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yourfuckingmomdotcom · 9 months

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Yandere Butler x Autistic Reader

The autistic girlies, guys, or otherwise deserve yandere content tailored to ourselves, and I’m sick of pretending otherwise /hj.

The general idea is that this takes place in a time before an autism diagnosis even existed, like the Victorian Era, but arguably the DSM III added autism in 1980, so you could be in any of those times and still technically be timewise correct. But also you can just imagine him as a modern dude who doesn’t get what’s up.

Oh also, this is inspired a lot by @kiame-sama . Do I know what a Chrollo is? Nope. Did I love the fic she made? Fuck yea. (Accidentally tagged someone else at first, sorry you didn’t see this!) CW: Non-consentual cuddling, mild drugging, yandere, autistic reader, sensory overload mentions, general violence and murder stuff

🂡 Yandere Butler was brought on by your uncle after your parents unfortunate passing. You had been passed the helm of owning their small but thriving gunsmith operations, as well as the family house and assets. Being unwed and rather young, the butler was sent to manage the things that seriously stressed you out. He, as well as your other associates, assume you are just someone of a delicate constitution, and therefore he’s always fretting over you. Initially he didn’t get it, he did his very emotionally separated duties, but he noticed how much you struggled with specific things, and how you absolutely lit up at the things you love. He found it charming and enthralling, and he could no longer separate his duties and himself. 🂡 Yandere Butler will listen to you ramble for hours over your special interest. Now, how much he understands depends entirely on the content, but he will sit there regardless. As you excitedly go over every detail as best as you can trying to get him to understand what makes you so enthusiastic, he’ll ask leading questions and generally try and find ways to engage deeper in the things you enjoy. It’s the least he could do, since it seems to make you so happy.

🂡 Yandere Butler will overstep professional boundaries as long as you’re unaware of them. He appreciates what he sees as feign innocence and gullibleness that allows him to do things that wouldn’t be possible otherwise. With the low oversight of his position in the house, as well as the authority he holds, he uses this to sneak touches under the guise of fixing something with your garments or your posture. He’ll take what feels like decades to get you dresses in the morning as he slowly glides stockings or woolen socks over your legs, placing the garter so gently atop your thigh. The small ways you allow him to touch you are to him the highlight of his day, especially if you’re really touch adverse.

🂡 Though, Yandere Butler, does understand that your comfort comes first. He finds it somewhat enjoyable to find a middle ground between sensory-safe clothing, as well as clothes deemed acceptable by wider society. He makes sure that your tailor uses the specific fiber and weave to make sure you have an exceptionally predictable texture to fall back on with any garment. He also will find ways to get you the right silhouette while avoiding a lot of structure if that bothers you. If all else fails, he might resort to more homey garments.

🂡 Yandere Butler pays close attention to your nutrition as well, always making sure to get sensory safe foods as well as some you’ve never tried before to widen your horizons just a bit. If the maids and chefs cook something wrong, or in a way you find unpalatable, there will absolutely be hell to pay. Well, moreso just a very loud scolding after you’ve retired to bed for the night, but it still hurts their feelings... He keeps his more unpleasant reprimands for when you’ve fallen asleep because he understands that you feel bad for the workers in your home when he gets like this, so he just does it out of sight. If ever invited to a required formal event, god forbid, he’ll always bring a snack and a handkerchief in case you really didn’t like what was available.

🂡 Yandere Butler also manages your medications, vitamins, and any other substances you take throughout the day. Don’t even consider doing something elicit or uncouth such as smoking or drinking more than a flute of champagne, and if you do something more elicit you’ll probably give him a heart attack. But this unadulterated access to these things lets him do things that are very ungenteel. He requires you take a sleep aid, practically knocks you out, and he takes this time to cuddle you while in your sleep. He knows you’re usually not one for unprompted blunt affection, so he only does so when you’re sleeping. He finds your resting face adorable, and he prefers to hold you in the honeymoon hug position.

🂡 Yandere Butler, who due to your “delicate constitution” is usually helping you through sensory overloads. If you would grant him the honor, he’ll hold you tenderly in his arms as you ease back into comfort, slowly rocking both of you back and forth. Or, if you’re not ok with touching, he’ll prepare your chambers with dim lights, comforting sounds, and your bed all made and smelling of fragrances you find soothing. Despite not knowing the actual root of this behavior, he’s surprisingly accommodating and has gotten your sensory needs down to a science… which is sort of the problem.

🂡 The Yandere Butler figured out that going outside into town caused you mild to a great distress. So he made your life more simple, no more going out frivolously!... You were confused, and when you asked for more information he basically put a ban on any outside activity that wasn’t business or a disaster within the house. You got really sad about that, as you needed to go out and get things frequently for your hobbies. He ignored your short pleas to go out, initially only responding with something along the lines of, “Then go out to the gardens.”, but he knew he couldn’t keep you inside forever.

🂡 So, Yandere Butler scheduled every “unnecessary” outdoor event to be a sensory nightmare. He hates to see you so distressed, but it’s the only way you’ll learn apparently. This is only made worse by the fact he’s essentially made a sensory heaven inside of your manor, so when you go out it’s a lot worse since you’re so used to being catered to that the sensory discomfort becomes full of sensory pain. And you and him both know you can’t make a scene, lest you be ousted from high society and made a mockery of, so you’re hastily rushed back home to be coddled by him once again. It’s a very negative cycle you’ve got yourself caught up in, and it’s extremely difficult to get out of that cycle. Eventually, he hopes you’ll send a maid out to collect whatever you need instead of trying to leave him again, but until that time comes he’ll do this as much as you need until you get the memo.

🂡 Yandere Butler also manages many of your social and business connections. He’ll whisper in your ear how to deal with boring things like business decisions, stocks, and all the choices he doesn’t want you fretting about. But, he also will make sure to restrict any suitors or and non-business social events. He’ll throw out letters for frivolous parties, as he doesn’t want you tainted by others. He also will throw out suitor letters, which can make some interactions at formal business dinners a bit awkward for you when many suitors come up to you to ask about if anything got through, but the butler will whisk you away and explain that the mail must just be slow. 🂡 But one day, while a maid was cleaning the butler's room in the servants quarters, a maid finds the letters thrown out in his personal rubbish bin. She reads through them all rather confused, wondering why these wouldn’t be given directly to the master of the house. She wasn’t one to interfere with others' business, but something ticked her off. But as she’s about to walk off with an engagement letter, the butler walks in with 3 more in hand. There was a panic and a struggle from both of them, as the butler made sure she’d never be able to tell her tale.

🂡 That night, the Yandere Butler burnt the butchered maid, as well as all of the letters he’d previously thrown out to ash in the manors incinerator. He’d make sure not to make such a mistake again…

🂡 The next day, Yandere Butler makes you a special breakfast and brings it to your room. He coos, explaining that a particular maid stole from the wine cellar, and as she dropped and cracked the bottle, the red wine spilt across the floor. After that he let her go from her position, and he needed time to clean the mess himself, apologizing that your schedule was messed with and that you’re confined to the room for the day to protect your garments. Everytime you walk past the servant quarters door, you see a small red stain and remember the taste of red wine.

#tw autistic reader #x autistic reader #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere butler #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #x gn reader #x reader #yandere drabble #yandere imagines

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eldritch-spouse · 2 months

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How would Belo be with a cult leader s/o?

She already has followers consisting of both monsters and humans who rave about how perfect she is, and they think Belo is a testament to that.

I mean, not just anyone can receive the affection of an angel; she must be akin to a god!

There is a hierarchy in the cult, and Belo is at the top of it. He can rest his head on her lap and watch as the others worship the very ground his lady walks on (he doesn't have a choice; the leader demands it this physical contact, otherwise she will be unhappy the whole day).

They validate Belo in every thought he has of his lady and also obey him as he is basically the leader's right hand (or so he believes, but in reality, they respect him so much because he is their leader's precious).

And what if more angels started coming out of the woodwork to serve his lady? If he was able to handle the cultists, surely this would be a stretch.

I can just imagine the cultists praising Belo as they dress him up in lingerie fitting to their leader's taste, then tie him up, mindful of his wings, and leave him in his lady's quarters. His lady comes in and gets on top of him, caressing his wings and whispering something about being her 'pretty little canary' and 'give yourself to me, show me your devotion.'.

This is the ideal situation for Belo.

Unlike most angels, who tend to have a mindset favorable to sharing with other celestials, Belo gets intoxicated when he realizes he's the only holy entity in a location, that he no longer has to share, that his tier hardly matters because he's the only celestial present and automatically the authority in a plethora of matters. He feels special in a way he never has before and his ego swells almost incomprehensibly.

Which is exactly why he's living his best life in this situation. Not only are you a sacred being, your generosity blinds you to the misdeeds of your own following. My Lady they are clumsy, obliviously disrespectful, they hold no discipline! Someone who is built to serve and protect needs to teach them how to behave, how to conduct themselves before you and how to make sure that your love is not for naught.

It's only right that Belo be the only one allowed to touch you. His holy nature makes him incapable of corrupting you, and others live through him their own lecherous, selfish fantasies of being your favored.

With him at the helm of many secondary areas and tasks, your cult blossoms like the loveliest lotus and gains a level of steadfast efficiency previously unforeseen.

The arrival of other angels... Complicates things. They're immediately perceived as threats to Belo's position.

You may not know this, but he's only a power. If there's a dominion, throne or, Eden forbid, a seraphim... By their own laws, Belo could have to step down and allow the worshiper-tiers to overrule him in the hierarchy.

And he goes half-mad at the idea.

That's not happening.

No tier can understand and service you better than him, and Belo will personally confront the more powerful celestials about this. There is a very special balance here, in your wonderful garden of light, where the rank of an angel is not what makes them worthy of your love and guidance. Belo may be just a power outside of these blessed grounds, but in them, he is your second in command, your favored, your fighter, your whorshiper, your guardian. He's your everything.

And though he may celebrate the arrival of more angels beside you, he makes sure they always remember their place.

He's determined to keep this perfect balance.

In your name, he thinks as he placidly remains in position, bottom eye counting the patterns on his service gown and the jewelry on his spread wings, everything in your name.

This won't be like before. He's doing so much better now, the cultists are behaving perfectly, the workflow is stable and satisfactory, the other angels are impeccable. You wouldn't leave them. Not when everything is immaculate, when mistakes are non-existent. This time will he different.

You enter the room, and his thoughts vanish.

#Belo oc

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damnation-if · 1 year

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anyway this is going to have a slightly different Mood than my previous post but i’ve just woken up to hear about people. leaking early access builds of the games of some of my very good friends and i couldn’t be more disgusted.

if you’re not aware (i say, assuming that the people doing this actually don’t know and are not simply of the belief that it doesn’t matter because authors don’t deserve any money, which is highly possible) early access is one of the easiest things an author can give as a benefit on patreon - not everybody has the time or energy or opportunity to provide bonus content every month, and if you drive authors away from giving early access, you will put a lot of them in a position where they CANNOT offer ANY benefits at all.

there will still be some readers who are happy to support their favourite authors even with no benefits, so you’re not going to stop authors having patreons, if that’s your particularly spiteful motivation. you’re just going to make it so that nobody gets to see the game early. hooray... you win?

i’ve spent a lot of this year struggling to keep myself from becoming homeless due in large part to my physical disabilities, and the thought that once i have enough of the game out i could maybe open a patreon and provide early access to supporters for perhaps a few extra dollars a month so that i could afford to buy dinner once in a while or god forbid eat some dessert on a bad day is one of the main hopes i’ve been holding close to my chest to help keep me going when i’ve really wanted to give up on everything. now i don’t know if i can do that anymore because it’s clear that people in this community can’t be trusted.

i hope anyone who has partaken of leaked early access versions is proud of themselves for the probably irreparable damage they’ve caused to the trust relationship between authors and readers in this community :/

#posts from the mortal world #also as a special bonus note. to everybody who sent me asks demanding to know why the game hasn't updated.#i'm so sorry that my impending possible homelessness has been such an inconvenience for YOU<3 #hope YOU recover<3 #anyway. what a bummer to wake up to. love to all the authors who've been Stolen from <3 #hope this doesn't completely unbalance the entire community. which it might. we can't know yet #good job friendos

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literaticat · 1 year

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Hi Jenn,

I’ve been writing and illustrating published books for couple of decades, and while I’ve been happy with how my career is progressing (bigger publishers now, more frequent contracts, royalties!), I’ve never been able to make a living wage as an author-illustrator. Some part of me wants to believe I still have it in me to be financially successful as a writer-artist but it’s hard after so long. So I’ve been interviewing for a full-time art teacher job which would pay somewhat well (better than the $20K I made last year!) and provide benefits. I’m afraid, though, that I won’t have time to make books anymore, or to really focus on my craft like I do now. Do any of your clients have full-time non-writing jobs and are still able to make books? I know this is such a case-by-case scenario but maybe you could shed some light on this subject. Some part of me is like “just hold out a little longer and you’ll make it over the hump! Keep throwing yourself into your book work and focus like a laser!” and another part of me says “you’re 45 years old with no savings!”

I hesitate to ever give, like, actual financial advice to strangers on here. Everyone's situation is different! So take this as more general thoughts, and if any of it resonates with you, great, and if not, ignore me. :-)

To address some of the not-actual-questions: Listen, a steady paycheck and benefits is nothing to sneeze at. I don't know about you, but we are of a similar age, and I went from having Nothing Wrong with me to having Everything Wrong with me, health-wise, VERY suddenly. If I didn't have insurance, I'd be screwed. I don't have benefits at my job and luckily I can afford the $900+ a month it costs me to stay alive with private insurance, but if I was still on a bookseller's salary or something, I honestly don't know what I would do. So... if you are American and a good insurance plan is not something you currently have, that is an important thing to think about, IMO, as you (gracefully!) age.

Can you re-frame the problem into something positive? Instead of thinking of this as "a day job will stall my creative ambitions" -- perhaps a day job will actually PROP UP your creative ambitions?

Thought experiment: You take this job, and you like it. It's a challenge, but it also feels good to know you are having a positive impact, and perhaps your students even give you a boost of creativity. You do absolutely still work on your books, but now it's a couple hours in the morning or at night on weekdays, and one weekend day. You KNOW you have a paycheck coming and you don't have to rely on sporadic book income to get by, and you know that god forbid should you need it, you have decent insurance. Perhaps you are even able to get by entirely or mostly on job-money and put all or most of your book-money after taxes into savings to start building a nest-egg.

How does that make you feel? Does thinking about that bit of financial freedom and the idea of actually saving for the future relieve some stress? If you are less stressed and don't have to worry about hustling quite so hard at the book stuff -- might you actually feel able to take more risks with your artistic work and try things that you might have never felt you were in a position to experiment with before? If you KNOW you have limited time to work on your book stuff, are you the type of person who could buckle down and do it and make it work, or no? Does the idea of having having more of a strict schedule make you feel safe, or panicky?

I don't know the answers to these questions, obviously, but I do think they are worth considering. And of course: Nothing has to be forever. If you get the job and decide to try it and realize a semester in that it's not for you... for whatever reason! -- you can always stop!

To answer your actual question: I do rep illustrators who also teach or have other kinds of demanding full or part-time jobs and/or tiny children at home, or who work freelance doing things like animation jobs or magazine work or merchandise or other illustration-adjacent things that aren't strictly books. (Authors, too, of course!) Some of these folks are still quite prolific, and some not so much -- I have to think this is just up to their individual priorities and time management skills. Nobody is "like Kate Messner" of course, but for what it's worth, Kate did teach middle school full time and have school-age kids of her own when she signed with me, and still managed to write and publish and promote dozens of books before she quit teaching! So, yes, absolutely, it physically CAN be done, it just might mean a shift in your schedule and mindset. And that might or might not be right for YOU.

(My most recent podcast episode is with the lovely illustrator Cindy Derby, who has an infant -- we talk about how her time-management landscape has changed! And I have spoken to Kate on the pod before too. Maybe it would be helpful to give those eps a listen if you haven't?)

GOOD LUCK!

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shipcestuous · 11 months

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The bit about Loki accusing Freyr and Freya of incest comes from Lokasenna, one of the poems in the Poetic Edda:

"Loki spake: 32. "Be silent, Freyja! | thou foulest witch, And steeped full sore in sin; In the arms of thy brother | the bright gods caught thee When Freyja her wind set free."

Njorth spake: 33. "Small ill does it work | though a woman may have A lord or a lover or both; But a wonder it is | that this womanish god Comes hither, though babes he has borne.""

(https://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/poe/poe10.htm)

Lokasenna is a poem in the "senna" genre, essentially an exchange of insults in poetic form, where Loki gets drunk and insults all the other gods, one by one, at a feast before being driven away by Thor. It has indeed been questioned how much of what Loki says in it was accepted as part of this or that mythical tradition, or if all if his accusations are made-up wholesome as part of a satirical poetic exercise. However, it's also been read as an expression of Loki as an ambiguous figure (as a jotun who was welcomed among the gods as Odin's blood-brother and friend but may act either for or against the gods and bringing positive or negative changes to their world depending on the myth) able to weave in and out of the gods' in-group, knowing it intimately but also offering an outsider's perspective on it at the same time, thus being able to bring up and expose uncomfortable and harsh truths, and highlighting what can be read as the hypocrisy of the gods, who are held as shining, dignified authorities in certain contexts but have plenty of flaws and make plenty of mistakes in others.

Also, we know for sure that at least SOME things Loki are true, which does cast some level of doubt *on* the doubt we might cast on the others: he accuses Odin of being unmanly (we know that's true because we know he is associated with a type of magic that's always regarded as "womanly" or "unmanly") and Frigg of having slept with both of Odin's brothers (an idea also reported elsewhere, together with the idea of her generally being an adulterer), mocks Tyr for having had his hand bitten off by Fenrir (that's the most important Tyr myth that survived after the Viking Age) and Freyr for giving up his sword (and the advantage it would have given him during Ragnarok) to gain Gerd as a bride (also an attested myth) then Heimdall for his unlucky position as the eternally-watchful sentinel of the gods (his main role in the myths), and claims to have slept with Sif (not *technically* attested, but fits well with Harbardsljod, another senna-type poem, where Thor is told in no uncertain terms that his wife has a lover that she has fun with while he's away from home, and also with Sif having a son, Ullr, who's on record as a *stepson* to Thor). He even admits to killing Balder (true... at the least in the version of the events the poem references) and foretells his own binding.

Then, there's also the fact that, for as many insults as Loki shoots at the gods, the gods fire just as many back, and the majority of those are also true: he's accused of being unmanly (true in many different ways), of having given birth (just look at the myth of the building of the wall of Asgard and how Odin got his horse Sleipnir), and of being unpleasant and sowing discord (... hard to argue with that, especially in context).

A point that should also be considered is that we do know from at least two pieces of writing that the Vanir gods (unlike the Aesir, who forbid it) practice incestuous relationships and even marriages. Specifically, brother/sister ones.

Again from the Lokasenna:

"Njorth spake: 35. "Great was my gain, | though long was I gone, To the gods as a hostage given; The son did I have | whom no man hates, And foremost of gods is found."

Loki spake: 36. "Give heed now, Njorth, | nor boast too high, No longer I hold it hid; With thy sister hadst thou | so fair a son, Thus hadst thou no worse a hope.""

From the Ynglinga Saga, in the context of an euhemerized account of the gods as kings and heroes of old:

"While Njord was with the Vanaland people he had taken his own sister in marriage, for that was allowed by their law; and their children were Frey and Freya. But among the Asaland people it was forbidden to intermarry with such near relations."

(https://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/heim/02ynglga.htm)

Personally, I tend not to give too much credit to people who look at the Norse gods doing weird/uncomfortable/gross/very sexual/kinky things and say "oh, but SURELY that must be a satire! A later invention that could NEVER be referencing some older tradition! A slanderous invention! The Christians putting their grubby little hands all over the myths to make the heathen gods look bad, even in the case of authors we know were just trying to preserve their people's history as they knew it or their traditional poetry and were actually more likely to try and ennoble or at least normalize them!" It's true that Germanic people did hold their gods in high regard and pray and sacrifice to them like any other culture, but that doesn't mean they thought of them as perfect, or were never wary of them, or never told stories about them doing things that they themselves wouldn't do.

There is a chance that Freyr and Freya weren't actually thought of as incestuous, and there is a chance they weren't even born out of an incestuous relationship (not only but chiefly due to wonky timelines/topics not being presented in the order we'd normally expect in a certain section of the Prose Edda ... which was written by Snorri Sturluson, the same guy who wrote the Ynglinga Saga, but make of that what you will), but honestly, I just don't see enough evidence to dismiss the material presented in the Lokasenna. Freya is also known as a very proud and headstrong character as well as overly lustful (like in the Hyndluljod poem, where she's accused of having allowed plenty of men under her skirts, or in the late Sorla thattr story, where she agrees to spend one night with each of the four dwarves working on a necklace for her, or in her association with love poetry, which was actually considered so powerful and dangerous, it was sometimes outlawed) so following her desires without caring for a law that's not even really her own doesn't strike me as particularly weird of her.

That's just my opinion, of course! Although, I would argue that, taken at face value and without digging into whatever mythological and literary nuances we might theorize, they ARE canon.

Please forgive the rant, I've always been really into Norse mythology and I actually had a lot of fun doing this little write-up! ^^

[x]

Thank you so much for this! It was wonderful to get a description of the facts from someone who is clearly very knowledgeable on the topic. I think we're all very inclined to agree with your conclusions.

I didn't realize that Loki's accusation against Freya was part of a series of accusations, at least some of which are "confirmed", so to speak. That's very promising indeed.

I only did a tiny bit of research but I did find at least a couple of sources that seemed very biased against Vanir incest, straining to disprove and such. A more open-minded approach might see Frey/Freya considered canon more often.

#asks #anonymous #norse mythology #frey and freya #mythology #r: brosis #commentary #noiv #nr

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you-show-me-love · 2 years

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Gallavich Kinktober 2022 Day 11 - orgasm denial X “Open your mouth.”

For @gallavichthings and noisy lovers

Read on Ao3 oe below the cut

Officer O'Reilly leaned heavily against the elevator wall as she watched the floor number change. Her mind wasn't rising with her, it was back in her cruiser with the steak burrito still wrapped in aluminum just waiting to be opened. The elevator emitted a jolly ding before its doors opened letting O'Reilly cross into the landing of the third floor.

A noise complaint. A fuckin noise complaint in an apartment building had dragged her away from her dinner. Most apartment dwellers kept the police out of shit like this, blaming thin walls and cramped spaces, but not whoever dispatch spoke too. No, they had been insistent someone come check it out.

God forbid a real crime occurs. O'Reilly could be stopping a mugging or conducting a sobriety test on some boozed up businessman. She could be saving lives! Or she could be biting into a warm tortilla filled with steak, rice, pico, and guacamole.

She heard it, all the way down the hall, voices, most likely a lovers quarrel or family feud. Following the sounds she ended up outside 218. Closer, O'Reilly could hear more noise from behind the door, and yeah they were a little noisy, but not worth her time. Still, she knocked on the door with authority and waited.

It took a minute, but soon enough the door was opening a crack, revealing a tall shirtless redhead. O'Reilly eyed him with skepticism before leaning to the side to look beyond him into the apartment. Finding it clear of blood and broken dishes she affixed her eyes on the redhead.

"Got a noise complaint."

The man had the wherewithal to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry, we'll keep it down, officer."

"Thank you." She hoisted her utility belt higher up her hips and sighed. "Have a good evening sir."

She waited for him to close the door before heading down the stairwell and back to her burrito.

–

From Mickey's position he couldn't see anything and could only hear mumbles. He pulled on the straps holding him down, humped the air in futility. If his husband didn't get his ass back here he was gonna-

Ian sauntered in, looking at Mickey with his hands on his hips. He blew out a breath and tapped his foot.

"What the fuck are you waiting for dickhead?" Mickey growled, back to thrashing against his restraints.

Ian tuttered and shook his head, "That was the police, Mick. We got a noise complaint."

"Who gives a fuck?" He shouted, purposefully projecting, hoping to rile his husband up, get his dick hard again, get another fuck in before Ian let him go.

Ian ignored him, rummaging around in their dresser. Mickey was ready to spit fire, his balls ached, his hole was leaking cum uncomfortably, and he still hadn't gotten his rocks off. He loved nights like this, absolutely loved them, when Ian used his body a few times, teased him, brought him right up to the edge but not over it, not until Mickey was crying and begging. Except a banging on their door took Ian away before the crying and begging, and now Mickey was just horny and pissed. Ian turned around, ball gag in hand. Mickey paled as his husband drew closer. If he gagged him he couldn't beg, couldn't plead. Ian would keep him on the precipice for hours if he even allowed him to cum at all.

"This isn't the Southside, baby. The neighbors don't ignore yelling and gunshots."

Mickey rolled his eyes, jaw clenched to keep from spouting off.

“Open your mouth.”

Mickey turned his head away, dodging Ian's attempt to gag him, that is until Ian grabbed his cheeks tight enough to bruise.

"Open." He growled leaving Mickey with no choice. He opened his mouth, making Ian smile briefly before he scrunched up his mouth and spit into Mickey's open one.

"Good boy." Ian praised as he let go of his husband's chin and shoved the ball gag between his teeth, letting him rest his head on Ian's moving hands as he buckled the straps in the back.

"Gorgeous." Ian whispered, looking at Mickey lovingly, pressing a chaste kiss to the ball gag. He stood and shucked the shorts he threw on to answer the door, cock hard like his husbands, but closer to relief.

Mickey let out a throaty whine he would deny later as he watched Ian lube up his cock and settle between his forcibly spread legs. Ian shushed him, rubbing his open palms down his chest to his hips before thrusting to the hilt. Mickey tensed and bit into the rubber ball between his teeth, his throat vibrating with a muffled scream. Ian smiled at the sound, loud enough to spur his hips forward but not loud enough for another unwanted police visit. A tear slid down Mickey's cheek. His was in for a long, torturous night.

#gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #shameless #ian x mickey #chaos writes #gallavich fanfic #ao3 #gallavich kinktober 2022

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

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Raise the Barre (Ch. 2)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Word Count: 6,436

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

After the initial shock of your partner wore off, you decided spending the semester partnered with Park Jimin was, indeed, the dark sentence it appeared to be at first glance.

Jimin wasn’t happy with the situation either; that much became clear when Mr. Vlad said your name and Jimin instantly stiffened. You’d turned slowly to face him, your mind going fuzzy as you met his blank gaze.

The first two weeks of the semester had been spent wondering if this was some kind of cruel, cosmic joke. Maybe you’d been a terrible person in a past life and this was your bitter reward. If so, Jimin must have pissed someone off too, since he seemed equally perturbed by your new relationship.

Waiting in line at the water fountain, you checked the time once again and exhaled. Ballet began in five minutes and Miss Britt employed the same lateness tolerance policy as Mr. Vlad. Really, it was a blanket expectation by all the teachers at Russet. If you arrived after the door shut, you weren’t allowed in – and god forbid you missed a step the next week during barre. Motivated to avoid this, you’d arrived fifteen minutes early every day since classes started – it was hardest for 8:00 AM ballet, but that couldn’t be helped.

Once your water bottle was full, you screwed on the cap and hustled into the room with three minutes to spare. Miss Britt stood at the front beside the live pianist. She insisted on using one for all her classes, saying it was good practice for when you’d dance with an orchestra.

Arms crossed, she surveyed each student when they entered, and you hastened to stand beside Noelle at the bar. Placing your water bottle on the floor, you began to roll your neck and warm up your feet.

From across the room, you heard Jimin laugh and looked up on reflex – only to find him standing next to Sabrina.

Uncertain, you froze. You hadn’t made it a habit to follow Jimin’s movements, or even to learn more about him since your arrival at Russet. You saw him in class and occasionally on the weekends but had made it a point to keep your friend groups separate. As a result, you really had no idea what Jimin had been up to in his private time.

It seemed the answer to your question was: cozying up to the enemy. Since that first night in Grace Hall, Sabrina had proven herself to be as unpleasant as you’d feared. You’d mostly tried to steer clear of her path, but again, this was hard to achieve in a class of eighty students.

While you watched, Jimin laughed again and Sabrina smiled. She looked almost pleasant and in response to this, your eyes narrowed.

Objectively, you didn’t want Jimin as your dance partner, but he’d been assigned to you. It’d be incredibly embarrassing if he asked to switch midway through the semester. Everyone would know it was because of you and you’d have no other options when the New Year rolled around.

Faculty clarified the partner situation by the end of the first week. Apparently, only your first ballet partner at Russet was assigned. This was done on purpose, in order to get you used to working with new people, but you’d be allowed to choose your own partner starting January 1st. This was the only reason you hadn’t immediately marched to the front office and demanded a change. Clearly, this was a test of partnership. Jimin might be the devil himself, but he hadn’t asked to switch partners and you’d be damned if you gave in before he did.

On the opposite side of the room, Jimin smiled and you scowled, wondering what Sabrina could possibly have to say that he found so hilarious. In the two weeks you’d known her, Sabrina had yet to utter a joke in your presence. Suspicion clouded your judgement, since it was no secret amongst the class that Sabrina’s ballet partner wasn’t as talented as she was.

The idea that she might be after Jimin entered your mind while you watched. While you didn’t want to be Jimin’s partner, you also didn’t want Sabrina to be Jimin’s partner.

You were shaken from this thought by Miss Britt clapping her hands.

“Pliés, ladies and gentlemen!”

Miss Britt led ballet class on Tuesdays; right now, she stood at the front of the room while she waited for everyone to echo her movements.

“From first,” she said, adopting the same position. “Little breath on the intro, and – demi plié one, two. Demi plié three, up four. Grand plié five, port de bras six –up seven, eight. Rise to relevé on two! Hold three, four. Grand plié five, up six, tendu to second. Repeat!”

You followed her with half-movements, attempting to mimic her delicate port de bras. The grand plié was fast, which was tricky – you’d need to control your center as you rose from the ground.

“Start on the right,” said Miss Britt, turning around. “Skip third. I want to see you sweating by the end, everyone! Pliés should be as much effort as battements! If I don’t see sweat, we’ll do center barre again next week.”

A ripple of panic went through the class.

Center barre was a time-honored ballet tradition, loathed by all. It involved doing warm-ups in the center of the room instead of at the barre. This required additional strength and concentration; enough to cripple even the most stoic of ballerinas.

As the pianist started, the entire class inhaled and fell into motion. Hips square, core engaged, heels down, head tilted up and to the side. You let each breath you took flow through your body, mirroring the stance Miss Britt had shown.

True to her demand, your muscles were already warm by the end of the first side. Miss Britt made her rounds at the edge of the classroom, stopping occasionally to dole out corrections.

“Your back is arched, Irene!” she called. “There, that’s better. Louis, move through the motion. Save your ballistic stretching for jazz class. Good, good.”

“She’s coming,” Noelle whispered beneath her breath.

Hiding a smile, you ducked your head. Miss Britt was close – you could see her in the corner of your eye as she turned the corner, heading down your row with an eagle’s eye.

Dropping into the final plié, you struggled to keep your hips square while you rose from the ground. Miss Britt stopped alongside you, examining you for a moment before she began to walk forward.

“Heels forward,” she said, correcting your stance. “Imagine everything rotates from the hips. Push down through the ground and out! All motion is powered by the glutes. Yes… better,” she said, begrudgingly moving on.

A bead of sweat rolled down your neck and dropped into your leotard. You knew her praise hadn’t been as genuine for you as it had been for others. Noelle glanced your way from the corner of her eye, but you continued to stare straight ahead. Miss Britt was nearby, and you didn’t want to give her another reason to scold.

As the music came to a close, Miss Britt stopped at the front and began the tendu combination. You were soaked with sweat before rond de jambes ended, only the massive amounts of hair spray and gel you had used holding your bun in place.

Barre lasted over an hour, which was longer than usual. As you and Noelle dragged your barre to the side at the end, you felt your grip slipping on the silvery metal. Trying to stay hydrated, you drank half your water bottle on the side of the room.

The water break didn’t last long – soon you were gathered in the center of the room for adagio. Miss Britt was the kind of teacher who used both hands and feet to relay the combination. You stood on the sidelines and watched; a bit dizzy from how much you’d sweated already. More water before class would’ve been a good thing.

The one positive about the adagio was it was a solo, not a pas de deux. You had ballet partnering classes throughout the week, of course, but oftentimes your normal ballet teachers assigned partner work as well.

This was why Jimin stood beside you, hovering nearby in case he was needed.

Casting a withering glance at him in the mirror, you assumed fifth position and firmly squared your shoulders. Behind you and to the left, Jimin rolled his eyes.

Jaw clenched, you decided to ignore him.

Sabrina stood on the opposite side of the room, paired with Paulo Goncalves, a talented ballet dancer – just not as talented as she was. Before you could look away, she turned her head in your direction. You winced, ready to move but then realized she wasn’t looking at you.

She stared at Jimin. Sabrina looked at him in much the same way mothers examined produce in the grocery store, taking in every angle to determine if it was valuable.

You stiffened when you saw this, unsure what to do. Sabrina’s gaze moved to you before you could blink and when she saw you, she smiled.

It wasn’t a nice gesture.

This was disarming enough that when the music began, your mind went completely blank. The rest of the class started, raising their arms overhead and you could only stare, lips parting in horror. All steps of the combination had flown from your mind.

“Développé devant,” Jimin whispered behind you.

Instantly, the steps returned to your memory. Snapping to attention, you raised both arms overhead. As you caught up to the class, you extended your right leg in the air.

Miss Britt turned in your direction, luckily not noticing your momentary confusion and when she moved on to Brian, you exhaled in relief. As the combination continued, a question mark formed in your mind, and you chanced a subtle glance sideways at Jimin.

A vague sense of confusion settled over you. Jimin had helped you, which seemed extremely out of character for a demon from the depths of Hades.

When you glanced his way though, Jimin didn’t seem to notice anything was off. He looked almost peaceful as he moved through the combination, executing the steps with perfect timing. The sight of this made your blood boil, since the combination was difficult, and he had the audacity to make it look so fucking easy.

Each line of his body radiated grace and control; he truly was remarkable, it made you nauseous to watch. The lightest twitch of his pinky was purposeful, his body held perfectly still as he stepped into arabesque.

You lost sight of him when you penchéd, catching Jimin again in the mirror when you rose. Logically, you knew he was also working hard, but it didn’t show at all. You, on the other hand, were working and looked like you were.

When the combination ended, Jimin breathed easily, barely winded, while you felt as though you’d just run a marathon.

“Y/N!”

Head whipping up, you met Miss Britt’s gaze at the front of the room. For a moment, you panicked and wondered if she’d seen your lapse after all. If there was one thing not tolerated at Russet, it was failing to pay attention.

She looked at you for a moment, as though searching for what to say and then simply said, “Square your hips in arabesque.”

You sagged slightly in relief. “I will,” you promised, but she’d already moved on.

“Irene, less port de bras. Any more flapping and you’ll fly away. Paulo – you’re lagging on your transitions. Stay on the beat. Now,” she said, turning around. “Find your partner. The next adagio is paired.”

Jimin walked forward and came to a stop beside you. You stiffened at his proximity, uncertain what to say.

He’d helped you – Park Jimin had helped and you couldn’t fathom why. For the entirety of your teenage years, Jimin had been your worst enemy; it only stood to reason the trend would continue at Russet. When he glanced at you in the mirror, you found the silence unbearable.

“Thanks,” you said at last.

Jimin turned to face you, surprised. “What for?”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to face him as well. “You know what.”

“I do.” Maddeningly, he smiled. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“Well,” you said through gritted teeth. “We all have things we want but can’t have.”

Jimin was about to respond when you noticed Miss Britt starting the combination at the front. She had one of the students from senior class helping, an incredibly talented dancer named Seokjin. Seokjin was ridiculously beautiful and equally shy. This didn’t stop half the freshman class – girls and boys – from harboring a fat crush on him.

Holding out his palm, Jimin waited until you placed your hand in his. Pulling you close, his other hand went to your waist while Miss Britt began the combination.

“Start in fifth,” she said with Seokjin behind her. “Ladies – relevé one! Hold two. Both plié three, up four. Ladies – right leg to passé and extend seven, eight. Relevé one! Hold two, hold three, four. Bring leg to attitude efface – seven, eight.”

Already, you found yourself sweating and you were only marking the steps. So far, the adagio placed heavy emphasis on the female partner, with the male only offering support. This was frustrating, since male partnering was difficult, but in a different way than for women. Men needed exceptional strength and balance to support their partner, but oftentimes it was the woman executing the more technical steps.

After front attitude, you extended your leg, pliéd and Jimin lifted you up. This required great coordination and timing – both his hands on your waist, he hoisted you into the air. Miss Britt stopped the music at this point to give you a minute to practice.

Not that this helped. While in high school, you’d done minimal partner dancing. Your studio hadn’t had any male dancers in your level; the partnering you had done was mostly female, which was a different expectation than traditional ballet.

The lift was hard and even two weeks into classes, you and Jimin still hadn’t mastered it. You kept smacking Jimin’s chin with your head when you leapt from the ground. This time was no exception – you heard the crack when it happened, a sharp pain radiating from the base of your skull. Jimin swiftly let go, dropping you on your feet.

“Ouch!” he yelped, stumbling backwards.

“Sorry!” you said, whirling around. “Are you alright?”

Jimin rubbed his jaw. “Yeah,” he grumbled. “I’m fine. Let’s just… try it again.”

You nodded and maneuvered dutifully into position, his hands returning to the same spot on your waist. After a deep inhale, you pliéd and jumped – and Jimin immediately dropped you, your feet hitting the floor.

“What was that?” you demanded as you spun around.

Jimin’s eyes widened. “Why are you asking me? You’re the one whose weight was pitched forward!”

“It was not!” Despite this, you frowned. It was possible Jimin was correct on this one. “Let’s just… do it again.”

Jaw clenched, Jimin returned to position and you tried it again. This time was passable; no one smacked anyone’s chin when they jumped and you landed on the right count, but it still felt somehow off. You were working too hard; when you glanced at Noelle and her partner, Eamon, their lift looked so effortless. Such mastery escaped you, slipping through your grasp no matter how often you practiced.

At the next water break, you immediately left Jimin’s side. Going as far away from him as you could, you drank eagerly from your bottle and relished in the silence.

Someone coughed from behind you.

Turning around, your expression instantly soured when you found Sabrina inches away. She had nary a hair out of place and for a moment, you wondered what’d happen if you messed up her bun. You got the feeling Sabrina was used to being in control.

Before you could speak, she took a small sip of water. Her gaze searched the room and landed on Jimin, who was saying something to Seokjin with a laugh.

“He’s talented,” she remarked.

Ignoring this, you drank from your own water bottle. “If you say so.”

Her gaze returned to yours, lips curled in a smile. “I do say so. You know it’s true, too. Jimin is talented, which makes me think you’re the reason you two can’t get that lift.”

Stiffening somewhat, you slowly bent to place your water bottle down on the floor. As you rose, you took a step forward and lifted your chin.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” you told her.

Sabrina’s lip twitched. “Oh. Touchy.”

“You should leave. Isn’t your partner looking for you?”

“Hm, not sure. He might not be my partner for long.”

Unthinkingly, you stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said.” Sabrina examined the nails on one hand. “It’s a pity Jimin has to be partnered with you when he could have the best dancer in the class. I plan on letting him know I’m available, if he ever wants to switch.”

“Are you seriously–”

“Miss Y/L/N!”

Both of you shut up, your heads snapping sideways and Sabrina immediately took a step backwards. Miss Britt stood before you, but how long she’d been there, you didn’t know. Desperately, you hoped she hadn’t heard the entire conversation.

Sabrina immediately turned away; Miss Britt let her go, which didn’t bode well for you. You’d been holding out hope this had something to do with your conversation, but this didn’t seem to be the case. Miss Britt watched Sabrina leave before she turned to you.

“I’d like to speak after class, if that’s alright,” she said, her voice low.

She didn’t sound angry, which made it even worse. Anger was a fickle emotion; it came easily and left easily. The calmness was worse, since it sounded like Miss Britt had something serious to say.

“Sure,” you said, managing to nod. “I’ll stay.”

She nodded and turned away, walking to the front while you stared at her back. After a moment, you shook yourself free and moved towards the center. A dull roar pounded your thoughts. Thousands of worries pressed from every side, each one more worrisome and insistent than the last.

This was it – you were finished. Russet was kicking you out. Somehow, you’d been sent an acceptance letter in the mail, but it was a mistake and you were being sent home.

When you returned to the center, you dully stood by Jimin’s side. He glanced at you curiously, sensing something was wrong.

“Are you –”

“Let’s just dance,” you said, moving to fifth position.

Jimin wisely let it go, stepping behind you to place his hands on your waist. The pianist began to play and you started the combination but the entire time you danced, your mind was somewhere else. You couldn’t help but think about what Miss Britt might have to say, each possibility you considered being worse than the last.

Things went smoothly for the rest of the class, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Everyone else picked up on steps easier than you did; Sabrina was right about that. Jimin was a talented dancer and he had experience with partnering.

He wasn’t the problem here – you were.

Jimin was quiet for the duration of class, which was unusual. You wondered if he was annoyed by your incompetence and again, your mind flashed to Sabrina’s words. She wanted Jimin as her partner. This made you feel a bit desperate because as much as you didn’t like Jimin, it would be humiliating for him to switch on you mid-semester.

If you were in Jimin’s shoes though, you would consider it. Sabrina had flawless technique, was beloved by the teachers and would only help his star to rise. They also seemed to get along well together, unlike you and Jimin, who were constantly at odds.

Realizing this, your stomach sank. Yes – if you were Jimin, you would consider switching partners.

When the hour hand on the clock finally met the twelve, you hastily gave your applause and bolted towards your dance bag. You lingered here, waiting for class to clear out, but you couldn’t stand being next to Jimin for one second longer. Thanking him had been humiliating enough for one day.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Jimin hesitate before he walked out. The rest of the class began to pack up, chatting with one another while they left the classroom. Miss Britt stood at the front with the accompanist, likely going over music for the next class.

Noelle also paused before leaving, but you told her to go and said you’d catch up with them later. You waited until most of the class had left and then you took a deep breath and walked to the front.

“Miss Britt?” you said, coming to a stop.

She faced you with a smile. “Ah, Y/N! Good, good. Let’s talk. You can go,” she said, dismissing the pianist.

Once she had left the room, Miss Britt again turned to you.

Your stomach twisted in knots. Now that you stood here, the worst kinds of scenarios ran through your mind. Miss Britt would kick you out of Russet; you would have to enroll in second semester at a local college. You’d have to return to your hometown with your tail tucked between your legs and all your dreams of a dance career would be ruined.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted before she could speak. “I didn’t mean to argue with Sabrina in the middle of class like that. It was unprofessional and I promise it won’t happen again.”

Miss Britt blinked. “Well, that’s good,” she said slowly. “But that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“It… wasn’t?”

A small part of you had been holding out hope that this was it. That you would get a mild talking-to and be on your way soon.

Miss Britt was known as a strict, but fair teacher. When she wasn’t yelling corrections at students across the floor, she came across as laid-back. There was a reason Mr. Vlad was the terror of freshman students and not her. Although Miss Britt was demanding, she tended to offer dancers advice as opposed to cutting them off right away.

“Talking in class is one thing,” she said with a stern look. “I don’t need to tell you how prestigious this institution is. I’m sure other teachers have emphasized that point enough. You’re only throwing away your own time and money by not taking this seriously.”

Your stomach sank, since you did take this seriously and hated the idea that Miss Britt might think you didn’t. It didn’t seem like the right time to interrupt though, so you let her finish.

“More than that,” she said. “I wanted to talk to you about your progress.”

“My… progress?”

“I understand you were a competitive studio dancer before this, Y/N?”

Warily, you nodded. “I was.”

“I thought so.” Gently, she smiled. “I remember your audition tape – impressive, I must say. Your solo was exquisite, and your performance quality was one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

Hearing this, your heart began to swell with pride. Perhaps this wasn’t the terrible conversation you’d been expecting after all.

“But your ballet technique is behind the other students.”

Like a balloon popped, your chest swiftly deflated.

Miss Britt continued. “I see this often in competitive dancers, even if you did ballet in addition to other styles. People who trained as ballerinas before Russet usually have a more solid grasp of the fundamentals. People like Sabrina.”

“Ah,” you said, careful to keep your voice neutral.

“I know Miss Ernst isn’t always the easiest person to get along with,” Miss Britt said. “But she trained at our prep school before she entered the Academy. It might be helpful for you to ask her for some pointers.”

“Right.”

“Or even your partner, Jimin,” she offered, noticing your hesitance. “He’s a studio dancer too, but he trained more extensively in ballet. I don’t know if you know this, but he won the Grand Prix two years ago.”

The Grand Prix was a national ballet competition – no, not a ballet competition. It was the ballet competition. You knew that Jimin had competed and won the Classical Ballet solo category. You hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time, since you hadn’t been there, but Jimin’s smugness the month after remained burned in your mind.

“I may have heard something about that,” you said at last.

“Or someone outside of those two.” Miss Britt gave you a small smile. “I do offer solo sessions, but I’m unfortunately all booked for the semester.”

“That’s alright,” you said faintly. “I appreciate the offer.”

“Of course.” After a moment, her gaze became scrutinizing. “I don’t want you to feel discouraged by this, Y/N. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to have this conversation with a freshman, and it won’t be the last.”

You nodded and hesitated. She may have intended her speech to be comforting, but you couldn’t stop the vague sense of panic which spread through your limbs. The next words out of your mouth left before you could stop them.

“But how many of those students were given an offer to the Company?”

Miss Britt paused, and you glumly realized the truth. Not many.

The Company was what this was all about, of course. Russet Ballet Company was known not only for impeccable traditional ballet, but for their recent expansion into jazz and contemporary. Only fifteen offers to the Company were given to the graduating seniors at the end of four years.

Heart sinking, you realized this meant you were at the bottom. Perhaps not in every dance style; as Miss Britt had noted, your performance quality was exceptional and you were a strong contemporary dancer, but freshman year focused on ballet.

If you couldn’t last the first year at Russet, there wouldn’t be any opportunities later for you to prove yourself.

“Alright,” you whispered. “Thank you.”

Miss Britt straightened. “Find someone to train with,” she said. “Ask your classmates for help. I wouldn’t have this conversation if I didn’t believe you could do it, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you said, trying hard not to cry.

Seeming to realize you had enough to consider, Miss Britt nodded and stepped back to rearrange her sheet music.

“I’ll see you in class next week, then,” she said with a note of finality.

Sensing the conversation was over, you nodded and turned to walk across the room. Fingers tightening on the straps of your bag, you stared straight ahead and focused on something else. Something – anything but the terrifying idea of your dreams crumbling around you.

Coming to a stop at the water fountain again, you filled up your bottle and focused on breathing. Most of your sweat had dried, loose strands of hair sticking to the back of your neck. You screwed the cap on your water bottle, shoving this in your bag to head towards the stairs.

You were so lost in thought, you didn’t hear the sound of your name being called until you’d nearly reached the end of the hall.

“Y/N – wait!”

Stopping short, you paused to glance over your shoulder. To your surprise, Jimin was hurrying towards you down the length of the hall. He was dressed in black sweats and a jacket, his hair still slightly mussed from the class you’d just left.

Coming to a stop before you, Jimin cracked a smile. “Damn, Y/N. You walk fast.”

“What do you want, Jimin?”

His smile disappeared. Straightening, Jimin’s fingers played absently with the strings of his hoodie. Some of his usual haughtiness reentered his gaze.

“Why do you always assume I want something?”

“Because I know you,” you said. “That’s how we work. You say something asshole-ish, I respond with something rude and we both move on. So, come on. Out with it.”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “I – wow, Y/N.”

You waited a beat.

“Was that it?” Dully, you arched a brow. “Not your best insult, Park. Anyways, if that’s all you have to say, I have to go.”

“What is your problem?” Jimin said, wonderingly when you turned to leave.

Halting your step mid-stride, you stared at the wall for a moment before you turned around. Stalking towards him, a part of you knew that deep down Jimin didn’t deserve this, but it’d been such a long day and you were just so tired. The suggestion to ask Jimin for help was the final straw.

“My problem?” you said, coming to a stop before him. “My problem is having you for a partner.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed. “Hey. It’s not my fault you messed up in class today, Y/N.”

“Of course not,” you snapped. “It’s never your fault. Perfect Jimin, beloved by every teacher and student.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means!” Realizing how loud you were being, you lowered your voice. “You’re a guy, Jimin. It’s easier for you.”

His jaw dropped a little. “Are you… are you being serious, Y/N?”

“Oh, come on,” you said, giving a bitter laugh. “Are you honestly going to say you’ve never noticed? It’s easier for guy dancers. All the teachers love you because you’re a novelty. You can do the exact same thing as a girl dancer, but everyone looks at you because oo, a boy! Even your fucking center of gravity is higher than women! You have an advantage in dance, and it sucks.”

Jimin’s face had gone slightly sallow while you spoke.

“Some advantage,” he sputtered. “I never felt advantaged when I was strapping myself into a dancer’s belt before class.”

“Oh, how sad. Your penis is uncomfortable.”

“I – let’s stop talking about my dick,” Jimin muttered, his cheeks turning red. “There’s an equal number of girls here as guys, Y/N. I’m not any sort of novelty compared to you, so why don’t you let the past go? Who cares who won between us during high school?”

“Let the past go?” you repeated. “That’s a lot coming from you. You’re the one who suggested our bet in the first place.”

“Whoa, hey.” Jimin frowned. “You’re the one bringing that up now, not me.”

“I’m just bringing it up to prove a point.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I even tried to collect on my winnings.”

Still facing him, you scowled. “You didn’t win.”

“Technically,” Jimin said, holding up a finger. “We said the first person to get three trophies. I got three.”

“Three trophies at competitions we both competed in,” you shot back. “I didn’t compete in the last one, so you didn’t win!”

“A technicality.”

“See!” you said, in clear disbelief. “You’re still harping on this and then you turn around and tell me to ‘let the past go.’”

Jimin’s smile disappeared. “Listen, Y/N. If I had an advantage in high school, it’s gone now. There’s an equal number of girls as guys here at Russet and I’m working just as hard as you.”

“Wrong,” you said. “I have to work twice as hard to get the same result.”

“That’s just not true!”

“It is! That’s the only reason you won against me as often as you did in high school.”

“Hey,” Jimin snapped, finally sounding annoyed. “Fuck, Y/N – are you being serious right now?”

“I don’t know,” you exhaled, tearing your gaze away.

Taking a deep breath, you stared at the staircase and willed yourself not to cry. The two of you were being so loud, you seriously hoped Miss Britt hadn’t heard. It would be just your luck to get in a fight with both Jimin and Sabrina on the same day.

Everything hurt. The words from Sabrina and Miss Britt continued to run through your mind and the last thing you wanted was for Park Jimin to see you cry.

“I just – have to go, Jimin,” you managed to say. “I’ll see you later.”

Pushing past him, you avoided eye contact and left him standing alone at the top of the stairs. Jimin didn’t respond, but you heard his ragged exhale behind you as you left.

Shoving open the door to outside, you pulled a sweater from your bag and wrapped this around you. Blinking in the sunlight, you took another deep breath and began to walk down the street.

Jimin wasn’t the main reason you wanted to cry, though he was a part of it. Years of tension, resentment and competition had finally led you to explode – but beneath that, there ran a current of confusion.

Jimin had been waiting for you out in the hall.

Every explanation to this that you thought of sounded ridiculous, since Jimin hadn’t seemed mad or angry when he’d first called your name. An inkling of regret swirled through you and, somewhat uncomfortably, you wondered if you’d misjudged him.

Maybe you really were the only one holding onto this dumb rivalry. It’s just that Park Jimin could be so infuriating without even trying.

He had to know men had the advantage in dance – they always did. It was obvious each time you turned on the TV and watched any dance reality show. Women needed twice the stage presence, athleticism and musicality just to get on the same stage as a guy who taught himself to pop and lock in his basement.

It was even more infuriating because objectively, Jimin was better than you and – rationally – you knew you should ask him for help. This was the logical thing to do, but you couldn’t bring yourself to dismiss your pride. Asking Jimin for help would be like admitting he was better and you absolutely refused to inflate his ego.

A few steps from Grace Hall, your phone dinged in your pocket and when you pulled it out, you saw Finn’s name on the screen. Rather than be elated by this, your heart sank a little. You two had made tentative plans to hang out but right now, the idea of seeing other people made you a bit nauseous.

Finn: hey, babe! Want to grab dinner tonight? My roommate is crashing at his family’s house this weekend, so we’d have the place to ourselves ;) [11:22 AM]

Your thumb hovered over the keys for a moment, wanting to say yes but Miss Britt’s words from earlier lingered in your mind. You were behind your fellow classmates. You needed a teacher, you needed a tutor and at the very least, you needed more practice.

Slowly, you typed out a response.

Y/N: Last minute practice was scheduled for tonight ☹ rain check for tomorrow? [11:23 AM]

Finn responded fast, somewhat disappointed but agreeing to your abrupt change of plans. You didn’t respond, shoving your phone in your bag to walk up the steps of your dorm.

You had lied to Finn. There wasn’t practice tonight, but you knew he wouldn’t agree with your assessment of the situation. Finn didn’t understand your world of dance, which wasn’t his fault. It also wasn’t his fault that his girlfriend had chosen such an intense career path which left little free time. Finn was a normal college student and understandably, he wanted to spend time with his girlfriend.

Once in your dorm room, you tossed your bag on the floor and slowly exhaled. Noelle wasn’t there, so you stood in the center and tightly closed your eyes. You allowed the silence wash over you, taking several deep breaths and when you finally opened your eyes, you felt a bit calmer.

The day consisted of lunch and two more classes – variations and pointe – but at the end of it all, you returned to your room and changed from your clothes. Tugging sweats and a t-shirt on over your body, you placed your leotard in your laundry and left the room.

Danley Hall was a short walk away; you’d heard from upperclassman that studio space was available on a first come, first serve basis. It got crowded at the end of the semester, when people were practicing for showcases, but it was fairly empty when you arrived at 7:30 PM.

Climbing the steps to the fourth floor, you let yourself into the first empty room you found. Setting your bag on the ground, you waited a moment before facing the mirrors.

The practice room smelled like wood, rosin and whatever cleaner they used on the glass. Outside the room the sun had begun to set, casting misshapen shadows over the floor. Plugging your phone into the speakers, you stepped from your shoes and slowly walked to the center.

As the first notes of music left the speakers, you closed your eyes and inhaled. For the first time all day, some of the tension drained from your body.

With wood beneath your feet, dust motes in the air and a familiar song on the stereo, you finally felt at home. Stretching both arms overhead, you rose on your toes and hung there a moment. When the music changed, you dropped to a lunge and let yourself be pulled by the music, your body one step ahead of your thinking.

Miss Britt was right; you weren’t a ballerina. You had no idea if you ever would be, but this was something known, this was something you were good at and something you loved. This was a moment where you came alive.

The longer you danced, the more frustrated your movement became. So much emotions swirled beneath the surface, frustration chasing each step as you danced across the floor. You tried to stay ahead of it, tried to dance beyond its reach but the emotions caught up in the end, dragging you down and swallowing you whole.

When the song ended, you found yourself breathing raggedly in front of the mirror. Staring at your own reflection, you felt your heart sink. It wouldn’t matter how much you loved this if you didn’t even make it through the first year.

After another moment, you turned and walked towards your phone. Switching the song to a classical one, you took a deep breath and went to stand at the barre.

As the first notes began, you rolled your neck and waited to count yourself in. While you couldn’t bring yourself to ask Jimin for help, that didn’t mean you couldn’t take matters into your own hands. You’d seek out other teachers, you’d find other students and you’d do this barre twice as often until you began to improve.

Opening your eyes, you began grand pliés.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre will be posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST

#btsbookclub #smutcentralnet #bangtanarmynet #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin writing #jimin series #jimin dancer au #bts writing #bts series

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miss-storytime · 3 years

Text

Fanfiction Announcement

Hello everyone!! This is the very first post I am making on my revamped account!! I have decided to use this opportunity to announce a new A/B/O fanfiction I will be writing with a dear friend of mine, The Librarian. Woohoo!!

Now a few things to start with, this is going to be an x OC! piece between my OC and Bakugo Katsuki, I know I know, so basic. However, I will be using this as a segway into more a/b/o fanfiction with other characters' (if all goes well). So If you all would be so kind as to stick around I am going to be explaining some aspects of the A/B/O universe I will be changing as well as some things I will be adding for storytelling and depth purposes. (NOTE: Some things I have taken from other authors, however I read so much fanfiction that I forgot where I got certain things! So I will be marking inspired content with a * and if any of you know who the original author was please tag them in the comment section for credit.) Now onto the fun stuff...

WORLD RULES:

So of course you all know the basic secondary genders, Alpha Beta and Omega however I have added 2 new “categories” for existing genders.

*Apex Alpha:

Apex Alpha’s are exactly what they sound like, they are the rulers of Alpha’s (Or the Alpha of Alpha’s). They are rather rare, and the characteristics of an Apex Alpha do not change from that of a standard Alpha, however, their “Alpha Voice” is something that can also affect other Alpha’s (although challenges may occur depending on the strength of the Apex and surrounding Alpha’s.

Also, most Apex Alpha’s are not even aware they are Apex’s until put in extremely hostile environments that force them to rely almost entirely on instinct. In other extremely rare cases, Apex’s learn early on of their status due to environmental factors that showcase their will over other already known Alphas.

Zenith Omega:

Zenith Omegas are basically the Apex of Omega’s and unlike the Apex Alpha’s, do not actually hold any power over their fellow Omegas. They simply seem to adhere more closely to the traditional Omega characteristics and are easily defined from their Omega brothers and sisters by a distinct note in their scent (it has yet to be described in words, however, most researchers simply say “You know one when you smell one”). They do, however, hold some power of their own, given their status a normal Alpha’s voice is not as effective on them as it is for other Omegas.

Also due to a Zenith's higher standards for mates, it typically takes a lot more to get one to choose an Alpha, resulting in them often ending up with Apex Alpha’s. (Note: This is not a 100% occurrence, it is around 60% of couplings involving a Zenith are between a Zenith and an Apex, however, mated pairs of Zeniths and Alphas, or Apex’s and Omegas are only slightly less common).

Moving on I have also added some behaviors to Alpha’s that I felt have not been explored enough in the A/B/O universe. I think that it is a fun and kind of “Alpha-eques” version of already known traits in the universe.

Denning:

Now of course we all know about Nesting right, the cute behavior of Omegas who like to collect comfortable things and build themselves a fluffy, snuggly hole to relax in. Omega’s are like the fairy light people of the world, which would make Alpha’s and their Dens the LED folks. ;)

Basically, a den is the exact opposite of a Nest, there is absolutely nothing comfortable about an Alpha’s den, as they are strictly tactical. Imagine, if you would, a concrete box with ledges along the walls, specifically near corners to provide good vantage points of the surroundings. This is what you can expect of an Alpha’s den. Not that there isn’t any furniture, of course, there is as they do live in the general space however they do not go the extra mile to spruce it up and make it comfortable to brood in. (NOTE: A Den is not their sleep space, it is the Alpha equivalent of a Nest and is mostly used to comfort them).

Where Omega’s are concerned with comfort, Alpha’s are relaxed when they feel they are in the safest, most secure place possible. So in the case of the U.A. dorms that would mean many Alpha’s rooms hold a single ledge tucked in the upper corner of their room, the opposite side of their door. Don’t be fooled though, Alpha’s are just as defensive of their Dens as Omega’s are their nests. it is their safe place and if you enter it uninvited or (God Forbid) ruin it somehow, be prepared for a violent turf war, especially if there is an Omega involved.

Finally, for this post I have also added in some disorders the genders can suffer from when under extreme stress for extended periods of time. Of course, if I think of anything more I would like to add I will make an update post to this one.

“Going Feral”:

Going feral is not something that is new to the community, however, I just wanted to do a short little recap for any of you out there who may be new. Going feral happens in extreme situations that push a person to their limits and force them to rely only on their instincts (NOTE: Going feral is typically what alerts Alpha’s that they are indeed an Apex in most scenarios). Basically, they stop behaving as they typically would and revert to an animalistic survival-like state in order to protect themselves.

Depressions:

Also nothing new to the community, although often known as Omega Depression, I am going to refer to it as just ‘Depression” for my fic, as both Omegas and Alphas can suffer from them with similar/same side effects and end result.

Psychosis:

This is something of my own mind I have invented to torture whomsoever decides to read my A/B/O works. Psychosis is much like a depression, but with very different side effects, and they occur when someone is put in a position to do something that directly violates the instincts of their secondary gender. Which can result in any number of things, most notable; a split from reality, random emotional outbursts (often aggressive), and extreme disassociation. Typically disassociation is the final step in Major Psychosis, as the suffer disassociates themselves as a defense mechanism against their reality, oftentimes creating a new identity or inventing an entire life to explain how they got to where they are.

*****************************************************************

Trial By Time Chapter 1

Thank you all so much for sticking around to read through all of this, I really do appreciate it. If you have any questions about the post, or just want to say hello, please leave a comment down below.

~Happy Reading,

Miss. Storytime, & The Librarian

#bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo katsuki #denki kaminari #kirishima eijirou #izuku midoriya #bakugo x oc #alpha bakugou #omega oc #abo #abo au #abo dynamics #bnha abo #boko no hero academia #my hero academia #my hero fanfic #abo fanfiction #bakugo x reader

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ohmysparkle · 3 years

Text

🔮 A New Arrival 🔮

✨ Spellbound: Prologue

Series Masterlist

✨ Pairing: Hyunjin x reader

✨ Length: 2.9k

✨ Warnings: none in this chapter

✨ Tag List: @xviternity @straykisz @97lovestay @aliceu @meow-minho @velvetand-roses

✧･ﾟ🌑: *✧🌙 . *⭐️:*✧✨* : ･ﾟ✧ *.🌑 ✧･ﾟ

A dainty young secretary in a stylish little skirted suit dashes down a hallway towards an office, holding a telephone receiver in her hand, careful that the wire doesn’t snag behind her lest her boss get upset. Afterall, he’s been waiting for this for quite some time.

Knock, knock, knock!

“Yes?” A sharp voice calls out on the other side of the heavy wooden doors. She opens one wide.

“Mr. Mayor! They’re on the line for you!” She urges.

“Damn time, Alyssa! Come in, hurry up and bring your notebook!” He shouts. The secretary dashes back to her desk and grabs her notepad, looking back to the Mayor’s office to see if he’s connected to the line before she hangs the receiver. She dashes back, little heels clicking on the glossy floor.

“Speaker.” She insists to the mayor, urging so that he presses the button in time for her to hear the person on the other line answer. His neat mustache wiggles before he gives a stern “Hello.” for whoever is on the line.

“Hello, this is the Old Zealand Office of Coordination for the Association of Guilds, Clans and other Specialists on Magical, Supernatural and Paranormal Affairs, also known as SMSPA Central. This is Ezra, Lead Coordinator, speaking. What may I help you with today?” Both the Mayor and his assistant quirk eyebrows at the upbeatness of the man's way of speaking, and the mayor clears his throat before his focus escapes him.

“Ezra, good man! This is Mayor Armand Brandywine speaking from Nocturne Town, from the League of Lake Towns… Uh, calling because, hmm… I believe Ezra, it’s been two months-“

“Nocturne, Nocturne, Nocturne… hmm?” Ezra ponders, measuring the familiarity of the name - “Oh yes! The Ponies! I saw your Towns in a travel magazine just last week! My wife has insisted we go over to the League for our anniversary, she says apparently the great lakes over there are crystal clear, and that there are hills full of flowers and quaint little towns pocketed beneath, and that you use the most darling trains and ferries to move about. And the semi-annual pony contest!”

“I - yes, well - we do. Listen Ezra, as I was saying… it’s been four months since we filed an official request to have a specialist come here to help with a witch problem…”

“A witch?!” Ezra exclaims in disbelief, “A witch way out there? No way, you’re not even close to any of our mildly risky areas… there’s hardly any magical activity on your continent. Are you sure it’s a ‘bad’ witch?”

“Yes, positive.”

“Like a ‘sold her soul’ to the devil kind of witch? Or ‘weird lady who lives in the woods and smokes a pipe that makes people sort of uncomfortable but is actually really harmless’ kind of witch?” He questions.

“The former.” Armand replies flatly, giving Alyssa a look.

“Bad?” Ezra confirms.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And to whom did you submit your request with this claim?” Ezra continues asking.

“To a mister…” Armand looks at Alyssa.

“Zachary Z.” Alyssa whispers, clearly mouthing out the name.

“It was addressed to a Mr. Zachary, I believe he was the liaison for this region.” Armand states.

“Oh no…” Ezra does not say anything after this exclamation, and again, Alyssa and Armand share a look throughout that moment of silence.

“Oh… no?” Armand asks after uncomfortably expecting Ezra’s reply..

“Yes, ‘oh no’... you see, Zack was on a field assignment a few months ago and… well, he died. He was assessing if a local pyromancer had become a danger worthy of sending a specialist.”

“Oh.” Armand mouths to Alyssa, with her silently making the same gesture.

“We wouldn’t have any record of his assignments - he had his suitcase with him when he burned.” Ezra continued.

“Oh!” Alyssa silently exclaimes, again, crossing wide eyes with her boss, both of their faces contorting into grimaces.

“Oh poor Zack… He burned, suitcase and all…” Ezra reminisces. Armand is at a loss of words in the awkwardness of it all until the man on the other end bounces back. “So anyways, tell me about this witch of yours to see if I can help. When were the first and last reported sightings? ” Ezra returns to his upbeat, almost musical tone of speaking, having not missed a beat despite the sorrowful interlude.

“Well, you see… no one’s actually seen here. But - “

“Invisibility, you say?! Now that’s something you don’t see often!” Ezra prematurely interrupts, not missing the opportunity for his pun.

“No, no! I mean we haven’t sighted her… yet!” He corrects.

“So you are… placing a request for a specialist… for a witch that is unconfirmed?” Ezra says rather skeptically.

“But, there have been signs! Items, I mean trinkets, of witchcraft appearing in people's homes, dead animals stuffed with tokens…” the Mayor explains.

“Don’t forget the symbols!” Alyssa urgently whispers.

“And symbols! Runes! Painted on people's doors and under their beds!” Just as if he were visiting a skeptical doctor, Mayor Brandywine made the symptoms seem as serious as he could in fear that he would not be taken seriously.

“Hmm… could just be a prankster… any other proof? Any bewitchings? Hexes? Evident signs of curses or dark magic?”

“Well… people have dreamt of the same faceless woman, but I’m afraid we can't prove anything.”

“Well, in that case, it might be difficult to process a request on the basis of a witch. Besides, if there really is a witch, and she’s not actively harming the population, it might be better to just… let her be.” Ezra muses.

“Let her be?!” Alysaa mouths to Armand, which he repeats verbatim to Ezra on the line with emphasis on his outrage.

“Well, yeah, I mean… ‘evil’ and ‘bad’ are both pretty wide scopes. Maybe, if you think about it, witches are almost still human. Just think of her as a bad neighbor. Sometimes it’s more bothersome to deal with them and confront them than to simply let them be” Ezra suggests.

“Wait! Hold on, hold on! Can’t you at least send us someone to evaluate the situation? Maybe one of those fancy Black Knights?”

“Ha! Black Knights, ha! Get a load of this guy Zelda, he wants a Black Knight for one witch!” Armand and Alyssa can hear several people laughing on the other end of the line, most likely seated in desks beside Ezra’s. “No way… have you not seen how things are over in Arcadia? Necromancers, lots of real witches that people actually see, all kinds of undead… ha! Good luck trying to find a Black Knight at this rate, they’re all boarded up in their own country. Simply no way. They won’t leave their little civil-war-issue-thingy over there unless it's something serious. Like bad bad bad black magic serious, not ‘maybe a witch’.”

“Fine!” Armand says with an eye roll, “What about an Other Brother, or a Ghost Buster?!”

“Listen to this guy! Are you honestly willing to go beg one of those associations for an unconfirmed witch?”

“Alright, alright… What about one of those Arctic Druids?”

“No! No! Simply no! We do not work with those people anymore, they are way too fond of human sacrifice. No!” He firmly refutes.

“Then who the hell can deal with a witch?” Armand asks in exasperation, still communicating with Alyssa in silent glances.

“Oh we’ve got a handful of people available… but not for your case, seeing how it is. Hmm… let me think… Are you maybe dealing with anything else?” Brandywine takes advantage of this question to put in complaints that have been more complicated to deal with.

“Yes! Werewolves - plenty of them, and I’m pretty sure someone has been sneaking some bloodusckers into town.” The mayor emphasizes this with a slammed palm on the table.

“Well, Mr. Brandywine, I’m seeing here that some of the towns in the League allow werewolves… hmm.” The sound of flipping papers and heavy slams of stack of folders is clear over the speaker. “But I see here in my records that Nocturne itself is not a ratifying member of the ‘Treatise on the Rights of Magically Affected’ of ‘78, yet I also see that werewolves residents are allowed so long as they adhere to specific medical protocol - which as I see, is being tended to by a Dr. Nemo…”

“Yes but they are a danger to the population! They - they…” the Mayor looks at Alyssa for guidance.

“Say they spend the full moon naked in the woods!” She whispers with fervent urgency and he nods. Bingo!

“They transform without any kind of restraint, running free through town. The woods are like a hunting ground for them, God forbid any innocent happen to roam near there at night. Near feral, I say!” Armand dramatically states.

“Hmm… Well, they should be following medical protocol under the supervision of a trained magical practitioner. I see you have someone assigned,,, a Dr. Nemo? And, these vampires, they are outlawed within your jurisdiction, is that correct? I don’t see any record of any vampiric trespassing, no reported cases or documentation here at all.” Armand worries at Ezra’s skeptical tone, concerned he’ll lose his request.

“It’s that damn Doctor, I tell you!” He finally exclaimes, “I’m sure she’s been bringing in all those vampys under the table. You know what we do to them, they must submit to the authorities to be defanged and treated - that is the law here. Some of those free loving magi hippies on the other Islands may think differently, but everything to the west of me is a Vampire Free Zone.”

“The sirens!” Alyssa quietly interjects.

“And do not get me started on the damn sirens! Zombies too!” Armand concludes.

“Hmm…” Ezra thinks, he has quite a dilemma. According to all records, Mayor Armand Brandywine and several other governors in the League of Lake Towns are quite ‘anti-magic’, not so much the practice of it, but the act of being magical. He isn’t a stranger to getting calls like these, trying to put much needed specialists in situations that are otherwise political, and quite frankly, he was quite clear on not having one of his guys go in to terrorize people.

Ezra considers some of Zachary’s old notes… scribbled on some files in a shared folder. “Mayor Brandywine - staunch anti magi-humanist” meaning, he did not consider magically affected peoples, such as vampires and werewolves, zombies and sirens, to be human at all but instead monsters. Ezra could not allocate a particularly special specialist such as a Black Knight for such a frivolous case. After all, there were greater urgencies elsewhere on his hemisphere. Besides, his organization did not treat such individuals as monsters, he could not give Brandywine what he seemed to suggest he wanted. Monsters, by the standards of the SMSPA, were non-human entities. Enchanted animals and whatnot, ghouls, definitely the incurable undead - so long as they were precisely incurable. He thinks of a possible solution until something catches his eye…

A sheet tucked neatly into the regional folder where Mayor Brandywine’s town’s information was, titled simply “Dr. Nemo - Practitioner of Magical Medicine and Professor of Magical Biology”. Most of the fields were blacked out with ink, a brief description stating that her office was in Nocturne Town, despite the stance of Brandywine, and that she taught a focus course in a magical academy on the other side of the League. Hmm, no picture either, and suspiciously young.

Ezra continued to study the sheet, finding something of particular interest. A stamped red seal that every coordinator in Central knew, but that he had only come across twice before in all of his years of service:

Do not intervene - Tier S approval. The licences assigned to this person were quite… advanced, and quite… obscure. And below… request submitted by the Armed Forces of the League of Lake Towns.

Ah yes, a centralized police and military force for all of the smaller cities and townships in the League. Must be messy, especially considering the polarized stances on magic from the different members on the lake. But why would a magical practitioner require such high level authorization? He’d only seen it used for instances involving Black Knights and the like… never for something as lowly as medical men.

This is definitely one of those hush hush situations, lots of the specialists in his region required anonymity, hid from persecution because of their skills, or ran from some of their previous targets… especially if those individuals worked in the same field as this so-called Dr. Nemo. But this person… he didn’t place them in Nocturne, or else he would have remembered. This must have come from higher up - one of those top secret cases that Zachary would occasionally manage.

It certainly was curious. He held the blacked out form in his hands, retracing the dented letters that pressed this curious name on the paper… Dr. Nemo. Sounded like something out of a book.

“I have… a possible solution.” Ezra finally states, after the Mayor and his assistant had been expectantly leaning into the speaker for some time. “Maybe, perhaps, I can send you someone… Zandor!” Ezra calls to someone who seems to be at a distance from him. “Have we got any newbies?”

“What field?” A voice calls back in the distance.

“Monster hunters.” Ezra specifies.

“We got a class of newbies from that place they sent us that last guy from - the one you sent after that undead bear.” Zandor answers back.

“Gimme!” Ezra orders with a couple of finger snaps, and soon enough Alyssa and Armand hear a heavy folder plop on his desk. “Let’s see here… hmm, quite a few available clansmen… eenie meenie miney mo! Aha! No, not this one… aha!”

Ezra studies the page. The picture is of a young man who looks a bit too young to be in the field. The boy is trained to deal with most issues passively, good references, a bit inexperienced. No reports of excessive force. Mayor Brandywine won't be able to do much harm with the kid’s stats, he thinks, and he’s got good training and just the right licences. Silence again, until Ezra resumes after having studied the file.

“Aha! I’ve got your man. Hmm, and he’s quite a looker! Hyunjin, Hwang Hyunjin. Recently licensed as a tier one monster hunter… deals with all kinds of threatening non-occult entities... authorized to identify threats that are of the occult or ‘other’ nature. Can dispel moderately complex dark magic… transfiguration, discretion, stealth. Sounds good. The boy won’t cost you as much as a Black Knight, that for sure. If you have a werewolf or vampire problem, he can deal, and if you do have a witch, he can send us the claim and we’ll scale it up. How does that sound?”

“Not ideal.” Armand replies with a sigh. “How much does he cost?”

“Hmm…” Ezra presses keys into some kind of machine, “two and ninety seven hundredths of Zealand Zeals per Rupee… fifteen point two Limnian Ponies per… He’s gonna cost you twenty thousand Ponies a month.”

“How much do we have?” Armand quickly whispers to Alyssa.

“We can go up to thirty grand.” She replies. He nods, knowing what part to play.

“Twenty thousand?! We don't have that kind of money!” the Mayor exclaims, putting on the best of his acts. “We can do fifteen!”

Ezra takes a good, long sigh before replying. “Fifteen… and you offer top quality room and board, full, two days a week off, and one day a week for him to take private jobs in the area. He works four days for scheduled items, but will be available 24/7 for emergencies pending his acknowledgment of it actually being an emergency.”

“Deal.” Brandywine quickly affirms, quietly snickering at his accomplishment.

“That being said… I see you only have one other magical specialist in the region, that being this Dr. Nemo. You will make sure Clansman Hwang has access to medical care in the case of any event, and you will make sure he is given a thorough briefing on the area he will service, in this case I am writing his permit to do his work in Nocturne Town, and authorizing him to take up private commissions and attend to emergencies throughout the entire League.”

“Done.”

“Very well Mister Brandywine - “

“Mayor.” He corrects.

“... Mayor Brandywine. You can expect your specialist to arrive in ten days, please be mindful of the documentation and permits he hands you, you will need to keep them safe. Payment instructions will be attached, we collect monthly. For any additional inquiries, feel free to call, and I’d greatly appreciate if you could stay on the line to answer a quick survey if you considered my services satisfactory this day. Thank you for calling Old Zealand Office of Coordination for the Association of Guilds, Clans and other Specialists on Magical, Supernatural and Paranormal Affairs, goodbye.” Ezra’s tone had become flatter, but in view of his dirty victory, Mayor Armand Brandywine did not notice.

The line soon goes dead.

“So… looks like we’ve got a fix to our little problems. Make sure to register the expenses as twenty thousand ponies. Understand?” He says to Alyssa.

“And if it’s not billed in the invoice? They said only fifteen.” She questions.

“Administrative expenses.”

#strange devotion skz collab #straykidsland #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin #stray kids smut #hyunjin au #stray kids fantasy au #stray kids au #hyunjin smut

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bentforkent · 4 years

Text

polaroid

spencer reid x gender neutral!reader

no content warnings (except sweet fluff and banter, as per usual)

word count: 1581

in which spencer is your cute roommate

“spencer reid, i swear to god, if you don’t take out this trash like i asked you to two days ago, i might scream.”

“you’re screaming anyways, to be fair.”

you let out a frustrated groan, shaking your head at him and stalking to your room.

spencer was a great roommate, usually. he’d listed his guest room for rent years ago, and you, desperate for a space to call your own, had jumped. his apartment was nice, dark walls covered in organized clutter spencer had accumulated over the years. when you came to tour the space, you peered up at his walls. there were newspaper clippings, receipts, nightclub wristbands, polaroid photos, all organized into a neat grid.

“okay, i’ll take the room,” you said, deciding that a man who was this meticulous and sentimental couldn’t possibly murder you in your sleep. you would’ve rented the room either way, honestly, the price of the place was too good to pass up. you figured that’s probably because not many people wanted to live with a random man, but you had chalked spencer up to be pretty much harmless. “under one condition,” you stated.

spencer was taken aback by this, not really believing you were in the position to put stipulations onto your agreement. “what’s your condition?” he inquired, choosing his words carefully so as not to promise you anything.

“i get to put some of my stuff up on the walls too.”

this he could get behind. at least you weren’t asking to completely overhaul his interior design. in fact, you embraced it, and wanted to be involved. he liked that. his last roommate had been somewhat of a recluse, and as much as spencer was okay with not being bothered, the roommate’s presence made his apartment feel significantly less like home.

but when you moved in, you never left him alone. spencer’s introverted nature means he should’ve been completely bothered by this. but you’re so warm, such a presence, that he embraced it. every time you begged him to watch a movie with you, go get dinner with you, or to just sit at the kitchen table with you while he did his paperwork, his heart stirred. he enjoyed living with you, and you him. except when he forgets to take out the trash.

“y/n,” he whines, following you. spencer, in all of his softness, can’t handle when you’re upset with him. “i’m sorry i didn’t take out the trash,” he says, pushing your door open and flopping onto your bed next to you.

you look up from your phone to glance at him.

“i would love to get takeout tonight, but we can’t because there’s nowhere to throw the containers away,” you say dryly, turning back to your phone, and carding one hand through his hair. he makes a noise of dissent and sticks out his bottom lip. you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger.

“well i could go take it out now, but you’re playing with my hair,” he says. you scratch at his scalp gently, then remove your hand.

“go, then. i’ll order food. thai?”

when he comes back, you’re sitting on the rug of the living room, flicking through your dvd collection.

“wanna watch a movie?” you ask. “i’m picking.”

he shakes his head with a laugh. “i can’t remember the last time i picked, y/n.”

“yeah, you like boring movies.” you look up at him, and he gives you a pleading look. “fine. you can pick.”

he ends up picking some foreign movie you have to rent online. he promises profusely that he’ll translate in your ear the whole time, and that’s enough to sell you. when your food arrives, you place his meal on a plate like he likes it, and opt to eat yours out of the styrofoam box. you curl up against his side, and he wraps his arm around you.

“thanks for taking out the trash, finally,” you murmur. he shushes you. god forbid you interrupt his movie.

he begins to whisper translations to you, and you’re immediately tense. you’re overwhelmed. his arm is around you, his lips brushing against your ear, his hand in your hair. and spencer’s just your roommate, you know this. but that doesn’t mean he’s not attractive. anyone with eyes could see that. you just had to keep that to yourself, because you lived together and it would be weird if he ever found out you had a tiny crush on him.

okay, a big crush on him.

you discovered your feelings for spencer a few months ago when the two of you had spent the night at a hotel for the weekend, simply because spencer was off of work and you wanted to lounge by the pool with him. both of you needed to relax, and a mini-vacation had been perfect. there was only one bed in the room, because you booked the smallest (and cheapest) room possible, but neither of you were phased. you’d spent the night in each other’s beds multiple times before, usually after a particularly long, deep conversation or a movie night.

“do you think god exists?” you asked, lying in bed with him.

“oh my god, go to sleep, y/n,” spencer groaned. you pouted, turning away from him and hiking the blanket up to your chin.

a beat passes.

“do you want to go explore?” you asked. there was always something exciting about finding a weird room in a hotel you’d never been to before.

spencer let out a heavy sigh and sat up, flicking the lamp on. “no, y/n.” you knew he was irritated with you. it was 3 am, but you just couldn’t sleep. his dark circles were pronounced, his shoulders tense. “how can i help you right now?” he asked.

“you don’t want to help me, you just want to go to sleep,” you said petulantly, back still turned to him.

“if i help you, i can fall asleep, because you won’t be bothering me with all your questions,” he replied, voice low and gravelly.

“no, turn the lights off.”

“you’re so dramatic.”

“leave me alone, i’m trying to sleep, spencer.”

spencer was too tired to argue with you, so he turned off the light and laid back down, desperate for sleep. it took all of two minutes for you to open your mouth again.

“spencer?”

he didn’t answer, but you knew he was awake from the pattern of his breathing.

“spencer,” you said again, dragging out the word in a sing-songy tone and flipping to face him.

he opened his heavy eyes and gazed at you. “shut up and go to sleep,” he said, and punctuated his sentence with a firm kiss to your lips. you were stunned into silence by the action. satisfied, spencer turned away from you and promptly fell asleep. you didn’t say another word until morning, and even then, neither one of you brought it up, falling back into your normal relationship with ease.

as you’re watching spencer’s russian movie, he can tell you’re on edge. he intentionally brushes his lips against your earlobe just to watch you squirm. didn’t you know he’s a profiler? he’s had you figured out for years. he knows all your tells. he knows that you’re head-over-heels for him. he likes this, because he feels the same way. spencer takes pleasure in bothering you simply because it gives him power that he doesn’t generally have with you. you’re so headstrong, so sure of yourself. but when his breath is fanning over your neck, he’s in control.

you pull away from his grasp suddenly, accidentally flinging a bit of pad thai across the couch. he chuckles, and you narrow your eyes at him at the sound. “you’re doing this on purpose!”

“doing what on purpose?” he says coyly.

“getting me all hot and bothered!”

“is that what’s happening?” he asks, a teasing tone to his voice. he sets his plate down on the coffee table, but you hold your takeout container to your chest as if it creates a barrier between you and him. your eyes are wide, and again, you’re surprised into silence.

“when are you gonna admit it, y/n?” he asks. if this were a normal conversation between the two of you, you would ask him “admit what,” but you knew what he was talking about.

“you’re mean,” you say simply, placing your meal down and crawling over to him. “you win. kiss me now.”

he cups your face gently and pulls you into a deep kiss. there’s no hesitation before you’re kissing him back, moving closer to straddle his waist. he moans softly into your mouth, and you take his parted lips as an invitation to deepen the kiss. your hands find their way into his hair, tugging softly. for all of his cockiness earlier, you’re in control now. he’s putty in your hands. his hands reach the hem of your shirt, and he pulls away to ask you for permission.

“wait!” you exclaim. you clamber out of his lap, grabbing his polaroid camera off of the shelf where he keeps it. he gives you a questioning look, but you shake your head. “smile, spence,” you sing. he grins. he looks happy. his lips are swollen, you note, but you think only you would notice. his eyes are honey colored, illuminated by the forgotten tv playing across from him. you snap the picture, and pin it to the wall.

(author’s note: if you’re reading this and you liked it, read my series to the moon and to saturn!)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #my writing #spencer reid fanfiction

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libraryofloveletters · 3 years

Text

Heir To The Throne

Chapter 1: Emerald Green

There comes a day where all fathers pass their business down to their children. This was no ordinary business, this was the mafia. You were the sole heir to the throne and you didn’t want it. Your father’s right hands Derek and Aaron are tasked with convincing you otherwise, the last thing you expected to do was fall in love.

Mafia AU

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader, Derek Morgan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smoking, mentions of death, loss of sibling, blood and shooting, Emily portrayed badly, brief mention of Matt x reader, hotchniss (kinda), grudge holding, fighting, swearing, y/n gets violent and angry, alcohol and the consumption of, crying, slapping, mild panic and slight feelings of claustrophobia.

Word Count: 3k

Author’s Note: God I'm so sorry this took me fucking forever to write. I literally couldn't decide how I wanted it to go. I promise I'll update again soon but feel free to ask anything about this chapter or upcoming chapters!! :)

Masterlist /// Chapter 2

----

The balcony doors were open as you got ready, the cold night breeze blew through your room. Stepping onto the balcony with your cigarette as you watched the water below.

There was a knock on the door, “come in” you called out, not caring to look back and see who it was. “Your father is looking for you” you looked over your shoulder to see Aaron, one of your father's right hands.

“Do you have a light?” you asked, he stepped out onto the balcony with you. The cigarette rested between your lips, he lit the cigarette watching as you took a pull. As you blew out the smoke you offered him the cigarette, your red lipstick leaving a mark on it.

“Can you please get dressed? Your father is waiting on you to start dinner” he told you while taking the cigarette and tossed it off the balcony.

“I wasn’t done with that.” you rolled your eyes as you stepped into the room to get your dress. It was a beautiful emerald green dress that had belonged to your mother many years ago. You stepped into it and pulled your hair to the side, “zip me up.” He nodded, brushing the rest of your hair over your shoulder before pulling the zipper up.

“What would your girlfriend say if she saw you in here with me ?”

“I simply came up to get you for dinner, I don’t see how that concerns her” You weren’t the biggest fan of Aaron, nor were you even a fan of his girlfriend, Emily. She felt as if she was entitled to something because she was dating him.

Stepping into your heels, you headed towards the door. “Shall we?” he opened the door for you, letting you step out first as he locked your door behind him. He held his arm out for you to link yours with his as you walked down the staircase to the dining room.

Everyone was chatting as you and Aaron walked in arm in arm. His girlfriend looked especially unpleasant tonight. Aaron walked you to your seat and pulled your chair out for you, you went to say hello to your father before sitting down.

“I'm sorry I took a while to get ready” you leaned down to give him a hug. He smiled as he kissed your cheek “Bella, you look beautiful” he smiled at you.

Tonight was the monthly dinner for your father’s immediate “family” To his right sat Derek, Aaron, Emily, JJ and Matt in that order. To his left was you, Spencer, Tara, Penelope and Luke. Once a month, you all got together to have dinner and discuss the profits of that month.

Currently, you have no other position other than the boss’s daughter but since you were next in line to take over, it was mandatory that you were there. You didn’t care much for the business, you were only there to see Matt.

The two of you had been sort of seeing each other over the last few weeks. It started as out as drinks and a few blunts which ended with you in his bed. It wasn’t anything serious but you did like him, it was hard not too.

Matt was your best friend.

Your father pulled you to dance with him as everyone else danced together. Emily with Aaron, Luke with Penelope, JJ with Derek. Your father held your hand as he spun you around, you had always loved watching him dance with your mother.

They were so in love.

“Mind if I cut in?” Matt asked your father, he handed you over to him and patted Matt’s back before going to get a drink.

“You look beautiful” Matt whispered in your ear as the two of you danced. Your head rested on his shoulder, you could feel someone watching you, the sensation of eyes burning into your back was all you could feel. You shifted, turning so Matt stood where you previously were.

Derek made eye contact with you, his eyes never leaving yours.

You watched as JJ whispered something to Derek and stepped away from him. She stepped onto the balcony with Emily, “I’ll be back love” you whispered to Matt and headed towards the balcony too.

What the fuck were these two up to now?

The two of them were off to a corner whispering, which stopped the moment you stepped into the balcony. “Emily, Jennifer” you nodded as you walked past them to the other side of the balcony.

They returned to their conversation, glancing over at you every now and again. You leaned against the railing, watching as the water splashed against the rocks below. “Em, JJ, Dave is asking for you” You didn’t bother looking back, you knew who by their voice. The clicking of heels quieted as they headed back in and the smell of his cologne got stronger.

“Derek”

“Y/n”

“Did you need something ?”

“Just came out for a smoke”

You hummed, stepping to the left so he had some space.

“You look beautiful tonight. Your mother would have loved to see you in that dress.” he whispered to you before taking in a pull of his blunt.

Derek was well into his 20s, almost 30s and you were only at the ripe age of 21. He had known your mother for a short period of time before her passing. Aaron knew her much more than Derek did. The two of you stood outside for quite a while, the sound of waves filling your ears.

“Are you and Matt seeing each other?” Derek asked you, rather harshly you thought. “I don't see how that concerns you” you answer him in the same tone.

“You know, I think Dave would like to hear about your little romance with the armoury guy”

“Derek, shouldn't your head be up JJ’s ass or maybe Emily’s ? Why are you bothering me?” you looked over at him, he gave you a look, one you knew all too well. It was the same one your father had given you, as did Aaron.

“No” you pushed past Derek, his hand grabbing on your arm.

He pushed you back up against the wall. Derek’s eyes were looking into yours, something about the whole situation felt off but not in a bad way. It was as if you were meant to be there with him, like that.

“Listen to me, your father wants you there when he calls it quits, or god forbid, he dies. It’s your birth right” Derek stated, earning a groan from you.

“Are you fucking serious Derek ? You too ? It’s not my “birth right” to run the fucking mafia! I didn’t ask to be born. It’s not my job”

“James isn't here to do it, you know that”

The mention of James made your blood boil, how dare he even say his name to you?

“Don’t fucking say his name. It’s your fault he’s not here! it’s your fucking fault I'm “next in line” so don't ever speak his name again or I swear to god, I'll kill you.” you pushed past him and walked inside. Derek followed you inside, his hand grabbing onto your arm again. This time you turned and your hand hit his face, hard.

“Let go of me!” you pulled your arm away from him, everyone in the room stopping at the sound of your shouting. Derek stood in the middle of the room, you made your way over to the bar.

Your father just watched you, not saying anything to you. He knew you well. You never acted up unless someone irritated you. It was better to leave you alone before you end up killing someone.

Everyone went back to their business. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey, not bothering to get a glass, you took a swing from the bottle. Emily made her way over to the bar, “hey bartender! I think I'll get a cosmo” she grins at you, “think you can do that for me ?”

You ignored her, knowing that she was trying to trouble you. “Can you hear me?” she waved her hands in front of you which made you roll your eyes. She groaned and turned away.

“What a bitch” she mumbled.

You were already upset and Emily was just the cherry on top. The bottle left your hand when you threw it towards her, it hit her in the back of her head. The glass shattered and ended up on the floor, the contents of the bottle spilling all over her and the floor. Emily’s fingers touched the back of her head and pulled away, she let out a small gasp.

There was blood on her fingers.

You couldn't help but smile, they had no idea how long you had been waiting for that. Aaron rushed over to Emily to see if she was alright, you rolled your eyes again and hopped onto the counter of the bar. Taking another swing of alcohol, vodka this time, you watched as Aaron walked over to you after sending Emily off with JJ.

“You wanna be next?” you shook the bottle slightly, Aaron scoffed and looked at your father.

“Dave, control your daughter” Aaron told him.

“Don’t try that shit with me Aaron. She’s my daughter, you and your girlfriend are replaceable. I’m not telling her anything.” Dave rebutted.

So yeah, there were perks of being his daughter after all.

Dave gave you a smile as he walked over, you gave him the bottle and kissed his cheek.

“I think I'm going to head up for tonight”

“Are you sure Bella ? we should go for a walk or maybe have a drink ?” he asked

“Maybe tomorrow pops, it’s late and I think we’ve both had enough to drink for tonight” you laughed and left him in the dining hall. Heading up the stairs, there were another set of footsteps behind you.

“I swear if it's you again” you turned, expecting to see Aaron or Derek but instead were met with Matt with a pan of brownies and two forks. “Want some company ?” he gave you a small smile.

“Always” he followed you to your room, you pushed the door open and immediately got on your bed. Matt put the pan down before helping you take off your heels. He joined you on the bed, the both of you sat in silence eating until he called out to you.

“Can I ask something ? you don’t have to answer if you don't want too” he looked over at you, you laid back against the pillows.

“What’s up ?”

“Who’s James ? I kind of overheard you and Derek”

You let out a shaky breath, you never talked about James. If you knew about him, then you knew but no one ever talked about him, especially after what happened to your mother. “Oh um, you don't have to-” you cut off Matt, your hand rested on his.

“It's okay. uh-” your tongue ran across your lip, “James.. James is my brother. Well, was, I guess.” Matt's eyes focused on you, he watched you as you sat in silence, unsure if he should speak or wait for you to speak.

“James died when I was 16, he was 26 at the time. He was coming home with dad, Aaron and Derek. Dad and Aaron were in one car and James and Derek were in the other. They were ambushed, Derek was supposed to protect James, but he didn't.”

“Hey, I’m sorry” Matt gave your hand a squeeze, you shook your head and leaned it back slightly in an attempt to get rid of the tears you could feel.

“James told Derek to go check on Aaron and dad, and Derek left him in the car by himself. Apparently the cars were a distance apart, so they didn't hear it but uh-” you cleared your throat, “when Derek came back to the car, James was dead. 12 shots to the chest.” your voice wavered for a moment.

Despite the age gap of 10 years, James was your best friend. He was the one who checked on you every night and made sure you were okay. James was the first person to hold you beside your mother after you were born because your father wasn't home.

You had always had a connection with James, and a special one it was.

When he died, it felt like you lost a piece of yourself. Sometimes, you still can’t grasp the fact that he’s dead.

Matt’s voice broke your thoughts. “You can't blame Derek for it sweetheart. James told him to leave right ?” he said softly, you sat up.

“They were ambushed Matt.”

“I understand that, but you said James said to leave him there, right ?”

“Matt, they were fucking ambushed! What happened to ‘no one gets left’ ? It doesn't matter that James said to leave him! Derek should have never left him! Maybe if he used his fucking brain, then I’d still have my brother!”

Matt sat there, quietly, and watched as you got up and walked out to the balcony. He followed you out, his hand rested on your shoulder. Shrugging off his hand, you whispered, “get out” you brushed the tears off the tears that were running down your face.

“I’m-” he started.

“Get out” you said harshly, you just wanted to be alone right now.

Matt turned and left, you heard the door shut and let out a shaky breath. Your hand coming up to your chest to try and steady your breathing. The night air was cold, there were goosebumps along your arms. Heading in and shutting the doors, you began to feel like you were trapped in the dress.

Tugging and pulling at the dress, trying to reach the zipper to get it off but you couldn't. The frustration of not getting the dress off and the anger and sadness about James resulted in you on the floor, in tears, in front of the mirror. You managed to maneuver your way out of the dress.

Standing up in front of the mirror, your hand coming up to your chest again. You looked at the mirror, there was a small picture of you and James tucked into the side of the frame.

It was from when you were around 8. The two of you were at some swing set you had found. James stood behind you and you were on the swing. The two of you were smiling and laughing. You could remember it like it was yesterday.

“Higher! higher!” you giggled, your brother’s hand pushed you forward. His loud laugh filled your ears, your little hands clinging on chains of the swings to hold on.

“You can’t go higher!” he laughed, he pushed you once more. Your parents sat across from the two of you.

“James! y/n! be careful!” your mother shouts from beside your father, his arm was over her shoulder as he smiles at you two. He whispers something to her which earns in a light smack to the chest. Your father laughs as he leans in to kiss your mother.

“Smile you two!” she shouts from across from you guys. You gave her a toothy grin and your brother laughs, leaning down so his chin is on your shoulder.

This was your favourite picture of the two of you. It was right before he got caught up in your father’ business, before he stopped being happy,

before he died.

Dragging your fingers across the picture, you smile to yourself before whispering,

“I promise I'll make this right James.”

----

Ahhh what do we think ?? first chapter is finally up! how do we feel ? do we like it ?

tag list: @mac99martin @aaron-hotchner187 @tclaerh @luke-alvez @iconicc @lieberhers @pumpkin-reads @katexrichardson @sluttytears @thelukealvez @scandinavian-punk @rosesonmyheart @haleymalaffey @shotarosleftpinky @mrs-dr-reid @hqtchner @averyhotchner @willlemonheadsupremacy @potter-reid @ssa-autumn-hotchner

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randomingoftherandomness · 3 years

Note

Could we get more of mob boss!ZZS sugarbaby!WKX? Jealous ZZS fucks his pretty boy in front of/in earshot of the other party (Duan Peng Ju?) before killing him. Bonus points for WKX being a needy whiny bottom!

A/N: I’ve got a trajectory for the mob au and I recently posted a second part to that au on AO3 here though it is archive locked as are all my fics on AO3. So, this little ditty has nothing to do with that. Consider it a random musing on my part.

Maybe I should do a proper list for all the WoH series and fics I am currently working on...

🌶🍋

“Boss.”

“Hm?”

Han Ying doesn’t hesitate nor does he pause for even a beat before saying, “Leader Duan is outside seeking an audience.”

The Boss curves a slow rise of an eyebrow at him, holding his respectful gaze with a coolly detached one of his own even as his fingers in Mr Wen’s long dark hair presses the man to take him further down his throat. Han Ying feels a twinge of sympathy for the man and makes a mental note to have the kitchen prepare some honey lemon tea to be served before bed.

“Send him in,” The Boss says without even an inflection in his voice.

“That’s...” Han Ying hesitates at this. He knows that these two have zero shame in matters of who is watching them fuck; knows it because they do it so often around him, waiting for him to blush at the way pleasure each other, or even to just look at them with a hint of anything less than respect, or gods forbid, ask to participate like how everyone else seems to want to when confronted with their two beautiful bodies twisting and writhing together.

But Han Ying won’t ever. Not when he doesn’t ache for what they have in that way. Not when he has his eyes on someone else and is waiting for him to grow up.

“What are you waiting for?”

Mr Wen licks his kiss swollen lips, chin shiny with spit and come, eyes watching him from between the Boss’ legs. “Go on,” He says, voice already wrecked. “Call him in.”

“Yes,” Han Ying bows dutifully, striding a quick retreat to the door.

He finds Leader Duan at the top of the stairs, openly regarding the painting of Mr Wen that the Boss commissioned last autumn. It’s a new one and it is more modest than the last, though in Han Ying’s opinion, anything would be more modest than a painting of your lover’s face in mid-orgasm.

“The Boss will see you now.”

Leader Duan’s beady eyes sparkle with a cruel sort of delight. Everyone in the circle knows that he has been coveting the Boss’ position for as long as he has been in that spot, and everyone and their dog knows he has been eyeing up Mr Wen for just as long too. The Boss hadn’t said anything about it, nor has Mr Wen, but Han Ying knows enough about the couple to understand that they’re just biding their time.

A trill of his phone and a quick read of the message has him forwarding it to the Boss. As they approach the door to the study, they can hear the lewd sounds of Mr Wen gasping the Boss’ name and the tell-tale sounds of flesh meeting in rapid succession, filter through the wood.

Han Ying doesn’t falter, pushing open the door for Leader Duan to enter and following behind.

Leader Duan is mesmerised by the sight of Mr Wen being fucked, drooling, eyes rolled back into the hundred year old oak desk. From where he stands he can make out the way the man’s slacks distend heavily at the crotch. Han Ying has to stop himself from snickering at just how fake Mr Wen’s moans are.

When the Boss and Mr Wen are in the genuine throes of lovemaking and not this farce they put on to trap the stupid and gullible, it’s not like this.

“Han Ying says you have something to discuss,” The Boss grunts, hips moving in a frenzy, hands gripping Mr Wen by the hips, pulling him back to meet him thrust for thrust. “Hurry up and speak. I’m busy.”

The order seems to jar Leader Duan for a moment. In a disorientated stutter, he gives his report. From the sounds of it, this was something that could have waited until the next meeting to present. Nothing important at all to warrant a personal visit.

Han Ying can tell that the Boss sees it too and holds back a sneer when he flickers his gaze down to meet Mr Wen’s.

There is a sharp, dangerous edge to the way Mr Wen blinks and smiles, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. Pushing himself onto his hands, he arches his spine, taking the brunt of the Boss’ brutality.

Leader Duan doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He puts his hands into his pockets, showing off the way his erection curves the tailored lines of his pants. “Hey Boss, you ah, you think you’d be open to sharing that one with me? He looks real pretty and I think his mouth is a little empty, no?”

Oh.

Oh, he’s done it now. Han Ying sighs internally, thinking of the Persian rug the stupid asshole is standing on. Bloodstains are hard to clean up on Persian rugs.

There was never a scenario that Leader Duan was going to get out of this one intact. Not when Han Ying had forwarded the evidence of him skimming the take and being a mole for the authorities to the Boss earlier.

The sharp glare the Boss flickers over at him and the way Mr Wen reaches up to pull the Boss down on him is signal enough. These two are the definition of ‘Look But Do Not Touch’; this dog and pony show is nothing more than a smokescreen for the chaos that brews inside them, and they hate sharing.

Han Ying takes a half step back, just as Mr Wen throws a letter opener at Leader Duan that hits him right in the shoulder.

Quietly, he leaves the room and calls for a few brothers to bring in the Boss’ favourite tools and some tarpaulin. The Persian rug may still be salvageable.

#not my mob au #wenzhou #word of honor #spicy lemons #wen kexing #zhou zishu #gab writes stuff #catch me slipping a pairing here that i never thought i wanted #just a hint tho

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sunshinejihyun · 3 years

Text

Falling Hard (Before Reaching for the Stars) - Gavin

Author’s note: this is written for the lovely @birdcopsfangirlsblog for her even lovelier request. The prompts being “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”, “Can I kiss you?”, and ‘Kissing on sofa, foreheads pressed together, breathy, soft tender’. I really enjoyed writing this one, thank you Carla!

Also I would like to extend a great thank you to Gavin’s cult leader, @beautiful-mystic-mess and @playheej, your Gavin knowledge is unmatchable and really helped me personalize this to character.

Summary: Feelings come to fruition late one night, when Gavin finds himself in a vulnerable position

Warnings: general spoilers to Gavin’s plot in the early game

Word count: 1407

Masterlist

Gavin was tired.

It was the time of night where the bustling of the city quieted down except for the sounds of a basketball pounding on pavement. Gavin had been done with work for hours and subconsciously on his way home, he flew up to her balcony and slid the door open to join her on her small couch.

She welcomed him in with a soft smile and reached over to the side table to grab the box of chocolates she had sitting next to her, holding it out to Gavin as a silent offer. Based on the amount of chocolates missing, Gavin knew she had been editing for hours - far longer than she should be. He quietly took a chocolate and opened the coffee table’s drawer to grab one of the comic books she had stashed there for him when Gavin kept her company during her late nights editing.

He knew not to bother her, it’d only cause her to lose her concentration and that’s the last thing he wanted to happen. The more she concentrated, the faster she’d be able to finish and take care of herself but until then, Gavin was more than happy to take care of her.

After he finished the comic, Gavin took himself to the kitchen and made two sandwiches, one for himself and one for the overworked girl on the couch. She looked up when he reentered and flashed him a smile, one that went straight to Gavin’s heart and permanently embedded itself there.

“Want to take a break and eat something?” He handed her the plate and she glanced wistfully at her computer screen once more before closing it and gratefully accepting the sandwich. “What are you working on tonight?”

“It’s another interview with Mr. Noah from Lynn’s Kitchen, talking about how much the letter board has blossomed since our last episode about it.” She said around a mouthful of the peanut butter and jelly. “He talks about his wife with so much love and I want to edit it to show that but it’s hard fitting it in the time frame available.”

Gavin chewed his sandwich thoughtfully for a moment. “Would you rather focus on the love he has for her, or the bulletin board?”

“Love is what made the board flourish.” She replied, picking the sandwich crust off the other half. “Without it, there’d be nothing.”

Gavin’s heart fluttered at that. Even though she wasn’t talking about his friendship with her, those words resonated in his heart, right next to that bright smile she gave him earlier. High school is where his feelings for her began, she rescued him that day he fell and she didn’t even notice. From that day forward, it’s like he saw her in a new light; her bright smile always made him feel like he could touch the brightest star in the sky and it would leave Gavin aching for another glance of it. Then he left school, he didn’t think he’d ever see her again.

Seeing her in the police department that day was a literal dream come true. He spent time building her trust, listening to her every thought, and learning about how her brain worked. Through that time, they grew into a comfortable friendship but every time he saw her smile, it was like he was back in high school watching her play piano from a window.

He loved her back then, but their slow friendship made that love flourish into something even brighter than the sun.

“Have you ever experienced a love like that?” Gavin asked her once he had finished his sandwich. His hands were clammy and he set the paper plate on the coffee table before wiping the sweat on his jeans. “One where it just makes it seem like the world is a little more kinder?”

“I’m not sure I’ve had a romantic one reciprocated, but I’ve definitely felt that way with some friendships.” She answered, setting her paper plate on top of his. “What about you?”

“I’d like to think so, but I’m not sure.”

A beat, and then her head tilted in the way it always did when she was curious about something. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

Gavin laughed at that. “You think anyone would kiss me? In high school, everyone was scared of me. Now, the only girl I hang out with is you.” Silence hung between them. “Have you?” Gavin wasn’t sure he wanted to hear her answer. If she had kissed Kiro, Victor, Lucien, or even - God forbid - Minor, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle knowing that. It could leave an empty hole in his heart.

But she shook her head no, and Gavin felt that maybe, just maybe… they could be each other’s first kiss.

Instead of either of them making a move, she cleared her throat and placed her laptop on her lap and once again got back to editing. Gavin reclined back on the couch and closed his eyes, the soft sound of her breathing and fingers tapping on the keyboard lulling him into a deep sleep.

Gavin awoke with a start, his eyes unfocused and his heartbeat pounding fast.

“Gavin, hey, it’s okay.” Her soft voice calmed him and he reached out to her, his fingers grazing her cheek. Her hand caught his own and pressed it to her cheek, holding it there. “It’s me. It’s just me, you’re okay.” Gavin rubbed his bleary eyes with his free hand and took a deep breath. She held tighter to his hand, like a lifeline to the real world for him. Without thinking, Gavin swept her into his arms, hugging her tightly to his chest. “Are you okay?” She asked, her arms wrapping around his middle and rubbing comforting circles.

“I am now,” Gavin admitted. She knew about his nightmares, how he relived the fire in his sleep. She knew, but she wouldn’t bring it up unless he did first. “Thank you.” She pulled back slightly, and Gavin released his tight hold on her but not quite letting go. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and he looked deeply into her eyes, full of concern and something else he couldn’t quite place. He would almost call it love.

“Gavin…” she trailed off, her eyes never leaving his own.

“Can I kiss you?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he thought better of it and he tore his eyes from hers, looking down embarrassedly.

Instead of releasing her hold on him, her arms tightened and when he looked back to her, their noses brushed. Gavin leaned his forehead against her own and without saying anything, their lips brushed. Gavin wasn’t sure who closed the last few inches, and he couldn’t even bother thinking about that. Not when he was holding the girl he loved and kissing her like he needed it more than air.

Their lips broke from one another, but their foreheads were still tightly pressed together. Gavin was panting, and he could feel her breath coming out in heavy puffs as well. Gavin reached up to brush a piece of her hair behind her ear and she leaned into his hand.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his breath fanning over her face. She closed her eyes and turned her head to kiss the palm of his hand. “Everything about you is. Your heart, your soul, they shine to me.”

“You’re the reason the world seems a little more kind.” She admitted. Gavin’s heart swelled, the space that she occupied grew a little bigger.

“Are you done working for the night?” Gavin asked, pulling his hand away and glancing at her laptop. She nodded and he stood up, extending his hand to the girl who was still kneeling on the floor. She accepted his hand and he led her to her bedroom.

He’d been in there millions of times before but it felt more intimate this time, like a sacred place that he wasn’t supposed to be in. Kissing her once on the forehead, he tucked her blankets around her, smiling at her as she sleepily bid him goodbye.

Gavin left her apartment the same way he entered that night. When he came in he felt bogged down with a hard day's work on his shoulder. But leaving, he felt so light that he could touch the stars. Jumping off the balcony, that’s what he did; he reached for the stars.

#mlqc gavin #mr love queen's choice gavin #gavin x mc #gavin bai #mldd fanfic #Mr love: queen's choice #mr love fanfic #my writing #Gavin bai x mc #gavin bai fanfic

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wasurenagusaa · 3 years

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What a silly girl you are, doll.

I'm flattered that you think I'm someone else, but I'm not, not even in the slightest.

I'm definitely a retired charanon at this point but, just once and just for you, here :)

Looks like someone has gotten very comfortable with another man, mm?

Toji is... well I won't comment on his morality, I'm not one to judge anyway. Regardless, I must say it's quite cute, doll, you really think you could replace me?

I’ll let you have your fun, I just know you’d look so pretty struggling to take his cock, though I’m also aware you look so much prettier on mine. It’s ethereal, really.

Mm, I miss you.

I’ll prove it too.

I’m going to let your perfect thighs swaddle my hips, my back pressed against the headboard as I swallow your moans, your cute little cunt aching desperately against my bulge.

Daddy won’t fuck you just yet, doll, you have to be patient. It’s frustrating to watch you try so hard to relieve some pressure and get yourself off on solely some clothed grinding; but god is it so fucking sexy. Your precious face all scrunched up as I latch my mouth to your neck, shoulder, collar bone and oh-

Fuck you have the nicest tits, they'd feel so good in my mouth, doll.

Mm.

I’ll pull my sweats and boxers down and tug your panties to the side, it’s been too long and it’s rushed but it’s sort of beautiful that way. You know the saying “we couldn’t even keep our clothes on”? Yeah that’s nice, but we couldn’t even wait to take our clothes off is so much better.

I’m so eager to be buried in your tight soaking cunt, so desperate to feel you clench down hard when I tell you what a good girl you are for taking me so well.

I’ll bounce you on my dick and lift your shirt to get a good view at your tits bouncing along with my hungry grip. Fuck you’re so gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous.

You’ll be good and take all of my cum too, right?

Tell me you’ll be good or you won’t get daddy’s cum, doll.

I’m gonna fuck you so dumb that Toji will look like a saint, that you blush every time you look in the mirror knowing all the naughty things I’ve put your delicate body through.

But I’ll be sweet and take care of you afterward, you know I always do. I’ll make love to your body and carve tranquility into your soul.

You’re mine to mark, don’t forget that.

All mine.

I hope you can now tell how very different I am from who you thought I was, right? Good.

Like I said, I’m flattered, but nobody fucks you like I do.

Nobody.

- Suguru Geto (by yours truly)

Well sorry I mistook you for someone else my Love, but now that you are here, I clearly see that you are different.

Oh my Sun and Stars, how could I forgot your touch, the soft feeling of your finger tips running along my skin.

The way my body and soul remember every parts of you. The longing kisses, the desperate moans while you enter me, and my back arching from our bed, your chest pressing into mine, ravishing orgasms taking us both. We lived for our little deaths.

The flaming passion, and all these memories are bringing tears in my eyes.

I know you hate it.

You'll make gentle fun of me, calling me your little cry baby, but I can't even stop them from rolling down my face.

Your lips are attached to my breast, sucking on them for dear life, while my hand caress your long silky hair. Suguru, you don't know how crazy you drive me.

When you disappeared from my life, from our lives, it was the greatest pain I've ever felt. But having you inside me brings me back to life.

We kiss again, our tongues entangled like snakes, poisoning each others with reminiscence of broken promises. Your I'll never leave you, my I'll never let you go.

What happened for us to turned out this way. Oh yes... Your cult, you abandonned all of us, leaving us behind for this, and I found comfort in Toji's arms. But here I am in our bed, not ours, but Toji’s and mine, bouncing on your cock, moaning your name like my only prayer, your dick buried deep inside of me.

Yes daddy, I’ll be good, yes I'll take all of your cum, reminders of these nights where we shared our dreams of our family, where you imaginated me round with your child, happily ever after.

I know that I'll have to explain myself tonight, the marks of your lips, bruises like a necklace on my skin, your claws torn my back. I'll see them in the bathroom, and i’ll try to erase the marks of our sinful love. How am I suppose to hide that ?

Toji will know for sure, he knows every single mark and bruise he leaves on my body, and these ones not his, he is not stupid.

I am.

I am for falling back into your arms whenever I see you, your eyes trapping my mind, and my wish for your touch, for your burning skin are making me dumb. The carnal pleasure of your body on mine, you fucking me hard, your hands around my neck forbidding me to breathe without your authorization, your cock hitting my cervix with each thrust, making me cum over and over on you, leaving stains of white running down your shaft, sticking to your pubes. My pussy holding you so tight that you hiss when you are done shooting your seeds inside me. My legs, spread around you, are holding you in that same position, making it impossible for you to pull out. Deciding not to move, making me cock-holding you until our next round, until one of us passes out from the pleasure. Usually me.

God, now I remember why we had to part.

Because I would have give my life for you. I would have given you the power of life and death upon me.

Yours, always.

And I'll never forget it Suguru. How can I ? Never in my life. My Love, my King, my Sun and stars.

Heaven and Hell, both know how you're the only one holding my heart.

I'll never refuse you, and I must say sorry to Toji when he'll be home tonight.

But deep down, I know, and you know, as the last words we exchanged before you left two years ago.

I love you Suguru.

I'll forever be yours.

#Moon of my life #Suguru Anon <3 #My sun and stars #Hana : moots #Hana : charanon

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hekatepoetryxxwriting · 3 years

Text

How is the transgression of boundaries explored in ‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter and ‘Carmilla’ by J. Sheridan Le Fanu?

In ‘Carmilla’ by J. Sheridan Le Fanu and ‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter, the idea of female oppression being thwarted by the women’s self-awareness of their sexuality and their ability to use it as a form of power is explored through various boundary transgressions in both novels. ‘Carmilla’ be Le Fanu was influenced by real life Countess Elizabeth Bathory and was the predecessor to Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’. ‘Carmilla’ is also referenced in Angela Carter’s short story ‘The Bloody Chambers’ (it is the name given to one of the Marquis’ previous wives), thus linking the two novels together.

In another one of Carter’s stories, ‘The Company of Wolves’, there is a transgression of gender roles regarding the girl in the story. In the Gothic genre, women usually fall into three types: The Trembling Victim, The Femme Fatale, and The Crone. However, the child in this story is none of these, and displays strength that defies the stereotypes in her confrontation with the werewolf as seen when she ‘burst out laughing; she knew she was nobody’s meat’[1], which is itself is sexual symbolism that makes the ‘meat’ a metaphor for the sexual objectification of women’s bodies, which she rejects by laughing. Her laughter is also a mockery of the patriarchal expectation of submissiveness that men believe all women possess. It suggests that the girl is aware of the power her sexuality carries, much like a femme fatale. The same could also be said for ‘Carmilla’, where Laura’s father ‘won’t consent to you leaving us’[2]even though he has no familial ties to Carmilla. In both stories, the fathers seem to be in a superior position within the family, and evidence of this can be found not only in that quote from ‘Carmilla’, but also from the line ‘Her father might forbid her’[3]in ‘The Company of Wolves’. The verb ‘forbid’suggests that he hold powers over his daughter and is able to control her actions. This is a reflection of the patriarchal family systems which were in place up until the late 1970s, when men were considered the breadwinners. Angela Carter, a feminist, was part of the movement that broke down those family systems; Carroll Davids referred to this in her review of Angela Carter; “Angela Carter’s portrayal of husbands and fathers not only reflects the ideals of her time, but also contradicts them on occasion with the femininity of the men.”[4]

There is also a transgression of gender through the empowerment of female characters in ‘Carmilla’ and ‘The Werewolf’. In both of these texts, the female character succeeds through her own means, rather than relying on a man to support her. In ‘Carmilla’, it is through death that Carmilla is able to gain power. This idea is strengthened through Laura’s speech to Carmilla in Chapter 4, where she asserts that ‘Girls are caterpillars while they live in the world, to be finally butterflies when the summer comes’[5]. The use of this metaphor suggests that girls are only free of the constraints that surround women when they have died, a suggestion that is supported by Colleen Damman’s analysis of the novel “as a woman, Carmilla can only claim her sexuality after death. Thus, vampirism is the only way she can express her own carnal desires. Besides marriage, becoming a vampire is one of the only ways that female sexuality is licensed in the Victorian era”[6]. Meanwhile, in ‘The Werewolf’, the child represents the New Woman and is pitted against her grandmother, who represents the generation of women who have fallen under the thumb of a patriarchal society. The final line states ‘Now the child lived in her grandmother’s house; she prospered.’[7]which implies that the child benefits from the downfall of the previous generation and is able to live happily without a husband or children. This conclusion suggests that women can live complete and fulfilled lives without needing to be married. Angela Carter’s feminist views on empowerment were controversial during her lifetime, including negative reviews for her book ‘The Sadeian Woman’ due to its defence of the Marquis de Sade, who wrote violent erotic novels that many consider sexist and inspired the word ‘sadism’. In regards to the empowerment in ‘Carmilla’, Elizabeth Signorotti states that “Le Fanu allows Laura and Carmilla to usurp male authority and to bestow themselves on whom they please, completely excluding male participation in the exchange of women”[8].

The inclusion of the female ‘Monster’ in ‘The Lady of the House of Love’ and ‘Carmilla’ also transgresses the boundaries placed around gender and the roles women play in society. The Countess is a vampire, much like Carmilla, and bears similarities to Elizabeth Bathory, the acclaimed ‘Blood Countess' who was rumoured to be a relation of Vlad the Impaler. The Countess in Carter’s tale embodies the idea of a Gothic Femme Fatale through the description ‘Everything about this beautiful and ghastly lady is as it should be, queen of night, queen of terror’[9]- the repetition of ‘queen’ places emphasis upon her position within the story. She is the highest authority within the text, being the queen, and is not subject to male dominance. In ‘Carmilla’, the monster is humanised at its death by Laura ‘a sharp stake was driven through the heart of the vampire, who uttered a piercing shriek at the moment, in all respects such as might escape from a living person in the last agony.’[10]and a simile is used to liken the monster’s pain to that of a human’s, implying that Carmilla is not actually that different from human beings. It seems that Le Fanu, like Carter, is suggesting that women who are free from male dominated societies are not monsters but are in fact just as human as everyone else. Le Fanu’s decision to focus on a female vampire may have been influenced by the legends he would have known growing up, namely the stories of the Leanan Sidhe and the Dearg-Due. These myths revolved around female vampiric creatures that preyed upon Irish youths and left a lasting effect on the victims even after the creature’s death (Laura never fully recovers from the effect of Carmilla, and often imagines she will return.). A connection between Le Fanu and the myths of the Leanan Sidhe and the Dearg-Due can be made as his mother read Irish folk tales to him when he was a child.

The continued transgression of gender moves onto the reversal of gender roles in ‘The Erl King’ and ‘Carmilla’. In ‘The Erl King’, the titular character defies the stereotypical role of men in literature as it states that ‘He is an excellent housewife.’ -[11]Carter ironically using the feminine spousal term for him. Aside from this, he has long hair he frequently combs and he takes part in activities that were frequently considered feminine, such as cooking, basket weaving and collecting flowers. Carter may have taken elements from the traditional Pagan god ‘The Green Man’ and his myth; he completed a loop in which he would conceive a child with ‘The Goddess’, die, and then be reborn as the child he created. Certainly, the Erl King is similar in appearance, as well as the narrator of the story stating ‘I would lodge inside your body and you would bear me’[12]. This is a metaphorical reference to birth, something only females are capable of, which juxtaposes the idea of the Erl King birthing the narrator. ‘Carmilla’ does the opposite, as Le Fanu gives Carmilla masculine qualities, the most obvious being her inhuman strength ‘and unscathed, caught him in her tiny grasp by the wrist.’[13]The use of the adjective ‘tiny’juxtaposes the power Carmilla is able to demonstrate. Moreover, a less obvious trait of masculinity is Carmilla’s lesbianism which was , in Le Fanu’s time, sinful in Ireland, and sexual desire for women would have only been acceptable from men. The inclusion of homoerotic features in ‘Carmilla’ points towards Le Fanu’s possibly relaxed view of homosexuality, as pointed out by Christy Byks, who states “Le Fanu, one of the godfathers of Gothic, appears to draw upon features that women would not have been given during his era, and his writing of Carmilla and her inability to fit in with most female Gothic characters would likely have been a topic of controversy within Ireland, a country ruled by religion.”[14]. This idea is supported by the introduction of Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’, which takes many ideas from ‘Carmilla’. Many literary theorists suggest that Bram Stoker wrote ‘Dracula’ as an answer to the female centric ‘Carmilla’, choosing to re-focus the story upon men, with women being forced back into smaller, weaker roles.

Further transgressions of boundaries, including the transgression of religious boundaries, can be viewed in ‘The Company of Wolves’. This story mocks religion through an intrusive narrator who informs you ‘you can hurl your Bible at him and your apron after, granny… and all the angels in heaven to protect you but it won’t do you any good.’[15]This is the intruding narrator mocking the two key aspects that Carter believed held women back, that being the ‘Bible’and the ‘apron’, which is a not just a symbol of stereotypical femininity; a feminist literary study showed that almost every female character in a fairy-tale wears an apron, referencing their roles as the housewife. seems to be Carter herself, who openly stated that she thinks “Mother Goddesses are just as silly a notion as father gods. If a revival of the myths of these cults gives women emotional satisfaction, it does so at the price of obscuring the real conditions of life. This is why they were invented in the first place.”[16]Rather similarly, in ‘Carmilla’, Le Fanu presents Carmilla’s aversion to religion, and portrays a fight between Carmilla and Laura’s father, which could represent an argument about nature versus God. Carmilla speaks against Christianity ‘”Creator! _Nature! _” said the young lady in answer to my gentle father. “And this disease that invades the country… and under the earth, act and live as Nature ordains? I think so”’[17]. The caesura used between the words ‘creator’and ‘nature’ not only symbolises her anger, but in placing a caesura here, Le Fanu separates God from Nature, and therefore denies religion the claim of creating everything. This scene contrasts with Le Fanu’s own background, whose father brought up the entire household with strong Catholic beliefs.

This questioning of religion perhaps suggests why there is also a transgression of moral boundaries in both texts. The ‘Trembling Victims’ within ‘Carmilla’ and ‘The Lady of the House of Love’ are Laura and the Soldier. Both texts include a similar juxtaposition of feelings towards the ‘monster’. In ‘Carmilla’, Laura portrays the Gothic feature of ‘The Uncanny, in people’s reaction to her; “but there was also something of repulsion. In this ambiguous feeling, however, the sense of attraction immensely prevailed.’[18]This shows that Laura subconsciously knows that something is wrong with Carmilla, because like most Victorians of the time, she reflects the belief that the appearance of a person was an indicator of their moral standing. Carter’s ‘The Lady of the House of Love’ has a similar scene in which ‘Her huge dark eyes almost broke his heart with their waiflike, lost look; yet he was disturbed, almost repelled, by her extraordinarily fleshy mouth’[19]The descriptive imagery and modified noun phrases work to emphasise the Countess’ appearance and how the soldier is affected by this, and it also represents the notion of the ‘Male Gaze’, the theory presented by Laura Mulvey, that women are either sexual objects there to satisfy men, or the housewife. The two notions are represented in the Gothic genre as the Femme Fatale and the Trembling Victim, and the Countess in ‘The Lady of the House of Love’ has facial features that are stereotypical of both women. Her ‘huge dark eyes’ and ‘waiflike, lost look’ are used often in the description of innocence, whilst her ‘extraordinarily fleshy mouth’ is a sign of sexualisation. Freud’s theory of ‘The Madonna and the Whore’ also comes into play here, as the Countess and Carmilla both bear qualities (both physically and metaphorically) of innocence and sexuality. The presentation of the soldier as a Trembling Victim links with Angela Carter’s view that not only should women become more masculine, but that men should also embrace femininity.

Laura in ‘Carmilla’ transgresses the sexual boundaries placed around her by choosing to refuse medical treatment from her father and the doctor. In doing so, she rejects the idea of curing her illness, which is a metaphor for lesbianism, and becomes free to make her own decisions in regards to her body. She takes on the dominant role in saying ‘I would not admit that I was ill, I would not consent to tell my papa, or to have the doctor sent for’[20]by making her own decisions regarding her wellbeing. The first-person pronoun ‘I’ is used so that the readers understand that Laura is the sole maker of these decisions. Through this illness, she has been able to gain freedom from her father. According to Christy Byks, Laura’s illness is a visualisation of what Victorian’s believed homosexuality was: a disease that needed to be cured. Byks says “Two ideas are at work in this passage. First is Laura’s father’s attempt to control the women who are becoming “ill” and dying; the men want to “cure” her (Laura) by making her well and keeping her among the living, for it is in death that the women break free… By making these interactions with Carmilla a medical problem, the situation can be contained and defined, thus still under the control of men”[21]. Angela Carter also provides transgressions of sexuality when placing women in the dominant position. In ‘The Company of Wolves’, it is the girl who makes the first move towards sexual intercourse, as suggested by the removal of her clothes in the extract ‘The thin muslin went flaring up the chimney like a magic bird and now came off her skirt, her woollen stockings, her shoes, and on to the fire they went, too, and were gone for good[22]’. A simile is used to present the girl’s clothes as a ‘magic bird’, and this personification of her clothing suggests that by removing her clothing, the girl, like a bird, is free to go wherever she wants to. The use of listing used within this quote also suggests that layers are being removed, eventually revealing the girl’s real desires beneath. Angela Carter herself believed that women were not given an equal role in sex, as stated in her book ‘The Sadeian Woman: The Ideology of Pornography’. In her comparison of Justine and Juliette, she states “Women do not normally fuck in the active sense. They are fucked in the passive tense and hence automatically fucked-up, done over, undone.”[23]and it is clear that this idea of a preference of submissive women over dominant ones had a large influence on how Angela Carter shaped her female protagonists and their attitudes to sexual desire, especially in regards to ‘Wolf-Alice’, who’s title character, like the Marquis De Sade’s Justine and Juliette, was originally housed in a convent after being found with the wolves.

The portrayal of the convent in ‘Wolf-Alice’ itself does not conform to the traditional view of religion, and instead transgresses religious boundaries by presenting the nuns not as kind, helpful religious figures, but instead as oppressive matriarchs; the nuns’ only purpose in the story is to attempt to integrate Wolf-Alice into the human society they live in, evidenced when ‘The nuns poured water over her, poked her with sticks to rouse her’[24]and ‘Therefore, without a qualm, this nine days’ wonder and continuing embarrassment of a child was delivered over to the bereft and unsanctified household of the Duke’[25]. When they find they are unable to manipulate her into becoming like everyone else, their choice is to pass her off to a male figure instead, whose house is described as ‘bereft and unsanctified[26]’, which is ironic, as it means the nuns, extremely religious beings, abandon their ward in a house that is considered unholy. This irony serves the purpose of being a metaphor for how society treats outcasts as whole, by isolating them from those considered normal. Angela Carter herself believed religion to be mythical, and stated “I’m interested in myths because they are extraordinary lies designed to make people unfree”.[27]The second transgression of religious boundaries in ‘Carmilla’ is during the funeral scene where Carmilla states ‘Besides, how can you tell your religion and mine are the same… everyone_must die; and all are happier when they do.’[28]and uses a caesura, perhaps to indicate the way she views life. The use of ‘Why you must die--_everyone_must die’[29]indicates how short life is, and the suddenness of death is reflected in the caesuras. Furthermore, the use of ‘your religion and mine’ seperates the two, and conflicts with Victorian ideas of religion. Christianity was considered the one true religion, and therefore Carmilla suggesting she followed another religion would have been heresy. As well as this, her pain at hearing religious hymns in the line ‘”There! That comes of strangling people with hymns!”’[30]presents the idea of a supernatural aversion to religion and foreshadows the reveal of Carmilla’s vampiric nature.

In conclusion, the varied transgressions presented within the two novels provide solid evidence of both authors’ awareness of the problems that are faced by females within traditional literary roles, and both Carter and Le Fanu are able to present their arguments using a variation of language features and characters whilst managing to keep a strong theme of female sexuality at the forefront of their stories.

[1]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [2]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [3]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [4]Carroll Davids on: How Does Angela Carter Deconstruct Conventional And Repressive Gender Identities In The Bloody Chamber [5]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [6]Colleen Damman on: Women's sexual liberation from Victorian patriarchy in Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla [7]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [8]Elizabeth Signorotti on: Repossessing the Body: Transgressive Desire in Carmilla and Dracula [9]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [10]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [11]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [12]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [13]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [14]Christy Byks on: Women's sexual liberation from Victorian patriarchy in Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla [15]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [16]‘The Sadeian Woman: The Ideology of Pornography’ by Angela Carter [17]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [18]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [19]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [20]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [21]Christy Byks on: Women's sexual liberation from Victorian patriarchy in Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla [22]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [23] ‘The Sadeian Woman: The Ideology of Pornography’ by Angela Carter [24]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [25]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [26]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [27]Angela Carter on: Religion by SlideShare [28]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [29]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [30]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

#literature #academics #literature essay #gothic writing #gothic literature #carmilla #dracula #angela carter #joseph sheridan le fanu #feminism #writing #academic writing #academic essay #gothic essay #writing essay #essay

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