#the kink shame chronicles

[vampvore]

My kinks are good, my kinks make me happy, my happiness is good. My kinks are good.

[gimmethatagustd]

wanna stream a porno | kth

At this point, attempting to deny that you have feelings for Taehyung is laughable. Even his subscribers can sense the chemistry between the two of you.

○ Pairing: Dom!Taehyung x Sub!Reader

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Frenemies to lovers, sex work, fluff (?), smut

○ Word Count: 4,846

○ Warnings: Sex work (cam), MC uses they/them pronouns, Tae refers to MC as bunny and bun - aka rope bunny which is the term for the person being tied up in a shibari scene, bdsm, bondage, impact play, spanking, use of degrading language - that isn't actually meant to be mean, voyeurism, exhibition kink, Tae makes MC call him daddy so they won't dox him lmfao but it's not a kink - he's doing it as a joke to tease MC, blow job, vaginal fingering, sex toys, crying during sex, subspace/dropping, unprotected vaginal sex, forced orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, implied aftercare

○ Notes: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, BESTIES 🫦 I hope you enjoy the final installment of The Wannabe-Photographer Chronicles! Photographer Tae will be missed 💔 I definitely did not proofread this, so abandon all hope, ye who enter! My brain is literally broken.

○ Post Date: February 14, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Crosspost

○ What was Jai listening to? One Of The Girls (Sped Up) - The Weeknd, JENNIE, Lily-Rose Depp

The Wannabe-Photographer Chronicles (mini-series) Masterlist

“Too tight?” Taehyung murmurs against the curve of your ear, his breath tickling your neck. 

It’s embarrassing how your body reacts to the sound of his low, velvety voice. You'd snorted when Taehyung first told you that people on the internet paid money to listen to his dirty talk and watch him jerk off. There was no fucking way; he had to be lying. You’d been sure of it. 

But now… 

Taehyung reaches around your body and tugs on the rope he’s just tied your wrists with. It looks rough, black, and twisted but smooth as it rubs against your skin when you move. 

You shiver and shake your head, forgetting what you’d discussed earlier in the day until it’s too late. The smack to your ass stings, and you bite your bottom lip to keep from making any sound. 

“What did I tell you, bun?” Taehyung asks softly, running his palm across the skin he just smacked. He squeezes your asscheek and jiggles it before removing his hand. 

“I have to use my words,” you speak up like he told you to, even though your voice is hoarse with desire and nervousness. Because, fuck, are you nervous. 

“Mhmm…” Taehyung hums in agreement, though he sounds distracted. 

You can’t see him from where you kneel on the floor in his bedroom, but you can feel it when he gets up. If you wanted to, you could twist around to face him. It would be difficult, though, with how much of your body is tied up. 

Taehyung spent at least twenty minutes carefully weaving intricate patterns against your naked skin, crossing the rope in what almost looks like a star formation across your back that wraps around to the front of your body, keeping your arms tied to your sides and your hands bound in front of you. The rope cages your chest like a harness and extends down to wrap around your legs, forcing you into a kneeling position and making you unable to straighten your legs. 

It took you three weeks of practicing before Taehyung could fully tie you up without you going into a panic attack. 

“It’s not too tight,” you announce after clearing your throat. 

You watch as Taehyung circles your body until he stands in front of you. He reaches out to flick his middle finger against the underside of your chin, prompting you to tilt your head back to look up at him. 

“My little rope bunny looks so pretty, all tied up for me,” Taehyung says with a sparkling grin that makes your whole body flush with heat. 

“I want to tell you off so badly right now,” you hiss through gritted teeth. Your frustration only makes Taehyung’s grin widen. 

“I bet you do. It’s a shame you can’t, but rules are rules.” Taehyung shrugs, not at all nonchalant in his mocking tone. 

You close your eyes as he trails his finger down your throat and past your collarbones until he reaches one of your nipples. Usually, it would take more than a gentle brush of a fingertip against your nipple for you to feel aroused, but there’s something about being tied up that has heightened your senses. Every minor touch has your nerves sparking and fraying at the ends. Taehyung isn’t even doing anything, and you’re already wet and aching. 

“Taehyung,” you do your best to sound steady and fail. 

“Let me fix the cameras and figure out what I’m gonna wear, okay? I’ll be quick; I promise.” 

Taehyung rearranged all the furniture in his bedroom to leave an open spot in the corner of the room where he set up cameras and photography lighting. His laptop rests on an end table nearby, the screen showing a mirrored image of you kneeling on the floor on a pale pink silk sheet, fluffy pillows surrounding you in a half-circle. It’s all very Y2K, softcore aesthetic – not what you’d expect from Taehyung. His followers are mostly young women, though, and he says he likes to play up his soft side for them. 

It sounds ridiculous, but there’s something about being tied up in such a gentle environment that’s making your pussy throb. 

Taehyung is quick, as he promised. He returns, shirtless and wearing a pair of black joggers to match the black rope wrapped around your body. You drag your eyes over his torso, admiring the flat plane of his abdomen and the swell of his pecs. Smooth – it’s the best word to describe Taehyung. His voice, body, and charisma when he murmurs sweet seductions in your ear are always so smooth. 

When he catches you staring, Taehyung winks at you. It makes you flustered despite your desire to remain neutral, and you quickly look down to find something else to focus your attention on. In Taehyung’s hands is a long, rectangular purple box. He sets it down next to you on the floor and opens the lid. 

You gasp when you see what’s inside. 

“Taehyung…” 

“It’s for later. Don’t worry about it,” Taehyung says softly, pressing his index finger against your parted lips to quiet you. 

On instinct, you close your lips around Taehyung’s finger and suck it gently, swirling your tongue around it. Taehyung’s eyes flutter closed for a few seconds until he pulls his hand away. 

“You’re such a slut.”

“Fuck you.” 

You can’t help but grin when Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you. He’s an idiot, but you love it. You love him, maybe. To be determined. 

Or never. Never is also fine. 

“So… what the fuck is gonna happen now? I’m starting to cramp,” you complain as Taehyung messes around with his laptop. 

“What?” Taehyung spins around quickly, nearly sending one of his floor lamps crashing when his elbow collides with the stand. “You’re in pain? Where? Let me loosen–” 

“Oh my god, Taehyung, I’m fine. I just don’t feel like kneeling naked on the fucking floor while you dick around!” 

With a snort, Taehyung turns his back on you. 

“I’m just trying to take care of my little movie star, alright?” 

The nickname, if that’s what you can even call it, makes your stomach flutter. It doesn’t matter that you’re trying your best to stay unaffected by Taehyung’s bullshit; Taehyung has you under his spell like he always does. 

“I know what to say…” you insist with a pout, flexing your fingers. “Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for good…” 

It’s elementary, but all the prep Taehyung made you do leading up to this moment showed you how important having a system is, be it a random safe word or the colors. What you don’t want to tell Taehyung is how comforting the rope is. You don’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that you like being restrained. It’s like a tight embrace, and the rope causes goosebumps to spread across your body when its silkiness rubs against your skin every time you shift positions. 

Watching you over his shoulder, Taehyung calls you softly, “I’m going to start the session if that’s okay?”

You nod, adrenaline buzzing through your veins as you hear the little pings from Taehyung’s laptop, indicating that people are paying to join the livestream. It’s still shocking that Taehyung has such a large following. However, it makes sense now that he has been so interested in erotic photography and film for his projects as a university student studying art. Funny how your roommate, Hoseok, never bothered to tell you that his friend does amateur porn – though Taehyung was quick to make it clear that he has never had anyone else on his stream before you. 

You’re special.

You wonder who might be sitting on the other end, paying to watch Taehyung pleasure himself every Wednesday night. 

“It’s hump day,” Taehyung had said with an exasperated sigh when you’d asked why he chose Wednesdays, as if you were the stupidest person on the planet for asking such a question.

The worst part is wondering if someone watching Taehyung’s stream will recognize you. Taehyung doesn’t shy away from showing his face, but he’d offered you a mask or only to use camera angles that wouldn’t expose your identity. You’d turned down both offers, though you can’t remember why. You can’t remember much of anything, your mind going blank the moment Taehyung addresses the anonymous subscribers waiting for porn. 

“Hey everyone, it’s nice to see you all again this week,” Taehyung greets his followers with a deeper and richer voice than you’ve ever heard him use. It makes your body tingle. “For those of you following me on my socials or who joined last week, you’ll know I promised to do something special for Valentine’s Day, right?” 

You can’t see the laptop screen; Taehyung is standing in front of it. He’s also blocking the camera, so the people logged into the session can’t see you yet. 

“I have a special guest,” Taehyung shifts to the side so you’re in view, “This is Bunny, and it’s their first time on camera like this, so please be kind.” 

Unsure of what to do, you wave your fingers in a greeting, unable to do much else since you’re all tied up. It must be enough because Taehyung smiles when he looks at you, and you feel your face heat up from the gentle gesture. 

Luckily, Taehyung’s attention quickly returns to the livestream chat. Apparently, Jimin is hanging out in his bedroom, moderating the chat to ensure no one posts anything inappropriate. Knowing Jimin will be watching excites you a little bit. 

“Ah, no, we’re not dating,” Taehyung chuckles, and it’s strange to be able to say that you know Taehyung well enough to know that this laughter isn’t genuine. “Don’t get any ideas, though. Trust me. Our little bun might look harmless, but it’s a ruse.”

You can’t help but snort. You’d think Taehyung is stalling, but you’ve learned that his subscribers expect a sort of parasocial relationship with him. He usually warms up by feeding into that. As weirdly cute as it is, your nerves are making you impatient. 

“Even though it’s my bun’s first time, I don’t think we need to take it easy on them,” Taehyung smirks into the camera, and more pings ring through the bedroom. 

Each ping indicates that the livestream viewers are leaving messages in the chat and sending Taehyung money to request specific actions – actions he refuses to tell you about because that would ruin all the fun. 

“Hmm…” Taehyung murmurs, eyes dragging from the streaming platform’s chat feature to you, wrapped up like a pretty present for him. The look is weighty and dark, which Taehyung has never had while looking at you. 

Suddenly embarrassed, you drop your gaze as Taehyung approaches where you kneel. 

“Are you ready, bun?” Taehyung’s question is softer than the look he gives you. 

You nod in return and hope your nerves aren’t visible to Taehyung’s loyal fans. It would suck to fuck this up for him, as much as he annoys you. Admittedly, ever since that impromptu threesome with Jimin, Taehyung has been acting different around you. He’s been almost… sweet. 

Taehyung takes out a black, wide-end riding crop from the purple box. He hits the palm of his hand with it a few times as though testing it out. He looks good, the muscles in his biceps shifting and bulging every time he winds up to flick the crop. Your entire body shudders when his dark eyes flit down to meet yours. 

“How many times do I have to tell you to speak up, hm?” 

Taehyung falls into character quicker than you expect. It gives you whiplash watching him push back his hair, now a light minty color that looks pretty against the pink surrounding you, his gaze an oppressive force crushing you harder than the rope ever could. Your attention briefly falls on the laptop when a few pings ring out. 

What if people don’t like you? What if you don’t do well? You’d agreed to do this because Taehyung wanted to expand his portfolio, just like every other time you agreed to spend time with him. You both know that isn’t why you’re here, even if neither of you want to say it out loud. 

“Bun.” Using the flat end of the crop, Taehyung lifts your chin to look at him instead of the laptop. “Don’t think about them. Just focus on me, okay?” 

“Okay,” you breathe, suddenly feeling lightheaded. 

Taehyung drags the crop down your chest, tapping lightly at your tits to watch them bounce against the black rope. Goosebumps rush across your skin like waves in the wake of the crop’s path down your body. 

“How many should I give you?” 

You blink a few times, eyes suddenly bleary as you watch Taehyung walk around to stand behind you. The camera captures your side profile, allowing viewers to see you and Taehyung clearly. Despite Taehyung’s reassuring words, it’s hard not to think about the anonymous people watching Taehyung caress your body. 

“How many what?” Your breath hitches when Taehyung’s hand replaces the crop to run up the length of your spine until he reaches the back of your neck. 

“For your punishment, bun. How many hits do you deserve?” Taehyung asks, his voice with a deep timbre. “Lean forward.” 

Taehyung squeezes the back of your neck and pushes, forcing your upper body down a bit further while you stay kneeling. Lifting the crop, he smacks your ass three times in quick succession, each hit a sharp sting that makes your body jolt. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as you struggle to keep your balance. “Is that really necessary?” 

Taehyung clicks his tongue, and even though you can’t see him, you’re sure he has an infuriatingly smug look on his face. 

“Count them,” he murmurs loud enough for the stream to pick up. 

It’s strange how pliant you become with each hit. Something about the pain zaps something in your brain, sending your nervous system haywire until the stings turn into pleasure. Taehyung focuses each hit on the same spot until your skin becomes tender, but he doesn’t stop until your entire body shakes. 

“T-twenty,” you count with a shudder, tears lining your eyelashes and fingers squeezing the ropes on your chest to give you something to hold onto, though it does nothing to ground. 

“Very good.” It’s a simple statement, but Taehyung’s praise does something to you. Either that or it’s the feeling of the crop being dragged over your sore asscheek to dip inward. 

You gasp when Taehyung pushes the crop through your pussy, spreading your lips open and running the crop along your folds. You’re soaking wet and on edge from him spanking you, so the glide is easy for Taehyung as he begins rubbing your clit. The crop is warm from your body heat, and though the shape is sharp and angular, any amount of stimulation feels good. 

“Please,” you beg, bending forward further to expose more of your pussy. 

The ropes around your legs keep your thighs spread, putting you on display for easy access. Even though you can’t see it, you’re sure your arousal glistens in the bright lighting, and you can feel your juices leak down your folds. 

Taehyung runs his thumb through your pussy lips, swishing your arousal around, dragging up and down your clit before he eventually sinks his index and middle fingers into your pussy. 

His name almost slips out when your thighs begin to shake. You want to call out his name and beg him to fuck you, even though everything in you doesn’t want to give him that satisfaction. It’s just too good, and you haven’t fucked since that time with Jimin. Taehyung said it would be better that way to help with your nerves, but now you’re feeling desperate, and you hate the feeling of needing to be filled. 

“Fuck, look at you. You like being tied up like this, don’t you?” Taehyung smirks when he tosses the crop to the side and uses his other hand to stimulate your clit while he continues fucking you with his fingers. 

You moan loudly, completely forgetting about the people watching Taehyung getting on his knees to finger you, twisting each time he pulls out, just to plunge back in and press downward to stimulate your front wall. 

Remembering the rules, you swallow your pride and do what Taehyung wants. 

“Yes, daddy.” 

It’s humiliating to call Taehyung that. You hate it, but you can’t say his real name on air, and this was what he’d told you to call him – or else you’d be punished. He won’t let you cum if you don’t behave. Though you can’t deny how good Taehyung sounds when he groans at the name, nor how good it feels when he speeds up his fingers. 

“Say it again,” Taehyung murmurs, leaning forward to press his bare chest to your back so he can reach your ear. “Baby, say it again.” 

“Yes, daddy.” 

“Fuck.” 

Grabbing your hips, Taehyung yanks you back so he can switch places with you, now kneeling in front of you. Being on this side gives him a better view of the livestream chat. Whatever he finds there makes him smile, something lopsided and suspicious. 

“They do have a pretty pussy, don’t they?” Taehyung grins into the camera, reaching forward to cup your pussy. He crowds your space, forcing your face against his crotch when he leans in. 

Despite how embarrassing the action is, you mouth at the bulge in his joggers.

“Hurry up,” you whine, knowing Taehyung might scold you but uncaring. “Fuck me already.” 

A slap to your tender ass makes you cry out in pain. 

“Our friends think I need to do something about your bratty mouth, bun,” Taehyung points out with his arms crossed against his firm chest. “They’re right, of course. You’ve always been so bratty with me.” 

“Fuck you,” you hiss quietly, both hoping no one hears you and also that they will.

“You’re cute when you’re acting like a slutty little bitch.” 

Taehyung tongues the inside of his cheek and turns to the box that had held the riding crop. The insults scratch some itch in the back of your brain, and your pussy betrays you by pulsing with need. 

From the box, Taehyung pulls out a pink cordless wand vibrator. The head is smooth and fat, the rest of the wand sleek like Taehyung’s fingers as they grip around the handle. Anticipation burns in the pit of your stomach while you wait for Taehyung to turn the wand on and press it against your swollen, neglected clit. 

Instead, once the wand is on, Taehyung presses against the bulge in his joggers.

“Oh my god,” you moan as Taehyung drags the wand up his cock until he reaches the head. He circles it slowly, hips subtly thrust forward. 

It makes sense that people pay to watch Taehyung masturbate. He’s pretty when he does it, staring directly into your eyes as he whimpers, breathy and sweet.

Each of his little moans makes you wetter, and your body continues to tremble with need. It’s so unbelievably hot how he tilts his head back, exposing the V of his jaw and his Adam’s apple, bobbing each time he swallows. 

“Do you think I’m pretty, bun?” Taehyung smirks, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he finally removes the wand from his clothed cock. It’s hard to see the wet patch in his clothes from how dark the material is, but you know it’s there. 

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper as Taehyung grabs a hold of your jaw and gives you a quick but firm squeeze that pushes your cheeks inward.  

“I know you do.” 

Letting go of your face, Taehyung hooks his thumbs in his joggers and pulls down far enough to take out his cock. It bobs and hangs heavy in front of your face, close enough that the tip brushes your cheek and smears precum across your face. 

“Be a good bun and suck my cock, yeah?” 

Not needing to be told twice, you lean forward to lap at the precum dribbling from Taehyung’s slit, making him groan. His body trembles slightly as you suck him into your mouth, and it feels good to know you’re not the only one affected.

Reaching for the wand again, Taehyung runs the tip along his shaft as you suckle the head of his cock. You can feel the vibrations in your mouth, and the sensation seems to travel down the rest of your body as your pussy pulses. 

“Fuck,” Taehyung moans, throwing his head back as you take more of his cock down your throat. “Don’t go any faster. Keep it nice and slow.” 

He only lets you suck him off for a bit longer, just enough to get his cock nice and wet from gagging around him. Then he tugs on your ropes, pulling you off of his cock as you gasp for air. 

“You okay?” Taehyung brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, wiping away spit and precum, you’re sure. It’s disgusting, but he’s so gentle when he does it that your face grows hot.

“I’m fine.” 

“You look pretty like this,” he murmurs. “I can’t wait to fuck you, baby. Been thinking about it for weeks.” 

It isn’t until Taehyung cradles the side of your face and slots his lips with yours that you realize you haven’t even kissed. You usually don’t, too caught up in the carnal need to consume each other in other ways.

But kissing Taehyung feels good.

He holds you gently as your lips glide together, Taehyung tasting himself on your tongue and moaning into your mouth when he does. You pant against each other in between kisses, Taehyung using the opportunity to bite and suck on your bottom lip until you’re pushing yourself against him, seeking more. You just want to be close, closer. 

“Turn around,” he breathes against your spit-slicked lips. It isn’t easy, but he helps you move until you’re facing away from him. 

Without being told, you begin to lower your upper body onto the floor, but Taehyung stops you with an arm around your chest. 

“Wait.” It’s spoken against your ear, his breath hot like your core as it pulses when you realize what Taehyung is doing. 

He turns on the wand to the lowest vibration setting and carefully slips it through the rope wrapped around your hips. Placement presses the head of the wand directly to your clit. 

“I can’t,” you squeak, hunching over as the subtle vibrations ripple through you. Normally, the setting would be too low to get you off quickly, but Taehyung has been edging you this whole time. 

“It’s okay if you cum, baby. I wanna see how many times I can make you cum.” 

Taehyung bites the curve of your ear before shoving the middle of your back until your upper body rests on the floor and your ass is in the air. He’s gentle when he presses his cock against your entrance, the glide easy from how sloppy wet you are. You can hear him bottom out, the sound of your arousal gushing around his cock with each wet slap of his thighs against yours as he thrusts in and out of you. 

It only takes three deep strokes before you cum, pussy fluttering around Taehyung’s cock and your body shaking underneath him. The ropes prevent you from wriggling and writhing, and the vibrator on your clit prolongs your orgasm. You feel like it never ends, just wave after wave of pleasure, making your body lock up. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, Tae-” You’re cut off by Taehyung’s hand slapped across your mouth. 

“Behave, bun,” he growls, never letting up his pace despite how violently your body reacts to the prolonged orgasm. 

Grabbing the rope tied around your back, Taehyung pulls on it, forcing you to rock back and forth on his cock at the pace he wants. You’re so wet that he slips in and out of you with wet squelches loud enough to be heard by all his subscribers. 

“Oh my god,” you moan as your body rocks against the pretty sheets and fluffy pink pillows. It helps stop you from chafing against the floor, but you don’t care. All you can focus on is how good Taehyung feels, his cock filling you up and his hands tightening the hold the ropes have on the most sensitive parts of your body. 

“God, you’re always so fucking creamy,” Taehyung groans, slapping your ass to watch it jiggle on his cock. 

You feel another orgasm ripple through you, having barely recovered from the other one. Taehyung fucks you through it still and then fucks you through the next one. 

By the time you’ve cum for the fourth time, tears stream down your face. 

“Please,” you sob, the buzz of the vibrator and Taehyung’s moans flooding your brain until there’s nothing left. 

“One more, bun,” Taehyung grunts as he reaches over to pull the wand out of the ropes. He tosses it to the side and replaces it with his fingers, rubbing quick circles over your clit. “Come on, give me one more so we can finish together.” 

The remaining pressure inside of you bursts the moment Taehyung starts playing with your clit. You feel your pussy gush around his cock as you cum even more than before, so much that you can feel it leak down your thighs and soak the bed sheet below you. 

A flurry of pings reminds you that you’re on camera. You can barely think straight long enough to understand what that means when Taehyung lets out a broken moan behind you. 

“Oh fuck, you just squirted, fuck baby, why are you so hot.” Taehyung’s grip on your hips hurts when he finally cums, still thrusting even when you’ve both been pushed beyond overstimulation. 

When he finally pulls out, you sag to the floor. Your entire body aches from being tied up and pounded into, not to mention how sore your ass and clit are from the constant stimulation. 

“You’re trying to kill me,” you accuse weakly as Taehyung takes a deep breath, head thrown back, chest sweaty. He’s still wearing his joggers, and his soft cock hangs over the waistband, shiny with cum. 

“Fuck,” Taehyung groans, running a hand over his face, “Alright, that’s, that’s all for today.” He crawls over to the laptop and gives the camera a salute. “See you all next week, assuming I’ve recovered.” 

The final pings ring out from the laptop before Taehyung snaps it shut and falls back on his butt. He finally tucks his cock back in his pants and turns to where you lie, weak on the floor. 

“Shit, let me get you out of this.” 

You’re in a haze, something floaty and free, like a cloud, and Taehyung caresses your wispy body as he unwraps you. Your head lulls to the side, and you let Taehyung lift your limbs and shift your body until he’s finished with all the ropes. 

“How are you feeling?” Taehyung asks, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

Content. Satiated. Happy. In love.

“Tired,” you mumble as you stare up at Taehyung. His eyes are bright, and his cheeks are a soft pink, youthful, and pretty. 

“We can take a bath and then go to bed. You’ll stay over?” His voice is a hopeful lilt when he asks, and your stomach flutters. 

“Yes, daddy.” 

Taehyung’s mouth morphs into that lopsided grin you pretend to hate so much. 

“I love it when you call me that.” 

“I hate you,” you spit out, but Taehyung kisses you before you can pout more.

It’s a slow kiss, far too gentle for what you’ve all just finished doing. Taehyung sighs into the kiss, tilting his head to deepen it, though his lips glide languidly rather than rushed with need like they had before. 

You slip your arms around his broad shoulders and appreciate the stretch of being free from your restraints. 

“You did so well, seriously. I’m really proud of you. You were so sexy and, fuck. I’m…” Taehyung trails off as he helps you stand up, keeping you cradled against his body when you start to sway. “Thank you for doing this with me.” 

You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck and find no bratty comeback, only a flood of happiness that nearly chokes you. 

“Maybe we can do it again if you wanna,” you offer with your lips against his neck. His skin is salty with sweat, but you flick your tongue against him anyway, just to make him squirm. 

Taehyung pulls back slightly to stare at you. “For real?” 

“If you keep asking, I might change my mind!” 

You try to wiggle out of Taehyung’s arms, but he keeps you close. It’s fine; you don’t really want to be anywhere else but here, pressed against Taehyung’s broad frame, blanketed by his gentle attention.

Even if he is annoying. 

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

[romanticizingmurder]

One of the things that comes up a lot in meta on the vampire chronicles is trying to delineate between "this is being treated as a kink fantasy", "this is fictional trauma beinf sexualized", and "this is being treated like real trauma would be" and I think the interesting and almost unique to itself aspect of TVC is that...it's almost always all of the above.

I've been thinking about David and Lestat's respective turnings lately and what strikes me about both is how they don't really neatly line up into "portrayal of horrific trauma", "rape fantasy", or even "cnc fantasy" (hear me out, we'll get there), but are an uneasy mixture of all of them at the same time.

Disclaimer: I am going to be talking about rape in a fictional story both as a traumatic violence and as a fantasy. I am coming at this from the point of view of someone who enjoys kinks, including nonconsent in fiction, and who is a real life survivor.

Using David's turning because most of the discussion around it is neatly in the same one or two places, we see it treated as all of these things in turn.

Lestat undeniably rapes David. That is not only the implication from blood drinking as a metaphor for sexual desire, but explicitly the language used:

There are scenes of genuine anguish after the assault:

At the same time, the scene is, at least in my opinion, pretty sexualized! We linger in descriptions of David's body, of Lestat's pleasure in this monstrous deed.

And if this was all there was to it, I'd feel pretty comfortable putting this (and the many situations which mirror it in TVC) as a dead dove sort of situation. It's erotic horror, and this is both erotic and horrifying. What else did you expect?

And yet.

Let me make a relevant digression:

Up until 2012, when new research started coming out, the most popular theory for why rape fantasies are so prevalent among women was something called sexual blame avoidance. The idea being that women's sexuality and desires are so shamed by society as a whole that fantasies wherein they are forced allow them a guiltless way of experiencing desire.

This actually appears to not be the case for most people with these fantasies, but it certainly still is for many, and, possibly more relevantly: when these books were written, this would have been The theory on rape fantasies. That rape fantasies are a manifestation of desires that one feels ashamed of, so the fantasy of being forced removes one's agency and thus blame.

And here is David, having been raped by Lestat, saying he really did want it, he just couldn't allow himself to want it.

David had a desire he felt shame for desiring, and Lestat took away that shame by forcibly acting upon it.

It's easy to read this as simply rape apologism, and I can't stop anyone from reading it that way. And I don't and can't really know what Anne was thinking in this or in any number of other scenes that encompass erotica and horror and the comfort of fantasy all at once.

All I can do is say that the first thing I thought of when reading David's speech was how it felt directly lifted from any number of conversations I've had with other survivors on the appeal of cnc scenes. All I know is how I felt reading this and any number of other scenes in this series, which was: oh, finally someone understands what the fantasy is about.

But I think what trips people with that is that these stories aren't "just" short or erotica without weight. These are long stories with character development and emotional weight and real explorations of trauma. And I don't think that's inaccurate! I think they are that. I think these are, at least to me, also long explorations of kink fantasies and how the dynamics of those fantasies, removed from the need for consent and risk awareness of the real world.

Lestat can rape David and it can be something traumatic, something erotic, and something he ended up believing he wanted, because it's not one or the other in this universe. It can be an exporation of cycles of trauma, erotic horror, and long form kink fantasies written with real emotion, all at once. We don't have to choose just one - and I don't think Anne did, either.

[facelessoldgargoyle]

Amy Dallon as the Minotaur

The Metatextual Monster: how reading Amy Dallon on multiple levels is necessary to understanding her.

I'm gonna be real, this started out as a daydream about drawing Taylor as Icarus, but I care way more about the Minotaur, and Taylor isn't the Minotaur. Possibly some art about this to follow, but I type faster than I draw. ~700 words.

How many of you have read House of Leaves? Wikipedia. The most important thing to know is that House of Leaves is three stories, which occur nested within each other. The story at the heart is a documentary about a house in which a closet door suddenly appears, which eventually grows into a hallway and then a labyrinth. The next layer is a blind professor's commentary on this documentary, which was discovered scattered around his apartment after his death. The top layer is the chronicle of a tattoo artist trying to reconstruct the commentary. All this to say: it is a book about meta-commentary, which makes describing its themes difficult.

In House of Leaves, the professor has tried to remove all references to the Minotaur by burning the pages of his notes about him. The tattoo artist writes down everything that failed to burn, and indicates that it was burned using red, struck through text. The Minotaur is a character which does not exist, but he haunts the book.

On the top level, he represents the constant editing, rewriting, and destruction of the book itself. Down a level, he is a monster who is stalking the characters in their minds. A claw mark is found next to the professors dead body. Down a level, he's the guilt and shame growing within each author which they project into the house. The labyrinth in the house is a black hole, it signifies nothing, but the human mind impresses its own ideas and image into it.

I'm now realizing that I've written three paragraphs without mentioning Amy once. Shit. Ok. The good stuff.

On the level closest to the text, Amy the character is the malformed, rejected child. When her malformation makes itself known, she is permanently rejected and confined in an inescapable prison. Like the Minotaur in House of Leaves, her ghost haunts the people who fear her and obsess over her. They can't stop thinking about her (Victoria) despite how that obsession only hurts them. When Amy's status as monster can be instrumentalized, it is, like how the Minotaur of myth was used as a method of execution for the youth of Athens. She's set free and used once again.

On another level, Amy Dallon haunts Worm. Her arc is fully fleshed out, and it is tragedy. Like the Minotaur, on one level she must been seen as symbolic. She represents the self-destruction of the nuclear family. In one version of the myth, the Minotaur is the bastard son of Minos. The king did not sacrifice a bull sent to him by Poseidon, and so the queen was cursed to fall in love with the bull. Here, the Minotaur represents the ultimate perversion of the natural order. The king did not honor the god, and so the wife did not honor her husband, and so the child did not honor his mother. Amy represent the same overturning of the natural order. Carol hated the daughter, and so the daughter destroyed her sister. These stories suggest that the so-called natural order actually has something deeply wrong with it!

On the top level, Amy is a scapegoat for the audience. Like the Minotaur in House of Leaves, the reader projects their own hatred on her; they treat her with the same lesbophobia as the text does, if you read her a layer below the symbolic critique of the family, if you read her as a character. People consistently write about her as having an incest kink, or other deviant, highly stigmatized fetish. People post about her being dirty, or ill-intentioned. This reading accepts her as ontologically evil, rather than a product of an oppressive structure. The exact form of the Minotaur (deviant, dirty, ill-intentioned) varies from person to person. He acts as a Rorschach, illuminating what the observer finds offensive.

Like the Minotaur in House of Leaves, Amy must be read on multiple levels. She is a character, she is a metaphor, she is a mirror. Isolate any of these levels from the other, and they fail to make sense. Separating the symbolic from the personal is often what leads people to falling into the trap of projecting lesbophobic narratives onto her!

The Minotaur is out to get you, and Amy is too.

[justpottytime]

Hi there! Like my header says, I'm 18+ and so is this blog, so have your age in your header or bio PLEASE, for both our sakes! My messy sideblog is @justmessybottoms , so anything involving messing goes there please! My PFP was a commission by @thesecretomoblog , I highly recommend checking out both his art and fics!

Please note, I will block blogs that post misgendering/detransition kink, or 'sissy faggot' type content - no shame if that's your thing, it's just a personal squick! Also, minors will be blocked on sight of course!

Tagging system below, feel free to block or filter as needed!

#ageplay omo: anything involving an ageplay, regression, or CG/L dynamic - yes, I know they're all different, the tag is just a catch-all. Not every post that has childish language or characters acting immature will be tagged this way, but if it's obvious enough - and it usually will be - it will be tagged. Please note that posts involving ageplay without omo will still have this tag, but it will also have the 'not omo' tag alongside it, see below.

#diapers and #omutsu: any post involving diapers or pull-ups. Posts that simply mention the concept will only be tagged with diapers, but if it's the main theme or is discussing used padding (or if it's diapered art of a character) it'll get the omutsu tag too.

#not omo: self-explanatory, any post that doesn't contain any mentions of pee or desperation.

#nsfw: anything with a more sexual theme to it or that discusses sex or kinks, or art that has nudity/genitals. Again, this is hard to define, but I'll try to catch as much as I can.

#nsfw omo: like the above tag, anything that's meant to be more sexual, but this tag is explicitly for omo in that context - so holding/wetting to get off, for someone else's pleasure, peeing on/in someone, etc. Also, again, art with nudity/genitals, but only if it also involves omo.

#plushie love: anything involving the use of plushies for kink - humping, peeing on/in, etc. This tag will likely be very nsfw and overlap a lot with the other tags, view at your own discretion.

#A/B/O: anything involving an alpha/beta/omega dynamic or universe. Remember the slashes if you're using or filtering this one, they're important!

#omo on ice: this tag hasn't been updated in quite some time because the fandom has died down, but it's for anything omo involving the characters from Y/uri On I/ce.

Personalised anon tags for regular anons below! I would recommend clicking on the tag and reading through all of the asks from oldest to newest to get the full story!

#sunshine and stoic sweetheart

#actor assistant chronicles

#little rockstar

#wolfwater

#precious polycule

Finally, as I may have mentioned already, I recently deleted my last pinned post completely by accident - so if there's anything missing from this new one, especially if I've skipped a tag somewhere, ESPECIALLY if it's your personal anon tag, please toss me an ask letting me know! I can't remember everything I put last time and I want to get it all back!

That's all for now, have fun here! <3

[nalyra-dreaming]

Unable to think (8019 words) by Nalyra

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022), Vampire Chronicles Series - Anne Rice Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac Characters: Lestat de Lioncourt, Louis de Pointe du Lac Additional Tags: POV Louis de Pointe du Lac, Post-Prince Lestat (Vampire Chronicles), Prompt Fic, Vampire Sex, Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Kink Exploration, Biting, Feeding

Series: Part 7 of Little drinks

Summary: A night out, in Paris, and a very special idea.   -----------  

He’s gotten better at wanting in the recent years. Allowing himself to want once more. Letting the shame go, and the history, too. He’s gotten better at demand, as well. Receiving what he wants, too. Knowing now that he can receive this…

Louis had been no stranger to flirting or desiring. But it had been difficult when he was a mortal or even while he was young, and had often resulted in catastrophe or pain, one way or another. But now…

Lestat leans back, grinning widely now, watching Louis trying to regain composure, fully aware that he hates being in public in any kind of vulnerable fashion, and being visibly aroused does fulfill the definition. It’s also hot as hell.

  -----------   The events of Silk hiding skin from Louis’ POV, as requested by isisdagmar. I hope you'll like dear! Also thx to @inkyblotposts for making me sit down and finish this :)

And as a reminder - this art prompted it all :))

[decaydanceredacted]

okay hear me out cuz i had a really strange fantasy a while ago that i wanted to share with the class. ybc patrick and nurse gerard. mommy dom gerard forcing patrick into submission while hes possessed.. might be playing into my medical kink but like gee blindfolding and strapping him down to an operating table like he was during the phoenix music video and being the one to cut him open. she needs to tie him up and torture him and then bend him over a table and fuck the evil out of him imo. may i also propose that gee would definitely do this to convince him to kill joe in the where did the party go mv. like alternate ending where instead of pete and andy walking in the room after patrick strangled joe its gee that walked in and patrick like snaps out of the evil shit and is so horrified that he killed his friend and pukes out of pure shock. and gees into that so she definitely either shoves her dick down his throat until he pukes again or fucks him against the table while he looks at his friends dead body. bonus if she shames him for it. im sorry for this im unwell

(i know mcr isnt on the dcd label but i figured theres more people here who know abt nurse gerard compared to people on mcrredacted that know abt the young blood chronicles so.)

.

[priapus-at-the-gate]

Vampire Chronicles Kink Meme!

Hello!!! Welcome to the Vampire Chronicles KINK MEME! This blog is a judgment-free zone to request and fill kink prompts! We will be posting 18+ content and are not suitable for minors!  

HOW TO REQUEST

Simply use the ask button! Be as vague or as detailed as you like, but please remember that it should be a prompt. If you want to submit your own fics/drabbles/ficlets anonymously, please see below on how to do that! Feel free to specify the canon you prefer (book or TV), a ship or character you want to see, or the specific angle to the kink you’re really looking for. If you have any squicks/triggers or do not want to see one canon or the other, make sure you mention it for anyone who decides to fill. 

EXAMPLES: 

“Armand/Daniel pet play where Armand is a kitty”

“Book: Lestat getting pegged”

“Mafia AU where mob boss Pandora uses Marius as human furniture, please include verbal humiliation but please do not include face slapping”

AMC verse: Louis/Armand cock warming

HOW TO FILL

You may reblog an ask and add your piece to the post, or copy the ask into your own post. If you make a new post in your own blog, be sure to tag us or send it along so that we can reblog! You may also use #VCkinkmeme to get our attention!

HOW TO FILL ANONYMOUSLY If you wish to remain anonymous, post to the Anonymous Collection on AO3 and send us the link. We will add it to the original post! 

CAN I FILL A PROMPT THAT'S BEEN FILLED ALREADY?

Sure!!! The more the merrier. More cake!

CAN I FILL WITH ART?

Please do! Just be careful with the Tumblr TOS. We can always link to other homes for your work if it cannot be shared here. 

CAN I REC SOMETHING THAT EXISTS ALREADY?

Sure! Always feel free to reblog or comment if you want to share your own existing work, or share someone else's work that you really enjoyed! We might occasionally share those as well!

IS ANYTHING OFF LIMITS?

Please respect basic internet etiquette in regards to hate speech and bigotry; we will not publish prompts that promote hateful ideology.

As far as the kinky stuff– anything goes. Be wild, make Anne proud. <3 (Kink shaming will not be tolerated, we will block you!)

We will do our best to use thorough tags for everyone’s safety but please let us know if we miss one! 

[writingforfishes]

Otto and Atticus Chronicles Part 6: In Sickness

I've been working on this for a couple of weeks, actually. I didn't intend for it to take so long to write, but I kept getting stuck on feeling a little guilty with how much I was putting Otto through and how it was reflecting on my internalized shame for my kink and whump/sick fic leanings. I also just, generally, haven't been feeling particularly well.

As usual, exposition is just as long as the fiction. Feel free to scroll down until you see what you want.

Contains: Hiccups that are NOT pleasant Sneezes and the author's valiant attempt to describe those sneezes through onomatopoeia (Author does not have a snz kink but enjoys the aspects of snz fic) Coughing and descriptions of coughing Fever and descriptions of fever Body aches Sickness Whump Hurt/comfort Just a little sliver of backstory for Otto's alcoholism Discussion of arousal (a smidge) Mention of nausea, but no emeto No sex No self-pleasure Gratuitous stroking of hair and kissing of forehead

This is another work that was inspired by a prompt that was sent to me via message.

Otto being sick in bed with hiccups and Atty nurses him back to health as much as they can This fic has a LOT going on. Much Otto "torture". If any aspects up there in red are not your jam, please feel free to move on. I do plan on writing other fics focusing on fun hiccups in the future.

Without further ado:

***

It all started a couple of days ago when Atticus found Otto staring at his computer with a graph of numbers open. He was balancing the books of his clock and watch business. It was one of the few reasons Atticus ever saw Otto on a computer.

Their partner’s eyes looked a little glossed over as they twitched over the screen. It could be the blue light emanating from the computer, but he looked a little pale this morning. Also, there was a distinct lack of aroma in the house that Atticus didn’t fully recognize until they came into the kitchen and searched the countertop for a full French Press or Chemex that didn’t exist.

Their eyes scanned until they found both appliances on a drying rack beside the kitchen sink from the previous morning. They frowned. Atty knew they were up a little early, but they certainly weren’t up before Otto made coffee.

“You...want me to make coffee?” they said, elevating their voice so that Otto could hear it from the other side of the house.

“Huh?” Otto said, just realizing that his partner was in the kitchen. “Oh yeah! Sorry...got stuck on the books. I’m a little out of it this morning.”

As Otto projected his voice Atticus heard the hoarseness in it. But that could be easily attributed to him having woken up and not used his voice yet. Still, the clearing of the throat he did afterward was a little suspect. Atty side eyed at their partner’s direction from the kitchen.

After a while Otto saw Atticus coming from his peripheral with a steaming mug. He rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat again.

“Thanks,” he said shortly and put the mug on the desk beside his laptop to let it cool.

Atticus observed his movements and his face a little more closely. He was definitely pale. But, then again, that Irish-German blood he had kept him pretty pale by genetics. Still, he looked ashen. Atticus sipped their coffee slowly still studying him.

It took Otto a while to notice Atticus’ intense staring and he looked up questioningly.

“You feeling okay, bud?” Atty asked, keeping it light.

“Yeah, just tired for some reason. Took me forever to get up,” Otto said, idly scratching his chest and suppressing a yawn. He sniffed and rubbed his nose with his wrist.

Otto felt Atticus behind him, then, reaching to put an arm around his chest. He looked up at them, his head against their chest, and didn’t dislike the sudden physical contact but was a bit confused by the reason for it.

Atticus leaned their chin on stop of Otto’s fuzzy curls and then put their cheek against his forehead.

“Hm,” they said. Otto was just about to ask for clarification as to what Atticus had discovered when they spoke again, “You feel a little warm. Have you been sitting next to the window?”

It was sunny outside and the drapes were open allowing the warmth to filter into the living room. But Otto had been there in the shadow of the office desk seeing by lamps all morning. He shook his head no in response.

“You sure you feel okay? Headache? Sore throat?” Atticus continued.

“A little headache,” Otto admitted. Then he sighed. “Now that you mention it, I don’t feel great. My throat’s been dry. Aw man…”

Atticus chuckled, “Think you might be getting sick?”

Otto whined a little.

“Alright, time to practice this in sickness and in health part, huh?” Atty said.

“I’m kind of a baby when I get sick…” Otto admitted sheepishly.

“As long as I don’t have to change your diapers, I think I can handle it,” Atticus said with confidence.

“You say that now, but just wait until we become octogenarians! I mean, give me 40 ish more years and we might be changing each others diapers!” he said.

“Oh good. Something to look forward to,” Atticus said dryly. “I obviously request diapers with superheroes on them.”

“I mean, you’re small enough for the toddler si—ah!” Otto was cut off as Atticus pinched with excessive pressure into the side of his torso. “Uncle! Uncle!!”

“C’mon, man, really?” Atticus said, letting go.

Yes, Atticus would admit to there being a humorous height difference between Otto and them, but short jokes were a dime a dozen and Otto was better than that. Usually.

“It was kinda funny,” Otto replied, grinning with dopiness.

Atticus had glared and Otto had laughed, but it turned into what would be the first of many coughing fits over the next two days. It was a dry cough at first that then turned a little more productive at the end as the beginnings of mucous started latching in consequence of immune system battling.

“Oh yeah...definitely getting sick,” Otto confirmed, needlessly.

Otto didn’t really get sick, often. Neither of them did. Allergies certainly had their way, but a virus was rare. Atticus would laud their strong immune systems but, really, it was probably that both of them were homebodies if left to their own devices. Take away hikes, parks, coffee houses, and invitations to small get-togethers with friends and the couple’s social atmosphere was only broadened by work-related necessities, grocery store trips, and some really enthusiastic discussions about going on vacation that never led anywhere past imagining.

Otto had recently completed a pretty full day of home visits. Some of them were new customers and Otto would reflect that one of them had a small child with a runny nose. It didn’t take much to narrow down the source of contagion when the pool of social activity was so small.

The next two days Otto’s body mounted a pretty solid defense against whatever virus had decided to invade. His coughing had gotten into the realm where Atticus winced to hear it and how painful it must be. It barked at night to such a level that he had insisted on sleeping in the loft bed to which Atticus denied and they took the loft bed, instead. Though they frequently checked in and when he seemed calm, they would appear with a damp rag and wipe sweat from his forehead. He rarely stirred too much. His side table had become a clutter of cups and medicines.

His sneezing was so intense they thought he was going to crack a rib if he sneezed wrong. They’d heard his rapid-fire sneezing fits caused by allergens, but this was next-level. Atty wasn’t sure if the intensity of his sneezing coincided with the reason his hiccups tended to be fast, while day long returning bouts were hard, but there were similar nerves responsible so the writer thought it was probably not outside the realm of possibility for both to be caused by some anatomical propensity toward the respective fits’ severity having something to do with the vagus nerve.

When Atticus had mentioned the possibility Otto sighed in response, blowing his nose in a tissue as he had used all of his handkerchiefs (that Atty hadn’t hidden because having found several soiled crumples of cloth had traumatized them).

“I was never a fan of Vegas,” he had finally responded, looking blearily at his spouse with a snuff of his nose.

Atty looked at him with confusion until the pun finally dawned on them and they gave an exhausted eye roll. Otto being ill they could deal with but if there were many more puns like that they might just walk out. Otto, for his part, was pretty proud of himself for coming up with it through the heavy brain fog and dizziness.

Fortunately for Atticus, Otto’s illness stayed upper respiratory. He never had any nausea or other...downstairs issued, at least not that they had been privy to. Atty didn’t think they would be as able to hold themselves together if Otto was vomiting. Not that they wouldn’t still offer care, but it was certainly something they would’ve had more issues with. Mainly they would have issues with trying not to vomit sympathetically.

Otto was at least partially true to his word. He did not handle his symptoms with subtlety. He didn’t hide how crappy he felt. But Atticus almost preferred that. He wasn’t demanding, he just told Atticus how he felt and what he needed and, quite honestly, Atticus appreciated the straight-forwardness. Being able to care for Otto in the ways he revealed to them he needed was actually a relief. Him being able to voice how he felt made them feel safer in knowing how he was doing. Otto was nothing if not an eloquent speaker. The illness had dulled the ability to say his words with grace, but he was still able to get his point across.

“Can you...just stay with me?” Otto had said last night when his fever had started to spike again. His voice was wrecked, coming out a little wheezily and thin. His breath had quickened and that wheeziness increased with each inhale.

“I just...feel funny,” he’d continued. “I can’t...seem to keep still. And my bones hurt. Nothing feels solid when I touch it. I can’t keep track of things in my head. I’m kinda…I’m getting a little panicky I think. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to get this thing. I just...I’m feeling a little dizzy and...it would be nice to have you here. Touching me. So I don’t...so I can stay still?”

And, while he hadn’t meant to, the absolutely terrible coughing fit that followed the request would have convinced Atticus even if they hadn’t already planned on immediately agreeing. It was usually Atticus who asked for cuddles and physical comfort. Not that Otto didn’t appreciate physical connection, but Atticus seemed to crave it more. So being able to give back in a way that Otto did regularly was something the writer was more than happy to do for the clock maker.

So they both reclined on the bed and Otto put his head on Atticus’ chest, taking deep breaths to try and center himself as Atticus carded their fingers through his hair which was damp in sweat from his fever. They whispered encouragements to him until he finally fell asleep.

The next morning Atticus was up before Otto. The past two days had made this a more common occurrence. They were fixing coffee and eggs and pancakes. They were pulling out some fruit from the fridge when the stairs creaked. Atticus peeked outside of the threshold of the kitchen to catch their partner ambling slowly down, catching himself on the handrail briefly.

Otto hadn’t appeared out of their bedroom by himself since he’d gotten sick. Atticus would retrieve him to come downstairs and eat before ushering him back upstairs to continue resting with medication. This was a nice surprise that gave Atticus hope that he was turning a corner.

“You okay, man? You need me to help?” Atticus called as Otto paused in his downward journey.

“No, I’m good,” Otto said, voice strained and half-whispered. “Just need a second.”

With concentration Otto continued to walk, step by step, from the middle of the staircase down to the living room. Atticus met up with him and put a hand on his elbow as he shuffled to the couch to finally settle down into the cushions.

“You feeling any better?” Atticus asked.

“Yeah, actually,” Otto said, and cleared his throat again. He winced as he swallowed. “Ugh. I think my fever broke last night.”

“Tell me about it. I woke up sweating!”

“Ooh, sorry about that,” Otto said. He had a small coughing fit, but recovered, rubbing his chest and ribs. His ribs had taken the brunt of his sickness. Now that the headache that plagued him in the first two days had faded (and his fever had finally decided to release its grip) he felt the most pain in his ribs and throat. The fire he felt when he swallowed didn’t seem to be quenched by any sort of liquid. He hadn’t really shared the severity with Atticus, though. He’d already asked so much of them. A sore throat remedy seemed smaller compared to everything else.

Atticus must’ve been quick because when the fit ended Otto found a glass of water in his hand.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you aren’t feeling as bad as you have been,” Atticus said. They sat next to him and softly pushed his curls away from his forehead to give it a kiss. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“I know,” Otto said softly. “Thank you for taking care of me. I hope you don’t get this from me, though.”

“Nah,” Atticus said with confident bravado. “I have been doubling down on the vitamin C! I’m invincible!”

“You...know that’s not how that works, right?” Otto said, “Like, at all.”

“Shh! I’m invincible,” Atticus repeated, whispering it into Otto’s ear.

Otto gasped in a guffaw and laughed, it turning into coughing again to which he swallowed down some water to squelch. The water offered a small respite from the pain at least. He swallowed two sips of it as his partner asked him a question. He felt pressure in his throat build up.

“You want some breakfast?” Atty asked, moving toward the kitchen.

“Ye-heek-uck! Oh! Heek-uck! Oh, ow. Heep! Oh, this isn’t a good time. Herk-uh!” Otto started hiccuping and winced with every one.

Atticus turned around, an immediate feeling of arousal rushing to their nether but it was instantly subdued by Otto’s expression and comments. Then a look of compassion settled in their face as they stepped back toward him.

“These aren’t good ones are they?” Atticus said coming over and sitting down again, rubbing his back.

“No. Heeyuck! No, they aren’t. Heek-uck! It’s like h’meek-like little knives stab-heep-uh stabbing my throat hnk-uck my throat over and heek over again! H’yuck! Ow. Damn. Sorry hikk’l sorry they aren’t fun. Mk!” he said, grunting at the last one.

His nasal passages weren’t completely clear so he was having trouble keeping them inside. But with that last one he realized it hurt more to suppress them. His throat was raw and sensitive and every time his glottis closed and air pushed against it and his vocal chords it rubbed against the inflammation and felt awful.

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” Atticus said, quickly. “And, trust me, any arousal I felt when first hearing them is gone. So let’s cure them, okay?”

Otto’s hiccups squeaked in a way they never had before. They were the same pace as they usually were, but muted by the illness that had stolen the majority of his voice. So his hiccups cracked through this throat unpleasantly, airily, and squeakily. While the sounds would have been arousing had Otto not been in pain, Atty only felt pity as they watched him struggle and hold stiff to anticipate his next hiccup.

Otto nodded in agreement to curing them. He followed his partner into the kitchen where at least his nose allowed him to smell the coffee, eggs, and toast. For the first time since he’d gotten ill he felt his appetite triggered and, aside from getting rid of these demonic hiccups, he wanted nothing more than to eat what smelled like a delicious breakfast.

As Otto was set up with and then commenced it the steps of curing his hiccups; sugar, salt, and lemon; Atticus prepared both of their plates and also retrieved some Ibuprofen from the cabinet and tea from the pantry.

“I’m gonna make you this lemon ginger tea for your throat instead of coffee, okay? You want honey?” Atticus asked.

Otto was struggling through holding his mouth closed to let the sugar and salt dissolve individually. His nose snorted in air ineffectively and once or twice he had to open his mouth to catch a breath. Inevitably it would be when another hiccup would happen and he’d close his mouth around the contents of it again to continue the process. The squeaks of the hiccups he had let out were not only embarrassing but also painful. In the middle of his battle with the mouthful of salt, the one he despised the most, Atticus asked the question and he gave a little nod. Tea would probably be better than coffee, though he’d lamented not having coffee.

“You doing the salt?” Atty observed.

Otto nodded again, wincing as another hiccup wracked his body. He closed his eyes. This displeasure was only magnifying the pain in his sinuses and head.

“I’m so sorry you feel so bad, sweet boy,” Atticus murmured, giving his head a little kiss, as they went to the cupboard to get a mug.

Otto sighed in a moment of contentment at the gesture. Then he winced again at another hiccup. His diaphragm had definitely chose violence this morning and he was lucky that Atticus was parrying it with love.

Otto sucked on the lemon wedge. He hadn’t anticipated the acidic nature to sting his throat but it did. And when he salvaged some brain cells to consider it, the stinging made sense. His throat had been abused by the inflamed coughs he’d been prone to. If there was any abrasion the lemon juice was probably finding it.

He coughed at the irritation. The fit was interspersed with more hiccups. Thankfully the spasms were weaker than before so his ribs were taking less of the brunt but they didn’t go away entirely. He wasn’t sure if it was the lemon’s acidic sting or that the hiccups were caused by something his illness had let loose into his throat. Regardless, after the coughing fit he still found himself jerking and squeaking, though perhaps not as quickly.

A steaming mug of tea and a plate of eggs, toast, and sausage appeared in front of him. Four white pills were lined up on his napkin and he looked up at the handsome face of his spouse, brown eyes wide with care and worry.

“Dessert,” Atticus explained, pointing to the pills.

“How kind-heek!-uh,” Otto replied, rubbing his throat. His attempt at talking had come out more as a half whisper, the loudest part being the small squeaky hiccup.

“Damn,” Atty said, disappointed.

“Yeah,” Otto agreed. His body jolted with another squeak and grunt. He swallowed against the pain. “I think I’m gonna just-eep!-uh just have to wait these out. They aren’t as meek!-uh as bad as they were before though. I sound like a sq-eek!-uh SQUEAKY toy, though.”

He put his hand to his face at that last sentence and looked through his fingers to see Atticus trying to suppress a smile. When they were caught they shook their head.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I know you’re in pain, Otto, but they are...really...adorable. I know. I’m sorry…” Atticus sputtered.

“No-no. That heep!-uh last one was pretty funny,” the clock maker relented as he took another bite of eggs.

“Why do they sound like that?” Atticus mused.

Otto shook his head while he ate and shrugged. He grunted at the hiccups he had to suppress while eating and took a sip of the tea.

“Tell me if you need more honey,” the writer said.

“It’s good. Really-eek-uh really good,” Otto said. In the middle of a bite he continued, “Maybe meek!-uh maybe my throat being infl-eep!-inflamed is making them like this.”

The writer cooed and pulled a face of pity.

“Maybe you should have your dessert early,” they suggested, pointing to the neat row of ibuprofen.

“Mm,” Otto said agreeably and took the pills in his hand. He took up his water and threw his head back as he washed the pills down. He let out a soft belch followed immediately by another hiccup.

For once it wasn’t Otto that carried the conversation of a meal, but Atticus. The writer talked about inconsequential topics. They talked about what they’d submitted to literary magazines. They lamented the frustration at Mercury always seeming to be in retrograde. They revealed they didn’t even know what retrograde meant and, no Otto don’t tell them, they really didn’t care that much. They spoke of how much they’d miss the sound of the clocks when they went to the writer’s conference next month. And, yes, they’d miss Otto, too.

Otto knew Atticus was doing this out of both anxiety and also to distract the clock maker from his current situation. Otto smiled softly as he watched his partner babble, their expressive face animated as they used a fork full of dripping pancake to gesticulate. Atticus caught the look and the slow blink that accompanied it and paused.

“What?” Atticus said to the intensity of the expression. The last time they had elicited that look it was on their wedding day. So they were confused at the disconnect they perceived in Otto giving them such a sincere and loving look while they were battling to keep syrup from dripping down their chin.

“Just heeyup!-mm,” Otto started and winced, taking a breath and rubbing his throat. “Just grateful for you.” Another hiccup squeaked through his throat and tossed his chin down. He grunted and rubbed his eyes. Despite himself, he yawned, causing yet another hiccup to interrupt the act and he let out another soft belch as air escaped from being pushed in unexpectedly.

“Weird…” Atticus responded to Otto’s statement with a little smile. Then they watched him yawn. Atty considered their partner as he took a long sip of tea and rubbed eyes again with the heal of his hand.

“You’re tired,” Atty said.

Otto whined, “I just woke eeyup!-woke up!” His last word had completely muted, but was easily understood by his lip shape and context.

“Yeah, and your body still needs to heal. Wanna go back up to bed after breakfast?” Atticus asked.

Otto responded with a scowl not unlike that of a toddler. He shook his head no, the only sound being another breathy, squeaky hiccup jerking his head.

“Okay…” Atticus responded, bemused. They took a warm mouthful of coffee and swallowed it, not missing the way Otto’s eyes followed the movement longingly. Atticus snorted a little in their mug at noticing his expression.

Atticus continued, “Do you want to nap down here, then? I can sit on the couch and you can lay your head on a pillow on my lap and I can stroke your hair?”

Otto’s face took on that dreamy quality again, smiling as he nodded. Another shriek of a hiccup broke through and he followed that hiccup with another hearty sip of his tea.

“Your throat hurts too much to talk…” Atticus surmised in a soft voice, giving Otto a look of compassion.

“Yeah hyulk!-uh. Also just really tired,” Otto all but whispered back.

“My poor guy…” Atticus murmured, reaching over to grasp his hand momentarily. He gave it a squeeze back before they both refocused on their breakfast.

***

Atticus settled on the couch and fluffed up a small pillow they’d found in the loft bed. They’d laid out a sheet and blanket while Otto was using the restroom. When the tall man lumbered in he sat down gently on the couch, soreness from being sick still lingering in his joints. He settled himself on his back with his head on the pillow that sat on Atticus’ lap.

Otto let out a croaky heeyulp as he settled into a comfortable position.

“Oh, you still have them…” Atticus said, disappointed. They’d hoped the hiccups would’ve solved themselves quicker. They placed a hand on his head and started stroking his hair, running their fingers along his scalp in the process.

Otto sighed contently, only wincing when another obnoxious hiccup landed in his throat and chest. He nodded at Atticus’ discovery. At least his throat wasn’t hurting as much without the hiccuping. But as soon as he hiccuped he could feel a momentary sting that made him want to cough. The sensation of Atty’s fingers on his scalp was calming though.

“I wish they’d go away,” Atticus said sympathetically. They put a hand on his chest and rubbed his sternum in the middle lightly with their thumb.

Otto put a hand over theirs on his chest and took another deep breath between the spasms. He held their smaller hand in his and caressed it appreciatively. His other hand he settled on his stomach, feeling it bounce and convulse with each hiccup. At least they were incredibly slow compared to his normal hiccup fare.

“Me too,” he responded hoarsely before letting out a prolonged heeurp! “Ugh!” Laying down was encouraging the hiccups to change their tactic of attack, causing him to suck in air through his closed epiglottis longer than he was used to. He chuckled, though, the sound nearly imperceptible as it was just puffs of air. “Bet you never thought you’d heeyup!-oof! Um...you’d not want someone to hiccup?”

Atticus couldn’t help but feel Otto’s chest caving in with each of those elongated hiccups. They winced in unison with him as their husband’s body tensed up at the same time it spasmed.

“I don’t like it when you’re in pain,” Atticus said. “And if the hiccups are causing you pain then I definitely want them to stop.”

“I know heeyurp!” Otto said, tensing up again as hiccup drew through his battered throat.

“I wish they didn’t sound so funny, though. Cause otherwise this would be prime teasing fodder. You sound like a broken dog toy, man. I’m not kidding,” Atticus said, feeling Otto’s silent laughter jostling on their lap.

“Somebody get the number on that eeyup!-canine? I’d like to have a word,” Otto said. He heard and felt Atticus chuckle. And, yes, it hurt to talk but talking was kind of Otto’s thing. Then again as he gasped at another coughing fit perhaps he should hold back a little of that need to speak.

A warm thermos appeared in front of him and he took it, looking up at Atticus in question as he continued to cough.

“I made you more tea while you were in the bathroom. I also have water here,” they said and held up the reusable water bottle with the silicone straw, “and tissues!” And like a magician they brought up a box of tissues from the side table beside the couch.

After quenching his cough with warm tea and honey he handed them the thermos where they placed it neatly beside the other items.

“You’re pretty heeulp!-good at this,” he said.

“Thanks!” Atticus said jovially. “It’s actually not been that bad. Aside from seeing you miserable. You’re not as bad of a ‘patient’ as you think you are. I’m just glad you haven’t been nauseous. Throwing up is kind of my limit. You might have to deal with that one on your own.”

“Nauseated,” Otto said.

“What? Wait, you are? Crap, I have a waste bin for the tissues…” Atty said getting frantic to reach for it.

“No! Heeyup! No-no. I mean. Nauseated. It’s...nauseous means something that causes n-heeulp!-nausea. Like...spoiled milk is nauseous. Nauseated means feeling like your go-eeeep-uh gonna throw up,” Otto explained.

Atticus gave him an incredulous look.

“Seriously, dude?” Atticus said in disbelief. “You corrected my grammar?”

To his right, Otto did give a sheepish look in response.

“At least I’m not going to vomit?” Otto said, followed by another chest-caving hiccup.

“You are lucky you are so fucking pitiful right now, man,” Atty replied, but there was humor in the comment. “Those hiccups are bad enough. I’m glad you’re not NAUSEATED.”

Otto smiled, but then his face changed drastically. Perhaps Atticus had spoken to soon? But no, they recognized the desperation on his features and the way his eyelids shut softly and his arm coming up to his face to try and nestle his nose in his elbow before it all started.

He turned away from his partner’s body to sneeze forcefully into his elbow. And, knowing him, this would be the first of many. Another trait he’d probably inherited from his mother, aside from his hiccups, had been his sneezing fits. Allergies were hell and this illness had made his repetitive sneezing all the more powerful of an occurrence. Perhaps he had his mom to thank for all of his vagus nerve conditions, come to think of it. Alcoholism was another thing to blame on her, but that was a deep dive into a psyche he couldn’t allow himself to focus on as he was hit over and over with sneezes.

HIH’CHOO!HNK’CHNX!ETCH’chuh! HETCH’UH! ETCH’chuh!ETCH’huh!HETCH’chnx!CHUH!CHOO!

Otto stopped for a moment, panting to catch his breath. And then panting because he still felt a sneeze still building.

“Jeez, man!” Atticus said, stroking his head as if to calm him. “You done?”

“Nuh,” the clock maker said shaking his head. He was still turned away, and arm half-way up to catch the stubborn hanger-on.

“Look at the lamp!” Atty exclaim.

“Hunh?” Otto said, expression weak in anticipation of the next sneeze as he turned his blotched face toward his partner.

“I heard that if you look into a light it triggers a stubborn sneeze,” they explain.

“Huh,” Otto responded as he tilted his head back into the light bulb of the lamp beside the couch. He squinted but then gasped, shoving his face back into his elbow as his entire body convulsed with the power of the last sneeze.

HNK’KCHNX’CH’YOOO!

A coughing fit immediately followed, one of his worst. He felt his partner’s hands on his shoulders lifting him a little.

“C’mon, sit up a little, sweetie,” Atticus cooed. They grabbed the tissue box and beverages from next to the couch and put them in Otto’s lap now that he was upright.

Otto grabbed the water first. The coughing had been so deep that it felt like it was digging into his lungs like knives. Then he hocked and spit whatever had become lodged in his throat in a tissue. THEN he used tissues to purge his sinuses of the result of his explosive sneezing.

He balled up tissue after tissue as he forced more and more gunk out of his body’s upper respiratory system. He felt Atticus’ hand rubbing circles on his back. When he was satisfied he’d gotten all potentially gross liquids out of his facial hair and away from his nose and lips he looked back at them, eyes lined in red and nose and cheeks flushed. Even his lips were bright red with the effort and strain of the coughing and sneezing fits.

“Trash bin?” he croaked.

“Behind you on your side, sweetie,” Atticus said. They moved the bin a little closer with their foot as they watched him toss tissue after tissue in.

Otto took a long drink from the tea before handing that, the water, and the tissue box back to Atticus. He then settled wordlessly back down on Atty’s lap, pulling the pillow underneath his head and turning his face to snuggle into his partner’s soft midsection. He took Atticus’ hand and placed it back on his chest, rewarded with Atty stroking their thumb in the center as he covered his hand with theirs.

Atticus felt Otto’s nose nudge into their abdomen. They occupied the hand not taken by Otto to hold on his chest with the clock maker’s hair and scalp.

“I think your hiccups are gone,” the writer whispered after a moment.

Otto took a big breath and let it out slowly.

“Yeah,” he replied, the word imbued with relief.

“But maybe violently sneezing and coughing isn’t a cure we need to implement for future cases…” Atticus mused.

Otto coughed out a laugh, warm breath against Atty’s stomach.

“Nuh-uh,” he agreed emphatically. He snuggled further into the softness of his partner’s belly. It was so comfortable and warm. He could feel their heartbeat on his forehead. He could smell Atticus’ scent, a smell that was purely theirs. It gave him comfort as he felt himself become fuzzy and disconnected to consciousness. Soon he was asleep.

Atticus watched Otto as the profile of his face relaxed and his lips parted softly. The redness that had blotched his face earlier from his sneezing and coughing had lessened to reveal the freckles that littered across his cheeks. Soon the clock maker started twitching ever so slightly. His congestion gave him a soft snore that ebbed and waned with each breath. He lightly tugged at Atticus’ hand unconsciously, pulling his fingers around it more fervently before relaxing again. He pulled his legs up to rest his knees on the back of the couch then down again. Then one leg bent and one straight. Atticus watched the dance of their partner, completely immersed in his sleep journey. They were invested in following his movements until the writer found their own eyes growing heavy.

Atticus dozed, their head on the back of the couch, while Otto slept. The morning had already taken so much energy. Otto would recover in the next day, though his voice would take longer than he would like. Atticus would, in fact, contract the same illness. Though they would only have to suffer it for one day, a fact Otto would seemingly never stop complaining about the unfairness of. Though he would begrudgingly admit that having Atticus dependent on him was surprisingly fulfilling. Even if it was only for a day.

[jennahbreakers]

Request Challenge (Ao3)

I am moving my Ao3 Request Series to Tumblr and Patreon (early access and first picks). If you are not familiar with the request challenges I do on Ao3, under the name TheOriginalSinner888, it is simple. I post the challenge, how many requests I am accepting, and you comment your request (including your Ao3 account name if you want a shoutout) by the deadline date posted and I pick randomly which ones I fulfill. As long as they fall within the rules and regulations, they have a chance of getting picked.

Since this is a new platform for receiving the requests, things are going to work just a little differently. I will be posting the challenge to tumblr and patreon and publicizing them on my other social medias. But I will only be picking from the comments to my patreon and tumblr, not Instagram or TikTok.

I will also be accepting extra requests this time over a longer time period. I am still working on larger projects, but doing this helps keep my creative juices flowing when writer block hits me. And I also love doing this series for my readers.

I will be doing six requests to be chosen and fulfilled by February 2023. I will be randomly selecting these requests from comments on this challenge posted on my patreon and tumblr. The deadline will be December 10, 2023, since this is a new platform and I want everyone to have a chance to get their request in. I will then take the rest of December to choose and write and be posting the one-shots over January and early February.

Here are the rules to keep in mind;

Readers may request anything within fandoms I have already written for or from the pre-approved list I’ve added to the series notes.

I will be selecting six requests completely randomly from comments on the challenge post found on my patreon and tumblr, submitted by December 10, 2023.

I will not accept any request that includes overly gross concepts–in my opinion and wheelhouse, no shaming–including snuff, piss, feces, lyrics, diapers, 9/11 etc. I reserve the right to use my own discretion if I’m not comfortable with something put in front of me.

Readers can request gifs or no gifs. But I’ll only use gifs if I can find the appropriate ones that fit the world of the story. I like to avoid using images that plainly show the faces of the models.

Every request will only be a oneshot. No multi-chapter stories will be accepted on this challenge.

Pre-approved Fandoms; Original Works, Harry Potter, Twilight, Teen Wolf, MCU, Criminal Minds (S1-9), Covenant, Mandalorian (but not Star Wars), Batman, Fairy Tales, X-Men, Disney movies, Supernatural (S1-5), Prodigal Son, The Mummy, IT, Firefly, Scream (Movies and TV (but not third season)), Final Destination, Classic movie monsters (Frankenstein, Wolfman etc), Beauty and the Beast, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Wizard of Oz, Uncharted, Horizon Zero Dawn, God of War, Bioshock, Pirates of the Caribbean, Jurassic Park, The Suicide Squad, From Dusk Till Dawn, Merlin (TV Series), Charmed (OG), Grimm (TV), Night Shift, MoonKnight, Chronicles of Narnia, TBA.

Pre-approved tags; anything I've already written, Futanari, Poly, TBA.

Banned tags; M/M, snuff, piss, feces, lyrics, diapers, 9/11, Real Person fic, breastfeeding kink, overly gross concepts, any at my discretion TBA

 Thank you so much for being a reader and fan and submitting your ideas. I love to read them, and I love to interact with you guys. If you don’t already follow my social medias, I am @jennahbreakers on tiktok, Instagram, and tumblr. And if you want sneak peaks, exclusive content, and early access, subscribe to my patreon at patreon.com/jennahbreakers. The content is 18+ so you have to type out the url.

[bemtevis]

love interest in tid: Jem

love interest in tlh: James

love interes in tmi: Jace

love interest in tda: Julian

love interest in twp: please dont be Jaime please no

[sir-wallflower]

When you tell people “bite me” like you did as a teen and then it reminds you of the one time someone did just that to you and it was a turn one

[tsc-what-if-bang]

TSC What If... Bang Artist Signups are now open!!!

Have you ever looked at the vast universe of The Shadowhunter Chronicles and thought, what if things happened differently?

What if Jem Carstairs arrived at London years later than he was supposed to? What if Cordelia realised that something was shady after she met a certain imposter? What if Luke was never turned into a werewolf, or Simon was never turned into a vampire? What if that Council meeting did go awry but Livvy made it out alive? Just… What if…?

In that case, welcome to the first ever TSC What If…? Bang! Where we’re looking for people who love to think of alternate universes as much as we do.

How does the bang work?

It’s simple - fanfic writers work in collaboration with fan artists (which includes making drawing, edits, gifsets or any other visual art) to build an alternate universe, based on a prompt.

After signing up and choosing a prompt, fic writers will have a few weeks to develop their fic and write a part of it before they’re paired with an artist, who will then create their art based on this fic.

Authors and artists together will then have 12 weeks to complete their works, which will later be posted on both Ao3 and Tumblr.

Sign ups are through Google Forms. Make sure you receive the response email after signing up.

Anyone who signs up must have a Tumblr account and a working email. Fic authors also need to have an Ao3 account.

No ship shaming or kink shaming will be tolerated. (And yes, NSFW content is allowed).

Our writers are ready to tell their stories. It's the turn of the artists now.

Artists, sign up here!

Join the Tsc What If...? Bang discord server here

Minimun Requirements for Artists: (You’ll need to be able to make any one of the following to participate)

Drawing/Graphic - 1 image

Gifset - 3 Gifs

Moodboard - 4 images

Fanvid - 45 seconds long

(Disclaimer: A fanvid is NOT the same as a tiktok. If you're not sure what a fanvid is, you can look them up on Youtube or contact one of the admins. Here is an example of a fanvid.)

Timeline:

Writer Signups - 15th to 28th February

Claiming/Submitting Prompts - 1st to 5th March

Partial Story Check In - 28th April

Artist Signups - 12th to 26th April

Artist Claiming Stories - 26th to 28th April

Deadline for Stories and Art - July 21st

Posting - July 25th onwards

[yanderes-galore]

I saw you write for resident evil.. could you do Yandere Sergei Vladimir from resident evil Umbrella Chronicles with a short female reader romantic HC.. and being overprotective if that's ok?😖

Sure! I can try :) Again, heights are hard for me to focus on but I'm trying my best. Overprotective is vague here as it isn't entirely his type.

Yandere! Sergei Vladimir with Short! Darling

Short Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Yandere-like behavior, Possessive behavior, Slight implied overprotective behavior, Forced affections, Mentioned size kink, Abduction, Murder, Forced flirtatious behavior, Abuse of power.

- Sergei Vladimir isn't entirely the protective type of Yandere, but he does express it occasionally.

- He's so enveloped and devote to his work in Umbrella that he hasn't considered a lifetime partner, really.

- But you happen to catch his eye on way or another.

- Being either a member in Umbrella as a scientist, or a S.T.A.R.S spy.

- Being a scientist in Umbrella would get you the closest to him.

- The height difference in evident and intimidating to you.

- Sergei is 6'7 ft/202 cm and weighs 110 kilos/242 lbs.

- The Umbrella Executive towers over you.

- Just his laugh feels like he's shaking you.

- Your work consists of experimenting with virus strains that are used for the tyrants.

- Sergei adores how useful you are towards rebuilding Umbrella, along with that fact you're smaller than him.

- Would not be surprised if Sergei had a slight size kink towards you.

- "How's the virus work doing, sweetie?"

- Sergei also uses nicknames to fluster you, most of the more intimate ones being in russian.

- He'd also feel superior to a shorter darling somewhat.

- You work under him, have a problem with his behavior towards you?

- Too bad you have no say in your rank....

- Sergei is usually a man that is focused in his work so him acting so indecent towards you isn't that often.

- Yet it is clear you are the Umbrella Executive's personal favorite scientist.

- One he'd do many things to and for.

- If you try to leave there is no doubt Sergei is going to hunt you down.

- You won't leave this corporation safely with the info you know.

- Sergei would probably even lose his cool when hearing you wish to leave the organization.

- He isn't worried, however.

- You'll be dragged back kicking and screaming by his B.O.W body guards.

- Just so Sergei can lock you in his arms with his massive size.

- "It's a shame you're keeping secrets from me, your superior. You should know that you can't leave me. It looks like until our relationship strengthens between each other, I need to keep you right here. Oh, trust me, I won't mind. In fact, I like the position you're in currently...."

- Overprotective is rare for him, but if you're gaining friends who wish to 'bust you out of this joint'...

- Sergei will make sure they're dealt with.

- He has many B.O.Ws at his disposal.

- Anybody threatening the relationship he's been trying to (forcefully) build between you is met with a slow and agonizing fate.

- He'll keep you here beside him...

- Even if he has to guard and force you by him.

[geek-fashionista]

829

Life in Bullet Points:

I wrote a cover letter in less than half an hour. Should do this for a living. My job will be getting other people jobs.

The car I was interested in is gone, so it’s back to the drawing board on that front.

I’ve been rewriting the first few chapters of my novel and rapidly going insane. It’s not fun. I’m tired of editing this book. And yet, I know I will have to rework it many more times before it’s published. I can comfort myself with the knowledge that this is just to get my foot in the door.

Almost finished re-reading The Lunar Chronicles. Kink-shaming Kai again for telling Cinder she can practice controlling his body as long as they have a safe word.

Still stalking Washington like a heartbroken ex.

It is unfortunately easy to slip back into my pre-Japan mindset, and more dangerous still is the increased anxiety and weakened self-esteem that I brought back to America with me. But underneath all that is this burning determination to live and live well. She rises from the ground, spits a tooth out, and puts her fists back up, bruised and sweaty and bleeding but ready to win.

I hope all your fighters are still in the ring, too.

[atamascolily]

After Ursula K. Le Guin died, I made an agreement with myself I would read anything and everything she'd written as the chance arose. That said, Searoad: Chronicles of Klatsand probably would have been the last on my list, had I not stumbled across a paperback copy in a library booksale (in pre-pandemic times) in a "fill a paper bag for $10" sale and it languished in my TBR pile for months before I finally got around to it.

The reason? Genre snobbery, in reverse of the usual direction. Searoad is a collection of short stories published in magazines like The New Yorker, and fancy-sounding publications with Review in their names. Serious publications publishing so-called "literary" fiction, or maybe "realistic fiction" or just plain fiction--fiction that's supposed to tell-it-like-it-is, lay bare the inadequacies of modern life, and leave you feeling empty and unfulfilled after watching empty and unfulfilled people make poor decisions in futile attempts to fill the emptiness and inadequacies of their lives. Because that’s the whole point of literature, right?

Oh. Perhaps I'm generalizing. But so it feels to me whenever I dip into one of these publications. They are "literature", everything else is "genre": romance, science-fiction, fantasy, action, adventure, thriller, mystery, crime. "Literary" fiction is usually just plain old "fiction" in the library classification systems and in common parlance: it is assumed to be the norm, the default, from which everything else is a deviation. And I hate this. I've always hated this.

To write about petty modern people with their petty modern lives is one thing--we all have our kinks--but to disdain others for imagining different things, for epics and grandeur and you-could-have-anything-so-why-not-go-for-it always struck me as a deep failure of, and disdain for, imagination. Genres, like so much else in our lives, are social constructs: us and them, the have and the have-nots. Literary fiction are the "haves", everything else is the "have-nots". That's changing, obviously, and the boundaries aren't as rigid as they once were, but I still see that divide reflected in so-called "serious" publications, and I generally avoid them.

Ursula K. Le Guin has always hugged the boundaries between "pure" genre (aka trashy, flashy, unfit for serious folk in the eyes of the pedants) and "literary merit". She's been accepted and respected by both camps, although the "literary" folks speak of the sci-fi rather patronizingly in their reviews of her works. Le Guin, however, never disdained the sci-fi labels in the same way that Margaret Atwood--another boundary-spanning writer--has always done.

For this reason, I've retained infinitely more respect for Le Guin than Atwood, despite Atwood's considerable talents as a writer. Atwood wants to play with sci-fi tropes, but she doesn't have the backbone to stand up and be proud of it. Atwood wants to write science fiction but not be judged for it, and the easiest way to do that (since genres are a social construct) is just to firmly insist that it's not sci-fi at all--move along, nothing to see here.

Here's a blurb on the back of my copy of Searoad by Carolyn Kizer, a Pulitzer-prize winning poet from the Pacific Northwest:

"For a number of years, the only science-fiction I read was that of Ursula K. Le Guin. I don't read science-fiction any more, thought I wouldn't think of missing a book of Le Guin's. She has transcended the genre..."

How very generous and open-minded of you to only read science-fiction so elevated it “transcends” its genre entirely, thereby becoming worthy of notice. And this is supposed to make me like literary fiction? 

That said, the irony is that Kizer’s statement sums up my approach to non-genre stuff as well, although I would not have phrased it quite so baldly. More like “Okay, not usually my cup of tea--but if it’s you, it’s okay....” The genre transcending thing, as much as I despise the phrasing, works both ways here.

All this is to say I finally read Searoad, even though I had to coax myself into it by pretending that this was an alien society that Le Guin and I were exploring together in order to tell us stuff about our own, and that helped. It also helped because the stories were so damn good, and I got carried away, even though they are very literary stories, with ambiguous endings, the usual focus on unexpressed and/or self-destructive emotions of love, birth, and death, and no magic or wizards or dragons whatsoever.

(To repeat: I am a genre snob who has never understood why writing without dragons was inherently better than writing with dragons in it. I have always operated under the principle that dragons made everything better. And I have never understood why depicting the world as it is was a stroke of literary genius, if all you were going to do with it it is show people being unhappy in the usual old ways instead of unusual ways. Or even imagine something new and different!)

Searoad reminds me of Lake Wobegon a little, but that's only because it's a small town, with characters from one story popping up in others in the most unexpected places--just like small town life. After a while, it feels like we're constantly running into old friends, a shared world--real, but in a good way. The stories were published across a wide range of outlets from 1987-1991, yet flow into each other astonishingly well when read in rapid succession, or indeed, in any order at all.

My favorite is "True Love," which is all about ditching unsatisfying conventional relationships to focus on one's true passion instead:

For me, sex is sublimation. Left to itself, in its raw, primitive state, my libido would have expend itself inexhaustibly in reading.

And since I have been a librarian ever since I was twenty, I can truly compare my life to that of some pasha luxuriating in his harem--and what a harem! Half a million mistresses, when I was at the Central Library in Portland! A decade-long orgy! And during the school year, since I teach now at the Library School, I have access to the University Library. Here in Klatsand where I spend the summers, the harem is very small and a good many of the houris are rather out of date, but then so am I. My lust has lessened somewhat with the years. Sometimes I imagine I could be contented with a mere shelf of tried, true, and highly selected Scheherazades, with only now and then a pretty little novel to flirt with, or a volume of new poetry to make me cry out with excess of pleasure in the heart of the night.

And in the same story, Le Guin makes it clear she's one of us:

"Do you like science fiction" I asked her, because all I can really talk about is books. And of course, she couldn't talk about books. That had been knocked out of her years ago. We compromised on "Star Trek," new and old. She liked the new series as well as the old one. I liked the old one better. Antal stared, not at Rosemarie, only at me. "You watch it?" he said. "You watch television?"

I didn't answer. ... I was not going to let him try to shame us for our commonness.

"The one I liked best was the one where Mr. Spock had to go home because he was in heat," I said to her.

"Except, he never, you know," she said. "They just had a fight over the girl, him and Captain Kirk, and then they left."

"That's his pride," I said, obscurely. I was thinking how Mr. Spock was never unbuttoned, never lolled, kept himself shadowy, unfulfilled, and so we loved him. And poor Captain Kirk, going from blonde to blonde, would never understand that he himself loved Mr. Spock truly, hopelessly, forever.

Reader, I LOLed. Because it's true. You know it, I know it, and so does Le Guin. And she had the guts to say so in the Indiana Review, and the editors published it. LEGEND.

Like all of Le Guin's writing, the stories in Searoad are lyrical, elegant, soaring, and moving--sympathetic, yet unafraid to call out bad behavior and terrible things when she sees it. My other favorite story, "Sleepwalkers," is a brilliant example of this: it starts with a complaint by a privileged male playwright about the housekeeper at his summer cabin, only for us to quickly learn (if his tone and phrasing didn't give it away) that he's an arrogant asshole who sees only what he wants to see and misses what's actually in front of him. We then pivot to a number of other people at the little resort, and their views of the housekeeper, and we're left with an open question at the end: which view is more accurate? Which story do we believe? What is actually going on? Can any of us really know or understand the hidden depths within another person? It's so deep and lush and well-written, and even funny on occasions.

And there's also a diversity of viewpoints and perspectives and scenarios enough to keep me interested: a lesbian grieves the death of her long-time partner, a war veteran deals with PTSD, a college student runs off into the woods to secretly map illegal old-growth logging stands, a ghost appears in a late-night diner to a sexual-abuse victim. The ghost thing seems like it ought to fall under genre conventions, but doesn’t because of the framing, and yet it still works for me--another example of Le Guin’s skill.

Anyway, so Le Guin actually made me enjoy so-called "literary" fiction and that was unexpected and delightful. Regardless of my feelings about most "realistic" fiction, I'm glad I read this collection.