LJCC

They are the animals they meet on their trip and travels. That's all I can say for now. 😂

The harder question comes after: What do two people do with themselves once the adrenaline wears off and once the meet-cute is over? What happens when the charming eccentricities harden into habits, when private baggage is no longer abstract but unpacked, item by item, in a shared space? Love, if it is going to last, does not ask whether two people can find each other. It asks whether they can remain. This is where the real story begins. Forced proximity has a way of stripping performance from intimacy. Living together—really living together, twenty-four hours a day—leaves no room for the curated self. The masks slip. The silences lengthen. Petty annoyances take on symbolic weight. Old wounds, carefully managed in solitude, suddenly demand witnesses. What once felt like a possibility now feels like a risk. Will the protagonists take that risk? Or will they do what so many of us do—reframe intimacy as friendship, reinterpret longing as nostalgia, and return to lives that feel safer because they are familiar? And that's where I'd like to bring the audience to in the second half. Because this part is really fucking hard to write. 🤣 Plotting this shit was so hard to come up with. 😭 So I hope you guys like it.

CHAPTER 9: THE SECOND DATE, SCENE 2 - CUPSHUP DATE (SECOND WEEK OF MARCH 2020) After all the hassles of being requested to take pictures with most of the female audience, Klebber settled in at the reposeful company of the old lounge bar, a section out of sight to most patrons, with its entrance hidden behind a partition door at the gift shop. He smelled the roasted peanuts and heard the twang of the grand piano on the corner, played by a kid fingering 'Twinkle Twinkle Litt

True. Italy's prime minister issued covid lockdowns on March 9. It makes you think that unless it clearly affects you, nothing seems to change. Their date was on March 10, and the US seemed to still push on around this time. It'd be 6 more days before NYC feels the brunt of the pandemic, and the first slew of the school shutdowns would take place. But then, will Dennis and Klebber be gone by that time? Ahihihihihi. We shall see.

I wrote a book report about Margaret Atwood in College. Maybe, that's why. Haha. Part 1 isn't over. Part 1, second half, is still coming. There are several chapters left. They're still going to Costa Rica. The question is, how are they going to arrive at that? AHIHIHIIHIHIH.

Their second date isn't over. There's still a second date, Scene 2 coming up. Then, the end of the first half of the First Part. AHIHIHIHIHIHI...

CHAPTER 8: THE SECOND DATE, SCENE 1 - UPDOWNDATING (SECOND WEEK OF MARCH 2020) That same evening, rolling up to the entrance, Klebber was awestruck by the sight of the brand-new Rock Hard Hotel centered right in the heart of Times Square. The hotel staff swung open the doors, offering him a royal welcome as he stepped out of his Uber. His eyes were drawn to the stunning mustard dress worn by the quintessential New Yorker herself, Alicia Keys, stealing the spotlight i

There is a version of this story that could have sailed through standards and practices without losing its pulse. Lewd, yes. Raunchy, certainly. But lewdness need not be synonymous with sloppiness, and eroticism does not require the absence of craft. Written with a touch more discipline—some elegance of language, some restraint in structure—it might have earned a far broader institutional blessing from GA. 100%, the GA readers would've eaten this up. What complicates the critique is an uncomfortable truth: this is one of those rare cases where the adaptation so thoroughly outclasses the source material that it exposes the original’s limitations rather than amplifying its strengths. The novel by Rachel Reid, by its own design, is disposable romance. A Harlequin novel framework filtered through the grammar of Wattpad—crass, sexually blunt, and narratively serviceable at best. No one reading it believes they’re holding a future classic, and even its most devoted fans seem aware of that. This is not a book that inspires feverish Reddit manifestos or literary evangelism. It knows exactly what it is, and so do its readers. And yet, against the odds, it became something else on screen. There are objectively better-written sports M&M romance novels out there—sharper prose, more interiority, and greater emotional architecture. What this one had instead was extraordinary luck: producers who understood the assignment, a director unwilling to sand down the rough edges, and two leads whose chemistry transformed thinly sketched yearning into something lived-in and credible. Most crucially, the series resisted the perennial impulse to sanitize desire. The sex was not ornamental; it was narrative. Cut it back, and the story’s core thesis—longing, unresolved and bodily—would have collapsed under its own modest weight. The result is a reversal of the usual hierarchy. The book explains the show, but the show redeems the book. What began as pulp became, through care and conviction, something approaching authenticity. Not elevated literature—but proof that even the most unassuming material can transcend itself when treated seriously, rather than apologetically. That, more than anything, is what lingers. Yes, the fanfiction I wrote by my 17-year-old self about X-Men and the devils and angels might become "Heated: The X-Men's Rivalry" someday. One can only hope that Magneto will get tongue-fucked by Azrael. There are tentacles. It's glorious.

@Cane23 I guess it's high time to write the 1st book of Mr. & Mister Danvers. I might be on hiatus again for two years while writing that one. Hehehe.

And yes you're right. He might fly to him.

The pacing and the writing, hopefully, get better. The second half is the part where I decided not to treat it as a romantic comedy, because the fun part is over. After the meetcute, I was like, "What now?" So, we get more serious in the later half. More so when Part 2 comes. AHIHIHIHI.

SOON! We're nearing the end of the 1st half. And the pacing gets exceptionally faster...in a good way. I swear. Cross my heart. 😄

You want me to post everyday? Hahahaha. I actually got that advice from a therapist friend because I was double-checking what I had read online. I just expanded on what she said, but yeah, gay delayed adolescence is a real thing. I'm also a big gay man-child in some ways. Trying to change some things now. 😄 He does. That'll be settled in Part 2. AHIHIHIHIHI.

That's what I said; BEAUTY is a CURSE. That's why I'm cursed without the beauty. At least I can deadlift shit. But yeah, still cursed. 2 MORE chapters before the 2nd half. I cannot wait! I patterned Marissa after my niece. She was such an asshole growing up. "Mom said you need to stop dating every guy in the city; that's what she said...," while literally playing with her Barbie dolls. And then I'd hand her ten bucks to shut up.

CHAPTER 7: RELATIONSHIPS? ADVICE, ANYONE? (FIRST WEEK OF MARCH 2020) As the crepuscular hour settled in, the running lights danced along the inlet, their glow seeping through the large, clear window. A glass of wine sat untouched on the table, while the other glass was sipped clean and bone dry. Klebber was at the corner table. Seated across was Sergeant Morone. They were outside the terrace, their sights fixed on the docks and the Brooklyn Bridge. Th

🙂 IS he? Or...is HE? Especially in the next chapter. I'll let you guys figure that out. I have a way with words. Ahihihi.

They were fighting about horoscopes. 🤣 I'd be pissed if someone called me a nincompoop. It sounds bad. Dennis will have some "enlightened" words from a friend with next week's episode, explaining why he's been acting like a hormonal teenager. That advice, I feel, applies to every one of us, the gay community in general.

After their fight on Thursday... Then... Which means Sergeant Morone and Kleber's date was also on Sunday. The blond double-booked a date. The question is, WHAT WOULD HE DO KNOWING HE'S ABOUT TO SEE ANOTHER GUY? But then again...there might be a reason for all of this. Tune in to next week's chapter! Ahihihi. We'll get some clarity on why Klebber is acting this way. Also, the first half of part 1 is a romantic comedy, given it's a meet-cute and all. The second half of part 1 is a transition to drama and more serious topics, which I think deepens in part 2.

AHIHIHIHIHI! Lots indeed. But as they say, luurrrvvee prevails.

CHAPTER 6: THE FIRST DATE - PARKS & RECREATION (FIRST WEEK OF MARCH 2020) That Sunday, with the sun shining gloriously overhead, Dennis cruised through the streets, heading towards Brooklyn's famous Prospect Park. As he pulled into the parking lots, he yanked up the handbrake and took a moment to survey the scene. The park was teeming with people, seizing the opportunity to soak up the fantastic weather. Kids were running amok on the outdoor playground, and

Oh my... 😉 🤣 Someone's trying to be Sherlock, are we? Part 2 will tie everything together. That's a long way from now, still, around 14 chapters more. So, just, you know, just enjoy the funny bits, FOR NOW. MWAHAHAHA.

Aw, thanks mate! I can't have my two leads have unmoisturized skin. At least now we're scratching the surface of who these two are. More duuhhrrama to come next week. Or more stupid scenarios from our two bumbling protags to amuse us more. 🤣

What can go wrong indeed? Ahihihihi. Things are heating up though.

CHAPTER 5: THE ENCOUNTER, A ONE NIGHT STAND? (FIRST WEEK OF MARCH 2020) Dark orbs wandered to the wall clock, its pulse revealing the time. 10:54. Staring at the coat stand, desperately wanting to ditch his gloomy trenchcoat, Dennis found himself trapped in the liminal space where concern and worry collided, playing a twisted game of tag. Klebber was fashionably, or rather disastrously, late—forty-five minutes late, to be exact. The big man hadn't heard anythin

The thing about genuinely writing for yourself is that it cuts both ways. In theory, you could have a single reader in your entire lifetime—one person who stumbles across your work, reads it closely, and carries it with them long enough to be inspired to make the next summer blockbuster. Snakes on a Plane, perhaps. (Joking, mostly.) More often, writing is framed as a transaction. If you are writing for profit, the center of gravity inevitably shifts toward the reader. Storylines are calibrated. Narrative choices are optimized. On amateur platforms especially, where money is off the table, the only measurable currency becomes likes, praise, and adulation. The result is a kind of build-your-own fiction: tailored, responsive, and carefully engineered to please the audience already waiting. There is nothing inherently wrong with that. But it is only one side of the coin. The other side is writing for yourself, which is riskier and far less predictable. It can result in a sprawling, disordered manuscript that no one else quite understands. Or it can become something enduring—the kind of work we later call The Great Gatsby, To Kill a Mockingbird, Love in the Time of Cholera, The Grapes of Wrath, or, more recently, Gone Girl. The difference is not intention but execution. Passion alone is not enough; skill still matters. Yet there is a stubborn truth worth holding onto: something written with genuine passion and craft will always find a reader. Always. Quality writing has never been invisible to humanity’s collective eye for beauty. When language is precise, when emotion is earned, and when insight feels true, it crosses boundaries of taste, trend, and time. Beautiful writing does not beg for attention; it resonates. This is why the constant churn of publicly appeasing a reader base can feel so draining. Writing by committee, or by algorithm, slowly transfers ownership. The story stops belonging to the writer. It becomes the audience’s story instead. And when that happens, something essential is lost—not just for the writer, but for the reader too.