#then proceeds to ignore the poor interviewer

[evansbby]

my opinion on the Blake lively situation

[horsesarecreatures]

Are we still breeding or are we just multiplying?

At the VZAP general meeting, the agricultural scientist Andreas Perner gave an interesting lecture on current problems in purebred Arabian breeding, which we used as an opportunity for the following interview. This is about undesirable developments in Arabian breeding, which have arisen primarily through specialization and selection on individual characteristics, and he sees parallels in cattle breeding where the changes are scientifically substantiated.

IN THE FOCUS: Mr. Perner, in your presentation at the VZAP general meeting you pointed out some parallels that exist between cattle and horse breeding. Why should we concern ourselves with cattle when we are actually interested in horses?

Andreas Perner: Because there are numerous parallels. The primitive cattle were characterized by an enormous chest cavity with plenty of space for the organs, relatively fine legs and a pelvic shape with a high sacrum so that birth could proceed quickly. Through breeding selection, a major change in this appearance has taken place over the last 100 years, including extreme specialization in beef and dairy cattle. Since cows as farm animals have long been the focus of science, one also has easy access to data, e.g. milk yield, slaughter weight, but also bone measurements, etc., which can also be used to document such changes. In animal breeding, a distinction is made between two constitution types: the asthenic and the athletic. The representatives of the Holstein cattle, a highly specialized breed of dairy cattle, today almost exclusively belong to the asthenic constitutional type: large, tall and narrow, i.e. less space in the chest for the organs, rather poor feed conversion, etc. Male calves of this breed are so weak in the muscle development that they no longer have any economic (slaughter) value. Before this extreme specialization in milk production, this breed corresponded to a dual-purpose cattle (milk and meat) and thus more of the athletic constitution type, which has become very rare today. One can definitely draw parallels here with Arabian breeding, where the Arabian show horse was bred through specialization – and became also an asthenic, tall, long-legged, with little depth to the trunk. And among Arabians, too, the athlete, the medium-sized, broad, deep-rumped Arabian of the “old type” who is also a good feed converter, is becoming increasingly rare. From a population genetic point of view, this is a major catastrophe and countermeasures must be taken.

IN THE FOCUS: If we ignore the outside appearance, i.e. the conformation – are there any other changes that have occurred as a result of this specialization?

A. P.: In the last 30-40 years, dairy cattle have increasingly been bred for maximum performance (milk production) in the young animals, i.e. there has been conscious selection for early maturity. This has resulted in serious changes in the animals: through selection for early maturity, the useful life has been extremely shortened due to high susceptibility to disease and fertility problems – the latter is the main cause of loss in cattle breeding. This can also be proven with figures: In Germany today a cow has an average of 2.4 calves, but biologically it can have 14-15 calves. The “useful life” of cows is now at an all-time low. The selection for early maturity also has an impact on the quality of the claws: the early maturing animals need claw care three times a year, because the claws are soft and grow very quickly. In contrast, slow, long-lasting growth – i.e. late maturity – ensures healthy development of the entire organism and a long lifespan. Late-maturing cattle only need hoof care once a year, sometimes only every two years, because they have extremely good, strong hoof horn. All this can also be transferred to the horse, because the horse’s hoof horn is also of better quality in late-maturing animals. This all depends on the high quality of the connective tissue. If you breed late-maturing animals, they often look underdeveloped when they are young and breeders often do not recognize their true quality. It is also a feature of breeding for longevity that it produces healthier animals, which statistically incur significantly less veterinary costs (i.e. only a quarter of the costs) in cattle breeding. Here, too, the parallels to horse breeding seem clear to me: the late-maturing types have no chance at shows in the junior classes, which is why show horse breeding promotes the early-maturing type. Late maturing horses often look like “ugly ducklings”, but often they only become “beautiful swans” when they are 6 years old or older. Egyptian breeding has had this problem for a long time, which is why you see fewer and fewer Egyptians at international shows or they have their own shows where they are not in competition with the early-maturing “show horses”.

IN THE FOCUS: When you say that a late-maturing horse is characterized by long-term growth, which then ensures healthy development of the entire organism and a long lifespan, the Russians come to mind. But it is precisely these that are tested on the racetrack very early, as early as two-year-olds. Isn’t that a contradiction?

A. P.: As far as I know, the two-year-old horses are prepared very carefully for the racetrack and the trainers make sure that they are not overstrained. The horses also have time to develop further – they are encouraged to exercise without being overstrained. As a result, they develop better, become wider in the chest, more muscular overall, the entire organism becomes stronger, etc. But ultimately what matters is: How old do the horses get in good health – and therefore without major veterinary costs? And in the case of breeding animals there is also the question: How good is their fertility? There are Russian stallions with racetrack careers who are still mating naturally at the age of 28, mares who still have foals at well over 20 years of age, and the Arabian mare Nefta in Pompadour, France, had one foal every year between 1975 and 1995, i.e. 21 foals in total! I don’t know of any such examples from show horse breeding without the use of embryo transfer (but I’m happy to be informed!). In warmblood breeding you can see what selection for early-maturity does, especially with show jumping horses, the horses often have a nerve cut at 8 to 9 years of age, then you have two more years of use, so to speak, and then they go to the slaughterhouse. Or think of the hypermobility of dressage horses, which have weak connective tissue and the resulting weakness of the joints, capsules and ligaments as well as the tendons and muscles. That cannot be the breeding goal.

Any selection that is not also focused on fitness and longevity or long-term performance automatically causes these characteristics to deteriorate.

IN THE FOCUS: To what extent have modern selection methods influenced the development of specialization?

A. P.: Specialization in cattle has been driven forward in the last 10 years by genomic breeding value estimation, which has now also found its way into horse breeding. For this method, the entire genome had to be sequenced and all performance parameters were then assigned to specific gene loci. Then, using complicated calculations, one could get an estimate of what performance the animal in question will perform in the future. In this way, it was possible for a young cow to achieve a milk production of over 40 kg per day, but the animals are no longer physiologically able to absorb enough nutrients to be able to achieve this output at all! As a result, over 90% of young cows end up with severe organ damage in the slaughterhouse. This means that the animals can endure it for a certain amount of time, mobilize all their body reserves but at some point their metabolism switches off and liver damage occurs, which ultimately leads to death. Part of the problem is that selection according to the wrong parameters took place. Instead of taking “longevity” and “health” into account, they only selected for “milk production”. A lot of breeding knowledge is also lost due to the convenient catalogue selection. The people who are in charge of cattle breeding today only use the preliminary breeding value or the genomic value for planning the matings. We are not quite there yet in horse breeding and especially not in Arabian horse breeding. But here too, a lot of breeding knowledge has been lost in recent years!

IN THE FOCUS: How can you avoid such a development in horse breeding as you have outlined for cattle breeding?

A. P.: In our association “European Association for Natural Cattle Breeding” we have selected cow families that have proven to be long-lived over several generations and in which the animals have produced over 100,000 litres of milk in the last 3 to 4 generations. We buy bulls from these cows. We have also inseminated such cows with semen from bulls that lived 30 or 40 years ago, and we now have the first 200 daughters of this F1 generation of the appropriate age. What’s exciting is that the animals produce almost as much milk as their “high-performance relatives”, but are significantly healthier! The question now is: How to continue breeding with the F1 generation – this requires a lot of breeding experience and knowledge. But this is exactly what young farmers are missing. In horse breeding we have the same problem, where the most diverse bloodlines are crossed together and due to Mendel’s rules the appearance then splits in all directions in the F2 generation, and top horses that cost a lot of money produce maximum average offspring, as can be seen from the example of the gelding Agnat (pedigree see AP 2-22). That’s why we offer information in our association on the topic: How do you have to breed in order to achieve a high level of heredity reliability? To do this you have to use the old breeding methods, i.e. line breeding, occasional inbreeding, always working with blood connection. Then I don’t have the problem of anything splitting.

IN THE FOCUS: Let’s stay with Arabian breeding: What are the breed-typical characteristics that you should select for?

A. P.: Breeding means selecting. That doesn’t mean that the horses that are not suitable for breeding go to the slaughterhouse. But you have to decide which horses go into breeding based on which characteristics and which don’t. Those that do not go into breeding should still have enough quality that they can survive in their respective market segment (riding horses, show horses, racing horses). Characteristics typical of Arabians that need to be maintained are a hard constitution, suitability for long-term performance, high age, high fertility, good feed conversion, lively but benign temperament, sociability and people-oriented nature. The suitability for long-term performance is due, among other things, to the fact that the Arabian has the most haemoglobin per litre of blood (compared to warm-blooded and cold-blooded horses). Haemoglobin is responsible for supplying oxygen to the muscles, and it is therefore important that the Arabian can also mobilize the haemoglobin reserves in the body most efficiently at the same time. In this context there is also a high regenerative capacity. All of this is deeply anchored genetically, but if you don’t pay attention to these characteristics, i.e. if you don’t select for them, then these characteristics are lost within few generations. In animal breeding we speak of genotype-environment interaction, i.e. if I decrease the selection for certain characteristics, then these are gradually (and unnoticed) lost. The lifespan of Arabians is often 25 years, and horses over 30 are not uncommon. Regarding fertility, there are examples from the state stud farms where mares had 15 to 20 foals and demonstrated high fertility into old age. In addition, the Arabian horse has the highest milk yield (in grams) per kg live weight, which is also a sign of good feed conversion and efficiency. In Tersk Stud, milk production is used as a selection criterion because they don’t want mothers who don’t produce enough milk.

IN THE FOCUS: Which other results from constitutional research on cattle can be transferred to horses or the Arabian horse?

A. P.: A whole series of points come to mind: we have already covered some of the constitutional types and early maturity/late maturity, plus there is sexual dimorphism, i.e. the difference between male and female animals, breeding rules, breeding methods, the importance of mare families, the selection for size and the effects of show breeding, which also occurs with cattle!

The more masculine the male animals are in their appearance, the more feminine are their female offspring.

Sexual dimorphism is a true secondary sexual characteristic caused by different hormone constellations between the sexes. These sex hormones are produced in the adrenal cortex of stallions and mares. In addition, testosterone is produced in the testicles of stallions and estrogens are produced in the ovaries of mares. One such secondary sexual characteristic is, for example, the “stallion neck or crest”. If we now breed horses where stallions and mares look the same, where there is no longer any visible difference between the sexes – what happens on the hormonal level? The natural hormonal balance shifts, testosterone decreases, and the stallion’s neck disappears. In the long term, however, we are selecting against fertility, i.e. fertility will deteriorate! That’s also what you hear more and more often – behind closed doors: stallions have poor semen quality and mares are becoming increasingly difficult to conceive – you often have to use all the tricks of modern reproductive technology to get the animals pregnant at all. By the way, there is an old animal breeding law that says: “The more masculine the male animals are in their appearance, the more feminine their female offspring are.”

IN THE FOCUS: Breeding is a very complex matter, as we can see. What breeding principles can you give to a “young breeder”?

A. P.: Yes, what have we learned for breeding from all this research?

Never massively select for individual traits if you don’t understand the whole thing. This is going to shit. I would like to cite one of the most significant experiments in the history of animal breeding here: In the 1950s, the Russian biologist Dimitri Belyayev and his colleagues began to capture wild silver foxes, select them for tameness and repeatedly breed the animals selected according to this criterion with each other. The aim was to recreate domestication (becoming pets) in an experiment. So what happened? Already after the 3rd generation, serious changes occurred in the phenotype (external appearance): change in fur color, lop-eared ears, curly tails, shortening of the extremities, shortening of the upper and lower jaw, change in the texture of the fur, change in torso length, etc. There are a number of hypotheses to explain this phenomenon, but explaining them here would go too far. It is important to know that only a small part of the entire genome is activated; the rest are so-called “sleeping genes”. Environmental influences or selection pressure from outside (= breeding) do not change the genetic material itself, but rather the intensity with which certain parts of it are read and converted into molecules such as hormones. The conclusion for the breeder remains: selection for one characteristic ultimately changes entire complexes of characteristics!!!

Any selection that is not also aimed at fitness and longevity or long-term performance automatically causes these characteristics to deteriorate. As already mentioned at the beginning, the physiological basis for longevity and long-term performance is slow, long-lasting growth (=late maturity). Opposite to this is the complex of characteristics of “early maturity”, i.e. fast, short growth, high and intensive performance at a young age and the associated rapid aging. Research on cattle has shown that intensive selection for early and high milk production of the animals dramatically reduces their useful life. Before the animals are even fully grown (with 4 calves), a very high percentage of dairy cows have to leave the stable due to illness. These early-mature animals are physiologically incapable of maintaining this performance. On the other hand, late-maturing animals begin with medium performance, develop slowly and only achieve high and highest performance when they are fully grown. The organism with all its metabolic processes is then well “trained”, connective tissue, cartilage, joints, tendons, ligaments and claws are of high quality (because they have grown slowly) and the animals produce well into old age without any health problems. Everything that has just been said also applies in reverse to horse breeding. The rapid success pushes breeding towards early maturity with devastating consequences for the horses and ultimately for the horse owner.

Function determines form. I have to think about what breeding goal do I have? If I want to breed a riding horse, it needs certain riding horse points and it has to be ridden so that these can be checked. If I want to breed a racehorse, it has to be fast – it is this function (speed) that dictates the form. But if I want to breed a show horse, it has to fit into a conformation template that was developed by some people (judges). So here the form comes first, and the horse is bred to adapt to this form, which is fundamentally wrong.

IN THE FOCUS: There are different breeding methods to achieve your breeding goal. Could you briefly explain to us what these are?

A. P.: I actually come from a generation before population genetics. My grandfather had nothing to do with these theoretical considerations. But these people still developed different breeding methods based on their experience – and these are still valid today. The breeding methods commonly used for the Arabian horse are:

Line breeding – this means that we find a (minor) relationship on both the father’s and mother’s side, so we bring together related genes, so to speak, from breeding animals that correspond to our breeding goals and are selected as best as possible. Because of the slight relationship, I have a high degree of certainty that the next generation will be as good as or better than the parent generation.

We talk about inbreeding when you have outstanding breeding animals and you want to consolidate or increase this gene pool through breeding close relatives. Of course, inbreeding is only possible if the animal is free of any genetic defects. Inbreeding not only solidifies the good sides, but also the hereditary defects or undesirable traits and brings them forward. Two recessive genes can appear homozygous, i.e. monozygotic, through inbreeding. If the genetic makeup then contains a genetic defect, this genetic defect is present in a monozygotic form and it comes into play (e.g. CA, SCID). How close the inbreeding can be is a matter of debate. Basically, a generation postponement is always good. Before it was possible to test for hereditary defects using genetic tests, father-daughter matings were made – if the father was a hidden (recessive) carrier of a hereditary defect, this would come to light. Today’s genetic tests can save you from having dead or deformed foals. In any case, the use of inbreeding must be embedded in a breeding plan and strict selection must take place!

“Unplanned mating” – here the nice stallion around the corner or the super show crack is used without much consideration as to how well he suits the mare and what effects this has. Let’s take Agnat’s example again: His sire Empire was bronze champion at the European Championships as a junior and in the top ten at the World Championships. Grandfather Enzo was US National Champion, his grandmother Emira was All Nations Cup Champion, his other grandfather QR Marc was World Champion, and Kwestura was also World Champion and the most expensive horse at a Polish auction. His pedigree really shows the “Who’s Who” of show horse breeding and yet the combination of all these illustrious names resulted in a completely ordinary horse. So what happened there? It’s simple: In this pedigree everything is mixed together and then Mendel’s splitting rule kicks in and it splits in all directions in the F2 generation. As a consequence, the major show horse breeders then switch to embryo transfer, producing embryos from different sires, e.g. B. 10 foals, 9 of the resulting foals do not meet the requirements of a show horse and are sold cheaply, and the one that meets expectations goes into the show. But the fact that 9 foals do not meet the breeding standard is kept quiet. This is “trial and error” and has nothing to do with “breeding”. That’s why I am an absolute opponent of these methods.

Outcross – how an outcross works properly in terms of breeding is generally not known to many. So here’s an example: the stallion Kurier, bred at the Khrenovoje stud farm, a stud farm that was known for its extreme racing performance breeding. The damline is Russian, the outcross comes through the stallion Egis from Poland, a Derby winner of which the Russians have hoped to get not only a blood refreshment, but also the highest performance. In terms of breeding, the way it works now is that the stallion Egis gets the 5 best mares from the entire mare population to cover and his two or three best sons then go into breeding. Only these sons are then widely used in the broodmare band. Breeding means thinking in generations!

Displacement breeding – generally speaking, this involves replacing certain traits with others. In animal breeding, this is usually done by crossing with other breeds. In Arabian breeding this happens through a different type of horse within the breed. This can currently be seen in the Polish state stud farms, where show horse stallions, sometimes in the third generation, are being used indiscriminately on the thoroughly bred Polish mare base, so that Polish blood is being increasingly suppressed. What is currently happening there is a displacement crossing with show horses. In doing so, within 20 years they are ruining everything that has been built and consolidated over 150 years of breeding work.

Selection – in the large stud farms you could actually still select. Every year you have 50 or more foals and you select the 3 to 4 best ones, the rest go to the remonte, i.e. they become riding horses and are therefore taken from the breeding gene pool. But if, as a small private breeder, I only breed one foal in 10 years, the selection becomes difficult. The golden rule in animal breeding is: always double the good! Then you have a high degree of security in inheritance.

IN THE FOCUS: Mare families traditionally play a major role in horse breeding – and in Arabian breeding in particular. Why is that?

A. P.: Scientifically, this can be attributed to the so-called cytoplasmic inheritance. During fertilization, the stallion only contributes the sperm, and of that only the cell nucleus. The mare, however, contributes the egg cell with the cell nucleus and around it the cytoplasm with the cell organelles, and especially the mitochondria. The mitochondria are also carriers of genetic material and are responsible for the energy metabolism of the cells. These mitochondria are always passed on from mother to foal in the egg cell. A colt has the benefit of this, but cannot pass on this mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA) to its offspring. Only a filly can pass this on to the next generation. Therefore, the female line can be traced back into the past using mtDNA. Maternal performance lines such as Sabellina in Poland and Sapine in Russia are also known in Arabian horse breeding.

IN THE FOCUS: What advice would you give to a breeder who wants to buy a mare for breeding?

A. P.: A breeder should look at the damline of the mare in question. If possible, you should choose a mare from a damline that has undergone performance tests. Ask the breeder about the number of foals for the mother, grandmother, etc.? This gives an indication of fertility. If the last three generations consist of mares that meet all the criteria, you can also count on a resounding inheritance in the mare that you want to buy or with which you want to breed, i.e. a high degree of heredity security. If you buy a broodmare that has already had foals, you should ask whether this mare gave birth without any problems, did she become pregnant immediately, did she accept the foal? If we select better with regards to fertility, this will save a lot of unnecessary veterinary costs! The problem today is that it is becoming increasingly difficult to obtain such data, because even studbooks usually only contain those foals that are born healthy and are considered “worthy of registration” by the breeder – the number of coverings that are used to become a mare pregnant, the number of resorptions, abortions, stillbirths, all of this is unfortunately no longer recorded today. Another problem is that most broodmares are kept by small breeders where they have no chance of having 10 or more foals because they are only bred once or twice in their lives. Based on today’s studbook data, it is not possible to determine whether a broodmare that only had two foals in 10 years was bred more often but did not produce a live foal, or was only used for breeding twice. And a good broodmare also has good milk production! In the large state stud farms in Poland and Russia, this was recorded as a selection criterion because it is also one of the good maternal qualities.

IN THE FOCUS: How can the “lack of data” be remedied, since it is the members of the associations who have decided that only the absolutely necessary data will be recorded, or that stillbirths or abortions will not be reported to the stud book at all?

A. P.: Yes, that is a problem. But I think we’re at a point now where we have to think about where do we want to go with breeding Arabian horses in the next 20 or 30 years? The breeders should arrange for the associations to collect the relevant data. The same applies to proof of performance, regardless of whether it is equestrian sport, racing, endurance or show.

IN THE FOCUS: Let’s move from mares to stallions: Stallions have a much greater influence on breeding in terms of numbers. For example, QR Marc has sired over 850 offspring in the last 15 years…

A. P.: What makes a good stallion? For me he has to have performance-tested ancestors, he must be free of hereditary defects, proven performance, best conformation and – very important – an impeccable character. If a stallion is problematic and cannot be handled, he has no place in breeding. Let’s get to the question: How do I breed a good stallion? For me, this is the most exciting question of all! I currently see far too few good young stallions in Arabian horse breeding in order to have a few good stallions available for breeding in 5 or 10 years. How to address this problem? In breeding you can say: behind every good stallion there is a good stallion mother. The mare from which you want to breed a future sire is extremely important. Good mares in particular should remain in breeding and planned, targeted matings should be encouraged.

IN THE FOCUS: What dangers do you see in show horse breeding?

A. P.: My job here as a population geneticist is to point out developmental trends. One must be aware of the dangers of where the path leads if we continue in this direction for a long time. I want to come back to the cattle here to show what effects show breeding has, because it really runs in parallel:

Just like in Arabian breeding, in cattle breeders try to achieve a straight topline. The topline must be completely straight, only then it corresponds to the show standard. But what happens when this has been achieved? By selecting for the straight topline, the sacrum descends into the pelvis and makes birth more difficult. The birth ducts become smaller (narrower) because – as desired by breeders – the sacrum lowers.

Poorly developed muscles in the hindquarters – let’s remember again the male calves mentioned at the beginning, which have poor muscles. This is due to the fact that the spinous processes of the sacrum have shortened by 2-3 cm due to incorrect selection. This means that the attachment area for the muscles is lost and this creates these muscle-poor pelvises. And I see exactly this tendency with the show horses.

In cattle breeding, a survey has shown that over 90% of Holstein cattle are asthenics, i.e. tall, narrow animals, while less than 10% are athletics, i.e. the medium-framed type with the broad chest, which could compensate for this in the population. Now you actually want to breed an animal that is as well balanced as possible, but to do this you would have to have a medium-framed, broad stallion/bull available for the vast majority of animals. However, these only make up less than 10% of the population. And this is exactly the direction horse breeding is going in!

The position of the hip joint, in cattle this is called the inverter, meaning the point at which the thigh attaches to the pelvis. The selection for the straight topline tends to shift the hip joint backwards, which means that the animal has to put the hind legs behind the body, which in turn has a negative impact on movement, creates kidney pressure and significantly worsens the resilience of the back.

The extreme “typey” head with dish is, in my opinion, a deformation. Anyone who demands a minimum level of performance from their horse will recognize that a horse with an extreme dish will have trouble breathing. This would require research to understand the exact connections. But we know from dogs and cats that the shortening of the nose does not reduce the amount of mucous membrane material in the nasopharynx. However, this is no longer tight, but rather “wrinkled”, which leads to the familiar wheezing breathing noises. The lower jaw and the ridge are no longer straight, but are curved, which leads to dental problems. Teeth change very slowly in evolutionary terms. The desert Arabians’ teeth are too large for today’s delicate heads and therefore have space problems in their jaws.

The refinement of the head in particular, but also of the entire horse, and the associated lack of gender type in the stallions. This has, for example, effects on the pituitary gland. The pituitary gland controls the entire hormonal process in the organism. It shrinks and you intervene directly in the animal’s hormonal balance and ultimately select against fertility. Here is also an example from cattle breeding: we are increasingly receiving feedback from farmers about weak contractions during birth. What happened here: the hormone oxytocin is responsible for water retention in the tissues before birth and during birth for triggering contractions. All of these natural regulators are significantly weakened by the change in the pituitary gland; the hormone levels are too low. As a result, the contractions during birth mean that the remaining blood is not sufficiently pressed from the placenta via the umbilical cord into the foetus. A normal calf has around 7 litres of blood in its system shortly after birth. If contractions are weak, the calves are usually taken out using mechanical pulling aid and the calves often only have around 3.5 litres of blood in their system and are therefore clearly weak and have to be brought with great effort through the first three weeks of life or even die.

Insufficient depth of the thorax means that the animal has no space for the organs, especially for the heart and lungs. Such animals lack endurance and performance, and the performance of the lymphatic system is significantly reduced.

The middle section is too long – although a feature of the Arabian horse is its short back! Nevertheless, long backs are selected here, which means that the animals have backs that are far too soft and the backs are no longer stable. The long back causes the loins to sink and the animals can no longer walk without pain.

Significant weaknesses in the connective tissue. Selection for early maturity and the associated rapid growth lead to a significant weakening of the connective tissue. We examined this in cattle over long periods of time based on the suspension of the uterus in the abdomen/pelvis and the back formation of the uterus after birth. Swollen legs and swollen hocks are a sign of this weakness in the connective tissue in horses – and these animals are ultimately completely useless as riding horses.

IN THE FOCUS: An important aspect today is size. The Arabian horse, which was imported to Europe 200 years ago, was often smaller than 1.50 m, but today customers demand a horse that should be 10 cm taller. What “dangers” can we expect when our “cultural Arabs” become bigger and bigger?

A. P.: In cattle, we examined what happens when the animals get bigger and heavier and what effects this has. On average, a cow weighs around 600 kg. If we now have 100 kg more body weight, this inevitably means an enormous increase in resources just to maintain the body. I agree with H. V. Musgrave Clark, an English Arabian breeder who valued small horses around 1.45 m and did not use any animal for breeding that was over 1.53 m. He lived in America for several years and worked there as a post rider and his insight was that medium-sized horses always had the greatest endurance. For us, this means that selection for excessive size, i.e. for animals that are over 1.60 – 1.65 m, is not effective. The size must fluctuate freely, which means there may well be animals that are larger, but you shouldn’t select especially for this.

IN THE FOCUS: What could happen next?

A. P.: The state stud farms are dissolving, unfortunately one has to say that. In Russia, Khrenovoye was privatized and Arabian breeding was abandoned. Tersk is also privatized and today has three different breeding programs, racehorses, show horses and “Classic Russian”, although this last group is becoming smaller and smaller. In Poland we have seen that displacement breeding with show horses is taking place. If this goes on for another 10 years, there will be nothing left of the original Polish Arab. But there are also small glimmers of hope. A very interesting project was launched in Spain back in 2003. A breeding value for performance tests was developed; there are different selection levels, including young horse selection, tested sires and elite sires. Finally, I would like to introduce a project that we have launched here in cattle breeding. We have decided to maintain long-term performance breeding because this type of cattle has no chance at all due to genomic selection and breeding value estimation as currently carried out. We therefore founded an association and then looked for cow families that met our criteria for long-term performance breeding. Then we bought bulls from them, i.e. we now have almost 40 bulls in the insemination station, we have our own semen depot, and we use it to supply farmers who are interested in this type of breeding. Something similar could also be applied to the Arabian horse. You would need a Europe-wide breeding platform, and of course you have to think about how you could finance something like that. Then you need much better data collection, research work would have to be done, you would have to network the individual initiatives (like in Spain, see above), record stallion and mare lines to see which ones are at risk, start a survey to find out which frozen semen from older stallions still exist and – and this is very important to me – there needs to be a transfer of knowledge. It would be necessary to offer breeding advice for the next, younger generation of breeders, because otherwise the old hippological knowledge would be completely lost.

IN THE FOCUS: Thank you very much for your clear words and your commitment to preserving the old values in our breed.

The interview was conducted by Gudrun Waiditschka.

[kjmsupremacist]

poison sweet off the vine (chan/felix)

Chan, a poor student hoping to make a little extra money while he pursues a masters in music production, lands a gig as a super rich family's pool boy. He thinks it's pretty sweet at first. He'll get to stay in a fancy house and eat fancy leftovers and all he has to do is clean their pool and help out around the house. And then he meets Felix, the bratty, sharp-tongued, skirt-wearing son of his employers. He knows he could get fired for just looking at Felix the wrong way, but Felix, even with his stormy, unpredictable moods and ignorant selfishness, is alluring and beautiful.

Part 1 | next mlist

Characters: Chan, Felix, other members of skz throughout

Genre: smut, eventual romance, angst, I cannot overstate how much of this is sex

Pairing: Chan/Felix

Warnings: alcohol, family dysfunction, mentions of homophobia, slut-shaming (both the fun kind and the not fun kind), feminization

Rating: Explicit

Length: 12.4k

Felix has got some shit going on in this one. It's not, like, super serious and we don't really get into addiction territory, but I will say it might be triggering for some people, so please just proceed with caution.

On that, we also don't really see what I would say is a realistic path of recovery or whatever. The ending is by no means meant to be read as "and then they lived happily ever after the end" but I leave a lot out because ultimately this is a horny fic within a sort of fucked up setting, and I didn't want it to turn into a pedantic exercise. So I guess this is sort of me saying the dove isn't dead, per se, but it's not doing well. I'm in no way trying to glorify mental health issues brought on by neglect and self-loathing, so please just keep that in mind.

Chan probably should’ve known what he was getting himself into. 

After months of searching for side jobs and apartments, he finally found what seemed to be a perfect solution—pool boy and general assistant around a grand estate, with room and board covered. The house is huge, with large, comfortable staff quarters. It’s a short bus ride away from the University of Sydney, where Chan will be pursuing a masters in music composition and production starting in February. And while the family who owns the place are rich and snobbish, they’re nice enough, and seemed reasonable during his phone interview.

Chan had no reason to say no. So in early December, he packed himself up and moved back to Australia from Korea, away from all his university friends and into a house of strangers. He’ll be missing the holidays with his family, but he wanted to start making money, so here he is. And up until this moment, Chan thought everything was going to be fine. 

“You’ll sleep here.” Mrs. Lee shows Chan to his room personally—a basement level bedroom with a small connecting bathroom and a sizable closet. There’s even a small desk in the corner—perfect for when Chan will stay up late studying. “You’ll use the small kitchen to make most of your meals, but we have luncheons and dinners sometimes to which all the staff are invited. Additionally, our cooks usually buy a little extra on groceries in case something goes wrong. If there are any leftovers, they of course go to our live-in staff members. So don’t worry too much over your grocery bills. For tonight, of course, I hope you’ll join the family for dinner so we can get to know you. I understand you’ll be taking classes after the break?”

“Yes ma’am,” Chan says, nodding as he tentatively drops his bags on the floor.

“If you could just send me your schedules as you get them, that would be helpful,” Mrs. Lee says. “I will try to let you know in advance if there are any important events where we need you, but for the most part I’ll leave those decisions to you. I just like to know when we can expect you to be home or away.”

“Will do,” Chan agrees. 

“Mostly, you’ll help with outdoor maintenance. We do have a gardener, but we let him know that he can feel free to ask for your help with more menial tasks.” Mrs. Lee gestures for Chan to follow her down the hall. “Here’s the staff laundry. There is also our main laundry room, where our maids take care of the family’s laundry. Since the holidays are coming up, we might be a little short-staffed over the next month or so. If our maid needs a hand with the laundry, can I ask you to assist?”

“Certainly,” Chan says.

“Perfect.” They head back up the stairs. “I believe that’s all I have for you, except to give you your key. Please use the staff entrance through the back. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Ah, yes,” Chan says. “Are there specific hours I’m expected to keep? Such as being up at a certain time?”

“Unless one of us requests your presence earlier, I don’t mind when you get up as long as your sleep schedule doesn’t inhibit you from performing your duties,” Mrs. Lee says. She rummages around in a drawer in the study. “Here.” She produces a silver key on a plain keyring, handing it to Chan. “Try not to lose it, but if you do, just tell us straight away. We know a good locksmith, so it will be a quick fix. You have all our contact information?” 

“Yes,” Chan says, attaching the key to his ID protector that also has a few of his other things on it. “Thank you.”

“I think we’re all set, then,” Mrs. Lee says, leading Chan back out into the foyer. “I think introductions will wait until dinner, as my husband doesn’t get home from work for a few hours and goodness knows where Felix is—”

“I’m here, Eomma.” Chan turns at the sound of a deep voice, and sees his undoing poised at the top of the grand staircase.

He’s the prettiest thing Chan has ever seen. His hair is dyed a pale pink, and grown out so his bangs sweep low past his ears, the longest strands just brushing his shoulders. Chan can make out freckles scattering across his face, and delicate silver jewelry dangles from his ears and neck, glinting in the light as he makes his slow way down the stairs. Most notably, though, he’s in a baby pink blouse, tucked into a short white skirt, with matching pink knee-high stockings. 

Chan’s world tilts. He knew that this family had kids, that they were around his age. But at the time, Chan had reasoned that it wouldn’t be a problem. He’d be too busy between work and eventually school to develop much of an interest, and besides, they were probably all boring, spoiled brats that Chan would become disenchanted with the instant he saw them. 

Now, he has to grapple with the fact that he was sorely mistaken. Everything is not going to be fine, because his new employer has a beautiful, skirt-wearing son, and Chan has to fight to tear his eyes back to Mrs. Lee instead of staring at Felix’s thighs when his skirt flutters with every step.

“Is this the new pool boy?” Felix asks, and Chan doesn’t miss the lofty tint in his tone. He bristles a little, but it’s hard to stay mad when he glances back and catches sight of Felix’s cute little button nose scrunched just slightly against the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“Yes, this is Chan,” Mrs. Lee says. “Chan, this is Felix, my son. He’s just finished his first year at university and is home for break.”

“Hi, Felix,” Chan says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” Felix replies as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. “You’re studying music at Sydney Uni, aren’t you? For your masters, right?”

“Ah, yes,” Chan says, realizing that Felix must already know all about him; he has no doubt the parents shared his resume and details with their children before agreeing to hire him. “Where are you studying?”

“UWA,” Felix replies, smiling politely. “I’m not sure what I’ll be studying yet.”

“Perth,” Chan says, nodding. “That’s quite aways.”

“Not as far as Korea,” Felix says, and Chan can’t tell what he means by that. “Besides, Perth has some of the best schools, so it’s worth it.”

Chan decides that he’s being put down, but can’t figure out how, exactly, so doesn’t bother trying to piece it out. It hardly matters, anyway; Mrs. Lee is right here, so it’s in Chan’s best interest to remain ignorant and well-mannered. “That’s true,” he says simply.

Felix looks between Chan and his mother for a moment. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he says, and walks down the hall.

Mrs. Lee watches him go with a small, fond shake of her head, then turns back to Chan. “Feel free to head back to your room, wash up, maybe take a nap,” she offers. “I’m sure you’re tired from traveling. Dinner will be at seven.”

Chan ducks his head in lieu of a proper bow. “Thank you again for everything,” he says, and makes his escape. As he weaves back through the house, Chan catches a glimpse of Felix padding out into the garden. He’s got a full bottle of wine in hand, almost as pink as his stupid little stockings.

Chan sighs. It’s going to be a long summer. His only consolation is that Felix will go back to Perth at the start of the next semester and only be back for breaks, and Chan will be able to drown in his homework in peace.

* * *

Dinner is served at the big, fancy table in the dining room just off the foyer. Chan makes his way through the maze of hallways and sees an army of staff setting the table. He counts four positions—the parents, Felix, and him, then. The daughters aren’t supposed to be back for another week, if he recalls.

Mrs. Lee is directing her staff, positioned in the threshold of the kitchen entrance, tasting dishes and sending some back. She spots Chan during a lull and steps into the dining room fully. 

“Please, take a seat.” She gestures him to the spot furthest from the head of the table. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Ah,” Chan says, pulling out his chair but hesitating to sit. “Just water, please. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, don’t worry,” she replies, ducking her head back into the kitchen. “A glass of water, please.” She pops her head back out to the dining room. “Though if Felix doesn’t appear by the time my husband arrives, I might ask you to go fetch him.” 

Chan inclines his head, though the thought of it makes him tense. He doesn’t like the idea of being alone in a room with Felix. He’s not sure if it’s fear over what Felix will say to him, or fear of his own impulses. Maybe both.

The table is set before Chan; eventually, Mrs. Lee is satisfied with her staff and takes a seat, too, to the right of the head of the table, opposite side as Chan, which means Chan’s seatmate will be Felix. Great. 

Mrs. Lee checks her watch. “I think he just got home,” she says. “Would you mind getting my son for me? We don’t want the food to get cold.”

“Sure,” Chan agrees, pushing his chair back cautiously and standing. “Any places I should check first?”

“Out in the garden, most likely,” Mrs. Lee replies. “If not there, then the pool, and if not there, then his room.”

“Got it.” Chan heads through several rooms to the back door, shoving his feet into the slippers Mrs. Lee had laid out for him there when he first arrived, and punches in the code on the alarm system so the siren doesn’t go off before opening the door. 

The air is muggy and thick and oppressive. Chan feels the moisture on his skin as soon as the door shuts behind him. He trudges across the vast second-story patio and over the bridge that looks down onto the smaller patio below, as well as the pool. No sign of Felix there. He crosses into the gardens, venturing deeper until he comes upon a clearing. It’s lined with carefully-maintained plants and a few statues. There, on the other side, sprawled on an ornate bench beneath the grand weeping willow, is Felix. He had one arm draped over his eyes, the other hanging off the bench, clutching the neck of the wine bottle, which rests somewhat precariously in the grass. 

“Ah, Felix?” Chan tries. Felix doesn’t budge. Sighing, Chan makes his way across the clearing, swatting a bug away as he nears him. There’s a nearly-red tinge to Felix’s cheeks, obscuring his freckles. He must have gotten some sun, despite the fact that this entire clearing is in shade. Then again, he’s been out all afternoon, Chan supposes. He comes to a stop a few feet away from the bench, unsure. The skirt Felix is wearing is riding up his thighs. Chan clears his throat and tries not to stare. “Felix, your father is home and your mother asked me to bring you to dinner.”

Felix raises the hand over his eyes, squinting up at Chan. There’s a blankness on his face for a few moments, and then a detached sort of recognition falls into place. “Pool Boy Chan,” he says, voice slow and syrupy. “Your welcome dinner, right. It’s seven already?”

“Seven-twenty,” Chan supplies.

Felix sighs, peeling himself up from his perch and bringing the bottle into his lap. Chan sees it’s almost completely empty, and understands the flush on Felix’s cheeks. He watches as Felix yawns, runs his eyes, and then surveys the contents of the bottle. “Ugh, it’s all warm,” he mutters, but downs it anyway before pushing himself up to his feet, now-empty bottle swinging at his side. He sways for a second but rights himself before Chan can reach out to help him. “Well?” he prompts, looking at Chan. “Are you gonna stand there, or are we gonna go to dinner?”

Chan wonders how Felix’s parents will react to the wine, but decides it’s not his place to say anything. “Right, yeah,” he says, turning and shuffling back the way he came, checking over his shoulder every now and again to make sure he hasn’t lost his charge. 

Felix picks his way through the garden with ease. How are his stockings still so perfect? How is his blouse still tucked and smooth? How is he pretty even with a sour attitude and alcohol warm in his cheeks? Chan balks at this last thought. Stop it. You cannot be thinking about how pretty your boss’s son is. On day one. Get a fucking grip, Chris. 

Felix does trip going from the grass and dirt of the garden to the concrete and tile of the bridge. Chan catches him, staying steady even when the wine bottle hits him right in the elbow. Chan makes the mistake of inhaling when Felix is pressed close. He smells like wine, certainly, but he also smells like lemons and sugar and something that makes Chan want to press his tongue to Felix’s skin. 

“Sorry,” Felix says in a tone that’s just a touch too silky for his loss of balance to have been accidental. Chan steels himself, making sure Felix is solid before simply letting go. 

“No worries,” he replies mildly. If Felix wants a reaction out of him, he’s not going to get one. “You okay?”

Felix nods, lifting the bottle a bit. “Drank most of it sitting down,” he says, offhand. “Thought I would sleep it off, but…”

Chan nods wordlessly, continuing across the bridge and patio, back to the door. He unlocks the door, sliding his shoes back off and waiting as Felix struggles a little with his. When he offers his hand, though, Felix gives him a look of disdain. 

“I’m tipsy, not catatonic,” he says, tone icy. Chan retracts his hand quickly before he can stop himself, stung. 

Felix gets rid of the empty wine bottle somewhere between the back entrance and the dining room. When they return, Mr. Lee is just settling into his chair. He looks up and, upon seeing Chan, offers his hand to shake. Chan hurries to accept. 

“Chan?” Mr. Lee asks. 

“Yes, sir,” Chan says. He doesn’t miss the slightly sharper inhale from behind him—thinly veiled amusement from Felix. He doesn’t turn his head. 

Mr. Lee also ignores this intrusion. “Mr. Lee, and no need to call me sir,” he says. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you for getting Felix,” Mrs. Lee adds, picking up a dainty bell beside her empty wine glass and ringing it once. “He’s often late, though I must say it’s not like him to… indulge so much before dinner.” There’s a sharpness under the polite tint of her tone, Chan notes as he slides into his chair and reaches for his napkin—disappointment, edges jagged with embarrassment.

“I just had a couple glasses of wine,” Felix defends. Staff members file into the room, carrying pitches, dishes, more wine. “I’m on break, Eomma. I’m relaxing.”

“Only one glass with the meal,” Mrs. Lee says. 

“Eomma,” Felix complains. 

Mrs. Lee’s eyes flick to Chan, then back to her son. “Fine. Don’t do it again.”

Felix nods. Chan files this exchange into his mind to study later. 

Wine is poured, soup is served, and dinner begins. 

“So, you’re studying music, Chan?” Mr. Lee asks.

Chan is grateful the soup is made from cold cucumbers; he swallows quickly and painlessly so he can respond. “Ah, yes, music production.”

“The arts are very important,” Mr. Lee says. “But they require a passion.”

“I believe I have that,” Chan says as politely as possible. 

“That’s good,” Mr. Lee says. “We are nothing without drive, ambition.”

Felix takes a long pull from his wine glass. 

The rest of dinner goes this way—polite drivel bounced back and forth like a casual tennis match between Chan and the Lee parents, while Felix mostly ignores all of them in favor of his meal. Each new course resets Chan’s expectations for just how horrendously rich this family is. A dish featuring caviar is followed by a truffle risotto, and then lobster. The wine is endless, so Chan keeps to sips.

He also gets the distinct impression that family mealtime is rare, a practice that is stored away in a cabinet with the nice dishes, taken down and used only when necessary. 

Chan doesn’t keep track of how much Felix is drinking, but by the time dessert comes around, the flush has crept down Felix’s neck. Still, he seems steady enough, and when he is pressed for a comment, he provides one with ease. So is that what he is? I guess every rich family has its functional alcoholic. More money, more problems. 

“Thank you for the meal,” Chan says earnestly when the staff come to clear the last of their dishes away.

Mrs. Lee offers him a smile. “Of course,” she says. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Congratulations,” Felix cuts in before Chan can formulate a reply. “She’s impressed with your table manners.”

“Felix,” Mrs. Lee says, tone cool but meaning clear. “It wasn’t a test, Chan,” she adds. “We just would provide some… instruction if you had been… less practiced. So you could be prepared in the case of a more formal event.”

“Ah,” Chan manages. 

“Well, on that note,” Mr. Lee says. “I think we’ve held Chan here long enough. You must be tired from traveling.”

“A bit,” Chan admits. It is true, but he’s mostly interested in getting away from the awkward tension at this table. 

“Go on and get some rest, then,” Mrs. Lee says. “Both of you. The staff will clean up here. We—” She gestures to her husband. “—will likely be gone when you get up and will return later in the evening. That’s typical of our schedules. Meals are whenever you’re hungry. Our kitchen isn’t fully staffed at the moment, but Chan, please help yourself to any leftovers. Maya—one of our senior employees—will be able to help you.”

“Thank you,” Chan says. Felix is already standing. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Chan takes this as a final dismissal, and hurries to follow Felix’s retreating footsteps down the hall.

He doesn’t catch up to him; the steps leading down to the staff quarters are closer. As he descends, he looks back and catches a glimpse of the swishing white of the skirt and the faintest whiff of sugary lemons. 

* * *

Chan collapsed into sleep as soon as he got settled in his room, exhaustion pulling him down into unconsciousness almost violently. When he wakes, the house is still and dark, the air in his room stale. There’s a damp patch directly beneath his body on the sheets from a small accumulation of sweat—he must not have moved a muscle since shutting his eyes. 

Though fatigue weighs on his limbs, his mind is decidedly awake, so Chan pushes himself up, slapping around for his phone and then groaning when the bright screen sears his eyeballs. 

Eventually, he discerns that it is 5:17 a.m. Chan’s an early riser, but not this early, so he blames it on the nap he took before dinner yesterday. In any case, it can’t be jetlag, since Korea is an hour behind Australia. Chan gets up and dressed, bumbling around his room quietly and trying to kill a little time. 

Around six, his stomach growls angrily, so he resigns himself to human interaction and opens his door, making for the kitchen. 

The light is on when he gets there, and an older woman is stacking dishes in one of the cupboards. She must have heard Chan approach, or else simply has a great sixth sense, because she turns as he enters. 

“Chan?” she asks. She’s white, unlike most of the staff, with weathered skin and crooked teeth and piercing eyes. Chan guesses she must be in her mid-fifties; her hair is just beginning to grey. 

“Ah, yes,” he says, realizing it was more a question than a greeting. 

“Maya,” the woman says, and some neural pathway manages to fire in Chan’s brain and reminds him that this must be the woman Mrs. Lee mentioned the night before. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Chan replies. 

“You hungry?” She returns to her task, sliding some plates into place. 

“Yes,” Chan says. 

“Me too.” She takes the last handful of silverware and files it into a drawer. “How about some bacon and eggs?”

“That would be amazing,” Chan says. “Can I help?”

“If you want toast, it’s in here,” Maya says, tapping a long, skinny cabinet door as she shuffled past on her way to the fridge. “Could you grab me a slice? Not toasted, though, just leave it on a plate. Do you want coffee?”

“Yes please,” Chan says, taken aback by her blunt but warm welcome, lurching into motion and crossing to the cabinet. 

Chan makes toast and Maya cooks at the stove, coffeemaker brewing to the side. “Mr. and Mrs. Lee are already gone,” Maya tells him without him even asking. “Felix will get up anywhere between seven and noon. The girls will be the same. Generally, as long as you’re polite and you don’t get… underfoot, you’ll find your time here to be quite pleasant.”

Chan registers that she’s offering him some valuable advice. “I’ll keep it in mind, thank you,” he says.

Maya looks him over out of the corner of her eye. “You seem like a nice young man, though,” she says. “I doubt you’ll have a problem.”

“Have there been… problems before?” Chan ventures. 

Maya is quiet for a moment, but eventually she responds. “Yes, we’ve had a few pool boys in the past. Of course, some simply moved away, but.. we had a few get in trouble for making passes at the girls.” She turns and Chan sees she’s done cooking—she’s holding two perfect plates of bacon and eggs. “Not just the pool boys, of course, other staff members have been fired for similar reasons. It’s usually that, or stealing.” She offers Chan one of the plates.

“Thank you,” he says. “And thank you for explaining. I am just here to earn some money while I’m in school, though, so you’re right, I doubt I’ll have a problem.” That is, unless Felix takes over my brain, he adds silently. 

The leathery skin of Maya’s cheeks wrinkles as the corners of her mouth tug up in a small smile. “Good.” She nods towards the door. “Go on, find a spot at the island. Take your toast. I’ll bring the coffee and jam.”

Chan’s just finishing up his food when Felix stumbles in, head in his hands. He’s barefaced and puffy-eyed and wrapped in a simple silk robe. It hangs loose at the chest. Chan snaps his gaze back to his plate before he can get caught looking. Felix slumps into a seat at the far end of the island.

Maya has already finished eating, and was in the kitchen cleaning up, but she comes in now with a mug of coffee and a small tablet of medicine in the other hand, tsking at him softly. 

“Thank you,” Felix grumbles quietly. “I haven’t thrown up yet, but if I do, I’ll clean it myself.”

Maya hums her approval. “Just toast for now?” 

“Yes please,” Felix says. 

Chan listens to this exchange attentively. This Felix is entirely different from the one he met yesterday. He kind of expected him to snap at Maya, to be antagonistic the way he was before, but instead he’s small and quiet and contrite. Maybe Chan misread him. Or maybe his hangover is just that awful. 

Felix downs the pill Maya brought him with a soft groan. There’s a heavy silence save for the soft scraping of Chan’s fork against his plate. And then—

“No, I don’t usually drink like that,” Felix says flatly, and Chan nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“I didn’t say you did,” he replies quietly once he recovers. 

“You were thinking it,” Felix says. “Last night. And yes, I’m usually polite to our staff. I’m spoiled, but I’m not a monster.”

The Felix Chan met yesterday had been a bit of a monster, rude and arrogant and selfish, so Chan doesn’t know if he buys that, but he just puts his utensils down and looks up at Felix, holding his gaze. “Okay,” he says.

“You’re not smarter than me, okay?” He says it with such finality. 

Chan’s not exactly sure what he means. “Uh, okay,” he agrees anyway, taking his final bite of toast and washing it down with the last of his coffee. 

Felix nods and goes back to being miserable into his palms. Chan almost feels bad for him—almost. 

He brings his dishes back to the kitchen, protesting weakly when Maya takes them. 

“Your job isn’t in here,” she says. “Go on, tend to the pool before it gets too hot.”

“Thank you,” Chan says, and slips out the front entrance so he doesn’t have to confront Felix again, heading back to his room for some sunblock and a bottle of water. 

Though it’s only a bit past seven by the time Chan makes it outside, it’s already punishingly hot. He tries to make quick work of it, skimming off dead leaves and dead bugs and other unidentifiable debris. He tests the water, tests the filters, tests the temp, and clears the pool deck of debris as well. He checks the stock of towels, water bottles, liquor and ice and mixers behind the bar on the far end of the patio. By the time the pool and deck look spotless, it’s nearing eleven and Chan is drenched in sweat. He retreats to the shade, treating himself to a bottle of water.

He doesn’t see Felix approach, but suddenly the boy is standing over him, dressed in nothing but short black swim trunks, sunglasses pushed back over his hair.

“Come float with me,” he says. “You’re gonna die of heatstroke if you don’t.”

Chan grunts, taking another swig of water. “I'm supposed to be working.”

“Well, are you?” Felix asks. “Working? The pool’s already clean. Jerry isn’t here today, so there’s no gardening to do. Your only responsibility now is keeping me company.”

Chan’s still not sure how to take this shift in attitude. “I don’t think that was in the job description.”

Felix’s eyes narrow, his eyebrows furrowing in displeasure. “Fine, sit here and melt then, I don’t care.” He turns to go; Chan finds himself wounded somehow by the sourness in his voice.

“Hey, alright, alright,” he says quickly, pushing himself up onto his feet and tugging his tank top off. “You’re right, anyway, I’m melting.”

Felix turns back, and his gaze is bright again. “Good,” he says, and slips into the deep end.

Chan joins him, and has to admit the relief of being in the cool water is almost overwhelming. He paddles out to Felix, tipping onto his back. “Feeling better?” he asks. 

“Mmhm,” Felix says. “Toast, coffee, and antiemetics work wonders.”

Chan can’t help but laugh. “Oh, that’s what Maya gave you?”

“What, did you think it was an antidepressant or something?” Felix asks. When Chan hesitates, he groans. “We’re not that stereotypical. Rich family with tortured children. No, we’re just about regular in terms of dysfunction.”

Chan isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond to this, so he just kind of hums. 

“What’s your family like?” Felix asks. He floats into Chan; their shoulders bump and settle against each other. Neither of them move to pull away.

“Ah, I dunno, we’re pretty boring,” Chan says. “Grew up here, actually. Moved back to Korea. I have two younger siblings, a sister and a brother. Hannah’s in secondary school. Lucas is still in primary.”

“And you’re going into music,” Felix says, like he’s reviewing a file.

“Trying to, anyway,” Chan replies.

“I wish I could go into music,” Felix says. “But Abeoji says it’s not sensible. So I’m studying business and communications. He wants me to take over for him.”

Chan can’t conjure up much sympathy. No matter what Felix does, he’ll be doted on and provided for for the rest of his life. He has a path laid out before him; all he has to do is walk it. If he says he wants to walk it but is too tired, his parents would probably conjure up a gold chariot to carry him down it instead. Maybe it’s not what he wants, but it’s secure. Chan wishes he had security.

He feels tiny fingers on his bicep and looks up. Felix is ghosting a hand over the muscle, watching Chan, waiting. 

“What?” Chan asks.

“Do your parents know you’re gay?” Felix asks bluntly.

Chan blinks. “Uh, how did you know I’m gay?”

Felix gives him a look. “Please,” he says. “I already told you, you’re not smarter than me.”

“Yes, my parents know I’m gay,” Chan says, sighing. “Why?”

Is Felix moving closer? “How do they feel about knowing?” 

“They’re supportive,” Chan says uncertainly. Felix’s hand is still on his arm. His lips have gotten color back into them, pink-red and plush, Cupid’s bow all dramatic corners and enticing. Chan can smell him over the chlorine and sunscreen. Lemons and sugar and something else. He swallows, hoping Felix doesn’t see.

“Lucky you,” Felix says. “How do you feel about knowing it?”

“I’m not emotionally constipated, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Chan says. He can’t stop staring at Felix’s lips. He wants to grab his little wrist. He wants to grab both of them, wrap his arms around Felix’s waist, pin his hands behind his back, and kiss him. And kiss him. And kiss him. “I’m very comfortable with who I am.”

“Lucky you,” Felix repeats. Closer still; his eyes are half-lidded. Chan could count his freckles. He could kiss every one. “Lucky me.”

We had a few get in trouble for making passes at the girls. Felix wouldn’t be any different, Chan knows. Chan would be fired on the spot. He needs an escape, so he blurts out the first thing that pops into his head, wrenching himself from the lust-addled stupor Felix has somehow coaxed him into. “If you don’t usually drink like you did last night, then why did you? Last night?”

It works, at least; Felix pushes away. “I’m hungry,” he says instead of answering, paddling over to the ladder. “Let’s get lunch.”

Chan accepts this, hurrying to follow him.

* * *

The next week passes mostly in this way. Chan gets up early, cleans, spends the midday either lounging or helping one of the other members of the staff. Maya cooks a lot of his meals. Felix comes to bother him on occasion, demands for his time or attention. When Chan accepts, Felix is bright and sunny. His air of general superiority never goes away, but he’s fun to hang out with when he’s not actively trying to get Chan to touch him. When Chan rejects him, too busy with work or too tired to withstand the teasing, Felix’s entire disposition shifts, dour and sulky and often rude. He retreats into himself for the rest of the day, punishing Chan by punishing himself. I guess he’s just used to getting his way, Chan thinks to himself. Not a monster. Just spoiled.

Still, in the back of his mind, Chan remembers the first day. What had Chan done that day to elicit the moodier Felix? Was it something Chan had done at all, or was he simply a convenient target for Felix’s ire? He’s not sure. He’s not sure which option he dislikes more.

The girls arrive that weekend. Chan meets them briefly; Rachael, the eldest, is much like her mother, and will be out most days because she has an internship. Olivia, the youngest, is sweet and funny but spends most of her time chatting on the phone with her boarding school friends. Their parents, at least, had the foresight of putting all of them in separate wings, so there’s very little chatter about the house, even when all three are home. Felix has rooms on the fourth and highest floor of the house, and overlooks the back patio, gardens, and pool. Olivia is in a tower to the east—like, a literal, actual tower; Rachael sleeps on the third floor in the western area of the house, nearer to the elevator and overlooking the front drive. The primary suite takes up a majority of the rest of the third floor, which is about all that Chan knows. He’s only been as high as the second floor once, and it was to fetch something for one of the maids. It’s mostly guest rooms and entertaining space. 

Felix’s sisters are friendly, but they generally keep to themselves even when they are at home. Chan imagines they’re skittish around new male hires, and can’t blame him. He wants to tell them they don’t have anything to worry about, but knows it won’t do any good. Still, the idea does give him some dark amusement. Don’t worry about me, girls. It’s your brother I want.

And god, does Chan want. Felix is always in short little skirts and dresses, sometimes with stockings and other ridiculous little accessories, and is usually made up too, with sparkly eyeshadow and dark eyeliner and smudged mascara and sticky lip gloss on his pouty lips. He always ends up in Chan’s space whenever he can get away with it, coming up to him when he’s working on the pool or settling in the grass beside him in the garden or perching on a running washer while Chan works on a new load of laundry. He leans in close until Chan’s head is filled with the smell of him, taunting Chan, daring him to take.

Chan maintains his composure as best as he can over the next couple weeks, better than the first day at the pool now that he knows what he’s in for. Felix asks him about himself, and Chan answers delicately. He doesn’t pry into Felix’s personal life. He tells himself it’s because he’s being professional, or that he doesn’t want to give off the impression that he’s interested in Felix, which he fears will only make him bolder. But really, he knows it’s because he’s afraid that he’ll like what he finds, dragging him impossibly deeper into this weird psychosexual vortex, or else that he won’t like what he finds, but will nonetheless be enraptured by Felix’s terrible beauty.

He even jerks off to the thought of Felix despite his guilt, hoping it might cure him of his desire, but it does little to curb his impulses. Instead, it fills his dreams with Felix. Tortured, awake and asleep.

It’s not like Felix is helping in the slightest. If it were just in Chan’s head, he could probably bear it, stuff it away in some dark corner of his mind and soldier on. But the problem is, Felix seems to be determined to make Chan crack. He’s not even sure if Felix actually wants him, or just loves to toy with him. Either way, it’s kind of working. Chan is a man possessed.

Some days are like the first day, though. It doesn’t happen often, but Felix will disappear, and when he returns, it’s with alcohol in hand and an invisible veil over his features. He gets drunk and doesn’t speak to Chan or anybody else and stumbles off to bed. The next morning he pays the price for his indulgence, miserable but resigned. It’s almost like he’s punishing himself, but Chan doesn’t know for what. Still, by noon, he’s his regular self again, probing and selfish and dripping sweet poison that makes Chan nearly lose all sense. 

Chan does all he can to cling to his sanity. Keep your hands to yourself so you’re not tempted, he tells himself one hot morning as he pours himself a lemonade behind the bar, chores finally done. No matter what he does. You can’t control him, but you can control yourself.

And, of course, Felix appears. He’s in a little skort-bottomed bikini, baby pink with cherries smattering the surface of the fabric and heart-shaped pink sunglasses slung over the string in-between to the two cups on his chest. Chan feels a heat rise to his cheeks immediately, and fixes his gaze determinedly on Felix’s face instead. 

“Can you mix drinks?” Felix asks, hopping up onto one of the barstools. “You used to bartend, right?”

“Uh, yes,” Chan says. 

“Make me a Sex on the Beach,” Felix says, and Chan tries not to choke on his next sip of lemonade.

“D’you even know what’s in one of those, or are you just saying it because you like the name?” he asks with raised eyebrows, suppressing a cough.

“Vodka, peach schnapps, orange juice, and cranberry juice,” Felix rattles off immediately. “And sometimes those cherries or an orange slice. But I like mine with more peach schnapps and less vodka.”

Chan sighs at him. “I can’t just feed you alcohol. I don’t care if you’re old enough, I shouldn’t enable you. Your parents will kill me if you swan into dinner drunk on cocktails I made you.”

“I won’t get drunk off one cocktail,” Felix says. “Especially if you make it with less vodka and more schnapps.” When Chan hesitates, Felix wheedles, “Fine, no vodka at all. I just wanted to watch you make it, really. That’s all.”

“What?” Chan blinks at him stupidly. “Why?”

“You have nice arms,” Felix replies, like it’s simple. “I like strong guys, you know.”

“Well, I’m definitely not doing it now,” Chan mutters.

“Chan.”

“Felix.”

“Please?” Felix makes his eyes big and sad and pitiful.

“Will you lay off if I do?” Chan barters. 

“Pinky-swear,” Felix says, offering his pinky.

Chan links his reluctantly. “Okay, fine. Just one, though. No vodka, just schnapps.”

Felix keeps to his word. He doesn’t say anything else suggestive or flirty. What he does instead, Chan thinks as he lifts a bottle to measure and watches Felixfollow the line of his arm, is much worse. His eyes darken, his tongue poking out to swipe over his gloss-covered lips. He drags his gaze over Chan’s body, hiding nothing about it, about where he’s staring and why. Chan is embarrassed by the attention, of course, but mostly it all just goes straight to his dick. Felix is practically begging Chan to fuck him, and Chan wishes more than anything he didn’t have to say no.

He finishes making the drink, dropping a couple of maraschino cherries in, and even finds a pink umbrella to garnish it along with a matching straw.

“Thank you.” Felix’s voice is even deeper and huskier than usual. Chan clenches his fist around the neck of the schnapps bottle as he moves to put it away. “Ooh, this is really good. You must’ve been popular as a bartender.”

“I got good tips.” He cleans off the counter and dries his hands. “I’m, uh, gonna go in and see if Maya needs anything from me. Leave the glass in the sink when you’re done. I’ll clean it later.” He starts walking before he even gets an answer.

But Felix’s voice floats over to him on the wind, sweet poison just like the drink in his hand. “See you later, Chan.” 

Chan doesn’t go see if Maya needs anything. He heads straight to his room, locks the door behind him, and turns the shower on. He strips quickly, throwing his clothes on the floor and steps in under the cold water, chest heaving.

He comes with his forehead pressed to the cool tile, icy water pounding against his back and fist wrapped around his cock. It barely keeps the heat beneath his skin at a simmer.

When he goes back to the pool, Felix is nowhere to be found. The glass is clean and drying on the rack.

* * *

It’s on a particularly hot day that the last of Chan’s resolve melts into nothing.

Felix’s parents are both out, his father at work and his mother at some kind of social gathering; his sisters are gone, too—Rachael at her internship and Olivia at a friend’s house, and most of the staff have already taken leave for the holidays—Christmas is less than a week away. So it’s just Chan and Maya, and Felix.

Felix came down to breakfast that morning in something rather modest, actually—a light, flowy skirt that fluttered a few inches above his knees, and a plain t-shirt tucked into the waistband. Simple and demure. Chan had let it lull him to a false sense of security, thinking, it’s too hot today for mischief anyway, right?

Wrong. Very, very wrong. Chan’s checking one of the filters in the shallow end of the pool, water lapping at his thighs, when Felix pokes his head out the back door. “Chan,” he calls.

“Yes?” Chan looks up, rinsing his hands off in the pool water.

“Can you help me? The zipper on my skirt is stuck, and I can’t twist it around to the front to see what’s wrong.”

Chan knows it’s dangerous. His promise to himself from the week before echoes faintly in his head. Keep your hands to yourself so you’re not tempted. But Felix looks genuinely upset. And it’s not like there’s anyone else to help him—Maya’s probably busy with the laundry, or working on lunch since their private chef is off until Christmas Eve. 

It’s just a zipper, Chris, he tells himself. You can handle a fucking zipper. “Sure, lemme just dry off.”

“I’ll be in the bathroom,” Felix replies, disappearing inside again.

Chan grabs a towel and runs it over his legs, just so he doesn’t drip all over the floors, and then chucks it on a nearby pool chair and ducks into the cool relief of the house. He pads across the hall and knocks on the bathroom door. 

Felix opens it and Chan slips inside, trying not to stare. Felix is shirtless, wearing just his skirt and a pout. Unlike Chan, he doesn’t try to hide his staring at all; Chan considers only now that he should’ve put a shirt on before coming in, or at least kept the towel as some kind of buffer. 

Not that it would’ve done anything, he thinks wearily as he gestures for Felix to turn around so he can look at the zipper. He’s as incorrigible and fickle as they come. 

The zipper is, in fact, stuck—Chan has to wrestle with the fabric as delicately as possible, but growing up with a little sister wasn’t for nothing, and eventually he manages to free it without putting a snag in a single thread. He doesn’t unzip it all the way, just far enough that it’ll be easy for Felix to reach. He’s honestly a little bit afraid that Felix is naked under the skirt, and that interaction is the last thing he needs.

“All set,” he says, cringing at the way his voice comes out, hoarse and weak. 

He turns to leave, but one of Felix’s tiny hands curls around his wrist, pulling him up short. “Finish unzipping it for me,” he says. “It’s hard for me to reach.”

“Felix.” Chan turns back around. “You can do it yourself.”

“Why don’t you wanna do it for me?” There’s that pout again, the pretty pink lips, glossy and so inviting; the wide, pitiful eyes. Chan almost falls for it, too entranced.

“You know why.” Chan tries to gently pull away, but Felix’s grip is too strong. “Felix,” he repeats. He thinks maybe he’s pleading with him, please, have a little mercy on me.

But Chan isn’t sure Felix knows how to be merciful, at least not in the face of something he wants. “Unzip me,” Felix demands, voice soft and almost petulant. “You said you’d help.”

Just unzip him and run, then, Chan thinks, sighing and moves behind Felix again, shaking his hand until Felix lets him go. He pulls the zipper down all the way and nearly bites his tongue so he doesn’t curse out loud.

He’s cursing a lot in his head, though. Fuck, shit fuck fuck fuck shit, oh fuck. Because Felix isn’t naked under the skirt. It’s worse.

Felix shimmies his hips a little so the skirt falls to the floor. He steps out of the puddle of fabric, then bends at the waist to pick it up. Fucker, Chan thinks. “What? D’you like them?” Felix asks, throwing Chan a glance over his shoulder. “Hyung?”

What a stupid question. Chan tips his head back, forcing himself to stare at the ceiling instead of at Felix’s cute little ass wrapped in a baby blue swimsuit bottom that’s only a few square centimeters of fabric away from being an honest-to-god thong. Felix has them hiked up over his hips, leaving very little to Chan’s imagination. He wants to escape before he sees what the front looks like and abandons all of his feverish promises of goodness right here and now.

“Felix,” Chan says through gritted teeth. “I don’t think your parents would appreciate this behavior. I certainly don’t.”

“You don’t?” Felix’s voice sounds closer, but Chan doesn’t dare look down. “Are you sure about that?”

Chan is absolutely sure about that. His body, however, has other plans. He can feel himself getting hard, and he knows if he doesn’t get out now, Felix will be able to see it through his swim trunks, and he’ll be done for. 

He feels fingertips on his waist, soft and warm. “Hyung,” Felix murmurs. “Look at me.”

Chan can’t help it. He crumbles completely at the sound of Felix’s voice, low and sweet and so enticing. He brings his head back to center, eyes focusing on Felix, and his breath catches in his throat as his gaze instantly travels lower. The front of the swim bottoms barely cover him; one wrong move and Chan’s certain Felix’s dick will pop free—which, he reflects, is probably exactly what Felix wanted. He flicks his eyes back up to Felix’s face, and is met with a devious little grin.

“I’m looking,” Chan says. “What else do you want from me?”

“I think you know exactly what I want,” Felix says.

“We can’t,” Chan says. “It’s not—appropriate, you know it’s not.”

“Why, because you’re working for my parents? So what?” Felix says. His hands are still on Chan’s body, trailing up his stomach. “They don’t have to know. It’s not that big of a deal! You’re only a couple years older than me, it’s not like it’s that scandalous. I want it. Don’t you?”

Chan swallows roughly. His skin is hot where Felix is touching him, even though goosebumps have broken out over his back where the A/C is blowing. This is it. Chan’s going to ruin his life for a terrible, pretty boy, and he finds that he doesn’t even care. “I do,” he whispers. He grabs one of Felix’s hands, the one that’s trying to sneak a little too low. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

Victory shines through on Felix’s face, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Fucking finally,” he goads.

“Shut up and come here,” Chan says, and leans in and kisses him. 

Felix squeezes Chan’s waist with his other hand, gasping into his mouth. Chan takes a step forward, and another, cupping Felix’s jaw with one hand and nearly crushing his fingers in the other, backing him up against the wall. He licks Felix’s lip gloss off his lips, his teeth, his tongue. It tastes like artificial strawberry, gooey and sickly-sweet. He drops Felix’s hand, breaking away from him for just a second so he can take his baseball cap off, so the brim doesn’t get in the way. He throws it over in the direction of Felix’s discarded clothes without looking, and surges forward to kiss Felix again. Felix moans, taking hold of one of Chan’s biceps.

“Fuck,” Chan pants, reaching down and palming Felix’s ass, groaning when Felix hums out a noise of satisfaction. “God, if your parents weren’t gonna kill me before, they’re definitely gonna kill me now.”

Felix giggles. “No, they won’t.”

“I don’t care,” Chan says, dipping his head so he can nip at the sensitive skin of Felix’s neck, kissing over the hollow of his throat. “I’ll tell them it was your fault. You were the one who kept flirting with me, kept riling me up. Always wearing your shortest skirts, always looking for an excuse to touch me.”

“I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t looked at me like that on the day we met,” Felix shoots back, and Chan flushes in embarrassment. He should’ve been more careful, he shouldn’t have even wanted it in the first place, but—well. It’s far too late now. “You made it so easy. It was too fun, I couldn’t resist.” 

“You’re such a brat,” Chan bites out. “Don’t act like it was just for fun. You wanted me to fuck you from the start.”

“So are you going to?” Felix asks. “Fuck me?”

“Well,” Chan says. “We’re gonna need lube. And probably a condom. And we probably shouldn’t be in the bathroom, what if Maya walks by? What if your mum gets home early and comes looking for you?”

“We could go up to my room,” Felix says, but he makes no move to pull away, and neither does Chan. Instead, Felix’s fingers find the waistband of Chan’s shorts. He toys with the fabric. “But I don’t want to wait. I want to come.”

“Already?” Chan asks, like he isn’t just as worked up, like he isn’t hard and aching just centimeters from Felix’s fingertips. 

“Touch me and find out,” Felix replies, and Chan doesn’t need to be told twice. He reaches down, ghosts his palm over the bulge in Felix’s obscenely small swim bottoms. Felix whines softly in his ear, so Chan gets bolder, curling his fingers and squeezing just slightly. The noise it pulls out of Felix’s chest is poisonous and wonderful.

Chan tugs the swim bottoms down as Felix lets his fingers slip inside Chan’s pants. A string of precome stretches from the head of Felix’s cock to the fabric before snapping midair. Chan presses his thumb against the slit, looking down to watch a few more beads dribble out over the tip when he pulls away. He collects it with his index fingers, spreading it down the length of Felix’s cock before taking him in his fist. “So messy, Felix,” he murmurs.

Felix fumbles for Chan’s cock, moaning softly. “Your hands are so big,” he whimpers. His hips twitch up into Chan’s palm. “Feels good.”

Though Felix is wet, there’s still too much friction, so Chan releases him for a moment. Felix whines at the loss, but Chan shushes him, spitting into his palm, and then takes him in his fist again, letting his spit mix with the precome, making the glide easy and smooth. Felix stutters over a moan, letting his head tip forward so his forehead is resting on Chan’s chest. He runs his fingers up the length of Chan’s cock, then brings his hand back out to the waistband of Chan’s shorts and tugs them down with a frustrated noise. 

Chan moves his hand faster over Felix’s cock, a dark, nasty sort of pleasure blooming in his chest when it makes Felix tremble. He lets out another choked little moan, and Chan shushes him. “Someone could hear you, and we don’t wanna get caught, do we?”

Felix doesn’t listen. “Cha-an,” he slurs, pressing a wet kiss to Chan’s chest as he fumbles with his cock. His little fingers are a bit clumsy, but it doesn’t matter to Chan. Felix is touching him, like he’s been imagining, like he does in Chan’s dreams. He’s not entirely sure this isn’t just another dream, except that it feels so real. He can smell sugar and lemons and Felix. He speeds up his hand, moaning low when Felix nips at his skin. 

“I tried, you know,” Chan huffs softly. “You know that, right? I tried not to let this happen. I tried not to want you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Felix says against his skin. “Didn’t work.”

“No it didn’t, did it?” Chan finds it easy to accept. “Look at me, baby.” 

Felix straightens, looking up at him. There are stars in his eyes. “What?”

Chan doesn’t reply, just kisses him again. His lips are so soft, mouth so inviting. Chan could kiss him all day, he thinks, running his tongue over the backs of Felix’s teeth. Felix rolls his hips in time with Chan’s hand, stroking Chan at the same pace, letting himself be kissed. The noises he makes against Chan’s lips only make the dark pleasure grow. Felix is ruining him, but at least the destruction is mutual. Chan’s gonna make sure he’s the best fuck Felix will ever have.

Felix pulls away to pant out, “Chan, Chan, oh fuck, so good, daddy, fuck,” and then he’s shooting hot white release onto Chan’s fingers, Chan’s arm, Chan’s stomach. Chan can’t help the low almost-growl that drags itself up his throat as Felix shakes, whimpering sweetly in Chan’s arms. 

“Good boy, baby,” Chan murmurs, head spinning from the way Felix sounded, the way he called him daddy. Coming out of any other mouth, it would’ve made Chan cringe, but somehow with Felix it makes his knees weak and his vision blur. “Made such a mess, you gonna clean it up?”

Felix doesn’t say anything, just bends over, still trembling, and presses his tongue to Chan’s abdomen, swiping at his own come until Chan is clean, even his arm and hand. He pulls off Chan’s fingers with a wet pop, blinking up at him.

“Still want me to fuck you?” Chan asks darkly, prying Felix away and tucking himself back into his pants.

“Yes,” Felix whispers, that same trained sultry look back in his eye. He recovers quickly, Chan thinks, almost exasperated.

“Get dressed, then,” Chan says. “If Maya asks, you invited me up to game.”

“Got it,” Felix says pertly, side-stepping Chan to retrieve his skirt, handing Chan his cap while he’s at it. 

Chan takes it, but doesn’t put it back on, instead doing his best to smooth his hair in the mirror, waiting while Felix tugs his t-shirt on, too.

“Zip me up?” Felix asks, and Chan is reminded exactly how he got here. It almost makes him laugh.

“Sure.” He pulls the zipper into place, bending to kiss the top of Felix’s spine when he’s done. “Ready?”

“Mm,” Felix says. “Let’s take the elevator, Maya probably won’t see us.”

He’s right. They get to the elevator without interruption and spend the ride from the basement to the fourth floor in complete silence. Chan had almost forgotten there was an elevator in the building, since most of his time was spent in the basement level or on the first floor. He’s pretty sure he’s never been in it. But it moves quickly, and soon Felix is leading them out and down a hall Chan has never stepped foot in. 

Felix’s room is like the rest of the house. It’s clean, proper, and stately. The only things that betray its inhabitant’s age are the figurines lining one of the bookshelves. Chan closes the door behind him, flicking the lock, and doesn’t have the chance to take in any more of his surroundings. Felix is on him in an instant, fingers at the waistband of his shorts again, needy and demanding. 

“C’mon,” he says, muffled by Chan’s skin. “You said you’d fuck me, so fuck me.”

Chan picks him up with ease, smiling to himself when Felix squeals his surprise, and walks them over to Felix’s bed. He deposits Felix in the sheets, hiking his shirt up and bending over him to suck a hickey into his inner thigh. 

“Chan,” Felix moans, sweet and low and perfect. “Daddy.” Chan bites, and Felix whines. “Oh, fuck, you’re so mean.” He’s breathless when he says it, delight pitching in his voice. His fingers find Chan’s hair, tangle in the curls. “Will you fuck me like that? Mean?”

Chan looks up, finds Felix’s glassy eyes. “Is that what you want, baby?” Felix nods, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “Want me to treat you rough? Want me to pound your cute little ass into the mattress?” He doesn’t know how the words have snuck their way into his mouth—dirty and depraved. But it doesn’t matter, because Felix rolls his eyes back in his head, nodding emphatically. 

“Please,” he whispers. “Please. It’s all I’ve wanted this whole time. ‘S why I’ve been so annoying.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Chan mutters, crawling up the bed so he can kiss him.

Felix wraps his little legs around Chan’s waist, kissing him hungrily, trying to pull Chan closer. “Chan,” he murmurs against Chan’s lips between kisses. “Daddy, need you, please.”

“Where’s your lube, baby?” Chan asks. “Condom, too.”

Felix rolls over with a groan, yanking open the drawer of his bedside table and rummaging around inside. Chan takes the opportunity to unzip Felix’s skirt again, though he doesn’t tug it down yet. It’ll be easier when Felix is on his back. 

Felix reemerges from the drawer with lube and a condom held victorious in a tight fist. He rolls back over, lifting his hips as he hands over the goods so he can tug his skirt off. Chan helps him, dropping it on the floor off the side of the bed. Next goes Felix’s shirt, shucked easily up over his head and leaving him in just his microscopic swim bottoms. 

Chan does the only logical thing. He bends down and undoes the bows on Felix’s hips with his teeth. Felix gasps softly; it turns into a breathy moan when Chan turns his head and kisses the tip of his cock.

He kind of wants to blow Felix, but Felix asked to be fucked, and Chan has basically accepted that he’s never going to tell Felix no ever again, so he sits back on his heels and pumps out some lube. 

“Showered earlier,” Felix supplies. “I’m all clean.”

Chan wasn’t gonna ask, honestly, was just gonna go for it, but he appreciates it. He raises his eyebrows as he reaches down to spread his cheeks. “You were that confident it would work?”

Felix shakes his head. He looks so little, drowning in the crumpled duvet. Chan thinks his mouth is watering. “I was hopeful,” he says. “I’ve done it every day, hoping.”

“Jesus, baby,” Chan mutters, easing his first finger in and rubbing something patternless into the skin over Felix’s hip bone when he whimpers. “Just for me?”

“Mm,” Felix confirms. “Knew you’d come around eventually. Just wasn’t sure when.”

Chan’s got his finger in up to the last knuckle already. “You’re kinda loose, baby. Did you prep yourself already?”

“A little,” Felix admits coyly. “But you’re bigger than I thought.” A soft giggle rises up. “You’ll have to go up to four fingers for sure. I only did three of mine, and mine are tiny.” He holds up his hand to show, as if Chan hadn’t already catalogued this fact on day one, and hadn’t been obsessing over it ever since. 

“Jesus,” Chan repeats. “You do that every day, too?” 

“Not every—every day.” Felix’s breath hitches when Chan’s second knuckle slips back out and catches on his rim. “Usually just one finger, maybe two.”

It’s still incredibly hot. “Sure you were doing it for me, or do you just like having your hole played with?” Chan pushes two fingers in this time. It’s still not much of a stretch. 

Felix moans, showy and sweet. “Both,” he says. “Your fingers feel better than mine, though.” Chan is working up a slow rhythm. “You get deeper. I bet your cock will feel best.”

“Have you been thinking about it?” Chan asks, curling his fingers a little, searching around for Felix’s prostate. “Imagining my cock?”

Felix’s eyelids flutter. “It’s almost all I think about when I’m with you,” he admits, low voice impossibly lower. “Oh, fuck!” He arches up off the bed. Chan’s found it. 

“Yeah?” Chan teases, hoping his voice comes out steady so Felix doesn’t have proof of just how much this is turning him on. “Right there?” He does it again, petting over the spot, and Felix twitches weakly, letting out another incoherent moan. 

“Mm, daddy, stop, hurts,” Felix whines with absolutely no conviction in his voice.

Still, Chan avoids it for the next couple thrusts. “Can’t take it?” he goads. “But what happens when it’s my cock? I’m gonna fill you up, baby, you’re so tight, I won’t be able to avoid it.”

“I’ll fall apart,” Felix says, though not piteously. It’s more a statement of fact. “I don’t wanna fall apart yet.”

That’s fair, Chan supposes. He doesn’t respond, just fits his ring finger in alongside the first two. He meets some resistance, but Chan has done a good job so far, and Felix opens easily, so it’s not long before he’s pumping three fingers in and out of Felix like it’s nothing. 

“Ch-Chan,” Felix stutters. “Hurry up, I can take it.”

Chan kisses the inside of his knee. “No, I don’t know how you’d explain the limp to your mother.”

“She wouldn’t know it’s you I’m fucking,” Felix points out.

“Still,” Chan says. 

“She already thinks I’m a whore, it doesn’t matter,” Felix mumbles, so swift and quiet Chan almost misses it. 

“What?” He pauses mid-stroke. 

“Nothing,” Felix says. “It doesn’t matter is all. I said hurry up.”

You’re fucking him, you’re not his psychiatrist, Chan thinks to himself as he resumes fingering him. It’s not your job to try and fix his life. Even if you could, he’d hate you for it. 

They brush past the moment quickly, drowning it with the wet noises from between Felix’s legs and Felix’s sweet moans. Chan murmurs praise as he adds in his pinky—doing so good, baby, almost there, look so pretty, so patient for me—and Felix responds beautifully, fucking himself back down on Chan’s fingers and twisting in the sheets. A fine layer of sweat has broken out across his skin, making him glisten in the early afternoon light. By the time Chan finally pulls away, satisfied that he won’t tear anything when he fucks him, Felix’s cock is already hard again, red and leaking against his stomach. 

Chan rolls the condom on, spreading a little more lube over the length, watching Felix catch his breath. “Ready?”

“Chan, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll never forgive you,” Felix replies, and Chan laughs. He realizes it’s the first time he’s laughed in a while, the misery from keeping his desire tamped down and hidden for weeks too heavy for joy. But now it doesn’t matter anymore, and he’s laughing again. He lines himself up with Felix’s puckered entrance, pink and red and perfect. 

“Well, we can’t have that,” he says, and pushes in. 

Felix is perfect. Chan knew this, but still—it was only imagination that had guided him all this time, because Chan’s never known anyone as perfect as this. The tight heat around him makes him shake. Felix’s eyes cross first, and then roll back completely as he lets out a moan when Chan finally bottoms out. Chan tips over Felix’s body, breathing out soft moans and pressing reverent kisses to his chest and stomach. 

“So full,” Felix rasps softly. His hands are in Chan’s hair again, combing it off his forehead. “Oh, fuck, Chan, feels so good.”

“Perfect, baby, you’re perfect,” Chan manages. He doesn’t know what else there is to say. “Take me so well, it’s like we were made for each other.”

Felix refocuses his eyes. Chan watches his slow blinking. “Could just stay like this,” he says. “Till my parents get home.”

This makes Chan’s dick twitch; Felix feels it and giggles. “Thought you wanted me to fuck you,” Chan counters. “Mean.”

Felix sighs dramatically. “I want that, too.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” Chan says, drawing his hips back and pushing in again. 

“Mm, or tonight,” Felix says. “After everyone’s gone to bed. You won’t be able to fuck me hard then ‘cause we’ll have to keep quiet. You could just put it in and we could cuddle like that.”

Chan groans, imagining it, their hushed voices in the dark, hoping no one hears them, biting back moans as Chan pushes in and fills Felix up. Huddling under the covers, chest to back, Chan’s arms wrapped around Felix’s lithe body. “Fuck, baby, you’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

Felix nods. “I want you,” he says plaintively, like that explains it. Maybe it does, except Chan’s been wanted before, and it wasn’t like this. This is something else, something deeper, more primal. He knows because he feels it in himself, too.

“What do you want, baby?” Chan asks. He wants to know the ways Felix has been picturing him, wants to know if it’s the same as the ways he’s been picturing Felix. He thinks he’ll agree to anything Felix asks. 

“I-I,” Felix stutters, hesitant, but Chan recognizes it as fake. The words are just waiting to trip off Felix’s tongue. “I want you to fuck me and make me come over and over,” he begins. “I want it rough and fast. I wanna come so hard I almost pass out.” He’s picking up steam, talking faster. “ I want it everywhere. I want you to fuck me in the shower and bend me over my desk and push me up against the mirror.” He’s panting now, but he keeps going. “I want to ride your thigh in the pool, I want to choke on your cock when you’re eating breakfast. I’ll come find you in the garden, too, and I won’t be wearing any panties so you can finger me under my skirt.” He gives Chan a wide-eyed, innocent look when he says it, but Chan sees the clear intent behind the facade. He’s trying to rile Chan up, but he’s also dead fucking serious. “I can take it anywhere, any time, I want it like that. Doesn’t matter if I’m busy or drunk or asleep, I like it. I’ll like it if it’s you.”

“Lix,” Chan groans. “That’s so dirty.”

“Want you to take advantage of me, daddy,” Felix pleads, blinking up at him, his beautiful eyes huge. “I’ll only wear my tiniest underwear from now on, and I’ll finger myself open every morning so it’s easy. I’ll carry condoms in my bra, so you’ll know where to find them. Will you do it?”

“All of it?” Chan licks kisses up Felix’s neck. “We’re gonna get caught, baby.”

“Only when it’s safe,” Felix amends. “Can’t have them taking you away from me, who’d fuck me then?”

“Okay, only when it’s safe,” Chan agrees, because of course he wants it, too.

“Good,” Felix says. “Now fuck me harder, I wanna feel it.”

A strange sort of noise rumbles out of Chan’s chest. It’s something close to displeasure, he’s pretty sure, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. He pushes himself up off Felix’s body and grabs him by the backs of his knees. He pushes him down into the bed that way, folding him at the hips until Felix’s knees are almost at his ears. “So flexible, baby,” he murmurs. Felix lets out a satisfied sigh, which hiccups into a moan when Chan thrusts into him. His cock bobs in midair from the force of it, dripping precome on Felix’s chest. “That how you wanted it?” He adjusts to the new angle quickly, picking up the pace again.

Felix is breathless when he responds. “Yes, just like that, yes.”

Felix is spread so wide like this, his body curled over itself to accommodate Chan. Chan digs his fingers into the skin of Felix’s thighs, hard enough to bruise. Felix can always wear stockings to cover them up, and Chan has a feeling he’ll like having the reminder. He slams his hips forward, rough just like Felix asked, fast and ruthless. All Chan’s hours in the gym are finally paying off, and he forces down delirious laughter at the thought. 

“Look so pretty like this,” Chan grits out. “Should’ve kept your skirt on, babygirl, they always make your waist look so nice.” Felix lets out a whimper at the word babygirl, and Chan zeroes in on that immediately. “You like that? Babygirl?” Felix nods fiercely; Chan realizes tears have gathered in the corners of his eyes, his cute nose reddening. Chan leans close. It’s a little difficult, with all the body in the way, but he manages, kissing the hollow of Felix’s cheek, then trailing down to his jaw. “Why the tears?” he murmurs into Felix’s skin.

His voice vibrates in Chan’s skull. “Feels so good,” Felix replies. “Just—overwhelmed, can’t help it. Good tears, don’t fucking stop.”

Chan straightens again, satisfied that Felix is okay, so he doesn’t have to work so hard. “Okay, baby. You need me to stop, though, just say so.” He rocks his hips in deep, making the bed creak. It’s a good thing nobody’s home.

“I won’t ever tell you to stop,” Felix says, and it’s dreamy and almost vacant. He’s staring up at Chan, eyes a little unfocused. A tear rolls down his cheek, leaving a pale grey streak in his skin from his mascara. He snakes a hand between his torso and his thigh and wraps it around his cock, stroking slowly, almost absently. His eyes never leave Chan’s face, even when Chan thrusts hard and deep and makes him cry out. “D-daddy, hn, gonna make me—gonna make me come—ah, oh fuck.” The rest is unintelligible, staccato moans, and then Felix’s whole body convulses. He clenches down on Chan, making it almost impossible for him to move; his pretty face contorts into a twisted expression of bliss, and his legs tremble. He comes with a string of soft curses, so hard some of it shoots past his chest and hits his face, coating his lips and spattering across his cheeks, a few droplets even sticking in his eyelashes.

Felix releases his cock, which still dribbles out a few beads of come with Chan’s every thrust, arms going limp at his sides and head lolling back. 

“Fuck, Lix,” Chan grunts, movements shallow despite the urge to start pounding him again, kind of worried he’ll fall apart. “Sound so gorgeous when you come.”

Felix is slowly licking the come off his lips while he cleans his eyelashes with the hand he wasn’t using to touch himself, his chest heaving. “I wish,” he says softly, so faint Chan barely hears it, “that I was flexible enough to suck my own cock.”

Unbidden, the image of Felix curled tight over himself, his own cock stuffed in his mouth, hole gaping and spread, manifests in Chan’s mind. “Oh, god,” he gasps, and before he realizes it, he’s coming, too, buried deep inside Felix, knuckles white where he’s still holding his legs. 

Chan hangs his head, panting and disoriented, as he comes down. Presently, he unlocks his fingers and releases Felix’s legs; they slide down on either side of him, whispering soft against the duvet cover. He makes no move to pull out. He’s not sure he can move at all.

After a while, he looks up, and sees that Felix has managed to clean off his face. He shakes his head, groaning, and sits back on his heels, bending over Felix’s body, running his hands down his sides, and presses wordless kisses to his ribs and stomach, slow and lazy.

“Good?” Felix whispers.

Chan looks up at him. “So good,” he replies. “Better than I imagined. Not sure I should say that, since it’ll just encourage you, but it’s true.”

Felix giggles brightly. “I won’t be nearly so bad now that I know you’ll give me what I want,” he says, tipping his head to the side.

“I have a hard time believing that,” Chan replies, finally pulling out. He gingerly removes the condom and ties it off, crawling up the bed so he can reach the waste basket next to Felix’s bedside table. He grabs a tissue while he’s at it, and rolls onto his side, towards Felix. “C’mere,” he coaxes softly. “Let me clean you up.”

“Oh,” Felix says, like he’d forgotten entirely about the mess on his chest. He turns to Chan, reaching out and laying a hand on his bicep.

Chan swipes his drying come away, leaning it to kiss away the rest, tugging Felix close to him until they’re lying chest to chest, legs slotted together. He looks up. “All done,” he says softly.

Felix leans in and kisses his forehead. The gesture is oddly sweet. “You really went for it,” he says. “I was impressed. I thought you’d need more prodding.”

“You’ve been quite frustrating,” Chan points out, keeping any trace of venom out of his tone. He’s not angry about it anymore. “I guess that was all the prodding I needed.”

“Mm, I’ll keep it in mind,” Felix says.

“Please don’t,” Chan mutters, and Felix giggles again.

“Out of curiosity,” he says. “Which outfits did you like best?”

“What?”

“What do you like to see me in?” Felix asks evenly. “It’s just you around. I can dress just for you.”

“Oh,” Chan says weakly. “I like the short skirts. And the stockings. You have—” He shifts his hand lower and squeezes. “—the best thighs ever, I like when you show them off.” Felix hums, clearly pleased. “But seriously, you could wear anything, and I’d want to fuck you. So don’t worry about me.”

Felix laughs again, full-bellied and mischievous. “Oh, Chan,” he sighs. “And here I thought my Christmas break was going to be boring.”

[msclaritea]

Different Sports. Same Story.

A boy pretends to be a girl. His parents conceal his sex and lie to fellow classmates and parents. He joins a girls' athletic team and proceeds to excel, dominating the competition.

His performance draws suspicion, or maybe it's obvious that he's male, yet opponents and teammates are afraid to speak up over fears of losing their spot on the team. Parents fear the repercussions their daughters might face if they object. Even if he has competed previously with other boys, he has suddenly declared that he can no longer do so.

He says he is a girl. Reality is irrelevant. Logic is irrelevant. His physical body and physical sex are irrelevant. His word is law. The authorities say he needs to be included above all else. Included on the girls’ team, not the boys’. “Inclusion” on boys’ teams doesn’t count. He alone gets to decide who he competes with and against. Female athletes aren’t given a choice.

Female players are left on the bench or excluded from competitions. His inclusion is paramount, theirs, an afterthought.

He's allowed in the locker rooms where female athletes are changing, in a state of undress and a position of vulnerability. They are given no warning. They are given no autonomy over their own bodies. No privacy or safe spaces. Every accommodation is made for him. His comfort is of the utmost importance. Theirs is dismissed.

Female athletes are told this is necessary. He can't join the boys because he doesn't fit in. Because he doesn't want to. Because he feels uncomfortable around male peers. Because competing with girls is good for his mental health. Parents, authorities, and the athlete himself threaten them with his death if he doesn't get to be with them. Their presence is required to treat his “depression” and “poor self-esteem.” Girls' feelings are not considered. Girls who are uncomfortable around males are told to stay quiet and deal with it. Girls' mental health is not a concern.

An adult man says he's a woman. He joins a women's team. He's immediately bombarded with praise, featured in newspaper and magazine articles, given interviews and TV spots, uplifted as a courageous "pioneer" in athletics despite doing nothing more than joining a team where he doesn't belong, where he would have been criticized and ridiculed by those same media outlets and civil rights groups if he hadn't spoken the magic words: "I'm a woman." Objections are dismissed as bigotry, jealousy, hatred, narrow-mindedness, even "misogyny.” Not allowing him to participate would harm "women.” After all, the people who know what’s best for women are male.

After jumping through all the “hoops” and meeting whichever set of arbitrary standards the athletic association finds meets its fancy, after which he is just as male as he was before, sporting bodies now declare him no different than women and fit to intrude on female teams and in female competitions.

Because he's said those magic words, he is suddenly a "marginalized minority," despite having the backing of government, political, and legal organizations, athletic bodies and academic institutions, despite getting company funding for unnecessary cosmetic surgeries, despite having worked at a well-paid engineering job or as a company manager for the past 30 years, spending exorbitant amounts of money on unnecessary cosmetic procedures and possibly his family's savings on expensive lingerie items, a brand new wardrobe, and makeup, despite getting attention and praise and a group of "allies" at his beck and call to issue lawsuits and outrage on his behalf, despite now holding more power over women than even his other male peers. Yet he is, no matter the circumstance, no matter the situation, considered the victim.

His female teammates are ignored, told to move aside to make room for him, to center him. He exceeds any performance he gave in the men's competition, winning medals, taking podium spots, breaking records, advancing to professional and national teams. Again, criticism is dismissed. "He's not winning every race" "He's not breaking every record" "His testosterone is lower than average. Not all athletes like him are succeeding." Women 20 years his junior with 10 more years of experience manage to beat him and others like him who are unathletic, untalented, and out of shape. This is, of course, evidence that all is fair and just.

Women are gaslit into saying there's nothing wrong. Women are coerced into compliance. Women are threatened with expulsions and punishment to remain silent. Any word said against him is labeled as “bigotry,” “hatred,” and even “violence.” He is allowed to claim victimhood no matter the situation.

Women's performances are ignored. His mere participation is given attention, featured in movies, the subject of documentaries. He is given female awards for bravery and courage, because he decided to wear lipstick while he ran, because he decided to grow his hair out, and because he decided to call himself a “woman” while he did it, because he decided there was no difference between himself and a real woman who possibly had to put her athletic career on hold to give birth to her children at the time he was still chasing girls, watching porn, and carrying on with his male teammates. He is viewed as a beacon of “social justice.”

He's often in his 30s or 40s, well past his athletic peak. He may have already finished a successful or lackluster career in the men's division. He may never have had interest in sports before but now suddenly wants to compete against women. He's likely attracted to women. His social media might be full of sexually explicit fetishistic content. All of this is ignored. His past is swept under the rug. That "self" doesn't exist. He's changed his name, so he's a brand-new person!

He petitions athletic leagues to allow him free access to the women's league. He is consulted by athletic bodies and organizations on policies in women's sport. Policies that were made to protect female athletes are now rewritten to benefit men like himself instead.

Hundreds of women work for years to petition for better pay and to rid leagues of unfair rules such as objectifying uniform regulations in beach volleyball and tennis. Yet a single male athlete is immediately able to overhaul the entire foundational principle of female athletics.

Because it’s easier for athletic organizations to use the inclusion of men who call themselves “women” as examples of social justice and “diversity” and “inclusion” to cover their own poor treatment of real female athletes.

Because it’s more convenient for athletic authorities to battle against “transphobia,” and fight a battle of words, to put on a righteous front and denounce “right-wing bigots” than it is to address the sexual abuse and mistreatment of female athletes rampant at all levels of athletics, to denounce the male coaches and staff whose abuse of women and children is swept under the rug as long as they produce winning teams and athletes.

Because it’s easier for teams to insist their male player is a woman as he mows down opponents than to win competitions with an all-female squad.

Because it’s easier to comply with the wishes of entitled men rather than face lengthy and expensive lawsuits, male violence, and fits of narcissistic rage when they don’t get what they want.

Because the so-called "allies" would rather see a rich, white, heterosexual man in his 40s succeed than a young native woman who had overcome a history of poverty and abuse.

Because male participation in sports is more important than female participation. Male success is valued more than female success. Male feelings are prioritized above female feelings. Male desires are given precedence over female needs, over female safety, over fairness for women and girls, women and girls who are female, of course. The feelings, comfort, and safety of women and girls only matters when those “women” and “girls” are male.

Women's sports are not retirement plans for aging male athletes.

Women's sports are not for males whose parents have told them they're girls.

Women's sports are not social circles for males who don't fit in or get along with other males.

Women's sports are not therapeutic solutions for males with depression or poor mental health.

Women's sports are not support groups for males who don't feel comfortable with themselves or their own sexuality.

Women's sports are not for pretty or feminine looking males, males who make themselves look like women, or homosexual males.

Women's sports are not for weak males, unathletic males, or males with low levels of testosterone.

Women's sports are not for castrated males or males who have a physical impairment or disadvantage against other males.

Women's sports are not for males who call themselves "woman," “girl,” "intersex," "nonbinary" “transfeminine,” or any other word they prefer for themselves.

Women’s sports are not for male athletes who want the honor and praise that come with elite athletics without making the sacrifices to get there. Sacrifices that include taking care of the body and prioritizing health over all else, including aesthetic and appearance.

Women's sports are for female athletes. To give women and girls: old, young, amateur, elite, disabled, unathletic, gay, straight, unattractive, rich, poor, masculine, feminine - all female people - opportunities to participate, advance, and succeed in athletics in an environment that supports them, listens to their concerns, protects them from harm, focuses on them, and above all else, prioritizes the needs, comfort, well-being, and happiness of female human beings.

[seeksmoon-arch]

@mothmuses ☽  kayn

𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔  𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒆,  𝒌𝒂𝒚𝒏  𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒏'𝒕  𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔  𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆  ⸻  𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒔  𝒐𝒓  𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒍,  𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕  𝒊𝒔.  alune's  gesture  is  a  reward,  but  also  a  tool  for  conditioning.  shieda  does  something  well,  he  gets  a  reward  —  sadly,  his  megenta - haired  friend  doesn't  know  just  how  much  a  simple  smooch  on  one's  cheek  means  to  him.

poor  girl,  oblivious  to  the  way  kayn  looks  at  her  —  she  noticed,  of  course,  that  he's  way  more  gentle  whilst  he  deals  with  her,  but  she  doesn't  think  much  of  it.  she's  used  to  people  walking  on  eggshells  around  her  —  all  because  of  her  fragile  heart.

both  metaphorically  and  literally.

alune  doesn't  fear  the  closeness,  doesn't  find  it  awkward,  doesn't  understand  the  meaning  behind  kayn's  words.  he  would  bite  her  back,  though  he  opted  to  kiss  her  forehead.  she  deems  it  for  a  friendly  gesture  and  nothing  else.  her  cheeks  aren't  flushed,  she  doesn't  get  embarassed  —  for  her,  kayn's  just  a  friend.

one  that  deserves  a  reward,  but  is still  just  a  friend.

❝  i  wouldn't  mind  being  as  weird  as  you,  ❞  she  smiles  brightly,  and  when  kayn  locks  his  gaze  with  alune's,  her  eyes  are  glimmering.  completely  ignoring  the  inquiry,  she  then  proceeds  to  hug  kayn  tightly.  on  her  tiptoes,  she  reaches  just  enough  to  press  her  cheek  against  his.

❝  i'm  so,  so,  so  proud  of  you!  ❞  alune  exclaims,  squeezing  him  a  little  more.  ❝  you  did  so  well  with  that  interview,  you  have  no  idea.  ❞

translate  it  to  i  didn't  have  to  do  any  damage  control.  which  is  worth  celebrating  nonetheless.

hs!alune smooches hs!kayn's cheek, then bites it. for me, the mun, reasons are unknown, but for shieda? he probably knows, right? @seeksmoon

...

"What- I wasn't even doing anything!" An angry candy red covers his face instantly. However, he genuinely isn't angry- simply flushed by the first kiss to his cheek, and also the nibble.

" Don't bite me, I bite back. " The truth behind her gesture remains unclear to the man known as Shieda Kayn. For a long time, affection was foreign to him. It really wasn't until he became famous when he started to realize people didn't just hate him. Sometimes, they loved him, too... Even if it wasn't as easy to understand as to why or how, but he supposes this too, is a part of fame, or time. Once you get close to someone, it's hard to take that away.

He gently bends to Alune's cheek, replicating the gesture with enthusiasm. One gentle and friendly kiss to her forehead. No biting, unless he wanted to bite her ears... Which he immediately settles on: no, stupid idea.

" You're weird like me and... I like that about you. " He gets close enough to stare into her eyes for a second, but then he steps away just as easy." Kidding. Just kidding, you're not THAT weird. " If his grin could grow any larger, it certainly would. Not that Alune would ever notice... Perhaps, if she did, he might just literally die.

" Next time you bite me, let me know beforehand, alright? Damn near lost my train of thought. " That isn't to say he already forgot what he was doing beforehand... Now, what was he doing?

[13daze]

No. 1

RAD NEWS

SPECIAL ISSUE!

BEST NAP SPOTS IN

The House of Lamentation

— RANKED!

Disclaimer: We are not responsible for any fatalities that may be incurred in the wake of this article. Our intentions are only genuine and kind, and any such happenings can only be unfortunately timed and in no way our fault!

The RAD Newspaper Club offers a most warm welcome to the new exchange students joining the Royal Academy of Diavolo (RAD) today! In hopes of aiding our new colleagues in settling in for their year-long stay, our members have searched high and low and interviewed all manner of demons (and angels!) to bring to you the best—and only—guide you'll need to your new home: the House of Lamentation!

#10

To start us off, at number ten: your room! Personally prepared for you by Lord Diavolo's loyal butler, it is equipped with all your napping needs! Soft, comfortable blankets! Several huggable pillows! A wall on the verge of collapse and an artistically preserved skull staring at you from your bookcase!

By all means a perfectly acceptable nap spot, but for one detriment: the real, true fear of naps blending into a full sleep cycle. Per Prince Diavolo's wise decree, we remind all exchange students that the primary purpose of their visit to RAD is to complete their assigned tasks in an orderly fashion; as such, all naps are recommended to be within thirty and sixty minutes to ensure peak performance. Therefore, your room may be set aside as an absolute last ditch option!

#09

Next up, number nine! Recommended by the Avatar of Greed, the Great Mammon himself! Cozy, spacious, and most importantly, luxurious! The most expensive item somehow still in Mammon's possession — the Demonio 666 Lexura in Mammon's room! The sophisticated feel of the leather coupled with the unique discomfort appeal of a luxury car in your bedroom! Kick your shoes off, let your hair down, and make yourself at home!

[Per Prince Diavolo's wise decree, we would like to add Mammon's personal statement regarding this section: “Huh, ya wanna know what'd happen if someone took a nap in my baby? In my sweet, sweet Demonio 666 Lexura? Do ya even gotta ask? They're so dead!” As such, please proceed at your own discretion.]

#08-03

Unfortunately, per Prince Diavolo's wise decree, several additions had to be made to this article. As such, for numbers eight through three, click here*!

Your D.D.D. may lose functionality for a moment and Karasu may suggest all manners of ill-advised repairs. Fear not, this is normal! Simply ignore his poor instructions and hand your device over to any available member of the Newspaper Club! Due to managing our online newsletters, several if not all of our members are highly skilled with such technical work! Far more so than any other demon! We'll have your device fully operational again in no time!

[Please be advised that different members of the Newspaper Club may charge differently for their services.]

#02

And now, moving on to second place, with Belphegor's resolute recommendation! The room with the best view in the entire House of Lamentation! That's right, it's the Planetarium!

As the Avatar of Sloth, Belphegor's taste in top notch! The planetarium is spacious, providing plentiful space to stretch out with your nap buddy/ies even if you have a personal bubble the size of Lotan! The high arches and reinforced roof also provide protection from falling projectiles 90% of the time! No ifs or buts or disclaimers — for the willing and the weary, the absolute perfect nap spot is this!

#01

Now, as requested by Lord Diavolo, some words from our President sponsor before we announce our number one location! Typically, naps are meant to be short, no? They are meant to provide a minor respite to your terribly hectic day? A small moment of rest before you take on your deadlines and endless piles of assignments? Yes, that's right. Naps are at their best short, restful, reinvigorating!

Which is why, at number one! The coziest place to rest your tired human shell! Quiet, calm, undisturbed! To achieve just that ideal quota of shut-eye to get you back to work with new vigor! With a built-in alarm to get you up on your feet and ready to face the day's challenges as soon as possible!

That's right! At number one, your absolute ideal location for a power nap in the house of lamentation: Lucifer's room! Only ever receiving one other visitor, who follows such a clear schedule as to be easily predictable, the best possible power nap at the House of Lamentation would proceed as follows:

STEP ONE! The clock strikes four in the afternoon! Lucifer leaves the house to have tea with Lord Diavolo - now is the perfect moment to sneak into relocate to your ideal nap spot!

STEP TWO! Tuck yourself into his big, fluffy bed! For maximum comfort, please ignore all dog hairs and ominously looming skeletons!

STEP THREE! Close your eyes, breathe in slowly, let yourself be pulled away into the tender embrace of sleep!

And, finally, STEP FOUR! The clock strikes five in the evening! Lucifer has returned! As soon as you hear the door creak,

run for your life!

And you're done! You are now well-rested and filled with a healthy amount of adrenaline, thus readying you for any tasks that await you! Pay no mind to the screaming and the collapsing walls; the brothers are always up to all sorts of trouble, aren't they? You'll get used to it with time!

And now you know all there is to know about the wonderful House of Lamentation! For the best possible experience during your stay, we recommend personal experience to verify the opinions we have presented for your perusal! We once again warmly welcome our new classmates, and eagerly await their feedback on our article.

After all, one must never take an angel demon at their word.

* Unfortunately, due to technical issues, our server is not currently able to connect links between articles. We will be back to full functionality shortly!

[tokyokookmin]

Jimin has to ride with JK because he falls asleep and it's Jimins job to wake him up!

It's time to have a clarification and an in-depth post regarding this car situation. Bts is constantly on a scheduled routine and everyone agrees on that. Antis constantly brings the "jk-jm car" issue all the time. Some say that

Jimin has to ride with JK because he falls asleep and it's Jimin's job to wake him up!

It's bighit decision to assign which members are with who in a specific car

They share the same car because they live in the same area

Depends on the company

Jungkook apartment theory

Sources from quora and youtube.

Do they really think so? OMFG no. ( sorry for the language tho lol)

There were several instances where Jungkook and Jimin both wanted to share the same car. They both tend to leave and go to a certain place together, it's really clear unless if you are not willing to acknowledge the truth lol.

Remember the Rose Bowl concert? Jungkook calmed Jimin down and they went back to the hotel together. I'm saying this because Jk could have totally ignored JM and would have gone back by himself in a separate car, and not with JM.

I wanted to share something about the Rose Bowl ear suck. Yeah JK has fallen is in love.

There are many clips that you can find in the Internet. Sometimes Jk would completely ignore what Sejin (manager) would ask them to follow. For example... He would instruct JK to enter into his own car and go in separate ways. But jk being jk, proceeds to ride with JM.

So what I'm trying to intend is that BIGHIT isn't that poor, they provide excellent service and they are one of the most cool companies!Even when BTS is abroad for tours and interviews, they all travel in either pairs or as individuals.

So if BTS even has their individual cars to travel with, why would jungkook opt to ride in the same car as Jimin?

I think that due to the limited time that they can spend quality time with, is the reason why Jungkook and Jimin prioritize car rides together. Having a packed schedule is rough. They value time. Therefore I conclude this post with a clip of Jungkook being a gentleman waiting for Jimin to step out of the car. 🤍🤍.

Yes it's destiny 💟 you are me and I am you 💕. We love jikook ooo.

[wellthatwasaletdown]

Olivia Wilde on the Cover of Vogue: In Which Olivia Wilde confirms she is a fucking psycho.

1. Harry fucked his director for the leading role. His director wanted to fuck him so she cast him in the leading role.

2. Olivia's original plan was to be the Alice to Harry's Jack in order to maximize fucking on and off the set. However, the role of Alice ended up going to Florence Pugh, Academy Award nominee. Olivia would describe ceding the role to Florence as selfless and magnanimous on her part. Others would describe it as Olivia being a shit actress knowing she couldn't act for, well...shit.

3. Olivia Wilde reads tumblr blogs and she thinks they are "headlines". She's so unbothered by comments that she proceeds to address them while being tongue-bathed and incessantly complimented on her unnatural youthfulness lest we forget she isn't an old 37, but a young 15(x3).

4. Olivia wanted to correct false narratives about her relationships but didn't bother because there is nothing false about her cheating on Jason with Harry or her wanting to fuck Harry since Dunkirk.

5. Like most groupies who are busy running off to follow their boyfriends every chance they get, it's sometimes difficult to remember important things, like their children. Solution: tattooing their names on your arms is not only efficient but it is surely the greatest sign of a mother's love.

6. Until this article, I wasn't aware about the worldwide problem of there not being enough sex scenes in movies. Olivia Wilde might be ignoring the people of Haiti because she doesn't give a fuck about them, but make no mistake, this is an issue that hits close to home with her. She's so passionate about making sure DWD makes money, she's spearheading the movement to bring attention to Harry's OnlyFans reel  make soft porn more accessible to Harry's younger and impressionable teenage fans.

7. Did you know that Olivia Wilde is happy? The happiest she's ever been in her life? She says it so many times, I have to believe she's either trying to convince herself or she's trying to summon a demon lord since Harvey Weinstein is no longer available.

Note: Her children's births were not mentioned as a cause for happiness. It is possible she did not remember they existed at the time because their names were not yet tattooed on her arms.

8. One of the most interesting things from the interview is that Olivia is the one person most concerned with the age gap and appearances. That tends to happen when sex and nudity are your main talents. She recollects the times she was sexy decades ago. She even proudly mentions her achievement award for a hottest Olivia contest from 2010. It's really important to her that people know she's hot and youthful.

Now, I'm sure the constant mentions of Olivia being fresh and beautiful were supposed to convince everyone that Olivia is well-preserved and with all her credentials (hottest Olivia 2010), will be valuable like an antique. But to me, it was more like witnessing the aging evil queen in Snow White repeatedly ask the mirror who was fairest of them all.

9. The unnamed friend who made Olivia feel every boner in her body. Ooh, unnamed friend got her a necklace. Unnamed friend is responsible for the HObag. Unnamed friend and Olivia shroom together. They're going steady. They're moving in together. Have they pooped together though? That to me signifies commitment.

Lastly, since HO are one unit, I must give a shout out to unnamed friend's latest cash grab. Love the new slogan, i.e. excuse for future, shoddily-made crap productions.

Do you need overpriced, cheap looking merch with poor quality control? Look no more, fiends.

Price gouging, broken products, off-center lettering - substandard has its forever home. Pleasing by Harry Styles. Proceeds sustain Harry's profits and go towards Make Harry a Billionaire Fund.

[escapetodreamworld]

Love is blind

Colette Marchant x Reader

Words 1880

A/n I originaly had a much longer idea in mind for an obsessive Colette fic but I decided to hold off on that idea, if y'all want it maybe I'll get around to writing it sometime this year.

Warnings, obsessive behavior, and maybe a slight controlling behavior. I don't think there's anything else but let me know if I forgot something.

Requested by @simplaif

Taglist ( @medeliadracon )

Max Medici selling his circus to V.A. Vandemere might've been the best thing to ever happen to you. You, your brother Holt, your niece and nephew and the rest of the circus all moved to Dreamland Amusement Park. You know the only reason you're here is because of Dumbo, the flying elephant you and the kids have been taking care of, but you're still happy to be here. 

The best thing about moving here was Colette, the beautiful trapeze artist. Ever since you met her, back at the old circus, when she came with Vandemere to see Dumbo, you haven't stopped crushing on her.

You're starting to get the impression she might like you back, there are things she does that make you wonder. Like when you catch her staring at you or when Vandemere showed you to your new rooms and they were next to Colette's and she smirked at you as she passed by, and then now, she kept eye contact with you while she practiced her trapeze.

You and Colette were the only one in the practice tent, You had shooed the kids and Holt off, Vandemere gave the kids passes to go on all the rides, Colette was getting better at riding Dumbo so You and Holt decided the kids and him could run off and have fun before Dumbo's first show, tonight.

You watch as Colette and Dumbo fly around the room once more before landing, Colette hops off Dumbo. Dumbo runs over to you immediately, nearly knocking you over, you kneel down and start petting him. Colette clears her throat, getting your attention, you look up to see her staring at you rather intensely. "What do you think, are we ready for tonight?" Colette asks, never taking her eyes off you.

"The two of you are improving a lot, but I think your bond could be closer." You say, looking at Dumbo then her again, you continue. "Dumbo knows you, but he doesn't have a relationship with you, you're just the lady that rides on his back. There's no friendship between you too." You explain, scratching behind Dumbo's ears while he leans into your side.

Colette huffs. "And how am I supposed to build a closer bond in just a few hours?" The French woman's visibly annoyed that you're critiquing her performance, you roll your eyes. "Come here." You say, gesturing her over. Once she's close enough you grab her hand, pulling her down to kneel beside you, then you guide her hand to the spot on Dumbo's head he loves having scratched.

After a minute of giving dumbo love and affection he rolls over to cuddle closer to Colette, causing her to genuinely smile. As she continues petting Dumbo you take the moment to stare at her, taking in her beauty. She catches you, you snap your head back down to watch Dumbo, hoping she doesn't think you were really staring at her. You start berating yourself for being stupid, but you feel a hand on your knee.

You look up to see her staring intensely at you again, your heart starts beating so loudly your scare she'll hear it. Colette leans in slightly causing you to let out a shaking breath, making Colette smirk and lean closer, she glances down at your lips then back up to look into your eyes. You're so nervous you can't even lean forward to close the distance between you. Just as you feel Colette breath ghost across your lips the doors open, causing you both to pull away quickly.

Vandemere walks in followed by his bodyguard, Vandemere looks at us on the ground and asks. "Why aren't you practicing?" He's clearly annoyed we're not. You clear your throat "Dumbo's been flying all day, he needs to rest before tonight's performance." You say, voice a little shaky. You see Colette smirking in the corner of your eye.

Vandemere nods "Ah yes well, I came to talk to you anyway, about something important. There's going to be a red carpet before tonight's show, a few reporters and photographers, and I want YOU on my arm tonight." Both you and Colette say "what" at the same time, you're shocked and nervous about the idea, Colette's angry.

"Shouldn't your girlfriend accompany you on the red carpet?" You ask, look from Vandemere to Colette. "No, I don't want Colette being seen until Dumbo and her's performance. And I want Dumbo's trainer there." Vandemere says, growing annoyed.

You try once more to be out of this. "My brother is also Dumbo's trainer, so are the kids."

"The kids are too young for these kinds of things, and your brother doesn't have as pretty of a face as you." Vandemere says, trying to be charming. You sigh in defeat, and agree to do it. Vandemere claps his hands together excitedly. "Wonderful, I already have some seamstresses in your room, so let's go get you into a gown for tonight." And quickly ushers you out of the tent.

You spend the next few hours trying on countless dresses and getting your hair and makeup done, until you're finally ready. You're nervous but you're able to get through all the interviews with a smile, "you're almost done" Vandemere whispers to you while you pose for pictures. You start to relax, happy you've gotten through this with nothing to bad happening, but then Vandemere does something stupid, he leans down and kisses you. A short quick peck on the lips, you immediately pull away, and storm off, praying no one took a photo of it.

You go find Holt and the kids in the main tent, backstage getting ready for Dumbo's performance. Luckily Colette's nowhere to be seen, you don't know if you can face her right now, Holt asks if you're okay and you lie saying you are.

The night ends in more chaos, there wasn't a net during the performance, Dumbo slipped and almost caused Colette to fall. Then Dumbo flew out of the tent and found his mother in a wild animal exhibit, and Milly ran off. After finally finding Milly, you start the long processes of walking her to her rooms then walking to yours. Somewhere between finding Dumbo and finding Milly you broke a heel. So you're walking barefoot, once you're finally in your room, you strip off your dress and fall into bed.

You wake to a banging noise coming from somewhere close by, you roll over in bed curling into your blankets, trying to ignore it. After a minute with no signs of the sounds stopping you get up to see where it's coming from and if you can make it stop, you grab a robe tying it tightly around yourself before going to investigate the noise. Upon entering the main lounge area you find out the noise is coming from someone bang on your door, assuming it's Holt, you march angrily to the door, ready to tell him to go away.

You yank the door open, to find a very angry Colette, holding today's newspaper. You can't read the newspaper because of how she's holding it, but you assume it's about her performance and that's why she's mad. Sighing you opening the door wider signaling for her to come in, she does and as soon as you close the door your back is slammed into it. Colette's body pressing yours to the door one hand on the door by your waist the other by your head, you're shocked, unable to comprehend what's happening. Colette's eyes burning with anger and something else, her almost ragged breath hitting your face.

You're a little worried but that doesn't stop the feeling burning in your lower stomach, you start to squirm but don't make an effort to move away. Colette notices this causing her to grin, she pushes herself closer to you and ghosts her lips against yours, never letting your lips touch even when you try closing the distance. "Colette." You whimper, pleading with her. Her grin only grows. "Aww you poor thing, you're so desperate for me." Colette coos, teasing you. causing you to go weak. Colette moves to your neck, her breath hitting it, and you can feel her teeth graze your jaw. You whimper again, causing Colette to chuckle against your throat.

Colette moves closer to your ear. "Just say the magic word." She whispers, seductively. Then continues teasing you. "Please." You gasp, desperately. You're not sure you can take much more of her teasing. Colette wastes no time, moving her hands from the wall to your face and kisses you, pulling you closer to her. You kiss her back immediately, melting into her. You grab onto her shoulders, steading yourself. Colette's tongue slips into your mouth, exploring, dominating. When Colette starts to pull away she bites your bottom lip pulling on it before releasing it and you.

Your gasping for air you didn't know you needed, still on cloud 9 from the kiss. Colette leans back, a grin on her face as she admirers you. Her hands still resting on your face, she caresses your cheeks with her thumbs. Her grin widens, you see on her face that she just had a thought, you start to ask but she beats you to it.

"You seem to have enjoyed this kiss more than yours last night." She says, smugly. And traces your bottom lip with her thumb. You're shocked, you really thought no one had seen it. Colette raises an eyebrow at your stunned expression, then proceeds to pick up the paper she must've dropped when she pushed you against the wall, and read from an article. "...After my talk with V.A. Vandemere and the lovely flying elephant trainer, Miss (Y/l/n). I witnessed a moment between them, a kiss, one that ended with Miss (Y/l/n) storming off…" Colette finishes reading it and looks up at you. 

You blush, embarrassed that someone not only saw but wrote about it. "I um.. Did you read the part where it says I stormed off." You say weakly, avoiding eye contact.

"I did." Colette says, annoyed. But somehow you know it's not you she's annoyed at. You chance a look at her, but when you do you're caught in her intense stare, unable to look away. "Please don't be mad, I didn't like it." You say, trying to reassure her.

Colette lightens up on her stare, she comes closer to you again. "I know baby, I just don't like it when people touch things that belong to me." Colette coos, and gently grabs your chin. "You do belong to me, don't you?" Colette asks, her voice low. Almost daring you to say no.

If you weren't so in love with her you might've been able to tell how dangerous this was, might've questioned the tone she used, maybe you would've seen the way she stared at you when you weren't aware. Maybe you'd question why your room is next to hers or why it's so far away from your brother's when you know there's vacant rooms closer. But you're in love, you don't notice any of it.

You look at Colette with so much love and adoration, and tell her what she wanted to hear. "Yes."

[mrwinterr]

Who Do You Love?

Pairing: David Budd x Female Reader

Summary: After some months that David’s been working for the Home Secretary, you notice he’s been acting differently. Not wanting to overanalyze the situation, the signs are just too hard to ignore, so when it’s time to confront him there’s only one real question to ask.

Warnings: Bodyguard (2018) TV series spoilers! Adult themes. Explicit language. Light smut. Infidelity/cheating. Mentions of war, PTSD, political assassination, death, pregnancy/miscarriage, paranoia, and attempted suicide. Sad vibes, probably. We’re not gonna have a good time.

Disclaimer: This piece goes hand-in-hand with All For You. It’s not required to read beforehand, but it would be nice. As far as the TV series, yeah, don’t even read these if you’re still planning to watch the show. If you don’t care, you may proceed.

Title Inspiration: “Who Do You Love?” by The Chainsmokers ft. 5 Seconds of Summer

A/N: I want a happy David, I really do, but I’m a heartless writer. I took a break from the smut, so it’s not a huge bulk of the fic this time. I hope y’all still like it! Happy New Year! 

Another night alone was not unusual for you as of late, having grown accustomed to it ever since David had taken up the job of protecting Home Secretary, Julia Montague. Neither you nor David could’ve foreseen his courageous efforts in neutralizing the terrorist attack on the train back home would thrust him into his new position, furthermore the extent of its outcome in his personal life.

It wasn’t a hidden secret that David resented most politicians, and you knew of Julia from the news and her political ambitions in pushing a bill to increase security surveillance. David’s job put a big emphasis on confidentiality, so for his superiors to throw him into a public political warzone was a bit suspicious to you. There was something that didn’t add up, and you couldn’t just outright ask David whose side he was on in all this.

After neglecting the mountain of dirty laundry, tonight was dedicated to the domestic chore. It was nothing out of the ordinary mixing your batch with David’s, but he had a habit of leaving things in his clothes pockets, so it was routine for you to check everyone. You’d moved onto one of the costly tailored button-ups he wore to work and feel something protruding from the shirt pocket. You dig your hand in and fish out a tube of lipstick. Strange. You didn’t use this brand of cosmetics, and even more so the garment smelt different.

Under normal circumstances, this type of discovery would raise a red flag, but you recall one of David’s first days on the job as her bodyguard, the intern had clumsily spilt Julia’s coffee all over her outfit just before she was about to do a live interview, and David had offered her the shirt off his back, essentially saving the day. The man was just too dedicated to his job sometimes, so you shrug it off, but this wouldn’t be the first time you would notice something out of place.

It really started after the first assassination attempt that was made on Julia’s life. With the rate she was going at, her political status had made her a prime target to those opposed to RIPA-18. It was very frightening, you figured that much for her, David had seen worse in war. You just about had a heart attack when you reunited with him that night, the blood still stained on his clothes and missed splotches on his skin.

The both of you clung onto each other all night, lost within the throes of passion. It might as well have been one of the most intense nights yet, even then you could tell something changed by his movements. You didn’t think much about it at first because there’s already so much wrong with him, you’ve yet to learn all his mood swings.

Then one day you’d gotten sick, and discovered it was because you were pregnant with David’s child. One of the few things that made you forget about all the aches and pains that David unintentionally caused, was remembering the beautiful smile on his face when you revealed the news to him. You knew how much happiness Ella and Charlie brought him, you could only imagine what that would feel like, your own family with David.

He was so overjoyed in the beginning. He had quickly phoned his mother, who’d visited and even stayed a few days with you when David’s new position became more demanding of him, claiming she was worried about you being alone. You didn’t deserve to experience this alone, but it was sure heading that way.

Lately, you’ve found yourself occupying the Budd household quite more than often when David’s mom went back home. With David being on duty almost 24/7, you were completely alone, so the little family welcomed you.

Legally, on paper, David was still married to Vicky. It was something you weren't going to verbally admit bothered you, but oddly enough it did. What with the mood you’ve been in as of late, it ate at a part of you. They were separated and the divorce papers were well on track until David’s “promotion” paused the process.

There’s still not a hostile fiber in you towards Vicky. She’d moved on well, been on several dates with someone else, and things were looking great for her. It was lowkey, not even David knew about it, not that he even stuck around or bothered to care. It had to come out eventually because it would affect Ella and Charlie’s lives.

You watch as Vicky rounds the table after placing a cup of tea in front of you then sitting in the seat across and asking how you’re holding up.

You contemplate for a split second if you should be honest or not, but who else could you confine to at the moment? No one else could possibly understand. Vicky herself may not even, but she knew David more than most people did, so surely, she could see where you’re coming from to some degree, right?

Letting out a big sigh, you answer her truthfully, “I’m...not well, Vicky,” your eyes drop down to the cup in front of you, finger tracing the rim, the hot cloud of smoke of the concoction almost burns your skin.  

“Oh, poor thing,” she says, extending her hand over to place it on top of your other one on the table, “it’s the pregnancy. It has to be. It’s taking a toll on you. I can tell.” You look up at her and almost want to cry. No one noticed it was more than symptoms of pregnancy. You were bottling up so much.  

“Let me tell you, while I love Ella and Charlie, pregnancy was not a breeze…” she started to ramble, but you quickly cut her off, exhausted of people telling you the same thing over and over, unintentionally, blaming the innocent baby.

“No. I don’t think it’s that. I don’t want to blame anything on the pregnancy,” you say straight up. You got yourself into this mess, you went headfirst knowing the baggage David came with and you knew full well that protection wasn’t at the forefront in the affairs. Ready or not, you both went in this together and brought a baby into the picture.

Vicky stares, confused, but still genuinely concerned, “then what else could be wrong?” When you didn't immediately respond, she knew it had to be one other thing, or person, and you just didn’t want to admit, well out loud, “David?”

You only nod; you knew you were going to have to face the music sooner or later. So, you start listing things you’ve observed that have caused you to grow suspicious over the course of the last few months. You just hoped you didn’t sound like a mad woman in front of her.

The one time your phone had died, and he let you use his to place a food delivery. You couldn’t unlock his phone, trying every possible combined set of numbers close to David, only to come to a conclusion that the access code had changed. Visibly distressed, he realizes you were attempting to unlock his work phone. You knew that was his though. What work phone?

You didn’t even know he had one of those, let alone why did it have the same crack on the screen in the exact same spot as his personal one? You feigned stupidity and blamed it on exhaustion. Deep down David knew you were suspecting something was up, and he ended up placing the order for dinner that night himself.

The other time you confronted David about coming home smelling heavily of another woman. Whatever, whoever, her perfume was strong, and it made you nauseous. The pregnancy didn’t even do you any favors on this one with your senses heightened and overly sensitive.

Of course, he smelled of another woman, the person he was assigned to protect. You could see all the holes in his alibi. He was lying, and it hurt most when he indirectly admitted your mood swings were irritating him and then flipped it all on you, saying you were overthinking the situation and getting all paranoid for no reason. Accused you of not trusting him, when truth was you had the utmost faith in him, but not when the evidence was piling up.

There’s a solemn look that washed over Vicky’s face. She had expected more tales of David’s PTSD, but none of what you spilled alluded to it. This time David couldn’t blame the effects of war on your suspicions. However, Vicky knew that this was you and David, and if there was a pair that could survive love’s tumultuous doings then it was you two.

“There’s a lot of coincidences, yes, but this is you and David,” she says, grasping your hand for support because she could see the moisture in your eyes building up, “is it silly of me to admit I was always jealous of you,” she confesses, trying to steer the conversation a different route.

She didn’t want you to think she was brushing off your worries, but to remind you that everything you and David had been through to get to this point to be together, whatever you both were dealing now wasn’t anything you two couldn’t overcome. There were high hopes for you and David in Vicky’s mind.  

A small smile cracks your face, and you bring your vacant hand up to dab at the inner corner of your eyes, just before the tears start to race down, “jealous? Of what?” It was almost shocking to think you had something she was jealous of.  

“Every time you visited us,” she starts, “I could tell David held so much admiration for you,” and you know she’s not trying to hurt your feelings, but it’s taking a bit to figure out where she’s going with this.

“That’s silly,” you scoff lightly, “you both got married and had two kids, surely there was no doubt,” then bring the cup up to your lips for a small sip.  

“But there was and look where we ended up?” she says. Your lips cave in to form a tight line in response, and carefully place the cup back down on the dish, before she follows up, “you two are finally together.”

“Vicky,” you pipe up, not knowing where to begin. It was never your intention to steal David’s heart away from another.

“I’m not saying any of this because I’m mad at you. No. I’ve never truly hated you. You’re a good person and you’re finally getting your happily ever after. Don’t ever stop fighting for it,” she comes out wholeheartedly, and this time you make no attempt to keep the tears at bay. It stung to hold them back anyways.

Vicky gets up from her seat, walking the short steps to yours, to wrap her arounds around you. You immediately cling onto her arms and just cry, finally letting everything out.

“Seriously, don’t think of the worst,” she starts advising, while rubbing your back, “David will always come back to you,” she pulls you away from her before reminding you, “you knew going into this wasn’t going to be easy.”  

You feel so pathetic. What she said was completely true, you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. There’s no doubt you love David and want to be with him through the good, the bad, and the ugly, so you nod and try to keep your chin up. It wasn’t to appease her, you were going to get back up, because if not for David, then for the baby.

Suddenly, the front door busts open and Ella and Charlie are bustling into the kitchen, where you and Vicky were. Quickly wiping away the tears, you both noted that school had just let out.

They were ecstatic to see you, especially Charlie as he had currently been experiencing issues of his own adjusting to school. They lifted your spirits greatly; they were more fascinated by the baby growing in you and couldn’t wait to meet him or her. You absolutely adored them. They looked like David and the whole time they were talking your ear off; you wonder to yourself if your own kid will look more like you or David. 

David’s thrusts were deep and good; you made no attempt to hold it in, letting him know exactly how he was making you feel. Nails digging into his firm buttocks, pulling him closer to you, wanting him to just keep going and going; the chase proving to be almost just as good as the climax. You feel one of his hands run up your side and his large hand starts groping your breast, adding onto the pleasure he was plaguing your body with, while the other held onto the small of you back, bringing your hips up to his.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, you could feel his hot breath fanning against your skin and hear his murmured swears and praises. The air in the room was thick, and for the majority of the intimate activity, the only sounds that travelled around the apartment consisted of heavy breathing, moans, gasps, whines and skin slapping, until the annoying distinct ringtone started screeching from a few feet away.

You’d learned to distinguish his work alarm since the supposed mix-up, and it pinged constantly, agitating you. David’s pace notably falters, and the rhythm you’d both built started dwindling, the needy side of you started to panic because he was going to stop and you desperately wanted to come, even more so come with him, but it looked like neither of you would be as you feel one of David’s hands leave your body and make an attempt to reach out to the device.

You grab a hold of his wandering hand and lace your fingers together, hoping to keep him close and forget about the alert. You buck your hips forward, urging him to continue. His grip tightens and cock twitches inside of you in response. Your strategy almost deems successful when he picks up momentum, each swivel of his cock gradually bringing out the starved woman in you. Not to mention, your sex drive had heightened too, you’d longed and craved any affection he could give you.

“David, baby…” you whine, holding a hand to his face, forcing him to keep his gaze on you and only you, the ringtone almost drowning out, “...don’t. Don’t. Fucking. Stop...please,” you resort to begging and hook a leg over his body, the new angle allowing him to thrust deeper.

And just when you’re about to tip over the edge, the incessant ringing persists, and David’s halt unintentionally pulls you back down. He unwinds your sweaty clasped hands, no doubt in search of the phone once more, however, you had more leverage than he did, and your hand beats his hand to it. He wasn’t that far behind as his hand covers yours, and he tries to grab the phone to answer the call, but instead you swat it off the nightstand.  

“What the fuck?” David says aggravatedly, while attempting to reach his phone on the ground, all while he’s still inside of you, pressing your body deeper into the mattress, but careful to not crush you.

“No, fuck you, David,” you spit back, and shove his body off of yours. You scoot over to one side of the bed and try to level your breathing. You were both so close!

“What is wrong with you?” He asks, forgetting the phone on the ground.

“Do you really have to answer that?” You ask, attitude on full display.

“It could be an emergency at work,” he tries reasoning.

“You’re not on the clock, David!” You dispute, sitting up, clutching the sheets to your body to conceal yourself.

“That’s not the point! It could’ve been serious. Julia could be hurt,” he says, the words just coming out of his mouth, giving each excuse little thought. His mind was in a frenzy and you didn’t miss a single syllable.  

“You called her Julia,” you say just above a whisper, and suddenly you have an urge to vomit, but you do your best to control it.

“What?” he asks, not understanding what that meant at all to you.

It hurt more that he didn’t realize there was anything wrong and if he did, he was doing a good job at hiding something and making you look like the bad guy. You lightly shake your head, feeling defeated, and lie back down, settling on your side facing the opposite direction of him.

What was going on in David’s head? You tried so hard to understand him. It was like walking on eggshells, and even you had a breaking point. It was just sometimes too much because it felt like you were the only one putting in the effort to keep this relationship afloat.

The bed shifts significantly, letting you know that he’s gotten out of it. What felt like an hour, but were only a few seconds, the room was silent, tension still heavy in the room, and neither of you were willing to be the first to crack. You lie still, unmoving and making no attempt to stop him. It’s only when you hear the swing of the bedroom door creak, you allow yourself to blink the tears in your eyes away.

He didn’t leave the apartment that much you could rest assured of. Rest? That was what you were having trouble with. Things weren’t getting any easier with David and you even though you vowed to yourself that you’d go through Hell for him, the pressure was getting too heavy on your heart and in return, you knew the distress wouldn’t be good for the baby.

Maybe it was all just paranoia, the stress of pregnancy, and you were taking things too personal. You could be understanding about a lot of things in David’s life, his terms and PTSD, his kids, and his job, but was it too much to ask of him to be understanding of you? You suppose you were being selfish, and you were really tired. The only way to help you sleep was to swallow your pride and admit you were wrong.

The rush of the cold air instantly surrounds your bare legs the second you throw the covers off your body to get out of the bed. You throw on the discarded oversized shirt to be decent. Your steps are light, and you’re kind of nervous and, dare you admit, ashamed of how you overreacted that it drove David to the point of sleeping on the couch. After all, you made him feel unwanted in his own bed, and he certainly had enough respect to not steal yours.

Just when you’re ready to apologize and ask him to go back to bed with you, he’s already sound asleep, his legs sticking out from the mere blanket covering his upper body. You didn’t have the heart to wake him up for that. Sleep didn’t find him easy and he seemed just as stressed as you were, so you don’t disturb him. It can wait, right? You turn around and head to your room, shut the door and pray sleep finds you soon.  

It didn’t and neither did the conversation. 

News of the blast at St. Matthews College, where Julia was presenting a speech, rocked not only the political world, but it was the forefront of every news channel and medium. Tons left injured or dead, and as if that wasn’t bad, David was being told Julia had not survived the bombing.

He’s clearly distraught, believing he’s failed her, and on top of that, the weight of his lies started to suffocate him. He was going to have to come clean to you about everything he’s done behind closed doors with Julia. You wouldn’t forgive him, he was sure of that, and if by some chance you did, it would take a hell of a long time for him to regain your trust.

How many more lives does he have to ruin or lose under his watch? It was becoming too much, and it was sad, as he stared at the gun in his hands, that he’d contemplated his next actions more than once, but he really didn’t know what he had left to do anymore. There was a lot actually, he had his kids, a baby on the way, and a new life to build with you, but he was far too gone at that moment.

It’s Vicky that finds him back at the apartment, cleaning the brass fragments from the wound on the side of his head. She quickly puts the pieces together, the notes on the table addressed separately to her, the children and you, and the admission from David that these were brass fragments of a bullet casing.

“Dave, what the fuck? What about Ella and Charlie? What about-” she starts going on but stops when he visibly cracks because he knows your name is next to come out of her mouth, “I’m taking you to the hospital,” she decides and is quick to put away her tools.

“No. No one can know about this,” David says adamantly. They start to argue about his injuries and how David hadn’t been aware that he fired a blank round before he asks her to go back home to the kids.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” she says grabbing a jacket and tries to reason that he shouldn’t be alone right now and maybe being around the kids and seeing you will open his eyes and realize what he was leaving behind had he successfully ended his life.

He couldn’t pretend living like he was okay. What had happened to Julia was not his fault. All David ever did was do his best to protect, protect his country, his family and her.

“You need to tell her,” Vicky says while she hands David a cap for him to cover the wound on his head.

“I don’t even know where she’s been the last few days,” he admits pathetically. His own girlfriend, the mother of his unborn child, he can’t even keep tabs on where she’s been this whole time. It made him feel even terrible that he’d neglected you.

“She’s been staying with the kids and I,” she reveals.

“What? Why is she there?” He asks, and quickly puts the cap on and gets up from his seat.

She didn’t tell David of your whereabouts earlier because you’d asked her not to and she politely respected that, but she knew now was not the time to take sides anymore. You two had to deal with your issues now.

“She shouldn’t be alone, Dave. She’s pregnant with your child and yet she’s going through it all by herself,” Vicky tells him.

“I never meant to bring her into any of this mess,” he says heavily, full of grief. He brought you into the madness that was his world and now you’re trapped in it, bringing a new life along for the ride.

“She loves you, David, don’t sell yourself short. She just feels like she’s been left in the dark. You need to talk to her,” Vicky advises him, “it may not be pretty, but you have to hear her out.”

She knew you couldn’t stand being alone in the apartment without being reminded of David constantly. You weren’t in a good place either and she wanted to help you both before it was too late. 

You’d been left behind at the house with Ella and Charlie in the other room watching TV, while Vicky was out looking for David. He wasn’t answering any of the phone calls she’s made, even ones made on your cell phone, there was no form of contact or communication from him. You knew he was there at the college; he was Julia’s bodyguard after all.

When you heard more than two voices return, you knew she’d brought David back and had told him you’d be here. You weren’t mad at her for ratting you out, it was going to come out eventually. Nothing ever stays hidden.

“You don’t normally wear a hat indoors,” Ella points out the cap on David’s head that stuck out like a sore thumb.

“You said it’s silly,” Charlie reminds his father.

“Then I’m being silly,” David responds as he watches his children chomp away at the slices of pizza in their hands.

While Vicky was on the phone cancelling her date tonight, you faintly hear the end of the conversation he was having with Ella and Charlie over their dinner. He still hadn’t even seen you. Then you hear his quiet, controlled sobs, but he couldn’t detain them enough and be strong around his kids.

“I just did something silly today,” he tells them.

“Wearing a hat?” Charlie asks innocently.

“That, too,” he replies as he clings onto them both in a group hug.

Vicky had just revealed to you of David’s suicide attempt moments ago. You’re numb. Clearly, Julia’s death had affected him rather deeply, so much that he thought killing himself was a solution.

He didn’t care about you or the baby. You both weren’t enough to save him or have anything to look forward to. You can’t even cry anymore. You wanted to lash out and get mad. She advises you to keep calm and think rationally, but you’re tired of thinking about all of this.  

Without warning, David enters the room you’d been staying in. You’re like stone on the couch, arms crossed and starting straight ahead of you, mindlessly at whatever TV program the kids left it on before retreating to the dining area. Your eyes cast themselves on David’s demure stance. He cautiously steps forward and hesitantly takes a seat next to you.

“Is it true?” You ask, breaking the silence and finally turn to look at him. He only nods in response, his head hangs low, ashamed. You felt like your heart didn’t have any parts to break anymore. The confirmation alone just felt like him stomping on it for added measure.

“Ok,” is all you say, biting down on your lip to prevent you from saying anything else. It was petty, but you’d refused to show him any remorse or sorrow of any kind.

“Is this where you’ve been the past few nights?” He questions, rather awkwardly too.

“Oh, so you’ve noticed I haven’t been home?” You ask bitterly.

He was really going to push your buttons. You’re not sure if Vicky was right about you and David having to talk. This wasn’t going to go well at all. You were not in an ideal mental and physical state to be talking about your problems with him, but if not now then when?

“Of course, I have. Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, almost appalled by the accusation, and watching as you get up from the couch to stand in front of him.  

“I hardly see you and when I do I find out that you just tried to kill yourself, so forgive me for not assuming I even ran as a mere thought in your messed-up head,” it was harsh, poking at his mental state, but you were so fed up, your mind was just as clouded, “...you didn’t think about me when you held the gun to your head,” you said ripping off his hat.

Your heart tightens in your chest as you stare at the wound and tears threaten to fall, but you don’t let them, “...and you certainly didn’t think about our baby when you pulled the trigger,” then chuck the cap at him, he makes no attempt to catch it as it lightly bounces off his chest and fall onto his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” he says sincerely and making no attempt to hide his tears as they raced down, “I’m so fucking stupid,” and he gets up on his feet, ”...I need help.”

He’s not even going to use the excuse of work and you’re not expecting him to rat himself out and come clean about Julia just yet. David didn’t work like that and you were absolutely done with it. No, everything had to come out now.

“I know,” is all you say at first. He thinks it’s some form of forgiveness, him acknowledging his problem, until you follow up, “just admit it,” your voice changes in tone from anger and hurt to an icy one, “who do you love now, David?”

All while asking him that question, you’re trying to get his eyes to focus on you, but you simply cannot. He’s looking everywhere but, and it hurts.

“It’s Julia, isn’t it? Tell me!” You shout at his face. When he doesn’t answer immediately, your lips press down together and you don’t hold back the tears any longer, “I can’t believe you,” you say in disbelief, almost struggle to breathe right, “this shit has been keeping me up at night!”

You back away from him and cover your mouth, just to conceal your sobs so the rest of the family doesn’t hear you cry. They most definitely heard you yell, but you didn’t want to further trouble them anymore or cause a big enough scene for them to burst right through.

There hadn’t been a doubt in your mind that David loved you before, but just seeing how he couldn’t open up enough to tell you there was someone else during, filled you with more heartache. Maybe it would hurt less, you wouldn’t know unless it came straight from his mouth.

David starts crying as well and you honestly want to slap him, but instead you start saying nasty things, cutting him way worse than anything you could ever do physically, and you certainly don’t hold back. Claiming you two were never meant to be together, and the baby doesn’t mean anything especially in uniting you both.

“I’ll be surprised if this baby even survives,” you scoff thinking about a past experience, and how cruel life was gifting you this baby.

“What are you talking about? You’re not thinking about-“ David starts getting all frantic suddenly, and not thinking, he grabs both your arms in his hands, holding you in place.

“God no! I would never!” You say in disgust and pull away from him, “I can’t believe you’d think I would…”

“Then what did you mean?” He asks curiously.

“I never told you why I broke up with him,” you don’t really mention your ex’s name these days. While you’d both moved on as civil as the both of you could, it still pangs you to reminisce about the relationship and how it ended.

“He couldn’t handle the long distance,” he said thinking he knew.

“He only couldn’t after...” you pause, trying to decide if now was the time to reveal this secret. David had the right to know, after all, an incident like such could happen again.  

“After what? He was seeing someone else?” He grew increasingly anxious and almost ill towards the thought of another being unfaithful to you.

“No! It was my fault,” you don’t want to slander your ex at all. He couldn’t have prevented what happened to you across the other side of the world even if he tried. “I miscarried. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I woke up one day in my blood and the sharpest pain I’ve ever felt.”

You started reliving that day, how you were alone and the way your neighbors had to come to your aid. Your poor ex felt so helpless, he wanted nothing more than to drop everything for you, but the wave of depression afterwards had strained the relationship. It formally ended when you’d returned from studying abroad.

“I didn’t even know you were pregnant,” David says in shock. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, and if it was stupid to think all this time you could’ve easily had a life without him long before you two finally became a thing.

“It didn’t matter, David,” your voice finally regained strength, and wiped at the tears on your face of the memory, ”you and Vicky were so in love. There’s nothing you could’ve done for me.”

“That’s not true,” David persists.

“I would’ve turned you away, just like him,” you say so sure. David was your friend then, yes, but you didn’t need or owed him this before now.  

“You’re not going to lose this baby,” he promises.

“You don’t know that,” and you’re not trying to be a pessimist about this, you wanted this baby, but you were more than aware of the possibility it could happen again. Bad things just always seemed to be happening lately anyways.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’d protect you both with my last breath,” he vows, grabbing your hands, desperate to feel any part of you.

“I don’t need your protection, David,” your words continue to crush him, that was your subtle way of leaving him and he knew it, “I love you, David. I love you so much!” you say with plenty of emotion, and lightly squeeze his hands in yours, “...but you can’t even tell me who you love right now,” you point out, reluctantly removing your hands from his.

“You need to get help, David. If not for your family, me or the baby, please do it for yourself,” you say last, before placing a small kiss on his cheek.

“I’m going to get help...for you,” you hear David say determinedly just before you walk out of the room. It wasn’t all you wanted to hear, you wanted him to tell you he loved you back, but you wanted him to live easy once again even if that meant him not loving you.

You could manage on your own, and work something out when the baby arrives, but for now it was time for you to go home.

A/N: Nope. Sorry! Whenever Season 2 decides to come out, maybe we’ll get a happier David, so for now I don’t think I can let these two ride off into the sunset…but I can if you send 2020 off with giving this a like, reblog, comment or all of the above!

[lihikainanea]

hello so I've recently found out that tall dudes in their 20's can suffer from back pain and I can't help but think maybe Bill has a bad back day. He and Tiger planned like a date+sex night and he's been trying to ignore his back pain all day cuz it's been weeks since they've been together. He just can't wait to have some fun fun playtime with his fave girl. But then as they get started, Tiger notices something's wrong and once she figures it out, she puts a raincheck and proceeds to give her Good Dude some back massages.

ohhhhh my god bb why does this thought make me so soff?

Like, can you imagine during his growth spurt? I remember an interview where he said that for a long time, he was the shortest of all of his friends--and then suddenly, he just shot up. That had to have been painful for him. God I remember growing pains in my teenage years and I barely fucking grew (I am 5'1 and I will fight you) so I can't even a growth spurt that propelled him to 6'4.

And this thought...oh my wee heart...this thought that Bill sometimes still has back pain because his spine just grew so fucking suddenly, this thought that he can still have some bad back days because he was so gangly and constantly hunched over because he was self-conscious of his height--oh my god. I am living for it.

And sometimes the pain is triggered by stress, if he's been wound a little extra tightly lately it'll suddenly kick in. But sometimes too, sometimes because his tendons and his muscles never quite adjusted properly--sometimes it's triggered by the fucking stupidest thing, like getting out of the car wrong or sleeping weird or bending down to tie his shoe.

So like, let's go with that. He's been away for a goddamn while and he's ready and fucking WILLING to get all loved up on by his favourite hellion. He needs it. Except when he comes home, it's shark week and tiger's kind of in a bad way--she knows how bad he needs it, how bad he wants it, but homegirl is suffering and she just can't. She timidly asks him if he can maybe just wait a few days, and Bill doesn't ever want her to feel uncomfortable or in pain or liked she owes him something so he just immediately switches to caretaker mode, and settles for cuddles and taking care of her.

It's almost as good.

But then like, then 5 days later he's leaning down to tie his shoe (they ran out of wine)right as tiger walks in the door from work.

"Oh you're not going anywhere bud," tiger tells him, "Get your ass to the bedroom. You're cleared for landing."

And like, the problem is Bill is so fucking excited that he shoots up--but he does it entirely too quickly, and he suddenly feels that dreadful twinge. The nerve giving a little reverberating snap before a numbing tingle takes over, and then excruciating pain. His back jams and he's practically at a 90 degree angle, his eyes wide, as a pained whine through clenched teeth leaves his throat.

"...Bill?" tiger asks, worriedly.

"All good," he feigns a smile, "Last one to bed has to give head."

And like, he tries to take off running. But it's a hobble at best, a rather pitiful one, as he's still hunched over. He slowly, sadly, hobbles past tiger at about the speed of a turtle and she puts a hand on his arm.

"Oh bud," she says, "Your back again?"

"It's fine, I'm fine," he tries to reassure, "Nothing a solid fuck can't work out. Let's go."

But like, Bill is not going anywhere. Literally. He's shuffling his feet and barely moving, his features pinched in pain.

"Bill--"

"Tiger, last I checked we have sex laying down. You can be on top. It'll be fine. Now please, kid. I'm desperate. I need you."

She gives in, helping the tall idiot hobble to the bed and gingerly laying him out on his back. He makes grabby hands at her, tearing her clothes off as best he can, and she gets settled on top of him. It's quick, harsh, both of them are needy and they can get this easy one out before indulging in some far more satisfying, leisurely, languid lovin' later on. She slams down onto him and his eyes roll back--until the pleasure makes him lurch forward, and suddenly he's gasping in pain again.

"Right, just....help me out then," he stiffly lays back down, takes her hands and puts them on his chest, "Just keep me down."

Tiger tries her best. Her hands on his chest to steady herself and also use her weight as leverage to keep him down, but the tense of his jaw and the pain on his face is impossible to ignore. And unfortunately for poor Bill--sweet, Good Dude Bill--the pain is also having other biological impacts, and he can't stay hard.

"This is the worst day of my life," he whines, "I need this so bad."

"You need rest, heat, and anti-inflammatories."

"I need your pu--"

"We tried that," she interrupts, hopping off of him, "And clearly, it's a no."

She leaves the room as he lets out his foghorn whine.

The poor dude is probably really jammed, too. It takes days. He can't get out of bed by himself. He can barely stand. He's in so much fucking pain that tiger even makes him those special brownies that she usually only makes for Valter. Good Dude Bill gets lots of back massages, gets hopped up on the good meds, and otherwise just gets his tall ass pampered by his favourite human until he's in good enough shape to be ridden like a prized stallion again.

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 275 “Tokyo Love Story”

So we’ve a new chapter and I’ve discovered…

Yeah, the fake Yuusaku theory turned out right and wrong at the same time as we’ve someone posing as Yuusaku… but it’s definitely not how I was expecting things to be.

But whatever, let’s start.

We’re in Kanagawa, in 1901. The scene is placed after the one in chap 35, when Toraji and Sugimoto fight the night of Toraji’s marriage, because Toraji is afraid Sugimoto came back to snatch Umeko away from him.

Since Sugimoto’s father died in 1899 according to the official timeline, this confirms Sugimoto waited 2 years before coming back to his village.

Evidently the two have calmed down because they aren’t fighting anymore and Toraji is asking Sugimoto where will he do now. Sugimoto informs him his father told him to search for a place he can be happy. You might not remember this bit being included in chap 236 because it was a volume addition.

Sugimoto says he wants to go to Tokyo, since up until now he was in places with few people, which makes sense since he feared he was infected with tuberculosis.

In the Q&A section from the Golden Kamuy fan book it was said:

Q8: What did Sugimoto do in the 2 years between leaving the village after burning his house and coming back to Ume’s wedding? Noda: He travelled to places such as Tokyo and Kyoto. [translation here]

But it’s likely Noda means Sugimoto didn’t stay in the big cities, but in the areas around them.

So okay, we move to Tokyo and after getting a glimpse of Sugimoto moving overly excited through the city playing ‘singing in the rain’...

...we see him being involved in a fight with more than 10 candidate officers.

Kikuta is called in to stop the fight. Evidently they forced him to interrupt his meal as he is still holding chopsticks and a bowl of rice.

We learn from the info box that Kikuta, full name Kikuta Mokutarou, was at the time a Sergeant in the 1st division (which tells us in his future he was promoted and transferred in another division, the 7th in fact in 1902 he’s working for Tsurumi during the Koito kidnapping), in charge of instructing and providing guidance to the officer candidate students enrolled at the Imperial Japanese Army Academy.

He’s also keeping his hair short and there’s no facial hair on his face, giving him a much more proper appearance than the one he’ll have later on, although he keeps his uniform unbuttoned, which is less proper.

As Kikuta tells at the rather bruised officer candidate students to stop fighting as it’s disgraceful for them, they protest they can’t let Sugimoto go as he’s dangerous while Sugimoto, completely restrained by their weight, seems to bark and growl like a wild dog. Kikuta offers him his bowl of rice and this gets Sugimoto to calm down as he starts eating the rice.

LOL, Noda couldn’t have made more obvious with this scene that Ogata and Sugimoto fight like cat and dog because THEY ARE A STRAY CAT AND A STRAY DOG.

Kikuta comments that by how it took such a huge number of students to stop him, he expected Sugimoto to be some sort of monster… but now he thinks Sugi can be of some use for him, so he tells the students he’ll take him and tells Sugimoto to follow him as he’ll get him something to eat.

As they eat Sugimoto confesses he got into the fight because the students glared at him, revealing quite a horrible temper. Kikuta points out how his was a stupid reason to start a fight, asking him if he’s a STRAY DOG (ノラ犬 ‘nora inu’). This leads him to nickname Sugimoto “vagrant boy" (ノラ坊 ‘nora bou’), warning him Sugimoto was lucky Kikuta got in between the fight, because otherwise, if the students had managed to take him away, Sugimoto would have been in deep troubles.

As Sugimoto asks why he’s called in such a way, Kikuta explains it’s due to the norabou vegetables that grow in his area. Kikuta then proceeds to explain that there’s an officer candidate in the army named Hanazawa Yuusaku, son of the commander of the 7th division.

Kikuta wants Sugimoto to take his place. So okay, it’s a chapter in which we’ve a fake Yuusaku… only he’s not the one I was expecting.

Kikuta then proceeds to explain how Hanazawa ‘I’m the worst father of the century’ Koujirou, wants his son to become the regimental flag bearer because whoever cares about the high death rate of flag bearer when he can gain more honour through Yuusaku?

Yuusaku’s mom, Hanazawa Hiro, from whom Yuusaku got his nose and, probably, his eyes, doesn’t like the idea of her son being used as cannon fodder for her husband’s glory,

but know better than to say it out loud and also know it would be a crime to murder her husband so she did the next best thing, she plotted against him, secretly contacting a “marriage agency” in Tokyo so as to find a girl desperate enough to get a husband she would be willing to steal Yuusaku’s virginity (you might remember virginity is a fundamental requisite for a flag bearer), Kaneko Kaeko, daughter of an executive in the Mitsubishi Zaibatsu.

If the name Mitsubishi feels familiar to you yet it doesn’t make you think of a car, it’s probably because we already had to deal with someone from the Mitsubishi in the Igogusa/Harumi Chiyo story.

In GK it seems people from Mitsubishi are always desperate to get married... it makes you wonder if Tsurumi had a hand in this mess as well or it’s just a coincidence...

Sugimoto, who’s poor, doesn’t get why a rich girl would be desperate to find a man, so Kikuta explains him her potential partners wouldn’t care about her being rich as they’re rich as well.

Overall Sugimoto ends up on showing again how he’s not very good at placing himself in the shoes of people of upper classes.

Turns out though Hanazawa figured out how his wife his plotting behind his back and tried to plot behind her back as well, asking the help of the commander of the 1st division, whom he trusts, who passed the job to Kikuta (I guess Kikuta might still be loyal to his former commander, which might be he’s okay with plotting against Tsurumi... or was he sent there specifically to do so? We’ll see...).

Anyway Sugimoto, who’s so NOT FAMOUS for sitting around a table and having a honest discussion with people, asks why they didn’t just do that. Really, Sugimoto, if you know talking can solve problems why don’t you try implementing it?

Kikuta replies the things had gotten too far and they’re afraid this could cause an incident that will affect the morale of the division, and, more importantly, could put Hanazawa’s wife patriotism into discussion and this would SURELY reflect bad on Hanazawa who was already willing to sacrifice his son on the altar of his own honour.

To all those who’re reading my meta for the first time, in case you’re wondering no, I don’t like Hanazawa. Not one single bit. Sorry for being biased against him.

Anyway Sugimoto gets a haircut and then Kikuta has him wear an uniform with some stars on the collar so as to make him look like a candidate officer.

Sugimoto wonders why Kikuta picked him and isn’t just using another candidate officer. I don’t know if this is relevant but Kikuta seems thoughtfull when Sugimoto says so, his hat slightly shadowing his face.

Hopefully this doesn’t mean this deception is going to put Sugimoto in serious troubles.

He then explains Sugimoto if they were to use someone from the army they would risk bad rumours about the Hanazawa to spread around.

Kikuta then comments that Sugimoto, wearing the full uniform, looks good as there’s a touch of elegance on his face that can help him impersonate Hanazawa Yuusaku, son of a high-class general. I wonder if this is meant to foreshadow Sugimoto is actually more than the commoner we believe him to be or if it’s just another way to inform us Sugimoto is good looking, in case we’ve missed it.

Sugimoto wonders if, by joining the army, he wouldn’t have to worry about food anymore and I facepalm here because really, if this is what pushed him to join, he really made a poor decision, but his expression as he talks makes me wonder if he’s just being so very naive I kind of feel bad for him... did he really have no idea what joining the army could include?

His words cause Kikuta to remember his younger brother, apparently sick, telling him to take the army cap back with him.

I guess Kikuta is kind of adopting all those young men, Ariko, Sugimoto, maybe even Nikaidou and Ogata, because he lost his younger brother.

It’s interesting how Noda shadows his face here...

Anyway Kikuta proceeds to educate Sugimoto, as he’ll have to be capable to eat great food at a fancy restaurant. So, once Kikuta thinks Sugimoto is ready as he mastered enough good table manners, a nervous Sugimoto can take part to the marriage interview… where Kikuta discovers with horror they served western cuisine… with Sugimoto being completely ignorant about western etiquette and trying to eat the shrimps using two forks… and Kikuta, who’s pecking through the window while being seated on a tree, panics, thinking he’ll be discovered immediately.

Well, that’s all for this chapter.

It was undoubtedly a fun flashback chapter that reveals that the fake Yuusaku theory wasn’t completely baseless… but definitely not what I expected it to turn out as I would have never guessed Sugimoto impersonated Yuusaku.

On another note this give me additional fun when I think at this scene.

Sugimoto should have been thinking at the time he played the high ranking officer, here... though I guess the idea is that Kaeko didn’t immediately recognize him because she’s not in the army? Didn’t they gave her a photo of Yuusaku? Sugimoto’s nose and probably his eyebrows too are different.

We’ll see.

I don’t dare to think Kaneko is also a fake sent, this time, by Tsurumi, to steal Yuusaku’s virginity because Tsurumi doesn’t want Yuusaku among them.

This would just be too crazy.

On more serious topics we can assume now that Kikuta saying Sugimoto to forget about Yuusaku in the previous chapter is due to the interview failing and Yuusaku now being forced to become a flag bearer, high mortality rate and all and the whole fake Yuusaku thing having to remain a secret between the two of them so likely Sugimoto doesn’t know anything dark about Yuusaku… beyond the fact his father wanted to use him as cannon fodder to increase his own prestige but whatever, I hardly think someone could have missed it.

I find rather fun how Noda isn’t really fond of drawing Hanazawa, he’s just using the same image of him over and over… and how instead he had no problems showing us Yuusaku’s mom, name and all, but we still have to see Yuusaku’s face. Really, I can’t wait for the big reveal.

Oh well, we can only wait and see.

[yn-dreamlife]

Our Princess

Ok so like I don't know if ya’ll have seen the interview or whe=atever where BTS dresses up as Princes and then proceed to like kiss each other on the cheek and stuff but imagine like you're there and they dress you up as a princess and like.... yeah. (Heres the interview if you haven't seen it)

BTS x reader (OT7 x reader)

Genre: fluff

Warnings: fluff, low-key smut/lemon, mentions of smut, cuteness, nicknames, eventual shy reader use of the word daddy/daddies (like once)

Images not mine just found them on the internet but I did make the collage.

As I sneak into the back of the building I have to stifle a gleeful giggle at the sound of my boyfriends laughter. I can tell at this moment its Namjoon and Taehyng laughing and my heart swells at the thought of them. 

I truly am blessed to have such seven amazing boyfriends. And im blessed to have a friend who's willing to sneak me into this interview, of course I could have just told them the truth and come with them but this would be better. 

I just got back from my world tour and while most of it they where with me the last month (give or take) they had to return home. They called me to ask when I would be home and when I heard they where having an interview at the place my friend works I quickly lied so I could surprise them. 

They’ve done it to me tons of times before, it’s only fair I get to do the same. And hey if this happens to be how we officially tell the fans we’re together then I’m okay with that. Sadly im not actually sure what this interview is and y/f/n wouldn't tell me. 

“y/f/n!” I groan as she drags me away from where my feet were already carrying me. 

“Sorry y/n/n but I gotta get you in the proper attire first.” She says winking. 

I look at her suspiciously “you’re not sending me out in lingerie or some shit right?” She sputters before quickly yelling at me in a hushed whisper how they don't do that here and I couldn't help but chuckle, “just checking.” 

She rolls her eyes pushing me into a room and locking the door behind us, sometimes the boys need to leave an interview during break just to be alone and it would ruin the surprise of me being here if one barged in. 

As I finally look around I gape at the big ball gown right in the center. “Woah! What lucky duck gets to where that?!” I gasp admiring the beautiful dark blue dress. 

“You” She states like its a simple fact like humans need to breathe. 

“M-me- What?!” I look at her dumb founded and she just smiles. 

“Mmmhmmm!” She hum happily pulling it off the mannequin. I waste no time undressing and quickly putting the dress on before she changes her mind or something. 

I feel giddy as the dress slides on my body. “y-y/f/n” I stutter out staring at myself in the mirror as she quickly applies some makeup and puts my hair up in an elegant updo. 

“Hmm?” she hums.

“I look-” You pause truly speechless. 

“Absolutely amazing?” You nod silently, “of course you do! With me as your stylist where could you go wrong?!” She chirps happily as she looks at her watch. 

“Are we to late? Did this take to long?!” I ask worried trying to ignore my growing disappointment. 

“What?! No! Just trying to see if they’re all dressed and ready. You’re going to be the last one to go as our surprise guest.... and it looks like its time!” She says as her phone chimes. 

I stand up hands sweaty so I wipe them on a towel. “Wont they see me as I enter?” 

She shakes her head, “no they’ll be turned around and blindfolded incase someone tries to peak.” She says winking, “oh and you will be too!”

“What?!” I exclaim shocked.

“Yep... haha kinda for the whole beginning half.” she says scratching the back of her neck. 

“W-wha -why?!” I asked in a hush voice as she leads me out of the room. 

“You’ll see.” She whispers placing a silky blindfold carefully on my face, not tight enough to ruin my makeup. I sigh as we continue walking.

“Alright boys! Are you guys excited?!” y/f/n asks excitedly. she whispers for you to sit back and you do so carefully. 

“Yes!” Jungkook says excitedly. “I want to see this mysterious beautiful princess!” I can hear the smile in his voice and ignore the slight ache. ‘He’s doin it for the fans, they dint know about us yet.’ I remind myself. 

“May I ask a question?” I hear Namjoon ask. 

“Of course!” y/f/n says. 

“How old is this princess?” He asks I assume I’m supposed to answer but a hand is slapped over my mouth before I can do so. 

“She’s around all of your age!” she says quickly as Namjoon hums thoughtfully. You nod remebering they don't know its you yet. 

“Can I please please please take the blindfold off now?!” I hear Hoseok asks and I almost ‘aww’ at him but I refrain. 

“No.” y/f/n, states simply. “-First” she says cutting of there groans of frustration. “I want you to guess who it is.” She says, “Or who you hope for it to be.” 

“Papa Mochi!” I hear Jimin cheer happily and I almost bust out laughing but I quickly cover my mouth. 

“That’s a guy!” y/f/n says exasperated like she's heard this all day. 

“fine!” he groans, “ummm Kumiko!” Jimin says.

“Is that just a random person?” She asks and when I don't hear anything but a sigh from her I  assume he just shrugged. I shake my head smiling as I listen to a bunch of random names leave there lips. 

“Kaede” I hear Namjoon next.  

“Iva” Jungkook says

“Koge” Jin spoke next. 

Now it was Hobis turn “Rai”

Taehyng waited a second before also replying, “Risako”

“Ishi” Yoongi speaks calmly. 

“What do you all just have a random store of names in your head?!” Y/f/n asks exasperated. I can hear the smirk in her voice when she speaks next, “Surprised none you said your best friends name.”

“She’s still on tour.” Tae says rather roughly. 

“Calm,” Namjoon whispers but I still caught it, ‘just how close to them am I?’ I wonder reaching my hand out only to meet the fabric of someones shirt. 

“Wah!” He exclaims and I recognize it as Taehyung. ‘So I’m very close.’ I think  to myself. “Uh thanks...” he mutters moving his shoulder away. ‘cute.’ I think. 

“Jeez sore subject haha sorry folks,” she pauses and clears her throat before continuing. “Anywho go ahead and take off the blindfolds!” She says and as I go to reach for my own a hand on my wrists stops me. 

“Not you m-lady.” She says in a fake accent. I hit her hand away pouting. 

‘Lame.’ I think to myself bitterly. 

“If she can't see us why is it fair we get to see her?” Yoongi questioned. ‘Thank you!’ I thought exasperated. She groans. 

“ugh! fine! Party pooper, you can keep your mask on too!” She chirps and my shoulders sag, ‘so much for that.’ 

“Fine” he says and I can hear him sit back down. I hear the others collectively gasp as I assume they remove there masks. 

“What? Who is it?” Namjoon speaks this time, ‘so he kept his blindfold on too.’

“You two are gonna wanna see this!” I hear Jungkook say and I can hear the grin in his voice. It makes me smile and I wave shyly biting my lip. 

“Y-Y/n?!” I hear them both exclaim. My grin widens. 

“Y/f/n get this damn blindfold off me I want to see my bo-” I cut myself off, “My boys!” I say in a rush. She groans

“Okay but you'll have to wear it again for one of our games.” She states matter-o-factly. I Quickly rip it off and my smile gets impossibly larger as I see them all standing there. 

“Look at all of you!” I say grinning as I stare at all of them in there prince outfits. A noticeable warmth spreading to my cheeks, ‘shit they look really good.’ 

Before I can think more on how amazing they look I am quickly picked up and spun around by Namjoon. I laugh gleefully as he does so, me and him spent the least amount of time together on FaceTime over the past few weeks sadly, both busy at the wrong times. But that doesn't mean we didnt catch each other eventually. 

“Why didnt you tell us you where coming?” Jimin asks swiping in as soon as joon set me down to hug me and the rest of the boys followed. 

“To surprise you of course!” I say grabbing Yoongis cold hand as he pulls away. 

“Well it worked!” kook exclaimed.

“Yeah this is almost as good as papa mocha right jimin-ah?” Hobbi says nudging him. 

“Hey don't be like that!” He says as he stares at me helplessly. I laugh at this. 

“No, no I think chim would have preferred Papa Mocha right Jin?” I say looking at the handsome man. 

He smirks, “I dunno... maybe” I laugh bending over slightly as I do so missing the way all there yes where trained on me. 

“Alrght alright, enough of the gooey best-friend stuff!” y/f/n says. “We’re gonna take a break to give you seven time to prepare and poor y/n here time to enjoy herself before our next game.” she says about to walk away. 

“Wait! Whats the next game?!” I ask. 

“You’ll see.” As the cameras are turned off we are all sent away, the boys walk with my to ‘my room’ but we all know cameras where there to catch what would be said and whatnot so we stopped in the middle of both and I turned to all of them smiling widely. 

“You should have told us!” Taehyng grumbles as he clings onto you from behind nuzzling his head into your neck. 

“If I did that I wouldn't have been able to see you get all angry at the thought of me being away any longer.” I said bopping his nose and his own cheeks reddened. 

“Oh yeah, guess you heard that huh?” I make a mhm sound and he hides further in my neck as I giggle. 

“So kookie was I pretty enough to be worth it? Was I a good enough mysetery beauty princess?” I ask, he bends down cupping my cheek, “The only one who fits the bill,” he whispers placing a kiss on my lips. 

“Hey knock it off!” I say as a blush creeps its way onto my cheeks. They all laugh at that. 

We go to our own rooms and I sit waiting impatiently. Ten or so minutes later y/f/n comes back and pulls me into the room again and sits me back in the chair. 

“Okay so our next game is called... drumroll please!” All the boys smack there hands on there thighs, “Blush-rush!” She declares. 

“What?! Oh no!” I say exasperated “grrr curse you y/f/n!” I say shaking my fist at her as the boys laugh. 

“Yeah yeah thats the witches job not yours m-lady.” I scoff. “Ok! theres two rounds! One action round and one verbal round! y/n sets the boundaries, and you boys follow them but otherwise your good. Your goal? Make y/n blush as long and as deeply as possible.” She says looking to you to set the rules. 

“Ok obviously you boys know the no-no squares.” You say simply and they all chuckle nodding. “Okay, uhhhh I guess..Oh! No yelling in my ear!” You glare at Jungkook then remembering when you where still best friends and he screamed in your ear to wake you up, while acting out how he would wake his future girlfriend. 

He holds his hand up defensively and I shake my head at him smiling. “I don't know! You guys know me, so you know whats to far!” I said shrugging. They all nodded smiling, they know old boundaries of when we where trying to hide it from the fans are off the table, we’ve seen the theories and there isn't any negativity towards them so we figured why not.

If it comes out it comes out, if not then thats okay to. We’re happy ether way, it was a group decision. 

“Alrighty then lets get going!” She says smiling. “Boys pick which one you do first-” she gets cut off by an enthusiastic Namjoon. 

“Words!” He says quickly and all the boys quickly nod in agreement. I can't help but laugh. 

“Alrighty then y/n back on with the blindfold.” I groan but put it on anyways. 

it’s a long moment of silence before I hear anything at all, quickly thoughts of being alone flood into my mind but are quickly washed away by someones breathe hot on my ear. 

“Baby girl,” Instantly I recognize Jin, “you should have told us you where coming, we could have welcomed you home properly.” my eyes widen beneath my mask knowing full well what usually happens when we reunite. 

I clear my throat trying to avoid the blush on my cheeks. “Don't try to hide it princess,” Namjoon says his voice deep and on my other side, I can feel the warmth from the two bodies next to me. “You always react so well, such a beautiful blush.” 

This time I can't stop my cheeks from turning pink. “Little one~” It’s Jungkook, completely different from the excited adorable one who just minutes ago was excited to see a mysterious princess “doing so good, you’ve barely blushed so far.” He purrs but then chuckles deeply “Or you weren't blushing.” I groan slightly as I shift in my seat. 

‘Damnit only three of them have-’ “Hello Kitten,” ‘Yoongi, shit’. “Look at you, don't you look so pretty?” He says and I know if he could he would run his hands threw my hair right now. 

“Hello my little flower,” I hear another voice right next to my ear, ‘hello hobi’ I chuckle. “Something funny? Or you just like the way we’re making you feel?” I don't answer and he just chuckles at that. 

“Hello my little angel~” Jimin practically purrs into my ear just like Yoongi. “I love your dress, it would look better on my bedroom floor though, don't you think?” I try to shake off his words but of course the blush continues to grow.

I know who has to be coming next and I’m not surprised when I hear his deep voice, “Hi baby, are you happy to be surrounded by your daddies?” He whispers in my ear and by now the blush has moved down my necks and up to my ears. 

“Yes how are-” Jin gets cut off by y/f/n. 

“Alright alright!” She cuts in, “jeez guys I said make her blush, not kill her... you seven jeesh.” She pulls the blindfold off and I look up to see all seven of them around me smirks on there faces. 

‘uh-oh’ I look down not able to stare at them any longer, its to much I’m already warm enough. I didnt think they would be so.... suggestive. 

They chuckle as they see my cheeks warming up again. “I have to go cool off in the bathroom!” I say quickly standing up and moving to the hallway. I lean against a wall breathing deeply. 

“Damn you.” I sigh as I cover my face, even the after thought makes me blush.

“y/n?” I hear y/f/n, I look up at her smiling softly. “We can't make it a silent part, no one would no what they said and we all sign privacy policy contracts.” She said seriously. 

“Oh it’s fine I just was shocked really,” I huff out a laugh, “but lets make it silent, I want to see what our fans come up with.” She grins nodding. 

I go back out smiling reassuringly at the boys who all relax visibly. I sit back in the seat preparing myself for the next round. I breathe deeply as y/f/n gives the all clear as I watch Hobi approach. 

Truth be told I don't know what I was expecting but I wasn't expecting him to just sand in-front of me forcing eye contact, thats for sure. So when it got to be to much I quickly looked away, and thats how I knew I fell into the trap. His finger making its way under my chin to turn my face towards him as he leans in closer. 

And just when I think he might kiss me he pulls way smirking and I purse my lips to prevent a smile. So caught up in the moment I didn't realize Yoongi slipped behind me until I felt his hands move down my exposed shoulders only to go back up and move towards my collar bones. Goosebumps forming on my heated flesh. 

He drew his hands away drawing them close to my throat. Jimin also comes up not hesitating to move his hand from my cheek to my neck where he hovers placing slight pressure from his finger tips almost like from one of the first few videos he took of my where instead of doing the face smooshy thing he went and choked me. 

I know my face is beat red by now but there is still four more to go. I smile as Jungkook comes up to me, he wouldn't do anything to bad- I’m instantly proven wrong as his arms go around my middle, feather light touches moving over my sides the same way he does when I’m blindfolded and- ‘nope! don't go there then you WILL blush more!’ He smirks triumphantly knowing that was enough. 

Taehyung is much more.... pg I suppose as he peppers my face with kisses repeatedly, but I realize that that he was just to prepare me for when Namjoon sneaks up behind my sticking his face in my neck. He is sure to hide what exactly he’s doing by his position but I feel his lips moving up and down my neck going to the spot by my ear. 

Jin is the last, and what he does is simple but effective. He simply takes me off the chair and places me right onto his lap, and of course once again by now my face is beet red and they’ve surely beaten me since Hobi, but it was more fun to let them all go. 

After that the interview was basically done we stayed for about an hour more before we all decided to drive home. I was in my car with just Jungkook and Namjoon while the others went in there car. Im sitting in the back in Namjoon’s lap, yes there was a perfectly good seat beside him but honestly neither one of them cared and I loved the contact. 

We where stopped at a stop light the conversation at a comfortable silence when I spoke up. “You guys where very... open.” I say as I hide my face in Joons neck. he chuckles his hands moving up and down my back. 

“What can we say, not seeing you for, what a month? Add onto that the opportunity to publicly do anything we want with you, well we have to do everything we can.” he said smirking squeezing my hips. 

“Well not everything.” Jungkook says winking in the rear view mirror and once again I blush as a giggle leaves my lips. 

It’s a week later when I go onto youtube and find the latest conspiracy video for the eight of us shockingly. It’s videos of us over the whole time we had been dating, proof of the long time relationship. I smile as I show the boys and we reminisce on the old videos. 

I decide to post a picture on my instagram from the interview, one of the seven of them in there costumes and then one of me with each of them alone, namjoons was one of my favorites, not that I didnt love them all of them but one of the camera men caught the moment he picked me up and spun me around and I knew I would always treasure it. I put the caption, “My princes.” 

Seeing this they put a picture on there official insta saying “Our princess.” No one truly asked any questions, they all just knew. The comments where filled with friends saying finally, and fans agreeing saying how happy they where. And we where too. We truly would have a happily ever after. 

Hey guys my request an taglist’s are always open! Thank you!

[starrywisdomsect]

The Eldritch Horror of Shattered Ignorance: A #Cancellation of Robert M. Price

Are you one of those H.P. Lovecraft fans that gets all drooly and frantic when a new anthology of Lovecraftian tales is released? It’s okay, me too. I just long for the magic words of “Featuring Stories by Laird Barron, Caitlin R. Kiernan, Kim Newman, Brian Lumley…” and so on and so forth.

Truly, I never really paid much attention to the “edited by” credit, unless it mentioned S.T. Joshi, who is like a gold-standard among Lovecraft scholars.

However. The editor responsible for the Chaosium “Call of Cthulhu Fiction” Anthologies, Robert M. Price, has recently come to my attention as a ranting lunatic with harmful and bigoted viewpoints. (That’s one way to emulate ol’ H.P. I suppose…) Now, before we proceed further, we must establish one thing…

Can “Lovecraft Fans” cancel anyone? We like a racist asshole’s fiction, after all. True. We are all eternally and often daily conflicted about this, and calling myself a “Lovecraft Fan” is usually accompanied by a small sigh indicating I should have made better life choices. That being said, Lovecraft was eventually cancelled by that big-trending-hashtag in the sky, namely, his own mortality. So that is well and good, I suppose.

Now, this is not when I should have taken first notice of Mr. Price’s vileness. Apparently he gave an interview in 2016, which, had I read or heard it, would have clued me into a lot of his transphobic and sexist attitudes, and stopped me from attempting to collect his “Cycle” anthologies for Chaosium. However, the tattered veil was wrenched from my eyes this fine morning in 2020, when I read of many authors withdrawing their fiction from a sword-and-sorcery anthology (Lin Carter's Flashing Swords!) that Price had edited.

The cause? A single page of Price’s introduction to the anthology was made visible on the Amazon “look inside” preview.

“Sports and games must no longer be based on competition, lest someone feel dejected because of his mediocrity. Poor little flowers! This, in case you hadn't noticed, is no way to prepare young men (or women!) for adult life in a free market economy and in a world full of powerful national enemies.

The continuous false rape accusations serve the same end, seeking to make masculinity, even the natural male interest in women, into a "rape culture." Of course, such wolf-crying works against women because soon it will become habitual to dismiss every rape accusation as the shrill lying of yet another Lena Dunham. (Am I thus suggesting we ease up on rapists? No; you don't want to know what I think ought to be done with those bastards.) Nor is it only the self-defeating futility of crying "Wolf!" There's more at work here. It smacks of an ideology of man-hating.

I have long been puzzled at the feminist hatred of pornography. "It reduces women to sex objects!" Absurd. It is simply a highlighting of a particular aspect of beautiful women. It is no different from fashion modeling. Does that reduce fashion models to animated mannequins? If I were a sports fan, it would not occur to me to think of the athletes as no more than exploited cattle. There is much more to all such public people. But what we do not see of their lives is none of our business. This is why our society's voyeuristic curiosity about the private lives and scandals of celebrities is so pathetically sick.

So then I have to wonder: Are these feminists really protesting male sexual interest in women per se? A woman may be a "sex object," if that's what you want to call it, without being a "mere" sex object. But when feminists refuse to draw such a line, I start thinking of Jill Johnson's book Lesbian Nation, in which she argues that all feminism is at bottom lesbianism.

In some schools boys are encouraged to play with dolls, girls with trucks. Many "progressives" want to replace "he," "she," "his," "her," "him," with "gender-neutral" language so as to promote the illusion that gender is a matter of "social construction." No wonder we are observing a sudden epidemic of transgendered youth. They are responding to the propaganda which suffuses our society like clouds of mosquito poison pumped out of trucks coming down the street.”

 This is of course, in a word, repugnant. Furthermore, it has no goddamn place in an introduction to an anthology of sword-and-sorcery stories.

So what can Lovecraft fans do? Simple. I, for one, can end my quest to collect the “Cycle” anthologies edited by this waste of humanity. We can stop shelling out money for back-issues of “Crypt of Cthulhu,” on which he served as editor. Additionally, we can email Chaosium and Titan Books, two important publishers of Lovecraftian fiction, and request that they end associations with this nut-job. And finally, we can stick to buying anthologies by S.T. Joshi, Stephen Jones and Ellen Datlow.

[vannahfanfics]

One Good Turn Deserves Another

Category: Angst 

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Eri

Additional Tags: Vigilante!Class 1-A

Trigger warning for themes of child abuse!

Izuku’s lips were curled into a cold, smug smile as his bright eyes beheld the lofty penthouse suite displayed by the floor-to-ceiling glass panes framing the luxurious condominiums nestled between the beach and the sprawled city complex. Izuku perched on the balcony railing of the adjacent condominiums’ penthouse complex that he was currently sharing with twenty other young vigilantes looking to score a quick buck in the chaotic, unforgiving, cold-hearted world they lived in. They’d all seen terrible, horrible things that prompted them to turn their backs on society’s definition of “hero” and carve their paths. To this day, Izuku marveled at the miracle of their coming together to form one of Japan’s most notorious heist organizations. 

“Has she left yet?” Katsuki grunted as he strode out of the open set of glass doors. His heavy boots thunked against the smooth stone bottom of the balcony. Izuku’s emerald eyes remained fixed on the spread of clear glass several yards away, particularly on the thirty-something-year-old woman running a blow dryer through her voluminous brown hair. Izuku was mildly impressed with her haircare routine; even from the considerable distance, he could see the ripples of her hair gloss with the fluorescents’ unflattering light. Her bathroom was as large as the standard bedroom, but that didn’t mean the condos invested in slightly better lightbulbs. 

“Not yet,” Izuku responded without looking at his number-one partner-in-crime. “We still have fifteen minutes until her suitor is supposed to pick her up.” Katsuki only grunted in response, watching with disdain as the older woman smoothed nonexistent creased from the sapphire blue dress that hugged her figure in every scandalous way possible. Izuku could almost hear her six-inch-heels clacking as she exited the bathroom to cross through the walls. She disappeared into the bowels of the suite to head towards the penthouse door. 

“What’s this broad do again that makes her richer than God?” 

“She’s the assistant CEO of a software development company specializing in programming high-tech support items.” Indeed, the infamous burglars had targeted her after multiple magazine spotlights and television specials revealed her lavish life’s intimate details, down to a complete tour of her pompous penthouse home. The exposés had been mainly focused on her widowed status, chronicling her tumultuous rise to fame after her husband’s sudden death after only a few years of blissful marriage. Izuku remembered the bitter tears streaming from her eyes as she reminisced about her loving husband. The waterworks had cemented in his mind that she was the perfect victim for their newest scheme. 

Katsuki and Izuku both straightened slightly as the receivers in their ears buzzed with static. 

“Hey, hey!” Izuku could hear Denki’s broad grin in the fuzzy audio of the transceiver. “The John’s in the building and heading up to the penthouse.” Izuku pressed the respond button to answer, still crouching on the railing by balancing on his metal-plated boots. Denki always served as their mole, because his easygoing and sunny personality just lured people into a false sense of security so easily.

“Is it time?” Hanta called as he poked his head out of the open glass doors. 

“Almost.” Hanta stuck out a thumbs-up before vanishing into the room, shouting for Ochako and Mina to go out onto the balcony for Phase II of the rob-the-rich-lady plan. Ochako trotted out onto the lengthy stone structure, chewing on a licorice candy as she leaned against the railing beside Izuku. 

“If only I’d lived like that, life could’ve been so much different,” the brunette mourned sourly as she tore off a large chunk of the red candy and crushed it between her teeth with excessive force. Izuku laughed dryly with a nod of agreement. 

“I would feel bad because she’s a single mother, but wait until the world sees the reports of employee abuse we mailed into the news networks,” he laughed gleefully. Sure, they stole and occasionally beat people to a bloody pulp, but only people who deserved it. Many of the common folk revered them as a troupe of Robin Hoods, stealing from the obnoxiously wealthy and abusive to aid the poor and struggling. At least, that’s what many of them told themselves to justify their questionable deeds. Try as they like to harden their hearts to their bitter realities, sometimes their human sides tried to nose back into their lives. 

“She’s leaving,” came Denki’s quick report in their transponders. Izuku could hear girlish giggling and the baritone droning of a man in the background of the audio. Denki, disguised in a janitor’s outfit, whistled as stood with his mop and side-eyed them. “Heading up. Be there or be square.” 

“All right. Denki’s moving in to disable the motion sensors,” Izuku reported. Mina had joined them on the balcony, and she enthusiastically punched the air with her fists. 

“All right! Let’s bleed this bitch for everything she has!” the pink girl crowed. Izuku languidly stood up on the metal railing, balancing his center to stand at his full height with only the thin rail cementing him to the building. Ochako skipped over to touch Mina with her pink finger pads, and the girl immediately floated up a few inches from the balcony, giggling as she did so. 

“I can never get used to how weird this feels!” Mina trilled, laughing joyfully as Hanta pushed the back of her head to make her body somersault in the air slowly. As she righted herself, Izuku grabbed her gently by the elbow to drift her to the balcony rail. “All right! The Mina Rocket is ready to go!” she declared. Izuku grinned widely, then flung Mina to send her sailing across the gap between the buildings. The few patrons lingering by the pool failed to notice the pink vigilante floating in the sky in the dark fringe of the lofty condos. Katsuki snorted as Mina bumped into the window with a gentle smack. She hurriedly grasped onto the building’s thin stone rim before she bounced off. She hovered beside the building, staring at the red blip of light within the condo’s dark recesses that indicated the security system was still armed. 

“How are you doing, Denki?” 

“Me ‘n Yaomomo are almost in position.” Momo had also been deployed to the condominium, posing as a member of the cleaning staff. By now, the security officer should be passed out from a sleeping drought so their bonafide genius could replace the camera feeds with loops and replaced footage to eliminate the evidence of their involvement before it even existed. The video would show that Denki and Momo had gotten off on entirely different floors, when in fact, they would proceed to the penthouse to assist in the heist. No one would ever be the wiser that two moles had been planted in the staff. 

There was a reason they’d evaded Interpol, the Japanese Bureau of Investigation, and the Hero Commission for so long, after all. The young group of vigilantes dotted all their I’s, crossed all their T’s, and checked them twice. 

“The cameras are set,” Momo reported, whispering not to wake the slumbering guard. “The footage is good for about an hour. Let’s make the most of it.” 

“Almost done,” Denki hummed in the same channel. A faint crackling of electricity sounded as he essentially fried the security system controls. Faintly, Izuku could see the red light blip green. 

As soon as Momo and Denki reported in, Mina melted the glass with her acid, reducing it to a goop steaming on the wooden floorboards. Mina worked quickly and efficiently to carve a large hole into the window, then daintily stepped into the living room to tut at the blackened, smoking area rug. As soon as she safely entered the penthouse, Ochako released her Quirk, allowing Mina the land on the plush carpet and appraise the lofty home. 

“All right, guys, let’s move in.” Izuku used his Quirk to propel himself across the divide, bending the railing as he blasted off it. He’d bend it back later. He landed deftly in the center of the living room, clicking his tongue at the sheer obnoxiousness of the interior decor. It probably cost more than all of her employees combined made in a year. Disgusted, Izuku made a point to bend the metal floor lamp in half, exposing the wire to make sparks jump from the now-frayed metal pieces. While the others quietly used their Quirks to jump into the penthouse and Denki picked the lock so he and Momo could stroll in, Izuku set to ransacking the place to discover where the software mogul hid her stacks of cash. The others began pilfering everything valuable in sight; Tooru and Asui sprinted to the master bedroom, keen on scoring the jewelry the woman had been sure to show off in her many interviews. 

Izuku ignored the triumphant hoots and hollers as he meandered down a hallway. Just to be thorough, he opened the side closet, disinterestedly pulling out the Egyptian sheets of every color and numerous comforters to fling them into a pile on the floor. Nothing hid behind the cottony masses, and he almost abandoned the effort until he spied a suspiciously square seam in the wood peeking out. 

“Hello,” he grinned and crouched down to pry the false floor up with his fingers. Izuku had been expecting a hidden stash of cash or coins, perhaps a safe containing embezzlement or fraud documents. 

He was not expecting a pair of bright red eyes and a pale round face to be peeking up at him. 

Izuku froze. He blinked, and the pale face shrouded by the darkness blinked back. He continued to hold up the small nook entrance, oblivious to Katsuki stomping down the hall toward him. 

“Oi, what the fuck are you- what the fuck?” The blond hissed in a breath, making the small form within the crawlspace cringe in fright. With a flip of his index finger, Izuku bid Katsuki to turn on the hallway light. As he complied, the white light cascaded over Izuku’s hunched form to crash into the small space, illuminating a very tiny, disheveled little girl. Her red, puffy eyes slowly blinked as she regarded Izuku with a mixture of curiosity and fear. 

“Are you here to steal me?” 

Izuku almost lost it. Literally. He become so infuriated that his Quirk jumped out, sending red streaks and green lighting blazing across his skin. Clenching his teeth hard and breathing steadily through his nose, he managed to force his power back into control and give the little girl a strained smile. It was just so hard not to go ballistic and tear the entire penthouse upside down, because this was the most pathetic little girl Izuku had ever seen. Her white-gray hair framed her round face and her red eyes glittered like blood moons in the light. A little horn protruded from her forehead. Why the hell was this child locked in a crawlspace in a goddamn hallway closet while the penthouse owner gallivanted off on a booty call? 

“Yeah,” Izuku smiled pleasantly. “Yeah,” he repeated, convincing himself to commit to the radical change in plans. “That’s right.” His heart crushed in on itself as her eyes widened and she beamed brightly. She flung herself forward with a delighted squeal to wrap her thin arms around Izuku’s neck, burning her face into his sternum. The girl immediately began bawling loudly, spreading snot and tears all over the spandex of his suit. 

“Ungh… I… I’m so happy… I-I’ve been waiting so long for someone to know I was here… That I existed…” Izuku didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had no earthly idea she was in the penthouse, let alone related to the woman. “Mommy… Mommy locks me in here because she doesn’t want people to know. She hates me; she tells me so. She says I need to suffer, so I’m locked away to be forgotten. Just like everyone forgot Daddy, she says,” she blubbered between wails and cries. Izuku’s hands remained limply at his sides, too stunned with the cascade of events to properly comfort the girl. Her crying had attracted the attention of his cohorts, and they crammed into the small hallway to observe the strange happenings. She began to sob harder. 

“I didn’t mean it… I didn’t mean to make Daddy go away. It was an accident. An accident.” She palmed her small horn, sniveling, and it took Izuku a few seconds to puzzle out that the little girl’s Quirk had likely manifested and killed her father. It wasn’t common, but certainly not unheard of. Children with powerful, uncontrollable Quirks posed real and present dangers. The girl sniffled as she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm. “Mommy says it’s my fault. She says that my punishment is to be locked away and feel what it’s like to be forgotten. She tells me that one day she’ll forget me too, and I’m going to die, all alone.” 

Katsuki began cursing profusely under his breath, sparks popping from his palms as his fury mounted. 

“This is fucking ridiculous; are we gonna fucking stand for this? This bitch has her daughter locked in a fucking hole in the wall and is out there schmoozing some fuckin’ asshole-! I can’t; I fuckin’ can’t, I need- Ooooooh…!” As he grew more and more enraged, he stomped off into a side bedroom and began flinging furniture around with his herculean strength. Izuku had regained some semblance of his wits, so he hugged the small girl tightly to his person and petted her long silvery hair. Suddenly, she blinked at him. 

“Wait… You aren’t here to kill me, are you? Did my mom… Did she finally…?” As her red eyes flooded with fresh tears, Izuku hurriedly shushed her and pressed his cheek against the side of her head. 

“No, no, that’s not why we’re here at all.” 

“That’s right! We’re thieves!” Tooru beamed theatrically as she jumped over, waving her gloves around ecstatically. The little girl’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head upon witnessing an invisible woman for the first time. “We’re gonna steal you away to happier life!” The girl’s eyebrows shot up, and she craned her head to look at Izuku. 

“That’s right!” he confirmed with a cheesy grin. “Stealing is what burglars do best, right?” The girl squealed as he hoisted her up with his hands under her armpits. Her little legs kicked happily at the sudden rush of air around her. With a smile, Izuku plopped her against him, one beefy arm hooked under her comparably tiny frame. Her little hands rested on his broad shoulder, and her bright smile illuminated the condominium better than the sun ever could. When a few more loud crashes, thumps, and curses drifted down the hall, she looked worriedly towards the room Katsuki had stamped into. 

“Is he okay?” 

“Yeah, he’s just sorting out his feelings,” Denki laughed as he sidled up. “Hiya! What’s your name, squirt?” he asked as he playfully shook her hand. 

“Eri,” she giggled. 

“Eri! What a cute name,” Kyoka appraised with a nod. The others greeted her jovially as Izuku carried her into the living room. Her eyes widened when she beheld the overturned and broken furniture. 

“What are you all looking for besides me?” 

“What kind of burglars would we be if we didn’t take your mom’s money?” Shoto quipped monotonously as he resumed emptying drawers. Izuku flushed with embarrassment at the boy’s bluntness, and Eri screwed her face up into a frown. 

“Mommy isn’t a nice person. She takes money from the company and robs the workers; I hear her say so on the phone. She laughs about it.” Eri glanced concernedly up at Izuku. “What are you going to do with the money?” 

“Uh! Oh, um, we’re not gonna do anything bad,” he reassured as he strolled over to the gaping hole in the window. “We’re honest burglars. We steal from bad people and share it with good people.” It was true. They’d made anonymous donations to charities and underfunded schools and local businesses, built a children’s park overnight for a low-income neighborhood, and committed countless other good-Samaritan deeds. Of course, some of that they pocketed for personal interests and paying off essential figures, but hey, it was an investment for more heists and more good deeds, in the long run. At his explanation, Eri hummed satisfactorily and hugged his neck, her cheek squishing against his. 

“I see. That’s nice!” She then inhaled slightly as the wind whistled through the window, ruffling her hair and nightgown. Izuku smiled sympathetically as she gulped, peeking down at the ground so very far below. “Are we… Going to jump?” 

“Yeah, but it’s okay. It’s how I came, you know. We can make it! I’m going to hold on real tight to you,” he reassured her jovially. Eri nodded slowly, rotating her head to peek back at his friends, who had resumed rummaging around the apartment. Katsuki had satiated his ire and stalked back into the main room to oversee the operation. “Don’t worry about them. They’re just finishing the job. They’ll probably stay a little while, because… Well, as we like to say, one good turn deserves another.” 

The tone in the room shifted immediately. It grew dead silent as Izuku’s unspoken order dropped the temperature of the room several degrees. His grin and emerald eyes were eerily bright as he eyed them over Eri’s head. “Right, guys?” 

“Right,” Tenya whistled as he picked up the sheets in the hall and began shredding them into thin strips of cloth. Silence descended as the vigilantes began searching the penthouse once more, but their minds were no longer on cash and evidence, but something else entirely. Eri blinked repeatedly as she struggled to grasp the shift in the tension and gave Izuku an inquisitive stare. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Izuku smiled and patted the top of her head. “When tomorrow morning comes, everyone will know you exist.” Eri’s blood moon eyes widened as a big grin slowly spread across her round face. 

“Really? You mean it?” 

“Every word,” he promised. “You gotta swear, though, to keep a secret.” Eri nodded vigorously. “You can’t tell anyone about who rescued you. It’ll be a secret between just us, okay? Pinky-swear.” Izuku held up his scarred pinky, and Eri readily looped her tiny one with his, linking them in an eternal promise. “Good. Remember, one good turn deserves another. We saved you, so you help us keep our identities safe so we can keep helping other people.” With that, Izuku hugged her tight and activated his Quirk to once more spring between the two buildings. She inhaled wondrously as the wind rushed through her hair, and looked up to see the starry night sky after so long deprived of their soft, simple light. 

~~~~~~~~~~

As Izuku had promised, Eri’s story was blown wide open alongside the software mogul’s scandalous finances and business practices. Izuku and the others had left Eri asleep in the penthouse suite with all their documents and scathing evidence of Eri’s abuse and the money the woman had stolen from her business partner. They dropped an anonymous call to the police to inform them of the girl’s location, and then retreated to a safe distance within the city to watch the media massacre unfold. 

The woman was discovered first. She was brought out by police not visibly harm but clearly scared within an inch of her life. Being suspended from a penthouse with only a decorative chair and some Egyptian cotton sheets to anchor you to safety would do that to a person. Next, when Izuku and the others dropped the call, the flocks of the press began to babble theories as the police swarmed into the adjacent penthouse. They’d also given anonymous information to the news media, who immediately jumped on the tragic tale of the little girl. Eri’s eyes were huge as the cop carried her carefully out of the condo, amazed by all the noise and activity developing around her. Izuku could just tell by the teary smile on her face that she was thinking, They know I’m here. They’re happy I’m safe. 

When one of the reporters shoved a microphone into her face and demanded to know who her rescuers and mother’s assailants were, Eri just smiled sheepishly. 

“It’s a secret. I can’t tell. You know, one good turn deserves another.” 

Izuku grinned to himself, biting down on his bottom lip in satisfaction. 

Sure, they weren’t saints. They’d stolen, and assaulted, and publicly slandered plenty. However, seeing that little girl’s smile broadcast on the big screen for the world to see, ready to leave an arduous life behind her and step out into the light, reminded Izuku of why he’d turned to such an existence in the first place. 

Real heroes made real change through whatever means necessary. Because, as he said… One good turn deserves another, and one bad deed brings down righteous fury.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork​

[mediaeval-muse]

Academic Book Review

The Professor Is In: The Essential Guide to Turning Your PhD Into a Job. By Karen Kelsky. New York: Three Rivers Press, 2015. Pp. x + 438. $16.

Argument: Each year tens of thousands of students will, after years of hard work and enormous amounts of money, earn their Ph.D. And each year only a small percentage of them will land a job that justifies and rewards their investment. For every comfortably tenured professor or well-paid former academic, there are countless underpaid and overworked adjuncts, and many more who simply give up in frustration. Those who do make it share an important asset that separates them from the pack: they have a plan. They understand exactly what they need to do to set themselves up for success.  They know what really moves the needle in academic job searches, how to avoid the all-too-common mistakes that sink so many of their peers, and how to decide when to point their Ph.D. toward other, non-academic options. Karen Kelsky has made it her mission to help readers join the select few who get the most out of their Ph.D. As a former tenured professor and department head who oversaw numerous academic job searches, she knows from experience exactly what gets an academic applicant a job. And as the creator of the popular and widely respected advice site The Professor is In, she has helped countless Ph.D.s turn themselves into stronger applicants and land their dream careers.

***Full review under the cut.***

Chapter Breakdown: This book technically has 63 chapters, so I’m going to briefly describe each major section.

Section 1: Dark Times in the Academy Overviews the decline in tenture-track jobs in higher education, as well as the challenges facing PhDs, from adjucting to the feeling of losing one’s identity.

Section 2: Getting Your Head in the Game A guide to the realities of the academic job market, including what it is, what unspoken rules/assumptions are present, what grad students tend not to understand or habits that make them a poor candidate, institution types and rankings, and how to (generally) build yourself up as a candidate.

Section 3: The Nuts and Bolts of a Competitive Record Covers the importance of building a CV, getting teaching experience, publishing, obtaining grants, cultivating references, and going to conferences. Also contains advice on how to take control of these situations.

Section 4: Job Documents That Work Advice on how to compose cover letters, CVs, teaching statements, evidence of teaching effectiveness, research statements, diversity statements, and dissertation abstracts.

Section 5: Techniques of the Academic Interview Information about interview basics, including what kinds of questions are likely to be asked (and how to respond). Also includes information about conference interviews, campus visits, job talks, teaching demos, talking to deans, etc. Also contains advice on how to handle outrageous questions and what to do after the interview.

Section 6: Navigating the Job Market Minefield Covers topics that could cause additional stress in the job market search, such as inside candidates, unresponsive references, poor campus climate, department politics, pregnancy, finances, etc. Also contains advice on how to dress professionally and cautions against attitudes like narcissism, grandiosity, self-juvenilization, etc.

Section 7: Negotiating an Offer Advice for negotiating job offers, including sections on partner (formerly, “spousal”) hires and rescinded offers.

Section 8: Grants and Postdocs Contains templates for writing grants as well as an overview of how postdoc applications are different from a job application.

Section 9: Some Advice About Advisors Overview of what kinds of advisors are “good” (one that has your best interests in mind) as well as a section on how advisors/departments discuss PhD debt (and what that can tell you about job prospects).

Section 10: Leaving the Cult Advice on leaving academia, including a list of transferable skills. More focused on “giving permission” to leave as opposed to traditional job search advice (like how to write a non-academic cover letter).

Reviewer Comments: Despite the intimidating size of this book, The Professor Is In is probably the most useful text I’ve come across (so far) in terms of career advice for PhDs. It contains practical information about preparing academic job materials, as well as insights into unspoken assumptions about the job search from the perspective of the hiring committee. It also does not hesitate in talking about the dismal state of higher education, and is very clear that the contents of this book (and individual action) can’t fix systemic problems.

The tone of the writing is appropriate for its audience. Kelsky doesn’t attempt to give readers an inspirational pep talk, nor does she ignore the fact that readers may have very real, pressing anxieties about their futures. Instead, she lays out the facts of the job market so that readers can make informed choices about how to proceed. I liked that Kelsky’s prose was so down-to-earth and blunt, not trying to coddle PhDs but also not trying to blame them for things beyond their control. Instead, Kelsky was able to balance “tough love” with true empathy and compassion, which made me not only feel open to reflecting on my own flaws as a PhD job candidate, but also respected as someone with real concerns. For some, the tone might be off-putting, as it does, admittedly, come off as “angry” in many ways, but I honestly prefer that over other books I’ve read that tries to “cutesify” the problems in academia. I also appreciated that Kelsky offered stats and secondary sources to illustrate everything point she made, so her advice felt less anecdotal and more rooted in research. As PhDs, most of us like supporting research, so I may be a bit biased; I just don’t find anecdotes that inspirational.

While this book is aimed at PhDs from various disciplines, the sheer amount of information and practical writing advice made it *actually* useful. As opposed to books which tend to offer general pointers like “tailor your resume,” Kelsky has specific advice, like “email your letter writer and ask for 15-20 minutes of their time” or “here’s an example of a diversity statement as well as a brief analysis of what it does and does not do.” Kelsky clearly lays out not just what candidates *should* be doing, but also *why* they should be doing it, which makes concepts easy to grasp and see the value in.

The only major thing that made this book discouraging to read was the implicit suggestion that if you haven’t been building your academic job profile from the beginning (or even before entering graduate school), you’re basically f*cked. Looking over some of the advice, I couldn’t help but feel like I had missed out on some things and couldn’t rectify them because I’m out of school. Maybe that’s true, maybe it isn’t, but either way, I wanted to see it addressed (or maybe it was and I missed it?). If I can’t get accepted to lead a conference panel in the top conference in my field, what then? What if I apply for tons of grants and don’t get many? What if a journal holds onto my article for 2 years with the promise of publishing it but never moves forward (something that actually happened to me)? What if my dissertation topic is interesting to me, but doesn’t follow popular trends? Am I a bad candidate? Should I give up? Things like that.

Overall, I think this book is one of the most practically useful guides out there, and if you’re a grad student who does not have a supportive job placement program at your institution, this book is invaluable for beginning to understand the realities of the academic job market, as dismal and unfair as it is.

Recommendations: I would recommend this book if

you’re a graduate student or adjunct going on the academic job market

you’re a grad student thinking ahead about how to use your time in graduate school effectively

you’re a PhD thinking about leaving academia

you working in career advising (including positions such as dissertation director or department head)