim could be quite strict but I had never imagined that extent. I'm sorry she made you do this, a 95% average is very impressive in the pharmacy field."

"Says someone with a perfect 100% graduation," you snap back, a little more spiteful than you want to. But San doesn't seem to take it the wrong way. Instead he chuckles in response. The sound sends shivers down your spine, his voice dipping way lower than you had expected it could.

"Trust me, that wasn't all brains. I only know my way around people." You don't doubt that last statement for even a second.

"Maybe instead of teaching I can give you some tips around the university. That would probably help you more."

Now you are interested.

"What kind of tips for example?" You lean forward resting an elbow on the table as you pick your cup of coffee up for a sip. It's still burning hot but you pretend you didn't just burn your tongue as you set it back down.

"Does Mr. Han still do the medicine lectures? He's been using the same exam template for years. Pharmacy students are just to selfish to share the results with the younger students. I'll look for my old exams later to give them to you."

Your mouth opens in awe. Everyone from the year above had told you Mr Han's exams were the hardest and it turns out they were just lying to intimidate you. The competition was real.

"These fuckers," you mumble beneath your breath but judging by his chuckle, San heard you just fine.

"Sorry," you excuse your language immediately with a small nod. He is still an employee under your mother and she told you explicitly to act well around him. Hiding your uneasiness you go for another scolding sip of coffee.

"Don't worry, darling. I won't go complaining to your mother about your language. You don't need to be her perfect little girl for me."

You almost choke on your coffee and have to force the liquid down your throat with an effort. You really wish they didn't but his words made your insides squirm. The amount of money you'd pay him to call you 'darling' again is surely an embarrassing amount. But good little girl also didn't sound too bad from his mouth.

"Thanks," you mumble, not knowing what else to say and stare onto the table to hide your flushing face. If you look at him with those slutty, round glasses right now, you're sure you'll combust.

You don't notice, but Mr. Choi eyes you up and down carefully before he resumes speaking. He smiles at your flustered state that obviously doesn't escape his sharp senses. Seeing your pretty face flush from only these few words, satisfies him deeply.

"Then how about that toxicology class? If Mr. Lim still teaches it, I know a few ways to get on his good side. He always picks favourites and it shows in the grades."

Mr. Choi continues listing off ways to better your grades around your professors. You can't help but be impressed. Not only is he obviously very intelligent but also great with people. Maybe what kept you from exceeding in your studies was your rather reserved nature in class.

"How about this," Mr. Choi finally proposes after teaching you some of his ways. "I'll get you my old notes and exams and with that you will surely ace all your tests. Then we can meet up for these tutoring sessions and while you study in peace I can get some work done. This way your mother is happy and we both profit from the situation."

You nod without hesitation. "That sounds like a great idea. Thank you so much, Mr. Choi."

He groans at your words, a sound that makes you react in a way you don't even want to put into words.

"Please don't call me Mr. Choi when we're alone that makes me feel terribly old. My name is San."

"Aren't you older than me though?" you ask back carefully. It doesn't feel right to call him by his first name.

"If 5 years are old to you?" he inquires with a slight teasing edge to his voice. You don't know if he's flirting with you or if you are just becoming a witness to this man's effortless social skills.

Truthfully, you are 22 and 5 years more don't seem that much to you. Still his way with words and the confident aura around him make him seem more mature.

"I didn't say old. Just older."

He rolls his eyes at your stubbornness, leisurely resting one of his elbows on the backrest behind him. "Just call me San, darling."

There it is again. That word single-handedly turns you into a blushing mess within seconds and you find yourself agreeing without another thought.

"Okay, San."

A satisfied smile spreads on his face and you marvel at the dimples that form on his cheeks. "Much better. Than how about you do some studying and I'll get some work done now?"

"Sounds good," you reply and start taking out your classwork. He could've told you to start stripping right now and you would've agreed without question. Damn you are down bad for him already...

It is a weird situation at first. You are used to studying around strangers in the library, but sitting alone in a room with San makes it hard to focus on your upcoming test. His eyes keep flicking from his work laptop across to you and you don't know if he's interest in the topic you're studying or you.

You yourself on the other hand are surely interested in him and you can't help but steal a few glances at him working diligently at his laptop every now and then. Even typing on his keyboard looks ridiculously hot on him with the way his slender fingers run over the keys.

After about two hours of you trying to keep your eyes on your notes San finally closes his laptop and stares at you until you reciprocate his look.

"I guess two hours is enough to make your mother think you studied, right?" he asks with one corner of his mouth slightly lifted.

"Sure," you respond weakly.

"I'll look for my old tests and will bring them on Thursday," he goes on as he stands up to pack up his laptop and bag. You also start gathering your study books.

"Thank you again," you answer lamely. But the promise of already seeing him again on Thursday excites you.

When you proceed to grab your now empty coffee cup his hands react quickly as he snatches it from you.

"Don't worry about that, I'll put those away," he's leaning over the table now, smiling at you through slightly closed eyes and you can't help but be entranced by his looks. "You should make sure to get home before it's dark outside. Want you to get home safely."

"Don't worry about me, I'll manage."

"Oh but I won't if something happens to you and your mother finds out you were last seen with me," he replies cockily as you two finally go to the door.

You have to chuckle at his remark. "Good to know I'm not the only one terrified of her."

"Everyone is terrified of her," he mumbles under his breath but you are already reaching the coffee pantry - aka your cue to go home.

"Can we use the same room on Thursday?" you ask as you stop in front of him. You make sure to brush your hair behind your ear in a nonchalant manner, knowing it shows your good angles.

"Yeah, I already booked it," San replies easily, eyes fixing yours from above. "But let's meet at the coffee machine here. I want to at least take advantage of that free coffee if I give you all my study secrets."

He winks at you at the last part of the sentence and it makes your insides twirl like on a rollercoaster. You give him a small smile through fluttering lashes. "So that's what you meant with a win-win situation: Endless coffee. Well it looks like I don't have a choice but to be your personal coffee machine."

You want to punch yourself right after that sentence leaves your mouth. How much more stupid could you possibly sound? Personal coffee machine. Saying you wanted to be his personal slut would have been less embarrassing.

But San doesn't seem to mind your awkward response. "Sounds good to me," he replies smoothly. "Then have a good ride home and I'll see you on Thursday."

"Until Thursday," you reply before you can say something stupid again and stroll off to the elevator with a small wave.

As soon as the doors close behind you, your head thumps against the steel wall. There is no way you will get any studying done with that man in the same room as you.

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

Your next few meetings with San go on smoothly. You are always on time but he is still earlier than you, waiting for you at the coffee machine. You get both of you a coffee - sometimes two if you feel like it - and you two get to work in a comfortable silence sitting opposite to each other in the meeting room.

After San brought you his old exams you can now prepare exactly what you need to know for your next tests. But no matter how hard you try to focus on your studies, your eyes keep wandering from your books up to the handsome man working on his laptop.

You soon notice his seemingly endless closet full of tailored dressing shirts and perfectly matching pants. He always looks immaculate, not a single wrinkle on his shirt and his hair always neatly combed back. Even his skin is flawless to the point that you start questioning if Choi San might be a figment of your imagination.

Just like his outer appearance, his manners are immaculate. Like you already noticed on your first meeting, he is a sweet talker. Always knowing the right thing to say and never letting your conversation end in awkwardness.

Whenever he feels like taking a break you notice him starting to talk to you. At first he asks how your studies are going. Then he wanders off to the professors you two shared and how he managed to ace all his classes.

Your whole attention is glued to his lips. For one thing because the information he can provide you with is crucial to your academic development but much more importantly because his lips are the prettiest thing you have ever seen. They look so plump and smooth while he's talking that your mind can't help but wander to the other things he might be able to do with them besides talking.

If at your first meeting you were down bad for Choi San, one month later you felt like you were drowning and he was the last bit of oxygen left on earth. You wanted him with a passion that you didn't even know you were capable of.

But you couldn't have him. There was too much at stake. He still worked for your mother and if you made a move on him that he wouldn't reciprocate you would risk the eternal hate of the only woman that still held control over your life. And so far San hadn't shown any sign of feeling the same way about you that you did for him.

„You're stuck on that?" San suddenly asks you over the page of biochemistry that you've been staring at for a solid five minutes. You haven't spared a single thought on the topic in front of you. Your mind is only occupied by the thought of San leaning over you on the meeting chair, your chin in between his slender fingers as he smirks down at you. You hate him for having this effect on you when you so desperately need to focus on your studies.

You really need to get your thoughts together.

„Oh no I was just getting carried away," you answer, looking at him pointedly with a sly smile.

You tried little attacks like this on him before. A casual pull down of your shirt, stretching your arms to make it ride up over your stomach or even looking directly at his lips as he spoke. But no matter how daring you get you can never catch San slipping.

His eyes stay on yours only whenever he looks at you, his tone is always polite and never goes farther than a casual joke. You simply can't draw a single reaction from him and it drives you insane.

„Do you need a small break? We could get another coffee," he offers helpfully.

I don't want a damn coffee I want you to fuck me on this meeting table.

"I'd love to, but I'm already way too warm today. I fear the AC can't fight against the heat anymore."

It has gotten exponentially hotter over the past days and you can feel it even inside the modern building.

"You're right, it's quite hot in here," San says with a disappointed face. "What a shame we don't have iced coffee. We should get some on Tuesday!"

His eyes light up in excitement and this little sliver of pure happiness doesn't escape you. It's surprising how cute he can be with that shamelessly hot body of his.

"Do you know a place near?" You ask to drag on the conversation. You yourself know at least 3 cafés in the area that sell iced coffee but you want San to tell you a place. Maybe his favourite. So that you can go and think of him.

"Yes, I can show you!" he answers proudly.

"I'd love to." You send him a gentle smile with long eye contact before both of you look back at your work.

But your concentration withers away like the dying plant in the corner of the room when Choi San begins undoing the buttons of his shirt sleeves.

You know you shouldn't but your eyes immediately watch as his slender fingers start neatly folding up his sleeves. The muscles in his underarms dance beneath his skin as inch after inch of skin gets revealed.

You feel like a medieval man salivating over exposed ankles as you stare at San's arms. The veins are protruding in the heat and his honey skin is glistening under the bland neon lights.

Your heartbeat quickens and it's mostly because it feels like you finally found San slipping. Him rolling up his sleeves is like a crack in his perfect mask and you are certain that he wouldn't do it anywhere else in the company. He only does this because he is with you.

"Shoot," he suddenly exclaims and draws your attention up to his face. You catch the small pout that appears on his lips before he looks back at you.

"What is it?" you ask him.

"I forgot to book the meeting room for Tuesday and now everything is blocked. There is a work event next week. I should've booked it earlier."

"Oh," you simply reply. This is even more confusing. You don't believe that San would ever forget such an important event. Is he trying to get rid of you?

"Don't worry about it, darling." His smirk and the nickname has you fighting for air. "I'll find us something else."

You can only nod at him with a smile. Maybe he isn't trying to get rid of you.

The rest of your study/work time flies by as your mind thinks of all the possible meeting places you and San could have for Tuesday. You feel like a highschool girl dreaming about dates with your crush but you don't care. The man that is supposed to be tutoring you just makes your heart speed up in a way that you haven't experienced ever before.

When your meeting time comes to an end and San starts packing up his stuff he simply says: "How about we meet at my place next time? I don't like working in cafés it's always so crowded and noisy. And I have coffee too."

You snap up at him in surprise at the proposal. "Sure," you reply as nonchalantly as you can at the prospect of going to Choi San's apartment. Alone. With him.

"I can pick you up here with my car after work. So you don't have any extra way."

"That sounds good," you reply with a small smile, trying not to sound too excited.

"Then until next week," he says with one of his handsome smiles and you say your goodbyes before you can turn even redder in his presence.

When you walk onto the elevator this time and the door closes behind you, your heart is pounding into your throat. As the realization sets in that you will be alone with Choi San in his apartment a satisfied smile set over your face. Oh you will use that chance for sure.

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

You spend the entire day preparing for your tutor appointment with San. Something deep inside you tells you that this behaviour is ridiculous but you push this inner voice back down as you play your favourite music and get ready.

You wear your hair in light waves and put on makeup to bring out your eyes but not look overly done up. Your outfit was a tricky matter but you settled on a classic pleated skirt and a tight long-sleeve. Everything about your appearance today lands on the thin line between innocent and suggestive and you are satisfied when you twirl around in front of the mirror.

All you want is one small reaction out of the man that you have thirsted for over the past weeks. If Choi San even so much as lets his eyes scan you up and down, your mission would be successful. Lost in your task of getting ready you almost forget to actually pack your study books before heading to your mothers company.

You two agreed on San picking you up at the company's garage. So you are taking down the elevator to the parking floor and checking yourself one last time in your phone camera before stepping into the parking lot.

Having no idea how his car looks like you pull up your chat with San, wanting to ask him where to go. But before you can type your message a calm voice calls you over from across the parking lot.

"Y/n!"

You turn around to a sight that makes your heart flutter. San is leaning onto his car, a chic black Mercedes. His white dress shirt has one button unbuttoned and his sleeves are rolled up again. His feet are crossed over each other leisurely as he waits for you to come over.

Walking up to him you have to try real hard to look casual and not like your nerves are taking over you with the impending situation of being in the same car as San for an undefined amount of time. Your heart is beating already and he hasn't even called you any nicknames yet.

"Hello, San. You're not wearing glasses today?" you notice in surprise and hope it doesn't come off as too attentive.

"Sometimes I wear contacts," he replies smoothly. "It's a styling decision."

While you love the glasses on San seeing him without has a different charm to it. Almost like he is showing you a different side of him.

"Ready to go?" you ask him to keep the conversation going and you're almost proud of your nonchalant tone.

"Ready when you are," he replies with a light smile and walks around the car to open the door for you.

Of course he opens the door for me.

Before you can get in he also takes your bag from you to store it in the back. You want to refuse but one of his smiles finally makes you give in and you hand him the bag. Finally, you thank him and sit down in the passenger seat. The car looks even nicer on the inside: leather seats and perfectly clean. Something inside you starts questioning where this man hides his flaws since noone can possibly be this perfect at all times.

"It's only a 20 minute drive," San explains as he gets into the driver's seat and turns on the engine. You can't help but watch his hands as he manages the gearshift. But as he turns around to look for obstacles his eyes get stuck on you. For a second you think you got him. That his eyes linger on you for a little too long because you finally pulled a reaction out of him.

"You haven't even put your seatbelt on, darling."

And with that your mind is blank. Simple emptiness.

Before you can react, his hand reaches past you, grabbing the seatbelt and plugging it in. His hand doesn't so much as grace your shoulder for a millisecond but you feel like your lungs are constricting.

"Thanks," you breath out before he finally pulls out of the parking spot. He does that wildly attractive thing where he put his hand on the back of the passenger's seat while driving backwards and you feel like losing it already. How will you survive being in the same apartment with this man. San however seems his usual chatty self.

"I'm sorry again for not booking the meeting room in time. I already reserved it for the weeks to come," he starts talking to you.

"Don't worry. I totally don't mind," you answer and regret it immediately. Did that sound too eager? Something about Sam's presence makes you overthink every single word you say.

"I have a fancy coffee machine at home so I can at least return the favour of you getting me coffee all the time."

You smile at that. It feels like this little inside thing between you two how you always use your company privileges to pay for both of your coffee. San thanks you every single time, bringing up how much you save his day.

"I never thought you were that much of a coffee guy at home too," you say trying to get him to tell you more about himself.

"You're acting like I didn't go through pharmacy as well!" He replies with a slightly sulky tone. "No way to survive that major without getting addicted to coffee."

You chuckle at his response. "That's true unfortunately. So you just carried the addiction into your job?"

"You could state it like that but by buying a fancy machine you can just say that coffee is your hobby instead."

Whenever you two talk about mundane topics like this you can't help but be glued to his lips. To get a glimpse of the Choi San that isn't working over-hours all the time and kept up his perfect image at all costs. You want to find out the details about him. Like how he enjoys his coffee or what colour he might like best.

You continue the drive in casual chatter like this before finally reaching your destination. As San pulls into an underground parking lot of an apartment building your heart rate quickens again. Something about seeing his apartment makes you incredibly nervous.

He tells you to wait inside the car after he lets the motor die down so that he can open the door for you again. Even this small gesture has you wrapped around his finger and you smile as you try to step out of the car as gracefully as you can.

San leads you into an elevator and as soon as the doors close you feel reminded of your first meeting. Of how he took your breath away just by standing next to you in such a small space. And now there isn't much difference. He still makes you just as nervous. But at least you can talk to him now.

"How is studying for your exams going so far?" He asks casually.

"It's okay," you reply lamely. "I'm trying my best."

"You know if you actually do need my help you can obviously ask me," he offers alluding to your deal of him basically just getting his own work done instead of tutoring you.

"You've already helped me so much. All I need to do now is actually study," you say turning down his argument.

You idiot, you think to yourself. You could've at least pretended to need his help.

You wait in silence as the remaining floors rush past you. You're surprised with every passing number, wondering what floor San might be living on. But the elevator doesn't stop until the highest floor.

San let's you exit first which makes no sense to you since you don't know where to go. So you wait for him to show you the way to his apartment.

As soon as he unlocks the door and leads you two inside you curiously scan his place. On a first glance it looks almost exactly like you expected: it's very clean and tidy, the furniture is modern and rather minimalistic and the whole place carries a simple colour theme of black and chrome with only hints of colour. The entrance leads straight into an open living room that connects to the kitchen.

"Make yourself at home at the dinner table," San offers while gesturing at the big, black table that looks like straight out of a design magazine.

You both place your shoes neatly at the entrance of his apartment before you take your bag to the table. As you choose a seat from which you can look outside the gigantic window front, San heads over to the kitchen, getting something from a cupboard.

"Can I get you a glass of water before I make some coffee?" He asks you with a kind smile.

"That would be nice," you answer even though water was not what you were craving right now.

He filled one for you and brought it over before returning to the kitchen. "You want your coffee hot or iced?"

"Iced? This is better service than at the company. You should forget to book the meeting room more often." It's a weak attempt at flirting with him but he laughs non the less.

"So iced it is?" He confirms with you again and turns on his electric coffee grinder after you nod approvingly.

It shouldn't captivate you that much, looking at him while he was performing such a basic task as making coffee. But you could watch him for hours, the way his broad back stretches out his dress shirt. The way he moves around so smoothly. The way the muscles in his arms flex as he handles his espresso machine.

You turn towards your study materials just in time before he faces you again, two iced coffees in his hands. He places one gently in front of you before he sits down opposite of you.

"Thank you," you smile at him extra sweetly.

"Anything you want, darling."

You swear to yourself that if he calls you darling one more time you will throw all rational thoughts out of the window and straddle him right here in his stupid designer living room chair. But for now you settle for a coy smile as you feel your cheeks heat up.

To add to your demise, as San drags his chair closer to the table both of your knees touch for a brief second before he casually changes his seating position. The table is narrower than the one in the meeting room and knowing that your legs are mere inches from another makes you even more delusional. What if he did that on purpose?

After that, all concentration for your studies is far gone. It doesn't help at all that the iced coffee he made you was the best you had in ages and with every sip you keep wondering what Choi San isn't good at.

I just know he fucks good there's no other way, you think to yourself but get interrupted in your thoughts.

"Are you stuck on something?" San asks you and you almost don't even dare to raise your eyes to look at him. A kind of shame overcomes you as you realize what you have been thinking about while he worries about your studies.

You sigh to buy yourself time to find an answer that doesn't include: Yes, I'm stuck because I can't think of anything but your body on top of mine.

"Yeah, I just can't seem to concentrate well lately. Maybe I'm stressed out because of my finals."

It isn't fully a lie. Your finals are approaching steadily and with you thirsting over your tutor instead of studying you are indeed starting to worry.

"I would love to tell you that grades don't matter too much but I know your mother won't agree and I will probably face her anger too if you fail," he laughs at the end of his sentence to lighten the mood but quickly notices he only stressed you more by saying that.

"I'm sorry," he quickly retracts. It feels like the first time you caught him messing up his smooth way of talking which in return makes you smile.

"No, you're right. I just never thought about the fact that she will hate both of us if I mess up. What a way to relax."

"I shouldn't have said that," San again apologizes. "I'm sure you will do amazing though. After all you studied so much."

He finishes his sentence with a wink and you must stare at him for a second like an idiot. Did you just imagine that? Or is he alluding to something? Does Choi San know that you thirsted for him this entire fucking time?

But his further actions don't allow you to think much more.

"You look quite tense actually," he continues. "You know it's not good for your back to sit stiff like this for a prolonged amount of time. Your neck must be hurting?"

You have no idea what he is talking about. And your confusion only grows as San gets up from his chair heading in your direction. Every step he comes closer to you has your heart pumping erratically. Even though you dreamed about him being closer to you and finally paying you more attention you are now paralysed at the situation unfolding. Simply being close to him renders your entire body useless.

San steps behind you and, to your absolute shock and amazement, his hands gently grasp your shoulders.

"To compensate the stress from university I took a physiology course that taught us how to massage tense muscles."

As if to proof his words his thumbs gently start rubbing circles into your neck. The warmth of his fingers seeps through your thin shirt and fills your entire body. It feels like he set you on fire with this simple touch.

All of this cannot be real. This must be a figment of your imagination or you actually fell asleep on your study notes while dreaming about San. But his voice sounds very much real when he resumes:

"You have to relax, otherwise I'll hurt you." His voice drops lower than usual and as he gently drapes your hair over one shoulder to get it out of his way you can feel his breath fanning over your neck. Goosebumps erupt all over your skin.

But amid the fire burning in your veins and your clouded mind you actually manage to ease into his fingers and allow him to loosen up your muscles.

"That's a good girl," he rasps behind you and you know you tipped over the edge now. There is no going back from this. You feel like a doll in his hands. His words are electrifying, leaving you unable to utter a single word, to make a single sound. Your mind is running on a state of emergency. Nothing seems to get to you but the fact that San is touching you.

And oh is he good at it. His hands are pressing into all the right places relieving all the pent up tension you built ever since getting ready for this meeting today. If his fingers are already this good at massaging out your stress you can't help but think about what else they can do.

"How do you feel?" He asks. His voice is still low and his tone taunting, as if he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"Better," you answer. Your voice is merely a whisper. You sound weak, even in your own ears, and wonder if he even heard you.

"Yeah? Then how is this?" With his question his thumbs dip beneath the collar of your shirt and massage your upper back a little lower.

You can't help but close your eyes. The low tone of his voice, his fingers on your skin and the playfulness of his words. All of this is so overwhelming you can only lean back and revel in his touch.

"It feels so good," you manage to breath out when you realize he asked you a question.

He bends down a little, his mouth now right next to your ear. "Should I make you feel even better?"

He is quite literally the devil on your shoulder. Everything in your body screams for you to say yes immediately. The unspoken promise has your entire body on fire and you almost give in to your desire. But a tiny speck of reasonable thinking pulls you back into the dangerous territories you are moving in right now.

"What do you mean?" you ask carefully. You know that this is everything you wanted for the past few weeks but still you can't help being confused about his sudden change.

His left hand wanders from your back to your chin, tilting it to the side so you can look at him. The look in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine. His pupils are dilated and he is looking at you like he is preying on you. The intensity is something you have never seen in him before.

"You are far too smart to be asking that question, darling," he replies smugly.

"But you were never interested in me?" You ask back and want to hit yourself on the spot. Why are you even asking questions when the man you've desired for weeks finally seems to be making a move on you? But after all he is acting very out of character.

San chuckles, never taking his eyes off of you. "You're so cute. All these weeks that you've been wanting me and now you ask what I'm doing?"

Your mouth opens in shock. So he did in fact know all this time that you were interested in him.

"Don't act all surprised now, darling. You really thought I didn't see the way you looked at me ever since we first met? How your eyes keep focusing on my arms in my tight shirts. How you steal glances at me when you think I'm not looking? I wanted to see how long I could leave you thirsting like this before you would break."

His confession has you gasping as you realize you weren't even faintly as indiscreet as you thought you were. Instead San was playing with you the entire time. Watching your every move.

"Desperation looks so cute on you," he adds with another devilish smile. His fingers continue drawing circles into your back as his burning eyes keep you fixed in your spot. You feel bewitched by his entire presence, like he has cast a spell on you.

"I made all this effort to get you into my apartment so we both don't have to risk our lives by having me ruin you on the meeting table and still you didn't even have a clue. I'm almost disappointed if you weren't so cute when you are surprised like this." A satisfied grin plays around his plump lips, as if he revelling in the taste of this sweet opportunity in his hands. "Now be a good girl for me and finally do what you've been wanting to do for weeks. Tell me you want me."

You haven't taken a single breath since he started talking and as a result your head feels dizzy. It takes a short moment before you can finally form the words that your head is screaming at you.

"Please," you whisper pathetically.

"Please what, darling?" San revels in the way you can barely speak.

"Please ruin me."

You can basically see the fire behind his eyes ignite as you speak those three words. His hand wanders to your cheek, grabbing it firmly. He takes his sweet time to let his thumb run over your bottom lip, eyes trailing after his own movement.

"With pleasure."

Finally, his lips press onto yours in a desperate kiss. They feel just as soft as they always looked to you, but he kisses you with a roughness that is almost contradictory. The combination is intoxicating. As you reciprocate the kiss, heat runs through your limbs in shockwaves.

Suddenly impatient, San interrupts the kiss to pull you up and out of the chair by your arms. Grabbing your waist he manhandles you onto the dinner table instead, lifting you onto the ledge as if it was nothing.

Your hands bury in his hair as both your lips meet again in a rushed embrace. In return, San wedges one of his legs between yours and spreads your knees so he can stand between them. The way he handles you makes heat pool in your core. San has a determination to his every move that makes you want to do whatever he could want from you.

One of his hands still tightly grasping your waist, the other winds in your hair as he deepens the kiss. When his tongue enters your mouth you arch your back wanting to diminish every centimetre between you two. Your head is dizzy, completely overwhelmed by his every touch.

San's firm hands are restless on your heated body. His fingers quickly find a way to shift under your shirt and his thumb draws circles into the bare skin of your stomach. Choi San feels like a drug. His touch just as intoxicating as you always dreamed it to be.

He removes his mouth from your lips only to latch onto the fragile skin behind your ears, kissing his way around your neck. You let your head fall back to give him better access and when he starts sucking on your skin you relieve a small whimper.

You can feel San smirking into your skin as he sucks even more. It's like he has found your weakness and is now shamelessly using it to make you melt beneath his fingers. And it's working so well. Your hands lose grip on his hair as you lose your ability to focus on anything but San's lips on your neck.

"Don't tap out on me already, darling. I'm only getting started," he rasps into your ear in between kisses. You draw in a shaky breath at his words. Your legs feel like jelly even as your sitting down and you just know you won't be able to walk after San is finished with you.

He finally withdraws his lips and for a second just revels in your already dishevelled form: hair messy, red flush to your cheeks and lips glossy from kissing him.

"I'd love to have you on my dinner table but let's take this somewhere more comfortable for now," he says in a soft voice.

Hooking his hands under your thighs he picks you up from the table, carrying you towards his bedroom. Woken up from your trance by the change of motion you suddenly gain back some of your bite. While San is busied with carrying you, your fingers rush to the collar of his dress shirt. Oh how often you have dreamed of popping open those buttons one by one. And finally you have the pleasure to do so. A soft chuckle makes his chest move in front of you as San looks down on your actions.

"You couldn't wait, could you?"

"Why would I?" you reply cheekily as your hand smooths over his now exposed skin. He feels so soft and hot under your fingertips that you don't think you'll ever be able to detach.

San throws open his bedroom door with his shoulder and before you have a chance to take in the room you are thrown onto the plush bed. He follows behind immediately, hovering over you with both hands propped up next to your head. He lets his eyes run over your figure lazily, up and down.

"Don't even know where to start with you," he mumbles half to himself and half to you as he watches your chest rise and fall in heavy breaths. He decides to put on a show, sitting back on his heels and slowly continuing your work in unbuttoning his shirt.

Apart from his skin being exposed the simple act of opening some buttons shouldn't drive you as crazy as it does right now. It's simply the sexiest thing you have ever seen in your life. The way his hooded eyes stay on yours the entire time while one button after another falls open under his practiced movements.

You are moving on autopilot when you also sit up to take off your own shirt. You simply can't delay this any further. As your shirt lands somewhere beside the bed, San lets out a small groan, surprising you. He stopped in the middle of folding down his sleeves.

"How did you know that purple was my favourite colour?" He asks in a raspy voice. His eyes are raking over your deep purple bra with a desire in them that lets shivers run over your skin.

You can't imagine a better way to find out his favourite colour. You only chose it because it accentuates your skin tone but now it feels like fate to you. Finally, you are getting to the edges of Choi San. Getting to know him on a level that you were craving like the air you needed to breath.

"Good intuition," you reply. Your confidence surges under his heavy glances. Maybe a little too much. "Need help with that?" you ask him teasingly with a nod towards his shirt, which hangs open around his toned torso.

As soon as you speak those words you are getting pinned back to the bed, San's hand suddenly wrapped around your neck. He isn't putting any pressure on it yet but you can feel his strength pulsating around your neck. His broad shoulders are taking up most of your vision and with the way he glares at you you just know that you are soaked.

"Don't get too bold with me, darling," he says in a warning tone. "I'm the one in charge."

You look up at him through big, round eyes, lashes fluttering because you have a feeling that it will push just the right buttons in him.

"Go ahead then," you reply firmly. "Do whatever you want to me."

San sits up again and roughly tugs on his sleeves, finally discarding his shirt fully. Then his lips are on yours again in a heartbeat.

You greedily let your hands wander over his now fully exposed upper body. The muscles playing under his skin feel so good as he buries his hands in your hair. His biceps is so big that your fingers can barely wrap around it halfway. You can't get enough of touching his body which so far you only admired in fitted dressing shirts.

San kisses his way down from your lips again but this time he doesn't stop at your neck. Continuing down your chest he kisses the tender skin between your breasts. When he takes both hands to squish your breasts together, burying his face in between, you lose your last bit of composure.

"Please, San. Please just fuck me."

He lifts his head to smile at you devilishly. The fire behind his eyes seems so bright that you're scared it will never burn down again.

"Already begging for me? You're still half dressed and I'm only starting. Have a little patience."

As he finishes his words, his hand snakes behind your back to open your bra in a swift motion. He peels the straps off of you with a new found patience that makes you feel like you are suffocating.

When the piece of clothing lands on the floor, San's eyes are glued to your chest. Slowly, he lowers himself down again, gently taking on of your nipples into his mouth. As soon as his tongue starts lapping at you a string of moans escape you. He just feels so good.

Without ever losing focus on kissing and nipping on your chest, one of his hands wanders to your skirt. He finds the zipper so easily it feels like he has studied undressing you. He pushes it down your legs quickly, leaving you only in your underwear.

As his hand starts stroking your inner thighs, your eyes roll to the back of your head. He feels like a dream.

"Please San. Please touch me," the words leave your mouth in whispers. Silent pleas for him to finally give you what you want.

"Is my darling so stressed from studying that she needs her mind taken off of things?" His fingers trail over your clothed heat as he asks you in a sickly sweet voice. His eyes are focussed on your face, taking in how you crumble beneath his touch.

"Yes. Yes, please," you whimper desperately. Every touch feels like electricity on your skin.

"Want me to stuff you full so you can forget everything you've studied for for weeks?" He pushes your panties to the side, his fingers toying at your entrance.

"Please San..." you repeat yourself weakly. Finally he gives into your pleading and sinks two of his fingers into you. You are so wet that they glide in with ease. You suck in a harsh breath as he begins pumping them in and out of you.

"God you feel so good. Can't wait to fuck you, my darling. Bury my cock so deep into you you forget your own name."

His words make you shake beneath him. You had a lot of suspicions about San in the bedroom due to your extensive daydreaming about him. But never did you expect him to be so vocal and downright dirty with his words. It catches you off-guard and only heightens your pleasure.

San scoots up on the bed a little so his face is hovering over yours again, while he slips a third finger into your heat. "How do I feel?" he asks with a raspy tone to his voice.

"You feel so fucking good, San," you moan in answer. His fingers stretch you out so deliciously and he reaches this spot deep inside you that makes you arch your back with every thrust.

"Yeah, you wanna come on my fingers?" he rasps into your ear now, lips again attaching to your neck, sucking deep marks into your skin.

"Please, San." You feel like a broken record that's repeating the same thing over and over. You grow closer and closer to an orgasm with every motion of his fingers inside you. But San has other plans for you. And when he feels you desperately clenching around his fingers, he pulls them out of you.

"I'm sorry darling," he says immediately, even though his face doesn't display any regret. "But you look so pretty when you're desperate. And I want you to come on my cock when I make you fall apart for the first time."

You feel like crying. You want nothing more but to come and yet him taking it from you only makes you want him more. You would do anything for Choi San.

He stands up from the bed and opens his belt. But before he can take of his pants, he orders you over with a motion of his finger. You sit on your knees at the edge of the bed in seconds, looking up at him expectantly.

He doesn't say a word and only gestures for his painfully strained pants. You don't need any more hints to start opening his pants and pulling them down his legs desperately. You hook your fingers into his boxers too but look up at him once more before continuing. When he nods at you you finally pull them down as well.

You can't help but stare at San's length. He's big, just like you had always imagined and he was rock-hard. When San takes himself into his hand and gives himself a few strokes you open your mouth on your own, sticking out your tongue in anticipation of tasting him.

San starts gently. His other hand weaves into your hair and he pulls you onto his length slowly. You are able to take a good amount of him before his tip hits the back of your throat and you release a surprised moan. San closes his eyes momentarily as he relishes in the feeling of your hot mouth around him.

"Shit, you feel so good," he rasps out before he starts thrusting in and out of your mouth. Your hands seek hold on his muscular thighs and you look up at San through big and pleading eyes. Even though he isn't pleasuring you, this almost feels as good as having him bury his fingers inside you. All you ever dreamed about was him using you just like this and the feeling of it happening is so intoxicating you feel like you might pass out any second.

"Look at you enjoying my cock so damn much, that your eyes are losing focus," San chuckles. He looks down at you in disbelief as you mindlessly swirl your tongue around his cock. "You love being ruined by me, don't you?"

You can only manage a desperate nod and approving grunt as you continue sucking him of. No man has ever made you this desperate. As you look at him from beneath you feel like you have accomplished everything you ever wanted: his hair was dishevelled, his breaths uneven and a red tint painted his cheeks. All in all, Choi San lost his perfectly maintained appearance as you sucked on his cock and to you he looked 100 times prettier this way.

When his thrusts go sloppy, he pulls out of your mouth in a haste before he can come. "You're driving me crazy, darling," he grunts as he catches his breath for a second. In a more gentle tone he resumes: "Lay back on the bed for me, ok?"

You do as he says, laying down on your back in the middle of the bed, your body buzzing with the anticipation of what is to come. San goes to his dresser, opening a drawer to get a condom. 

When he climbs over you he looks at you intensely. But at the same time his eyes hold a softness that makes you feel secure.

"Are you sure about going on, y/n?" he asks warmly. No petnames this time. He wants a clear answer.

"Never been so sure in my life," you reply with a smile and his lips mirror yours as he beams down at you.

Quickly he sits up to open the condom and roll it onto his member. Opening your legs with his knee he situates himself between you and positions his cock at your entrance. One hand on your hip and the other holding his cock, he slowly sinks himself into you while carefully observing your face.

Your eyes flutter when he is fully inside of you and you moan at the feeling. San releases a grunt as well and waits a few seconds deep inside of you.

"Fuck, you're so tight for me, my darling. Don't worry I won't stop this time until you come." And with that he starts thrusting into you. He begins with slow and deep thrusts but as soon as you get used to his size he speeds up rapidly. 

His abs are flexing underneath is skin as he grabs onto your hip and pistons himself into you. With every thrust you can feel him hit this spongy part deep inside of you that makes heat build in your core with a throbbing intensity. Meanwhile you revel in the sight above you: San looks like a god. His muscular body moving above you is almost enough to push you over the edge but what's even more entrancing is his face. His expressions seem almost possessed. Like a demon took over him as soon as he started fucking you, he fixes his eyes onto yours.

"Am I fucking you good? Making you forget all your precious studies?" There they are again. His filthy words driving you down a one-way-road to insanity. "I hope you forget everything so you have to see me even more, darling. Then I can keep on fucking this tight little cunt over and over again."

"Fuck, San!" you moan out, being shocked by his words. His control over you is baffling and you can't help but grow closer and closer to your orgasm with every word.

"I know you like me like that, darling. Do me a favour and come on my cock so I can finally see you lose yourself will you?"

You can't form an answer. Endless moans tumble out of your mouth in increasing volume and San knows he has you exactly where he wants. 

"Come for me."

Your orgasm hits you with an explosive intensity. Faintly, you notice yourself moan at a concerning volume as your high washes over your body. But San doesn't seem to mind. Your legs are shaking and he helps you ride out the feeling with slower strokes. He waits for your breath to slow down again before he leans down to you and places a gentle kiss onto your lips.

"I want you on your knees in front of me," he says sweetly as soon as your lips separate and your head is spinning. Still you manage to get up with the help of his arm beneath your waist and you let yourself be positioned in front of San, your back to him.

Since you didn't have the opportunity to examine his bedroom earlier you only now notice the big mirror on his wardrobe next to his bed. Looking ahead, you can now see yourself on your knees, sitting in front of San.

You look even more dishevelled than you feel: Your hair is all over the place and some of your eyeliner smudged and a handful of dark purple marks littering your neck. Also, a red tint covers your skin, making you look flushed. San behind you smirks as you examine your own figure.

"You look so pretty all messed up like this for me, don't you think?"

His arm wraps around your waist as he leans your body back onto his broad chest. You look tiny in front of his build.

"I'll make you look even prettier," he promises as he sinks himself back into you.

He picks up his intense pace from before and you already feel dizzy again. With his arm holding you tight he is basically lifting you up and down his cock. At this angle he is hitting you deeper than before and you are sure you won't last very long until your next high.

But nothing could've prepared you for the feeling of San winding his other arm around you too, his fingers gently starting to stroke your clit. Your head falls back onto San's shoulder as you give in to the mind-numbing pleasure that starts buzzing through your body.

"Keep your eyes on me, darling. I want to watch you fall apart."

His voice sounds sulky, almost cute. It doesn't match his relentless thrusts and his fingers pleasuring you. It takes all your strength to lift your head again and look at San through the mirror. His eyes are hooded now, a shin layer of sweat making his flawless skin shine in the evening light.

"You make me feel so good," you manage to say as San keeps on pounding into you. You want him to know how he makes you feel. How good he is being to you.

"Am I?" He smiles in satisfaction as he watches your brows draw together with a particularly deep thrust. "You too, darling. You feel so good around me I don't think I can last much longer. But you'll come one more time for me, right?"

His voice sounds so deep and sultry in your ears. "Of course, Sannie," you mumble absent-mindedly. You don't even notice the nickname until he chuckles behind you.

"How can you be so cute and so sexy at the same time? You'll be the death of me, my good little girl."

He places a kiss onto your cheek and that is what finally drives you over the edge.

"Fuck, San. I'm coming," you moan out before your high crashes over you. If he wasn't holding you, you would fall to the ground. You try to hold eye contact with San through the reflection but your eyes keep on shutting as waves of pleasure roll over you. You have never felt such an intensity before.

But San's thrust don't slow down this time. He keeps on rutting into you relentlessly, driving you to insanity. You feel like you're swimming in a pool of pleasure.

"I'm close, darling. Just a little longer," San's voice is pitched higher than before, sounding just as desperate as you feel. You want nothing more but for him to come.

"Please, Sannie. I want you to come so bad."

Your desperate pleas are San's final straw. Clutching your body tight to his own, he finishes with his cock buried deep inside you. You can feel him pulsating in your heat and your moans mix into his grunts as you milk him for every last drop of his cum.

As you both slowly recover San pulls out of you and gently lays you back onto the bed. You can't do anything but catch your breath while he gets up to rid himself of the condom and return to you with a glass of water.

"Drink something," he urges you on and you take the glass from him. He watches you with a tinge of worry in his eyes. After taking a few sips you offer the glass back to him.

"You should drink some too, I'm sure you worked your body more than I did."

He smiles at your words and takes some water too before returning the glass to his bedside table. When he looks back at you there is a heaviness to his gaze that worries you.

"What is it?" you ask.

San takes a deep breath before answering you. "No matter what I said to you before, I actually didn't expect us to tumble into this as quickly as we did right now. And I want you to know that I didn't do this to use you or take any advantage of you."

His hand nervously grabs for the back of his neck. "Actually, I've been interested in you ever since we first met but I fear the tension between us was quicker than both of us."

You try to process his words even in your hazy state of mind. A spark of excitement surges through your body as you realize what he is saying.

"I feel the same, San," you reply truthfully. "I like you. And not just because you're insanely handsome."

You are glad when he laughs shyly at your words.

"So maybe I can take you out on a date that doesn't involve work or pharmacy studies sometime?"

"I hope sometime means this week, because I waited long enough for you already."

After everything that happened this evening, this moment when he smiles at you might be what makes your heart beat the fastest. You can't believe your luck as you look Choi San into the eyes and he leans in for a kiss.

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

"This was a stupid idea," you say to San but maybe more to yourself. "I should tell her alone."

"How will she ever respect me again if I let you do this alone?" San replies worriedly. "She told me to tutor you and now here we are. I will look terrible either way."

You have never seen him this nervous. But after all, your mother has the ability to make everybody scared for their life. You two pass her assistant's desk with a polite greeting as you head straight for your mother's office. She knows you are coming but she doesn't know you're bringing company.

You knock carefully on the door until her voice calls you in. Your mother stays seated as you two enter the room. She doesn't look surprised or confused about San's appearance but rather intrigued.

"Why are you visiting me today, y/n?" she asks simply.

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you prepare for answering.

"I have something to announce to you," you start off as confident as you can. 

Your mother's eyes flick between you and San. "Go on."

"San- ... Mr. Choi and I, we are..." your voice is shaking. Why is this so hard for you?

But San grabs for your hand, linking his fingers with yours as he confidently finishes your sentence: "We are in a relationship, director Kim."

His boldness strikes you as admiring. Maybe he was right about accompanying you.

A silence that draws out unbearably long fills the room. You feel like your lungs are being compressed with every passing second.

Then your mother smiles. It's not exactly a smile of happiness. It speaks more of victory.

"Finally," she announced. "It took you two longer than I expected."

Now it's your turn to be silent. Both you and San are stunned in your places.

Finally you find your voice to ask: "What do you mean, mom?"

She smiles at you in satisfaction.

"You see: Mr. Choi is a good man. He's a gentleman, treats his colleagues with the utmost respect, excels at his job and is handsome too. How could I find a better match for my beloved daughter? But I know you wouldn't be interested if I were to formerly introduce you two so I thought I'd help you in a different way."

Your mouth falls open in shock. Out of all things, your mother purposefully setting you up with San has never even crossed your mind. Your boyfriend seems even more shocked at the revelation than you, his face reddened and a stunned expression on his face.

"So you set us two up?" You finally ask your mother.

"Of course I did! And it worked out brilliantly, don't you think? I'm glad you both came to tell me. Mr. Choi?"

San perks up at her words. "Yes?"

"I assume you will take good care of my daughter?"

"Of course I will," he replies sternly, voice full of sincerity. "I will do everything care for y/n." His words make you feel warm and fuzzy.

Your mother nods approvingly. "Then you two may leave. I still have work to do."

You both nod hastily and thank your mother before turning back for the door.

"Oh, before I forget. Y/n?" your mother asks one last time.

"Yes?"

"I received your test results that you sent me. They look very promising."

I hope you enjoyed <3 Pls reblog and leave feedback if you can :)

Tags: @voicesinmyhead-rc

[honeytonedhottie]

the art of conversation (from a professional yapper)⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍉

just wanted to preface this by saying that NOT everyone is extremely sociable and thats totally okay. this post is to help improve ur conversational skills and charisma ✨

WHY LEARNING TO BE SOCIAL IS IMPORTANT ;

social skills are literally the FOUNDATION of effective communication. its important bcuz it allows u to build meaningful relationships, express urself, collaborate with others etc.

when ur learn how to be an effective communicator u can connect more deeply with the people around u. being more social can also provide u with opportunities, and in general make ur life SO much easier. not to mention u have a lot more fun.

SUPERIORITY/INFERIORITY COMPLEX ;

an inferiority complex is the feeling of inadequacy, an insecurity that ur not on the same level as someone else. a superiority complex is the opposite, u can come off as smug or condescending. both are bad in their own right.

the way that u can combat this is by adopting the mindset that you are neither below or above anyone else, and no one else is above or below you.

doing so can kind of even the playing field of conversation in ur mind and make sure that ur not feeling some kind of way before going into a conversation bcuz when u let ur superiority/inferiority complex go by un-fixed it can sabotage communication and not give ppl the change to get to know u.

UNLEARN SHAME ;

first u gotta start off with thinking about ways that shame has influenced ur thoughts or actions. an example that im sure a lot of us could relate to is the whole cringe concept.

to help unlearn shame i recommend journalling, therapy, and mindfulness so that then u can let urself ENJOY things again, without having the looming fear of the judgement of others.

also no genuinely happy person is going to take time out of their day to shame u, only a loser would do that. and if ur the one shaming others for liking something bcuz of ur own insecurity, get that fixed and get a life.

PREPPING FOR CONVERSATION ;

when approaching someone or starting conversation with someone for the first time, a rly good way to start it is with a compliment. dont start it by saying hi cuz i think thats so awkward 😭

compliment them for something, their response can also tell u a lot about them also bcuz some ppl will take the compliment well and some ppl will serve u a dirty look and that alone can tell u if u rly wanna be conversing with that person.

LEARN TO LAUGH ;

since we've already talked about why learning to not feel embarrassed about every little thing is important, here's what to do when something like that comes up. literally laugh.

for example the other day someone whom i've never spoken to before came up to me and started talking to me so familiarly, like with their arm around me and everything and i just went with it 💀 until he noticed that he had mistaked me for someone else, but its okay cuz now i have a new friend. LAUGH ABOUT IT.

dont take everything so seriously, being able to enjoy and take a joke is what makes conversation so much fun. note, do NOT mistake taking a joke as taking disrespect bcuz u should not take that, there is a distinct difference.

the biggest advice i can give as a yapper is to be more lighthearted and not take everything seriously. bcuz i feel like when we take everything so seriously we become rigid and thats not hot, be a breath of fresh air instead ✨

[moongreenlight]

Insane reader my beloved. Literally my babygirl.

@katz-chow been ruminating on this one just for you <3

CW: Gore and violence

Reader who shows up late to their first meeting with the task force. Rolls up in their dark sedan with blacked-out windows and one too many dents on the front bumper wearing civvies instead of the uniform they were given and instructed to wear.

Reader who is a privately hired detective with a talent for interrogations. Not officially a member of the task force or the military because the tactics they use are far less than legal. More a secret weapon on retainer for when doing things by the book doesn’t do the trick.

Reader who gets on the good sides of the task force boys by being sugary sweet and barely hiding their true colors. Skins and bleaches the skulls of interrogations gone South and gives them to Ghost insisting they’re better than the costume store shit he’s got on now.

Gifts Price expensive cigars tucked between the fingers of a severed hand. Drops them off in large pink boxes with delicate ribbons and giggles when he asks a thousand questions about why and how and what the fuck he was supposed to do with this.

Tosses Gaz new knives on the field when they’ve landed a kill or just wrenched them out of someone’s stomach. They make a game out of chucking the gore-slicked blades at one another’s heads to see if they can dodge in time.

Starts playing dodgeball with Soap where they toss his less-stable bombs and unpinned grenades back and forth. Only stops after they’ve accidentally blown up the camp two missions in a row. (Also heavily rumored they have tramp stamps of each other’s names because they’re both too stubborn to back down from a dare but that’s just for vibes)

Reader who gets flown out on specialty missions where a hostage really refuses to talk and takes matters into their own hands. Sometimes hopping on radio when they’re in transit and requesting the force pulls extra men so they can play a live game of operation. They’ve been watching videos on the dark web and the first two seasons of Grey’s Anatomy from their military issued laptop so it’s like an 80% chance all the hostages live.

Reader who stops being allowed to train rookies because the first and only faux-deployment they led they told the group they ran out of rations three days in to a two week long training and they had to play rock-paper-scissors to create a bracket of people to eat first. The mission gets called early when Price gets word that there was actually a field amputation done. Reader doesn’t even apologize, just laughs their way through a barely reasonable explanation. I didn’t think they’d actually do it.

Reader who begs the boys to let them play kill, kiss, marry, kill in the middle of a boring interrogation and when they get told no or to focus on the task at hand, they throw such a fit that they end up sending a screwdriver through the eye of the person they’re supposed to be interrogating.

Reader who brings their own kit to interrogations. Lugs around pincers, rusted blades, rotary bone saws, and dull axes in a flamingo pink toolbox. Sets it up on a small table in front of the hostage and unboxes it like an influencer showing off PR.

Reader who also stops being able to run conditioning and drills with rookies because they pitted the privates against one another during a sparring session. Saying something about whoever could sheath a blade in the other first got a bonus check before tossing a few knives on the mat and walking away. Gaz had to run over and tell them you weren’t serious when he saw blood.

Reader who insists on being able to puppeteer the decapitated head of an enemy grunt they took down and reciting a few lines of Shakespeare to the boys. Dragging the mission out because they know as well as the boys do that everyone is on their timeline.

Reader who dances around hostages that have been zip tied to chairs and beat within an inch of their life. Singsonging threats and having the boys drag the limp bodies of their chain of command across the floor.

Reader who pouts when their victims pass out during questioning after a few of their fingers have been chopped off with a butcher’s knife. Huffs like they’re being put through a massive inconvenience and fishes smelling salts out of their toolkit to wake the poor sap back up.

[sparrow-bear]

Okay so here’s the thing that gets me about Good Omens (s2 in particular):

Earth and humanity are (as far as we know) meant to exist so that heaven and hell have a playing field to best one another, initially by seeing who can exert their influence on humans most and ultimately as a battleground for their war. Humans themselves are kinda inconsequential.

But! Anyone from either side who comes to earth with even a *skerrick* of curiosity immediately starts to fall for the emergent properties of humanity- the music, the food, the art, the shades of grey that simply do not exist in heaven or hell. We see this in Aziraphale and Crowley who have found ways to keep their positions on earth for 6000 years yes, but we see it even more in Beelzebub and Gabriel, who have been to earth many times but only started to *see* it for the first time together, and in Muriel who we are told has never been to Earth before and is overcome with excitement seemingly within seconds of arriving.

There is something so deliciously pure and healing about this story that centres not just love between individuals being the most powerful thing in the universe, but also the simple love of *being alive*. It’s so potent that celestial/demonic powers succumb to the joy of living the *moment* they open themselves up to it. To see these timeless entities stumbling together through human history interacting with and delighting at, not humans themselves so much but the things that they have created. To know that the joy they find in these human constructs is literally changing the very fabric of who they are in ways that they clearly find freeing and deeply fulfilling. That they would literally rather live their quaint little lives on earth, drinking and eating their fill and experiencing human creations, than fulfil their purpose in some cosmic destiny. That they’ll fight to protect it so fiercely even though they’ve been told it’s destruction is preordained.

It’s wild that a story that doesn’t have human characters at it’s centre (in the show anyway), so expertly conveys the joy of being human. Whether you believe humanity exists for a purpose or not, we are simply silly little creatures with an overactive pleasure drive making things that are infinitely more complex than the sum of their parts.

Idk man, it’s the absolute reverence for simple contentment this story holds above all else that gives me life (especially in contrast to its irreverence of Christian morality). I liked season 1 a lot but season 2 soothed some deep hurt in my heart and I’m just so grateful it exists.

[lil-oreo-crumbles]

SVTFOE fandom what’s one small, obscure detail about the show you think about an awful lot for no good reason that you firmly believe no one else thinks about half as much as you do, if at all? (When I say obscure I MEAN obscure)

I’ll go first:

Comet Butterfly was probably the one who hired Dr. Jelly Goodwell as the Royal Monster Expert.

The Butterfly family probably didn’t have a “Royal Monster Expert” before Comet. Estrella didn’t care for politics or queenly duties, Celena was busy with whatever she was dealing with and also didn’t pay much mind to the Monster situation, Rhina was preoccupied with her spells, riddles, and marital situations, and Crescenta “solved” (she didn’t) the “Monster problem” with her rigged election campaign. Why would she hire a “Royal Monster Expert”?? She’s actively a horrible person, It doesn’t make sense why she or any other Butterfly would make a position to “field study” Monsters.

What does make sense is Comet designing that position in the early days of her “peace” agenda. Making an “attempt” to understand them enough so she can figure out how to go about conducting her “peace” treaty. Jelly Goodwell is very fond of separating Mewmans and Monsters from each other because “when Mewmans and Monsters cohabitate bad things happen, usually to the Monsters.” If we go off my theory that the Mewman-Monster Accord Moon signed into law reflects (or basically is) Comet’s treaty, then the separation statement makes sense.

Even if the title of “Royal Monster Expert” existed for a while, Comet without a doubt (in my mind) hired Jelly Goodwell. If she’d been “studying” monsters her whole life like she claims, then it makes perfect sense that she was hired back when she was young. Comet would be around her age if she was alive so it only makes sense that Comet was the one who hired her and designated the position. And, again, bringing back her treaty, if Comet and Goodwell worked together in any way, then both of their agendas being separation makes complete sense. Comet hired someone to “field study” Monsters, Goodwell reported back with her findings, and Comet conducted her treaty and dealings with monsters accordingly.

Comet has always just given me the same vibes Goodwell does; they’re like glass reflections of one another. On the surface they look like they actively want to help actually make progress for the impoverished and colonized monster citizens, smiling and playing nice, but patronize them as literal animals (see Comet’s FAMOUS “beast of the forest” line and her patronizing of Seth and Batwin’s wife… or just read her chapter holy shit), refuse to take any of them seriously as equals, and think separating them from Mewmans is the best call.

(To clarify because I feel this being brought up: NO, I’m not saying Goodwell influenced Comet and am now taking blame away from Comet. No, if anything Goodwell’s “angle of research” was probably thrust upon her by Comet (think a “Dr. Goodwell, why don’t you study their mannerisms and habitat so we can communicate with them on their level” line from Comet), and Goodwell reported back with the agenda she was sent out with. If anything, those “findings” only reaffirmed and strengthened Comet’s established bias. I’m not one of those people who take away accountability from the queens because I think they were “influenced” Comet is pretty stupid already 😭)

[chronically-ghosted]

the only thing we have to fuck is fear itself

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5309

summary: You get drunk at a happy hour and tell Max to his face you don’t find him scary at all. He takes that personally.

warnings/tags: drinking, like two seconds of scary vibes, smut, (secret) established relationship, work hard, play hard, have secret sex with your coworker even harder

a/n: I’m so sorry to FDR for butchering his quote for the sake of a title, but i like to think that horny bastard would have loved my smut.

🤍AO3 Link 🤍 Masterlist 🤍 Get notified when I post new works!

Despite working at a place that was quite literally soul-sucking, your coworkers could throw one hell of a happy-hour. 

There wasn’t a bartender in a ten mile radius from the office who didn’t know you all by name, didn’t shout a greeting over the tightly-packed house the instant you walked in. Rarely was it just a single crew member at the bars – you often got accused of moving in a pack like a five-headed hydra that could drink double its own weight in liquor, beer, and frosés – and being only two-fifths human, the Monster Squad was an alcoholic force to be reckoned with.

Maybe because you actively promoted unity amongst the species, like poster children for positive and “non-toxic human-demon relationships” HR kept encouraging in their Monday-Funday email blasts, but your little group was something of a legend in the area. You thought any notoriety was more likely due more to your faces plastered all over the bars’ trivia night winner boards, but in the office, people tended to stare. Trish, a siren from Santa Barbara, loved the attention, said it was good for her skin – gave her a “dewy” look. Nita, the only other human in your group besides you, disagreed with Ken (a quarter leprechaun on his mother’s side) when Ken claimed the whispering came from the sheer volume of nonsense that started around 4PM in the office on Fridays and continued until you all left the office. Ken was of the belief that the notoriety was actually infamy – to which he was promptly booed and had to buy the next round. 

And yet, to yourself, to the quiet conversations you had in the bathroom mirror after two long island ice teas and whatever was in what the centaur bartender at Lucky’s called an “Ass Whooping”, you suspected there might be another reason the Monster Squad even had a name at all. Within your own fields, each of you were respectable – Ken and Trish were both heads of marketing and Nita oversaw a considerable team of engineers, with you of course a department leader over in legal – one member of your group was, let’s say, more well-known. 

Well-known because he was the flashiest, the loudest, and certainly the most demonic of you all: Max Phillips, VP of sales, money-maker extraordinaire, and a fan-favorite amongst your Overlords, the rest of the sales team, and anyone with working and interested sex organs in the near vicinity. 

To your complete and utter annoyance.

You don’t quite remember how you all came together, who brought who into the group, and when it was unanimously decided that you’d stop snatching up office workers like limes at $5 margarita night after Trish, but it was Max who kept you together, who set up the group chat (somehow mysteriously gathering all of your phone numbers after a very late night), who bullied anyone who responded to his weekly “winner winner liquid dinner” texts every Friday morning with a tepid maybe into coming out that night. He already seemed to know half of the bartenders in the city, all of whom were happy to send over a free round of tequila shots as a “thank you to Max’s friends”. While you’d never look a gift vampire in the mouth, you were suspicious of his influence. Was that vampire hypnosis real? Did he have a pack of lesser, baby vamps to send out to tenderize the hunting grounds?

One thing’s for sure, he definitely didn’t scare them into it. 

“Has Halloween, like, changed for anyone else?” Nita grouched over her second Sangria Spritzer two hours into another fantabulous happy hour at Heel Clicks. The four of you were huddled into your comically small booth up on the landing near the back bar – of course there were other seats available but this had the best view, the closest access to your favorite bartender, and at some point, the shoulder-to-shoulder proximity served as a way to counteract the tipsy swaying. 

Trish leaned around Ken, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Nita shrugged hopelessly. “It used to be one of my favorite holidays when I was a kid. I loved the candy, the costumes – all of it. But I really liked being scared the most.”

Ken sorted into his old-fashioned. “Well, if you’re still scared of things you were as a kid, Nit, I think you’ve got a bigger problem than seasonal preference.”

She elbows him and he knocks into Trish.

“Not like that . . . but, like, monster movies aren’t really scary anymore? I mean, I used to watch Ginger Snaps religiously around Halloween, but, uh, now that I know an actual werewolf and he’s the nicest little old man in accounting, I dunno . . . it’s just not the same.” 

“Sorry to burst your bubble on monsters,” Ken shrugged. “But I personally cannot relate. As a member of the Free Folk, my people have always been welcomed, seen as bringers of good will towards man.”

“You know there’s eight movies where a leprechaun murders literally dozens of teenagers, right?” You turned to Ken over Nita, your entire right buttcheek hanging off the edge of the booth. 

“Oh, yeah, baby Jennifer Aniston,” Trish mused, thinking. “If that’s what your uncle looks like, Ken, then I posit Halloween is still fucking creepy.”

“Halloween is definitely creepy and it sucks.” Your ringleader has returned with electric-green jello shots. Max Phillips carried a tray with one hand, his immaculate blue jacket gone to display firm forearms underneath his white, rolled-back sleeves. “Bunch up, kiddies, Daddy’s back with treats.” 

Half the group groaned, the other squealed in delight.

Max hip-bumped you, his ravenous cologne immediately making you think unwise thoughts, as he pushed his way onto the bench absolutely not made for this many people. He looked back at you as he passed out the drinks.

“Now why are we all in agreement that Halloween is a lame holiday?” 

“Nita claims that because she personally knows a werewolf – Ned, right? – she’s not scared of monster movies anymore.”

Max scoffed. “Well, there’s your problem right there. Werewolves were never scary to begin with.”

“What monster movies have you been watching?” Nita gaped at him. “Maybe it’s bad representation, but all the movie werewolves can tear you to shreds!”

Ken nodded solemnly. “This is why affirmative action is so important.” 

Trish smacked him over the back of the head. 

“So, what?” Max continued, crunching up the jello in its plastic cup. “Now that you know me, a vampire, you think all Dracula movies give blood-suckers a bad rap?”

“No, being a human-sized mosquito with too much hair gel is doing that all on its own.” You smirked, dead-eyed, at him. Behind you, Ken and Trish snorted so hard they almost spilled their drinks. 

Max narrowed his eyes at you, in a look he only gave you when you wouldn’t let him ease around legal loopholes “for the good of the business”. Only Nita seemed to be oblivious. 

“That’s a good point, Max.” She thoughtfully stirred her jello with her pinky, unsticking it from the sides of her cup. “I mean, I guess I never watched that many vampire movies to begin with.”

Max broke his heated staring contest with you to look around at Nita, elbow pressing up into your chest as he leaned forward on the table. “I can promise you, doll face, vampires have been and always will be more terrifying and lethal than werewolves.”

“Not the argument I think you want to make, mate,” Ken murmured as you shifted yourself to face Max entirely. 

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten us all –,”

“Nope,” Trish called down the row, “we’re taking this shot before you two get into it again.”

“To Ned!” Ken yelled. 

“To Ned!” 

Plastic crunched, tongues slurped, as jello ungracefully slipped into every open mouth down the bench. You licked your lip, tip of your tongue green. Max watched the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

“So, enlighten us, Max, why should we be so afraid of you?” 

Max grinned out the side of his mouth. “One, I’ve seen more bite out of a pomeranian than one of those Tribbles. And two, whatever-wolves can only get it up once a month. I’m all monster, all the time, baby.”

At this, everyone groaned.

“Dollar to the Dick Jar!” Trish smacked her hand on the table.

“Here, here!”

Max pouted as he took a dollar out of his wallet and slammed it into the center of the table, payment towards tips or the bill or whoever suffered the most due to The Dick. 

“Face it, buzz,” you shrugged as he put his wallet away. “You’re just not scary any more, if you ever were.”

“Is that right?” 

Fuck, you were in a lot of trouble. Beneath the table, his thigh soaked yours in heat. 

“That’s right.”

“You know what is really scary?” Ken muttered, digging around in his crushed up for the last remnants of jello. “Kelpies.”

“Ah – yes! They’ve got sloppy fangs covered in algae!”

“Hey – that’s my cousin you’re talking about!”

Heel Clicks was hands down one of your favorite bars in the area. Devoted to the local music scene in the area, the vibe was a mix of old 70s rock bands, modern steel, and whatever justified lots of mounted horns and hairy cow-skin stools. The drinks were great, seasonal too, and there was always live music on the patio out back. In a twist that you found particularly cool, the old rum-runners tunnels had been converted to comfortably spacious bathrooms in the basement. Behind the solid oak door, the noises from the above bar are nearly entirely muffled, making the slow descent to the bathroom something of an out-of-body experience when you’ve had a few and the sudden silence is almost an echo. 

Plus, these fucking stairs are a death trap. 

You embarrassingly clutched at the railing, the wooden stairs at far too sharp an angle even if you were sober as a judge, much less at a Monster Squad happy hour. 

Stupid Max and his stupid drinks and his –

What was that?

You stand up right on the third to last step, listening. 

In the half darkness in front of you, there are three paths available. To the left, employee storage, the lights above the door flickering, the sign reading “do not enter” pulsating in and out of visibility. To your right, another door, maybe an exit. Always unmarked and always locked every time your drunken curiosity got the better of you. 

And across from the stairs were the bathrooms, left women, right for men.

God, what year is it? Shouldn’t it all just be gender-neutral? You think to yourself, a tad bit more aggressive than you’d usually oppose the gender binary – primarily to wash out the rising concern at the back of your neck.

You are alone down here. It’s obvious. It’s not like there’s that many places for some dastardly villain to hide. Four shut doors and three hallways. Unless some maniac was curled up under the stairs, you are the only person in the basement. 

At least, the only person you can see. 

You don’t realize how sweaty your hands are until you try to continue your way down the stairs. You take a step and nearly slip, the eyes you know are on you somehow laughing. 

One blinking light. No where for anything to hide, so why are you so nervous? You are an adult woman, for god’s sakes. You make it to the floor, the most likely candidate for your demise behind you and –

The stairs creaked. 

The empty stairs that you just walked down creaked and you nearly leap across the hallway to put space between you. Heart in your throat, you make the monumentally stupid decision and call out, “hello? Is anyone there?”

As if the serial killer was just going to announce himself, give up the whole element of surprise.

Blinking through the bleary haze of too many drinks, you take out your phone and flip on the light. A white beam chases back the encroaching darkness, a frantic worried ghost peering through the gloom. And yet, like you consciously know, there’s nothing there. But the darkness feels heavier, the eerie distant noise from the bar above so quiet and removed the sound is more of a memory – the idea of what comfort and community should sound like. But it’s not. It’s too far gone – if anything were to happen, it’d be hours before they found you. If they did at all. 

“Oh my god,” you scold yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. “Get a fucking grip and go pee and then go back up those fucking stairs and –,”

Okay, that was definitely breathing.

Breathing, right behind you. Ragged, hungry, disembodied breathing, in your ear and your heart ricochets into your chest. Your own breath turns short, choppy, panic swelling into your ears, over your fingers. You think you might drop your phone, your fingers are so numb from fear, so you clutch tighter, the trembling throwing white light across the paneled wood in a craze. 

Be rational, this is crazy, there is nothing down here! 

The stairs snarl again and you squeak, all but bolting for the women’s bathroom, desperate to put at least some space between you and those fucking stairs, put some boundaries between –

The door is locked. When the fuck is this door ever locked?

Panic recedes to overwhelming rage because fuck, fuck, fuck, now you’re trapped in here – you can’t go back to the stairs – you rattle the handle, shaking the door against its lock –

“Fucking let me in!”

The light above the exit door goes out. And then the other. You throw all of your weight against the bathroom door. You claw at the handle, begging it to give way. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck – you can hear the darkness breathing –

No, speaking – it’s saying something, chanting, mocking, calling out – calling out your name –

The door suddenly unlocks and you stumble forward – into something solid –

Its hands grab you and like a fucking fool, you played right into its trap. 

It turns you, throws you up against the tile wall, its claws around your shoulders, cold tile against your cheek and you whimper. Whimper when you feel the soft pin-prick of fangs against the back of your neck – fuck, this is how it ends?? – and –

“Got you.” 

That voice.

That condescending, snide, bratty, little –

You elbow the solid body behind you and Max lets out a puff of air, staggering back. You whip around, nearly snarling in his smirking, beautiful face. The bathroom is dark, black tiled walls and floors with a faux-wooden sink and dim lights across the top of the mirror. In the flushed orange light, his eyelashes encourage thick shadows under his eyes and in the collar of his throat. If it wasn’t for that insufferable smile, he’d look painted from thin brush strokes and heavy scarlet paint. 

Caravaggio, eat your heart out. 

“Max, what the fuck was that?” 

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the spot on his chest where you hit him, at the top of his ribcage. “Oh, c’mon, it was just some fun. Saw you sneak off after you got Nita’s drink and thought I’d mess with you just a bit.”

You sigh, willing your heart to slow down, throwing your gaze to the ceiling and dropping your head against the tile.

“God, you asshole, I thought I was gonna die.” You swallow and move your hair out of your face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I what?”

“You scared –,”

That smile, the crack of fangs across his mouth, widens, the bottom of his lip rolling back over the cut of his teeth, those brown eyes melting into a warm, obscene black, as he meets you hip first against the wall. 

His hands climb over your waist, as though daring you to hit him again, and your thigh muscles tighten. Your hands instinctively trace the exposed skin left by his opened collar at the dip of his throat when he comes closer, chest pressing up against yours, nose against your temple. 

Fuck, it shouldn’t be this easy for him. You sigh through your nose, eyes rolling shut, when he nips at your cheek.

“I think you were supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am,” you groan. “I’m livid. I’m enraged. I’m –,”

His thumb brushes your ribs – not tickling, not entirely touching, but just reminding. Reminding of the force behind his touch, behind his teeth. 

“Baby girl,” he chuckles softly, the sound running down your neck like rain, “you’re melting in my arms.” 

“This doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.” You focus on the softness of his hair between your fingers, the heat of the back of his neck beneath the pads of your fingertips – resolutely ignoring the radiating scent of his cologne coming from up under his collar. More than once had he come across you in his apartment bathroom, sniffing that bottle like some dopey perv looking for a quick fix. Of course, instead of admonishing you, he bent you over his sink and fucked the daylights out of you, his wrists singing with the smell of that cologne. Now he wore it to work wherever he wanted something from you, particularly to overlook some pesky lines of legalise. 

In the hallowed darkness of the bar’s bathroom, he drops a single kiss just below your jaw, inches beneath your ear. He grumbles when your pulse there quickens, and again his fangs find a curve of skin to press against – a reminder. 

Always reminding, always lurking, a threat without a promise.

And he knows exactly what that does to you. 

You release a full body shudder when his hands drop lower, guiding you back against the wall, fingers rounding around your thighs. Like interlocking pieces, your bodies slide together, your arms curling around his neck, the heat of his chest branding yours as it forces you against the wall. You’re breathing all wrong again, but for different reasons this time. You catch a flash of the ink-well darkness of his eyes when he nuzzles out of your neck to admire the mess he has made of your skirt.

“Can I fuck you in this or is this thing too tight?” He asks, like he specifically didn’t get on his hands and knees and beg you to wear that gray pencil skirt only twelve hours earlier. 

You lean up, snagging his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him roughly and showing him he’s not the only one with a little bite. He groans softly, one hand curling into your hair at the base of your skull, and he licks you, from the front of your lips up to the valley of your mouth. He tastes like the sweetness of his whiskey n’ coke, his tongue rubbing the flexing muscle of yours, the sharpness of your molars. You could spend hours just sucking on his plush mouth. 

Maybe he did scare you. Maybe he should have scared you more, the threat of anyone discovering your relationship a real danger to both of your careers. Maybe it should have scared you, how little you cared about any of that when he palmed your breast over your shirt. 

You inhaled over his mouth, popping off his lips with a moan, his hand cupping you roughly as he dove in to suck marks on your neck. Every moment that passes, you feel your skin ratcheting up with heat, blood almost hot. He thumbs your perk nipple through your shirt and you arch your chest, his massive palm nearly cupping your ribs to your spine.

“Max, either you figure out how to fuck me in this skirt or you owe me a new one.”

“You want me to rip it off you?” He slurs, eyelids heavy, his thigh slides in between your knees, the fabric preventing him from going higher, to the place where you both need him. You groan in frustration and his hands squeeze your hips at the sound. “Tell me fast, baby, because I can’t–,”

“For the love of – just fucking lift it up–,” His hands fumble over yours as your fingers curl under the hem, his own want making that brilliant mind for numbers almost stupid. His warm fingers overwhelm your own as they push your skirt up your waist, and then dig around the line of your pantyhose. 

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to Fort Knox me out of your pussy? Why are there so many layers?” 

You hiss at him as you slide out of your heels and shove your nylons to the ground, hopping on one leg to take them off your feet. “It’s like you’ve never undressed me before.” 

Freed of the chaos of your underthings, Max’s hands rush to his belt, the clinking of the metal sending shivers down your back and straight up your cunt. He doesn’t notice because he’s obsessively watching your thighs. “I’ve never undressed you with our coworkers a floor above us and probably becoming increasingly suspicious about where the fuck we are–,” 

You take him by the back of the neck, hand clenching around the starch white of his shoulder. He comes to you, zipper digging into your hip bone as he pulls you up off your feet. For once that chatty mouth is quiet, open and wet with desire as he takes in your flushed face, the blood pumping under your tits. Max is nothing if not almost supernaturally consumed by the look, feel, texture, and taste of your tits. 

The look on his face is one of those reasons you tend to throw caution to the wind, why your heart almost feels too big for your chest, whenever he’s around. 

He hooks an arm around your low back, tilting your hips forward. You feel the heat of his cock somewhere below you and it takes all of your strength not to grind down. 

“Max –,” he’s not even inside of you and you’re already begging. You bite down on his ear to stifle whatever was rising up your throat. 

“Hang on, baby, I gotta make sure you . . .”

Using your shoulders as counterbalance, he holds himself up against the wet warmth of your cunt, breath stuttering as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds. That bratty aloofness is gone; he wants to sink so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t even get you ready – but you’re already so wet –,”

You don’t resist grinding down now and he knocks his shoulders forward, needing movement, but fighting against the urge to buck up into you, gasping from the feeling of your cunt. 

“Please, Max, just –,”

“Yeah, I know, baby, okay, just, I gotta . . .” 

He angles himself and you arch your back, unable to watch with the mess of your skirt around your waist, but he finds it, finds your opening, the place he loves to mark, and without any warning, thrusts his length up into you. 

The stretch, the surprise, the ear-ringing split between being empty and then stuffed so full – you can’t help but moan so loudly, you sing to the ceiling. For a moment, your bodies hum with the stillness, the blood in your cunt pulsating around him, you claw at his broad shoulders, need him closer, needing that smell of him that haunts your empty bed as far inside of you as his cock is. His hips stutter and he presses one hand against the tile by your ribs, teeth clenched against the sensation. 

“When I fuck you, every time feels like the first time. Every goddamn time.” 

It’s not particularly the confession it could be, but you shake your head, clearing it of anything stupid like feelings for Max Phillips, your chin brushing his jaw, his nose against your ear. 

“Then do it,” you whine. “Just fuck me, Max.”

With a groan that could be mistaken for a snarl, he lifts you both up right, pushing your hips down and spreading yourself over him. You lock your ankles around his back a second before he pulls out halfway, then to jerk back in with such force and precision your eyes roll to the back of your head. He sets a pace that has pleasure weaving a tight drum just under your stomach. Each sweaty thrust fires sparks up your spine. He really is so fucking good at this. 

This is the release you need, you both need. Sure, it’s an after-effect of having a high-powered job, but it’s also more than that. Max fucking you is unfortunately very often the highlight of your day. He knows what you need, how you need it – how hard to drive his cock into you, it makes you tongue-tied and dizzy. The fast pump of his cock, how it feels to split you apart over and over again, the back zipper of your skirt digging into your back – it’s too fucking good.

“Don’t know where you get off giving me orders,” he grunts, the pounding of his hips into yours rapidly shoving you up your ascension. The slapping, wet noise in the empty room is obscene. “I’m a fucking VP, little girl, and I–,”

You tense your muscles around his cock and he fumbles, his knees buckling momentarily. 

“Do not fucking bring up the org chart right now,” you hiss, your own edge yanked away when he stills. “I’m almost there–,” 

Quicker than he’s been all night, Max lunges forward, mouth open and teeth bare. He bites your neck and then he bites you. 

Fangs puncture your skin, not deep, but enough that your body is thrown into a messy coil of nerves and adrenaline. It knows you could die like this, even if you’ve only ever called the vampire a mosquito to his face, and triggering a self-preservation instinct, your body trembles from the sudden blast of sensation.

Your pupils dilate further than they were, your skin becomes overly aware of every drop of sweat, every flutter of hair, every rub of flesh – and your fucking nerve-endings feel like static, as if brushed by lightning. 

Pleasure so-white hot it almost burns roars up your spine, slick coating his cock inside you, and you cry out. Wail in his ear. Begging him to make it better. To give you your release. The feel of his cock pounding up inside your now-overly ripe cunt brings tears to your eyes.

“Oh, fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck – Max, p-please –,”

“Can you handle it if I touch you?”

You shake your head. “Yes, yes, please, touch me.” 

“You can’t keep screaming like that,” he scolds you breathlessly, the punch of his hips bouncing you against his cheek. For all his vampire stamina, the flush of exertion across his cheeks is truly staggering and a triumph for your ego. Flecks of blood dot his mouth. “Someone’s going to come looking.” 

“I don’t care,” you groan, angling your hips to take more of him. His hand not on your back cups under your knee, tugging it higher up his torso. His pace is relentless, overwhelming – with his weight on top of you, and his cock up under you, inside you, you’re consumed by Max Phillips. “Whatever you do, d-don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

“You scared I’m gonna?”

“Yes,” you whine. You can feel your heart pounding out its shape into your ribs. 

“Good girl. And good girls get to fucking come.”

Balancing your increasingly limp body, he holds you up right, his hand snaking beneath your skirt, between the sweat of your thighs and his torso, and –

He thumbs that buzzing bundle of nerves, “come for me, baby”, and you do. You come screaming, the tension snapping, vision sparkling with stars, and you are shoved over the edge. You don’t know you’re wailing his name until he comes too, all concern for getting caught seemingly gone as he begs you to continue as he fills you up with his pearly, gooey cum:

“That’s right, say my name. Say my fucking name, sweetheart.” 

His hips thrust weakly, some instinct choking him until he makes sure every drop of him stays in you. You’re going to be dripping for hours. 

His skin is fire-hot beneath his starched white shirt. You’ll be thinking about that for days afterward when you see him in the hallways of the office. 

This is what scares you the most. When you realize it's over and neither one of you want it to be. 

Shaking from exertion, Max slowly sets you down, unwinding your legs from his waist, your ankles trembling against the cold tile. You couldn’t imagine putting your nylons back on, the thought of that pressure against the curve of your lower stomach while you are so full of his cum practically unbearable. 

He lifts his head from your neck, eyes intentionally avoiding you as he inspects where he bit you, breath coming in ragged, long gasps. Sweat darkens the hair at his temple and that post-fuck blush is staggeringly gorgeous on him. He pricks his thumb on the sharp edge of his fangs and with a scarlet bead balanced on his thumb, he smears his blood against the puncture wounds, like someone would wipe dirt away from a loved one’s skin. 

It doesn’t really hurt, but the effects leave your neck tingling. You’d never say this out loud, but you fucking loved when he did that. 

He steps away without looking at you, giving you time to adjust your skirt, your hair in the mirror. You help him straighten his collar because it’s not like he can use the mirror to check himself.

He grins, the flush fading far too rapidly from his cheeks. 

“What are you going to tell them?” You nod to the stairs on the other side of the wall. “This can’t look good for us.” 

“You got attacked by a werewolf on the way to the bathroom. I saved you.” 

“Thought you said werewolves weren’t scary.”

He shakes his head, smirking, then presses a kiss to your temple. “Just said I was the bigger monster between the two of us.” 

“My hero.” You turn your head until his lips drink in yours. 

It is dangerous, your feelings for him. 

He taps you on the butt, pulling away. The lines around his eyes do an excellent job of masking the hurt in the brownness of his eyes. 

“Gimme five, then you come up. Can’t have you looking so completely debauched.”

He kisses you again, betraying whatever amounted to “cool and collected” he attempted for, and without another word, he slides out the door. 

His smell lingers in the air long after he does. The throbbing of your cunt also serves as a fantastically bitter reminder.

You go back to the mirror because yes, you could not have been more obvious if you were wearing a sign that said, “hi, yes, I did just get my back blown out.” You try to fold your hair around your ears at least a dozen times before pulling it back in what you hope to be a casual pony-tail. You toss your nylons into the trash can, pleading that the “oh, I tore them in the bathroom” excuse might hold an ounce of water. 

You think about what’s waiting for you a floor up and your stomach clenches. 

Fucking Max could upset the dynamics of your little group, your little Monster Squad. Whatever the stupid office bylines were, your happy-hour social group is one of the bright spots in your life, especially while working at a place run by those bastard Overlords. 

And Max knew that. He didn’t want to risk your long-term happiness for his short-term. 

Max didn’t scare you because he was a monster.

He scared you precisely because he wasn’t.

You open the bathroom door and return to the world. 

[mikuni14]

4 Minutes - Ep 1-2

I haven't had much free time to keep up with all the series lately, I was planning to catch up and influenced by @my-rose-tinted-glasses enthusiasm I decided to watch 4 Minutes first 😘

So, ok. I love it.

First of all, I'm writing this before diving into the 4 Minutes tag, so I have no idea about the most popular theories. I have a few of my own working theories, but I don't feel like writing about them right now hehe. I will write what I like tho!

very good execution, but it's BOC, so no surprises here

aesthetics, actors, everything is 💯💯

I really like the mystery, suspense, crime, ambiguity, confusion, slow discovery of new plots, a certain kind of darkness that already created the delicious vibe in DFF ✨ I also like the pleasure and satisfaction I feel as a viewer, when I see something that I suspect might happen, it happens and the series doesn't force the opposite, doing stupid, illogical or ooc things, just to shock and surprise me (looking at you GoT). For example, I knew that Title wasn't found dead in this field, and when it turned out that he was alive, it didn't take away my pleasure from guessing it in any way. I love it when a show lets viewers guess what's going to happen and respects their intelligence

no matter what universe, Jet plays a complete dick who is in conflict with Mio's character ✨

Mio, Mio, Mio, Mio!! 💖💖💖💖 I gasped when I saw him, I'm literally conditioned to love this guy. He's ruthless and uncompromising again, gosh, my heart 💖💖💖(fair warning: I'm going to be insufferable about him, so be prepared 🤡)

the sex scenes are as bold and high-quality as ever

traditionally for BOC we have a juxtaposition of rich and poor, corruption, tragic choices caused by poverty, exploitation, overworking, fulfilling the expectations of ruthless parents, wealth as well as poverty being the source of crime

Bible plays a poor rich boy, which I really like. I also like his pairing, which wasn't at all predictable and obvious, because I'm probably the only person in the world who can't stand his pairing in KP (please don't hate me)

luckily Bible is a Cat Person and it shows, because he uses a Special Voice to talk to the kitty. The cat is relaxed, which is an exception in BL series 😑 (isn't that his cat? they seemed close 🥺)

of course I must comment on the BL in the BL series. So… yes! It's good! Bible as Great is wonderful but then again I didn't expect anything else from him. Tbh I was worried about what his partner would be like, whom I didn't know. Jes turned out to be sensational, first of all you can see his experience, he's 32 years old (!), as Tyme he's an absolutely captivating mix of an intimidating professional at work and adorable baka when he's just some dude liking a guy 😄 I really liked how the series is serious for the whole 1st episode, most of the 2nd and then suddenly there's a scene of Tyme smoothing out his feathers in a peacock mode, emphasizing his figure and shapely butt to look nice for his crush, it was so funny and cute. Also when he awkwardly tried to flirt with Great, the faces he made when he realized how clumsy he was lmao. I love the kind of men in BL shows who are strong and masculine but who turn into fluffy, awkward teddy bears 🐻 in the presence of their loved ones. When I saw Tyme in ep1 I thought he was going to be a stereotypical seme and I'm so glad the show lets him be a normal person.

It's interesting that Great gets a second chance every time he does something wrong 🤔 And I wonder why he sees a future with Tyme? This kind of future? Hm.

Overall I love 4 Minutes, I'm officially hooked. It's very interesting, intriguing and spicy, there are a lot of plots that are starting to overlap and connect, the series has actors that I like (some I even like a lot! just seeing Mio and hearing Bible speak English accounts for like 74% of my enjoyment lol), it's not afraid of controversial topics, the series doesn't treat viewers like children, the execution is at a very high level, Jes and JJay show infatuation at first sight in a very convincing way, the romances started very interestingly and I've watched the Tyme/Great scenes a few times already.

That means 3 series to obsess over in a week! Lucky me! ✌

(I might edit this post by adding some gifs later)

[zeb-z]

ok but the thought of the code actually glitching to break Etoiles armor hits hard though. these monsters are literally made up of code, they can glitch appearances, glitch items - of course they glitched his armor.

besides that, it's an ultimate blow to his character.

he's upheld his expectations as the islands greatest warrior, their defender. with this comes not just that responsibility, but a sort of respect for who/what he's been fighting off. the codes he's grown so used to. if he were to ever lose, he'd expect it to be from exhaustion. from being physically unable to lift himself up and fight anymore, because there would be no other way he would not stand and fight - but he loses without being given a chance to win. the code messes with Etoiles’ own player coding to unnaturally break his armor, giving a dirty death to someone who fights with duty and honor.

it wasn't fair, and that's the entire point, it was never going to be fair. like how they psychologically fucked with him using fake Pomme before, and almost won - this was never a fight to see who could win. it was a fight to ensure that he would lose. he’s reminded of something important - that he can bleed, and he can die.

this island doesn't play fair, and he can't shoulder the weight of the world on his own. a single shield will never be enough to protect a whole village. and now he's lost the actual shield, the one thing he could use to protect them all.

the loss leaves him without protection, both feeling guilty failing as the guardian of the island, and unsatisfied, because how can he say he truly got a chance to beat the challenge? there is no satisfaction in this loss, no way to come to terms with his failure, because it wasn’t done on an even playing field.

it’s hardly a consolation, knowing his loss was unnatural, unfair, because it’s a loss he could not afford. not only did he lose the shield, but he learned that there are moves that are unfair and unnatural that he can’t fight against. how’s he meant to fight something that can influence his own coding, especially without the shield that gave him the chance to fight in the first place? how’s he meant to protect the island, when he can’t protect himself?

15-1, G fuckin G

[frikatilhi]

Karkki tai kepponen 😈

This is based on the fact that you recommended the book Osuma by Petter Sandelin to me and it was the first book in literal months that I finished. Highly recommend!

It reminded me how back in molemates days I completely lost my mind over marli's soldier boys and wanted to write something similar, but during the Continuance War and trench warfare. And I wrote a little piece which may or may not have been heavily influenced by The Unknown Soldier.

And yes, Bojan's name is Taisto Kukkanen, sue me.

Also I did some research, here are a few snippets from a study "Seven queer brothers : narratives of forbidden male same-sex desires from modernizing Finland 1894-1971" (source)

A Finnish war veteran recalled in 1972: “There were also some homosexuals among us. […] These manlovers played their games in secret. Once, somebody had even seen two guards having sex in the guard post.” --- Indeed, the sources studied for this research in many ways speak about soldier love in the same way as the studies of Juvonen and Mustola. For instance, in a court record from post-war Lahti, a man was reported to the police by his wife. In the interrogations the man confessed how at the beginning of the war he had found another man from the military, with whom he had had a war-long relationship. Because of this, the man said, he could not stay away from male sexual relations even after the war, which had annoyed the wife. In the end, the man was relieved that the secret came out. However his loyalty towards the war-time lover was strong and he refused to give any information about the man to the police. A medical article, too, which treated war-caused mental disturbances, discussed the case of a man who was deeply traumatized because he had seen his lover dying in a battle at the front.

So here's a snippet of Jeremias and Taisto:

When May turned into June, their second summer in trench warfare was beginning, and everyone was counting days until Field Marshall Mannerheim’s birthday. On that day, it was promised that every soldier would get a little cupful of cut brandy, something they hadn’t seen in a long time.

The third company’s second platoon had even more to look forward to. For weeks now, a little pot of moonshine had been bubbling, carefully hidden amidst their gear, and it had been decided that the birthday celebrations would be a perfect opportunity to get a taste.

Pöyhönen had been the orchestrating force behind the idea. Taisto had watched in awe as he had produced the necessities to make the project happen. Bit by bit, the pot, the yeast, the carefully saved sugar and bread had appeared, no-one outside their team none the wiser.

And as the night fell, and the officers had all disappeared to celebrate amongst themselves, the pot was carried out with loud cheers, everyone ready to fill their cups.

“Don’t drink any,” Pöyhönen whispered to Taisto’s ear as the others were rejoicing around them. Taisto nodded, realising what he had in mind. If everyone else was drunk off their ass, then…

As the night went on and the pot emptied, things got a bit rowdy. The soldiers were leaning against each other, confessing their adoration and love in slurred words. They were singing lewd songs and dancing cheek to cheek, swaying together to the one and only record they had for the gramophone.

And so no-one paid any mind when Pöyhönen grabbed Kukkanen and pulled him to his side, head against his chest. Or when he took his hand and joined the others in an awkward waltz around the ground, hand on his waist, bending him over his arm when the song ended.

No-one also paid them no mind when later, as the others were in various stages of passing out, half on top of each other on the ground, only the luckier ones having made it all the way to their bunks, Jeremias lead Taisto away from them, further into the forest, carrying a blanket. 

The summer night was still warm after a scorching hot day. The nights were rapidly getting lighter, but still, outside the glowing circle of the fire, they had to fumble for each other, feel their way around.

There, on the blanket thrown over the endless bilberry shrubs, too far for anyone to hear them, they finally found a moment of solace, a place just for them. There, Jeremias’ fingers found their way inside Taisto, slick from vaseline from the rations, drawing sounds that got lost amongst the trees, somewhere in between the chirps of crickets.

[lesfir]

This is the kind of post that become a flight of thought and reasoning with a bit of hc. The Break Up with Lord Astarion Like: Asc Astsrion dickpic photo of a drunk ex - behavior nah well if drunk... still nah+meh Astarion has centuries of seduction experience. His brains aren't so smooth as to send Tav a "dickpic" in hopes of attention and success. He'll come up with a really nice and neat plan to get Tav to come to him on their own. He's got time. It's AU meme modernity ofc. It's hard to work. Without context, Astarion loses a lot. The medieval, vampirism and slavery is a big context. Depends on how painful it was. Let's say it went okay, a little uncomfortable, but normal. In modern times, if Tav was kind, he'd be something charitable, showy. For Tav and good for building influence, too. For love of the people. If Tav was more evil. He'd be doing something extravagant, still logical. Looking like a fool is not a best seduction tactic. For a good Tav, he'd create parks in the city, and support the arts, charities. For the evil Tav, he would seek influence in closed circles so that those she knows about (admires) would talk about him and his deeds like new skyscraper-hotels with casinos. In any field he would quickly become famous: a beautiful man with refined taste. Speaking of the Middle Ages, in Faerun. Depends on what Tav is interested in, it's magic - the best relics from around the world in Baldur's Gate. New opportunities for mages from all over Faerun. Come to Baldur's Gate. Warfare - don't even ask. Fella will climb into any dragon lair on his own to get to impress. (And have some fun). Astarion despite having goals, would quite enjoy and discover new things in the world. In general, he would get his way. I don't think it's even canonically obsessive, that you can't get off once, like a frenzy, nah.

He'd remember his personal plans, he'd party a lot, he'd be sad sometimes that Tav couldn't share the fun with him. Eventually he was able to taste the food again. There was so much around that he couldn't for 200 years. Seriously he would eat 10 kinds of desserts and enjoy them, forgetting everything. I prefer it when Tav loves everything and shares eternity, pleasures and decadence, the line of play. In this line-breakup I'm more interested in the “partners in crime” that Lord Astarion suggests. That's the fun line of the game.

Here, if Tav friendly agrees, he definitely:

Kinda Friendship Zone. But Astarion is ok with it.

-- Everyone on the Sword Coast thinks they're having an affair. -- He very often emphasized in the beginning that Tav was his friend, like a little poke. But he stopped doing that when Tav returned the favor. -- Astarion feels the need to touch Tav's hand. In general, touching Tav makes him feel better. This Tav is also tactile, she needs to touch someone she likes, someone she is friends with. -- That Tav is a druid. She turns into a frog if Astarion goes too far. And starts croaking. A thing that makes him angry, sad and happy. -- Astarion crosses the lines of edgy flirting while dancing. -- Sometimes Astarion thinks dark thoughts, but he always just thinks them. He has time. To lose her smile is to be a fool. -- He always sulks for about three days when their temprs clash. But that doesn't happen very often. This Tav is as calm as a toad in the sun. -- Surprisingly. He was so greedy for her time, literally, but he'd only gently invite her to join him - for a party, a walk, on a ship to Calimport. Tav had said no a few times. Needing to keep her distance, not to spoil the greedy dragon. And he'd just go like a cat and she'd be bored while he got the fun of traveling. He brought back souvenirs. But she would have liked to see his smile the first time he looked at this town. -- No friend in the Realms gets gifts like Tav. -- His legions of crows are on duty outside her house. Tav didn't mind, she didn't have the best opinion of the world anyway. They were showing up together, these rumors... who need to prick him, will prick her. -- At sunset they often walk together in the parks in the Upper City.

[dingodad]

honestly itd be kinda sick as fuck to get a new Big Bad introduced. irt whole "other invested forces at play" and the whole "unveiling of candy to the rest of paradox space"

like. its honestly so early in the comic that we might just be playing with far too few pieces to predict what comes next, similar to how early homestuck was focused on other threats that paled in comparison to what was to come. remember all those theories during early homestuck that missed the mark because there literally just wasnt enough info on the playing field yet

i'm excited to see what's next too but i think i have pretty strong reasons to be apprehensive about this kind of thinking. HS1 was able to go more than 1000 pages before namedropping its main villain because it's an 8000+ page epic, and even then there are still to this day a significant camp of readers who think lord english is a bad villain because he wasn't set up earlier than the third act. as much as we would all hypothetically love for HS1 to keep going forever i don't think any of us really want HS2 to be 8000 pages long so i think it is kind of running out of time to start introducing loads of new stuff. (the big climax flash, whenever it happens in the next 6-12 months, is probably the point of no return as far as 'radically changing what HS2 is actually about' goes.)

iteration and escalation was part of HS1's DNA from early on + lord english makes sense as a villain because he is basically a distillation of notions that had been with the story since the beginning (the black king, the invincible demon, the malevolent parental figure, extranarrative forces influencing the characters' lives) so i get where you're coming from re: a "new character based off existing foreshadowing" because that was basically the bread and butter of HS1's storytelling (introducing calliope and caliborn so close to the halfway point of the comic is completely insane if you divorce it from the context that we already knew about lord english) but the thing is i don't think HS2 has anywhere else to escalate to at this point. HS1 already stretched its themes to the absolute limit and i don't know if we can possibly take that to a more interesting place than where we already are.

and i know i've frequently argued that HICU shouldn't feel constrained by what HS1 was and should be able to go in new and unique directions free of those expectations but at its core HS2 is supposed to be tying up the threads that were left wide open after the epilogues and i think the best way to satisfyingly achieve this is by focusing ON those threads and not introducing new ones that only further complicate things. i think i can survive a completely new villain showing up if that's what al really is hinting at because this team have demonstrated they have the creative chops to make that interesting but i don't WANT the current threats represented by dirk/jane to 'pale in comparison' to what comes next because, like, those are the main characters. you know. i want the main characters to keep being the focus of the story

[conspire24]

Why a Kalos game actually makes sense right now (crack theory)

So, I'm super excited we're getting a Legends game in Kalos featuring Zygarde. As a longtime fan in the XY anime, I always wished Zygarde was done justice in the game side of things, and once Legends Acreus came out, I knew another Legends game would be the perfect way to give Zygarde they're dues.

That said, this was definitely out of left field! Literally everyone was guessing we were going to get a Johto or Unova game this gen, since they're the only two that have yet to be remade in 3D. At first, skipping straight to Kalos makes no sense. But the more I thought of it, the more I've noticed a pattern, a pattern that I will now present as:

THE POKEMON GENERATION MULTIPLES HYPOTHESIS

The idea is that the region that gets remade is influenced by its age as well as whether or not the region's generation number shares a common denominator (that isn't 1) with the current region's generation number. I know, I'm bringing math into this, but trust me it'll make sense when we go through it.

Let's start simple, the first gen to get remade was Kanto (gen 1) during generation 3. Easy enough, it was the first gen where it made sense to remake past games, and oh look, 3 is a multiple of 1 (though to be fair everything's a multiple of 1).

Then we get to gen 4, where after the sinnoh games, we got a remake of John (gen 2). Oddly enough, 4 is a multiple of 2.

Then there's gen 5. Now, 5 is a prime number, so the only factor 5 has is 1, but gen 1 has already been made available on DS (along with every other gen, so it's not like they could do much anyway).

But then we get to gen 6, followed by the Hoenn remakes (gen 3), and 3 is a multiple of 6. Now, 6 also a multiple of 2 and even shares a common denominator with 4 (that c.d. being 2), but it seems gen 3 takes the precedent because it is the earliest set of games to have been released, since Johto and Sinnoh had games out more recently.

We move to gen 7, and you know, I remember back in 2017 when everyone thought we were gonna get Sinnoh remakes next. But why would we? 7 isn't a multiple of 4, 4 and 7 don't share a common denominator. 7 is a prime number, it isn't a multiple of anything - except for 1. And wouldn't you know it, this is the generation where we got a set of Kanto remakes - and 1 was the only thing that could factor into 7!

As we go to gen 8, suddenly it's apparent what would get remade next. Sinnoh was the region that had been out of circulation the longest, and 4 goes into 8 just fine, meaning now is finally the time to give Sinnoh another spot in the limelight with BDSP and Legends Arceus!

And now, we have reached gen 9, and again I say we all had thought we would get a return to Johto or Unova, but why? I mean, 9 isn't a multiple of 2, or 5. Rather, 9 is a multiple of 3. And you what else is a multiple of 3? 6! And since gen 6 had come out a year before the Hoenn remakes, it seems Kalos was the earliest game to pass the threshold for a modern reimagining.

So, in short, it appears that the region that gets remade or reused next coincides with whether or not the generation number shares a common denominator greater than 1 as well as whether or not the region's last release has been longer than other regions'. If this theory holds water, gen 10 may yield some interesting results, as 10 is a multiple of both 2 and 5. Though, there has been more time since the last new Johto games than there has been since the last new Unova games, so by my logic, Johto would be the next to be remade. Though if you count the Johto VC releases on 3DS, maybe that would mean Unova has spent more time out, so maybe Unova would be next on the docket?

Either way, I just think it's interesting that all the generations' numbers line up this way. Who knows, maybe each generation, GameFreak has been playing a simple numbers game when deciding their remakes.

Well regardless, I'm happy that we're getting another step into Kalos next year, and in a way, maybe the timing makes more sense than we realize. That said, definitely take this theory with a grain of salt. I highly doubt the numbering of generations (which I don't think GameFreak has ever actually acknowledged officially) truly factors into how GameFreak and the Pokemon Company greenlight what projects. But if nothing else, it's fun to notice those kinds of patterns. I'd take this in the same vein as that fire starter zodiac theory from a while back. It's probably not true, but it's funny how well it fits together!

That said, I'm calling it now, a Legends game in Johto is gonna be the game for 2028!

[theproperweirdo]

So to start, in Arena Maulers were created by the Lightbearer faction and then exiled to the desert once they were no longer needed.

In Journey there really isn’t too much I think that mentions why the maulers are out in the desert, just that they are.

This it’s what caught my interest originally because the implication of the lightbearers being their ‘creators’ automatically puts them on lesser ground. They are also described to be entirely cruel with a single minded focused on strength, and while this is also shown in Journey the tone and background as to why they behave like this is different (we’ll come back to that).

There’s a subtle implication of humans being the ‘better’ and ‘less savage race’. Especially with the maulers being described as straight up “barbaric” on the wiki. And while originally I believe this stemmed from the maulers being far more literally animalistic the narrative of “predominantly European-inspired race is better than these savage brutes who live in tribes and just want violence all the time regardless of the fact the light bearers are literally why they exist and were abandoned out in a desert with little resources” is not exactly something that sounds great nowadays

This shift in narrative not only evens the playing field for maulers to be seen as their own people with the own cultures, that while still aggressive and brutal, stem from desperation and struggle to survive instead of inherent nature. It also paints the lightbearers in a better light because again the mild colonizer vibes are a bit weird.

I never noticed the shift in origin for the maulers, it’s interesting! I’ve also noticed the weird creator vs creation thing going on with the Lightbears and Maulers, definitely a weird “European origins being better thing” (especially because most of the maulers have darker skinned)

On the note of evening the playing field, I personally thought the opposite 🫣 In arena, the light bearers threw the Ya out into the dessert with the intention of killing them. The maulers survived through struggle, hardship, and violence. It’s why their practices are often aggressive. It was how they survived, and why their “pride” is that they’re powerful and survived against the odds against them.

Their culture was also influenced by this, the factors of their environment (dessert/Savannah), and Dura’s influence. In arena, she felt pity for the Ya, and blessed them with an oasis in the dessert so that they could survive. It became their population’s hub, and it’s how their festivals/celebrations came about. If I’m remembering it right, they threw this yearly celebration in honour of Dura’s blessing that allowed them to survive. However, they still struggled badly to survive, and that’s why they have their mentality of the strong surviving and needing to erase weakness; if u were weak, you just didn’t make it. They celebrate “violence” because it’s what allowed them to beat the odds 🎉🎉

IMO the light bearers have always been assholes in Esperia history 💀💀 well specifically in the era of man gods. They were just doing whatever the fuck they wanted and boom the consequences

[themattress]

Fire Emblem: Three Houses

This year I have decided to do three simultaneous playthroughs of each house (and I'll be sticking with Edelgard on my Black Eagles file since there's no point in playing Silver Snow when I'm going to be playing Verdant Wind). It gives me an even greater impression of not only how the houses differ but all the small ways in which the narrative changes depending on which house you chose. I've cleared Chapter 2 on all files and have some stray thoughts:

- Specific characters in each faction outside of the leaders are really grabbing my attention. For the Black Eagles it's Dorothea, who is such an immediately charismatic and layered character, and the fact that she's a bisexual woman playing the field but isn't slut-shamed for it by the narrative is so refreshing. For the Blue Lions it's Felix, who is an odd duck in how he's one of the biggest assholes on campus yet also consistently one of the most honest, loyal and well-intentioned people around at the same time. And for the Golden Deer it's Hilda, who is a natural powerhouse and knows it yet plays the "weak, useless, delicate flower" to get out of fighting not because she truly lacks self-confidence as she claims but because she's clearly frightened of having the burden of expectations placed upon her the way it's placed upon her brother, who is basically Superman as far as the Alliance is concerned.

- As far as the Church of Seiros is concerned, as usual it's all about Seteth and Flayn for me. Seteth is such a thinly veiled passive-aggressive dickwad to Byleth in these early chapters and it makes him unlikable but in a fun way while also making his later turnaround that much more effective, and Flayn is just too precious in how determined she is to experience all the joys of living to her fullest regardless of how awkward she is at it. I love her voice and manner of speaking. Rhea is also interesting, of course, but hasn't really done much at this point.

- I adore Garreg Mach Monastery. It's one of those fictional world locations that leaves such an impression that I wish it were real. It's got everything: classrooms, a library, a training yard, a dining hall, pavilions for tea time, a fishing pond, a greenhouse, a marketplace, a sauna, a chapel, living quarters, tame animals everywhere, and even an expansive underground area.

- The developers have confirmed that it was the Black Eagles version of White Clouds in conjunction with Silver Snow that they wrote first, and honestly that tracks with how these beginning chapters go. There's so much dramatic irony in Byleth teaching the house led by the secret villain, doing so after it was their presence that threw a wrench in said secret villain's plans by becoming the new teacher instead of Jeritza, and in how said secret villain then goes along on the class mission to exterminate the very bandits that she hired for the aforementioned plan. It also sets the narrative up as a bizarre sort of "love triangle" between Byleth, Edelgard and Rhea...and unless you do extremely missable things, nobody wins.

- Lastly, I got reminded early on why the Blue Lions route is my least favorite. All the fans that love it insist that it's a "character-driven" story, but what they mean by that is literally just one character is driving the story: Dimitri. At the end of Chapter 2 in the Black Eagles route Edelgard talks to Byleth about the ruins in Zanado and hints about the Nabateans or the Agarthans (depending on dialogue choice) and how they "might still influence the world", subtly hinting at her distaste for this and desire for Byleth to join her in getting rid of them. In the Golden Deer route Claude tests Byleth's honesty before noting his curiosity about what happened in the past to give Zanado the name of "the Red Canyon" when nothing was red. Both of these are rooted in the main plot and reflect on the characters plus Byleth's dynamic with them. But in the Blue Lions route, Edelgard passes by, Dimitri seems wistful about her, and when Byleth inquires he just says "I'll tell you some other time". Nothing about Zanado or the main plot whatsoever, and Dimitri is the sole focus rather than Edelgard or Byleth getting anything out of the scene too. It's foreshadowing how in Azure Moon, Dimitri becomes a plot tumor whom everything else in the story is sacrificed for, even Rhea whom we opened on.

[gameshowtrainwreck]

How to Rig a Game Show (Covering the 'How' and 'Why,' and a little 'How Come'), With Relevant Social Commentary

I'm trying to type up this big effort-assed essay on the American quiz show scandals and the part they played in why we are now where we are.

Nutshell is that, apart from Charles Revson, there was never really one single, abjectly malevolent actor in the whole thing, it was a series of people making small rationalizations and little moral compromises that ended up snowballing into something big enough, heavy enough, fast enough, and out of control enough that the whole thing plowed right tf into the court of public opinion and clobbered a hell of a lot of people.

And in a weird way, it serves as part of an explanation on why some of the shit that happened recently has happened. Let's examine the mechanisms in place that let it happen, how it took place, and who benefitted from it.

The punchline from all of that is that as a consequence of the whole fracas is those who produce game shows are legally mandated to hold a higher ethical standard than any producer for any segment of any news outlet operating within these borders. Neither a complaint nor a complement, just a description of the state of play as on the field.

But here is the complaint: 'Yellow Journalism' never really stopped being a thing with the American press, they just managed to shunt that image off to the tabloids and celebrity gossips, while rewording some of their more-blatant examples to appear more respectable. Even though 'if it bleeds, it leads' was the operative slogan of my day (at any rate), such sentiments were begrudgingly pooh-poohed by those trying to maintain a veneer of integrity. The information age has gone to demonstrate to everybody that engagement has always ranked higher than any proclaimed allegiance to objective fact.

Hell, look at how the US press was quick to call the recent clashes in Amsterdam as anti-Semitic attacks before everybody else found out it was a case of a bunch of out-of-towners literally trying to start shit with locals and the locals reminding the out-of-towners they were both unarmed and without air support. I don't think anybody who originally reported it as motivated by anti-semitism have bothered updating everybody on the newer developments, and if they did, they probably included it as a side note on an unrelated story, below the fold.

Yet some poor, dumb sumbitch of a college undergrad intern is looking at a nickel, minimum, in a federal penn if they bullshit the MSRP on a can of soup.

But despite the exaggeration of the stakes and the consequences involved, there are about three ways I can think of for cheating a game to happen (as in a deliberate and willful effort towards influencing what is presented as a genuine competition towards a pre-determined outcome), depending on who is involved with the deception, and the direction in which it is applied:

"Top-Down Bias:" This was the type of rigging that happened with The $64,000 Question and it's spinoff, The $64,000 Challenge. The shows' producers would meet with Revlon CEO Charles Revson, who would make thinly-veiled comments about the state of the contestants on the show, with producers adjusting material to be friendlier or more antagonistic in their questions for them based on those meetings.

The fault in this approach is that while any plan can be foolproof, there is no plan out there that is capable of being goddamned foolproof. As much as Charles Revson fuckin hated Dr Joyce Brothers' guts as a contestant, there really wasn't a way for the writers to get around her memorizing the literal encyclopedia of boxing they gave her, even to the point of asking her about people who were referees of notable fights.

"Bottom-Up Bias:" Contestants try to exert influence on the outcome of a game by means of outside assistance. Possibly the rarest instance of rigging a game that I've seen or studied-- it's only happened twice in all of history (that I know of). Charles Ingram's incredibly unsubtle coughing code on the UK's Who Wants to be a Millionaire? was the most-recent incident of this I can think of happening in real life.🎤

(please note: I do not consider Michael Larsen's exploitation of the big board on Press Your Luck to be an example of this; he wasn't the only one to notice the board had a set pattern, Bill Carruthers made mention of other people after Larsen thinking they had figured out the same system he had done. Larsen was just the quickest to spot and exploit it. Exploiting a bug in a game as it is designed is not cheating, that's on the production for not smoothing out that particular wrinkle at the start. Old Man Goodson liked to shit hisself over an episode of the pre-scandal chat-quizzer Two for the Money when a question came up that read something like "name a word that ends in the letters -TH;" The team figured out a lot of ordinal numbers could end that way, and ended up taking about five grand in early-1950s dollars in a game whose average payout was usually ≤ $750)

"Broadband Bias:" This was the most-common type of rigging that took place during the scandals. Frank Cooper's Dotto was the first show to be canceled on account of rigging but also involved just about every program in Jack Barry & Dan Enright's primetime catalog (Twenty One, Tic Tac Dough, High-Low, The Big Surprise, hell, let's throw Juvenile Jury in on that even though it wasn't a game show) and ultimately came to a head with Charles Van Doren's Senate testimony. Broadband Bias refers to the idea that you don't have to worry about an outcome that would lie beyond your control if you plan it all in advance and give contestants their instructions for each game.

To hear word from Barry and Enright themselves, they acted independently of Geritol's influence, What happened was that Twenty One had it's very first game end the show on a zero-zero tie. Reps with Geritol told B&E point-blank that they never wanted to see another episode like that ever again. The message Enright took from that was to prep the contestants.💰 Jack stated he had no idea what Dan was doing behind the scenes, but I think that was Jack and Dan's strategy to help soften the impact for each other's roles in it all. Not hatin', just statin'.

The plan was that losers would get a little extra in consolation prize money and/or spots on other quiz/panel shows B&E operated for their taking the dive, winners kick back some money to the production to help cover the losers' extra pay. Nobody the wiser would think anything truly wrong was taking place, they were entertainers, they were there to entertain, this was the check drawn from their performances.

The problem with this lies in the sheer number of participants you have to involve in order to keep the deception going: promises made to participants were not promises kept. Enright painted himself into a corner he couldn't get himself out of, and was exiled to Canadian TV for a decade as a result of it.

Does that mean that game shows are inherently more moral content than anything else out there?🍀 Absolutely not-- considering how much quid-pro-quo that Enright was running just for Twenty One (and this was a scheme Dan had apparently done across multiple shows), a cynical person could argue that the bulk of the reforms in the wake of the 1960 amendment to the Communications Act of '34 to address This Sort of Thing was not just to ensure honest competitions kept and maintained a paper trail (to show how they kept everything honest), but it also lead to one of the first instances of security theater in this country.

It's one thing to have a bank manager on stage talking about leaving questions sealed in a safe deposit box for a week (like on $64k), it's another to guide contestants through a bureaucratic process that could be presented in such a manner that contestants get the feeling that they would have no standing to launch proceedings if they had a grievance anyway.

Not that any of that excuses the predatory gaming that producers participated in during that rash of call-in-and-lose 'live game show' scams that were a thing for a handful of years during the first decade of the 22nd century. The three examples of game rigging I spoke of here were with the consideration of 'the contestant' vs 'the house' as parties ultimately neutral to one another; the house actually taking money from contestants📺 is something altogether different. I do hold the Call-In-and-Lose games as responsible for what would be every negative trope associated with mobile game ads (purposely terrible game demo, simplistic ruleset presented, little to no thought at all put into them, ad astra, ad infinitum).

And despite all of that, the public really wouldn't have cared if those accused had told everybody it was rigged to begin with. Case in point: Chuck Barris' The $1.98 Beauty Show had Johnny Jacobs announce it was fake at the beginning of every episode. Every episode straight up carried a disclaimer roughly saying "this is a satire. please do not think in any way that the participants are actually involved in any kind of competition because this is a satire. Please do not inquire about being a contestant on The $1.98 Beauty Show, even if you live in or plan to visit the Los Angeles area, because this is a satire. There are much better uses of your dignity that are worth considerably more than $1.98 because this is a satire." And that was on the screen for longer than the rest of the show's credits.

I mean, they didn't really say that in roughly that way, but I think you get the point.

I do believe that the that extra scrutiny that was incorporated into American game shows as a result of the scandals was a factor in why Mike Richards was cut loose from Jeopardy! as quickly as he was after Alex Trebek's passing. Going by accounts from those who had complaint against him while he was the executive producer at The Price is Right, one could not help but come away with the idea that Richards was trying to be the same type of business-as-usual Hollywood producer that empowered Harvey Weinstein to go hogg wild for as long as he did. Not a big deal in any other sector of the entertainment industry, apparently, but in a subsector of entertainment where you literally cannot do Business-as-Usual (including the regular charge of acting like a Goodson/Todman Producer towards Goodson/Todman Models that Bob Barker liked to pull), that is an absolute non-starter. If Sony Pictures Entertainment had their Standards & Practice rep go over the allegations, they likely saw an established pattern that did not carry good omens for Sony's fiscal futures if they allowed him to carry on. And remember, this was the company that released Mobius to theaters twice.

Unless you've sworn a life debt to them (and why the fuck would you ever go and do a fool thing like that in fuckin Hollywood of all places?), there are no bosses or coworkers that are really worth going to prison over, particularly when it comes to anything that would be highlighted by hand within the pages of "Legally Established and Enforceable Precedents About Which On Game Shows You Do Not Fuck Around (Even as a Joke Between Good Good Good Friends), Rev 5th Ed, Now With New Ingram's Rule"🏛️

It is possible to rig a game show, but if you wanna stay out of prison you gotta tell everybody it's rigged. There are three ways I have found to put a thumb on the scale if you wanted to but there really isn't a need to, because the money straight up ain't in it like it used to be. Pat Weaver at NBC (Sigourney's pa) had pushed for the 'magazine' style of sponsorship for programs for years before this happened in order to reduce sponsors' control of programming, and that was before the march of technology increased the number of competitors through the internet.

You can control the outcome of a closed system; nobody gives a shit that pro-wrestling is scripted because no promoter will suddenly decide to allow random members of the audience to participate in a royal rumble; but if your pitch is that anybody can play, then anybody should be able to win, and you should be able to show the receipts backing that up.

If you want to make a game show, make one that requires leaving the things that need to be left up to chance left up to chance. Trust your audience and your contestants, give them a game that builds tension organically.

Footnotes and bonus content:

🏛️ [it's an actual book, ask your Standards and Practices representative to show it to you the next time you're a contestant on a game show; some of them will even take the time to read it to you, and slowly because you're supposed to read that in your contestant agreement when you signed at the bottom saying that you understood it and their paychecks really depend on your having understood it.]

🎤[about the only other time I can think of something like that happening in the English-speaking world was, funnily enough, a plotline on The Phil Silvers Show— Fred Gwynne was a guest star as somebody previously attached to an Antarctic weather expedition and only had a guide to North American birds to read, and so he remembered all eight thousand-plus birds and went crazy because of it. Sgt. Bilko gets him on as a contestant on The $64,000 Question despite his protests and the bulk of the episode involves their trying to sneak Bilko and a walkie-talkie into the isolation booth to get Gwynne over that last hurdle (given a "now what?!" amnesia plot on Gwynne's part).

Beyond the anglosphere, there was an incident in the 1990s on Italy's 'Telemike' (named for the host, Mike Bongiorno. He hosted the Italian version of Jeopardy! back in the seventies for RAI; when a competing network managed to get him signed, they brought it back under a different name). A contestant tried to sneak in notes to help her out during the double-or-nothing final round and Mike caught her trying to look down her own blouse.

The point is that it hardly ever happens in fiction, and happens with the same apparent frequency as it does in real life.]

💰[Martin Scorsese's character in Quiz Show even mentioned as much to Rob Morrow's character, and more or less explained everything that would happen as a result of the scandals. When Jack Barry talked a little about it on the Dick Cavett Show, he still spoke about the stakeholders involved in the manner someone would assume somebody still intending to draw a paycheck in 'this town' would speak of them would say, which I don't fault one bit. And to his credit, Jack could have just as easily left Dan twisting in the wind when The Joker's Wild took off, but he didn't. I have to give the man props for that.

And while I'm on it, Goodwin's role in the scandals is given a little more impact in the portrayal because he's good friends with Robert Redford. Not hatin', just statin'; I'm sure you'd do the same if you directed a movie about a day in the life at your friend's job]

📺 [Not that I think setting up a game to be impossible to win is "rigging" like how I have attempted to discuss it; there have been several game shows that made a giant performance about the top prize being offered, and then you watch the show and realize there's no likely possibility that anybody would be lucky enough to collect on the amount as advertised. Just because you could win $50k at Plinko does not mean anyone has actually won it.

As a personal bit of advice to any quiz producers out there: don't do that shit. The game is the thing, make a good game and the prizes will take care of themselves]

🍀[lmao a Turkish crossword quizzer some time back got cancelled immediately after they had a whole round of questions making fun of President Erdoan on a live broadcast. News channels here wouldn't dare try to jeopardize their access like that]