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carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory · 3 years ago

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Real Dinosaurs Versus Reel Dinosaurs: Film’s Fictionalization of the Prehistoric World

by Shelby Wyzykowski

What better way can you spend a quiet evening at home than by having a good old-fashioned movie night? You dim the lights, cozily snuggle up on your sofa with a bowl of hot, buttery popcorn, and pick out a movie that you’ve always wanted to see: the 1948 classic Unknown Island. Mindlessly munching away on your snacks, your eyes are glued to the screen as the story unfolds. You reach a key scene in the movie: a towering, T. rex-sized Ceratosaurus and an equally enormous Megatherium ground sloth are locked in mortal combat. And you think to yourself, “I’m pretty sure something like this never actually happened.” And you know what? Your prehistorically inclined instincts are correct.

From the time that the first dinosaur fossils were identified in the early 1800s, society has been fascinated by these “terrible lizards.” When, where, and how did they live? And why did they (except for their modern descendants, birds) die out so suddenly? We’ve always been hungry to find out more about the mysteries behind the dinosaurs’ existence. The public’s hunger for answers was first satisfied by newspapers, books, and scientific journals. But then a whole new, sensational medium was invented: motion pictures. And with its creation came a new, exciting way to explore the primeval world of these ancient creatures. But cinema is art, not science. And from the very beginning, scientific inaccuracies abounded. You might be surprised to learn that these filmic faux pas not only exist in movies from the early days of cinema. They pervade essentially every dinosaur movie that has ever been made.

One Million Years B.C.

Another film that can easily be identified as more fiction than fact is 1966’s One Million Years B.C. It tells the story of conflicts between members of two tribes of cave people as well as their dangerous dealings with a host of hostile dinosaurs (such as Allosaurus, Triceratops, and Ceratosaurus). However, neither modern-looking humans nor dinosaurs (again, except birds) existed one million years ago. In the case of dinosaurs, the movie was about 65 million years too late. Non-avian dinosaurs disappeared 66 million years ago during a mass extinction known as the K/Pg (which stands for “Cretaceous/Paleogene”) event. An asteroid measuring around six miles in diameter and traveling at an estimated speed of ten miles per second slammed into the Earth at what is now the Yucatán Peninsula in Mexico. The effects of this giant impact were so devastating that over 75% of the world’s species became extinct. But the dinosaurs’ misfortunes were a lucky break for Cretaceous Period mammals. They were able to gain a stronger foothold and flourish in the challenging and inhospitable post-impact environment.

Cut to approximately 65 million, 700 thousand years later, when modern-looking humans finally arrived on the chronological scene. Until recently, the oldest known fossils of our species, Homo sapiens, dated back to just 195,000 years ago (which is, in geological terms, akin to the blink of an eye). And for many years, these fossils have been widely accepted to be the oldest members of our species. But this theory was challenged in June of 2017 when paleoanthropologists from the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology reported that they had discovered what they thought may be the oldest known remains of Homo sapiens on a desert hillside at Jebel Irhoud in Morocco. The 315,000-year-old fossils included skull bones that, when pieced together, indicated that these humans had faces that looked very much like ours, but their brains did differ. Being long and low, their brains did not have the distinctively round shape of those of present-day humans. This noticeable difference in brain shape has led some scientists to wonder: perhaps these people were just close relatives of Homo sapiens. On the other hand, maybe they could be near the root of the Homo sapien lineage, a sort of protomodern Homo sapien as opposed to the modern Homo sapien. One thing is for certain, the discovery at Jebel Irhoud reminds us that the story of human evolution is long and complex with many questions that are yet to be answered.

The Land Before Time

Another movie that misplaces its characters in the prehistoric timeline is 1988’s The Land Before Time. The stars of this animated motion picture are Littlefoot the Apatosaurus, Cera the Triceratops, Ducky the Saurolophus, Petrie the Pteranodon, and Spike the Stegosaurus. As their world is ravaged by constant earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, the hungry and scared young dinosaurs make a perilous journey to the lush and green Great Valley where they’ll reunite with their families and never want for food again. In their on-screen imagined story, these five make a great team. But, assuming that the movie is set at the very end of the Cretaceous (intense volcanic activity was a characteristic of this time), the quintet’s trip would have actually been just a solo trek. Ducky and Petrie’s species had become extinct several million years earlier, and Littlefoot and Spike would have lived way back in the Jurassic Period (201– 145 million years ago). Cera alone would have had to experience several harrowing encounters with the movie’s other latest Cretaceous creature, the ferocious and relentless Sharptooth, a Tyrannosaurus rex.

Speaking of Sharptooth, The Land Before Time’s animators made a scientifically accurate choice when they decided to draw him with a two-fingered hand, as opposed to the three fingers traditionally embraced by other movie makers. For 1933’s King Kong, the creators mistakenly modeled their T. rex after a scientifically outdated 1906 museum painting. Many other directors knowingly dismissed the science-backed evidence and used three digits because they thought this type of hand was more aesthetically pleasing. By the 1920s, paleontologists had already hypothesized that these predators were two-fingered because an earlier relative of Tyrannosaurus, Gorgosaurus, was known to have had only two functional digits. Scientists had to make an educated guess because the first T. rex (and many subsequent specimens) to be found had no hands preserved. It wasn’t until 1988 that it was officially confirmed that T. rex was two-fingered when the first specimen with an intact hand was discovered. Then, in 1997, Peck’s Rex, the first T. rex specimen with hands preserving a third metacarpal (hand bone), was unearthed. Paleontologists agree that, in life, the third metacarpal of Peck’s Rex would not have been part of a distinct, externally visible third finger, but instead would have been embedded in the flesh of the rest of the hand. But still, was this third hand segment vestigial, no longer serving any apparent purpose? Or could it have possibly been used as a buttressing structure, helping the two fully formed fingers to withstand forces and stresses on the hand? Peck’s Rex’s bones do display evidence that strongly supports arm use. You can ponder this paleo-puzzle yourself when you visit Carnegie Museum of Natural History’s Dinosaurs in Their Time exhibition, where you can see a life-sized cast of Peck’s Rex facing off with the holotype (= name-bearing) T. rex, which was the first specimen of the species to be recognized (by definition, the world’s first fossil of the world’s most famous dinosaur!).

T. rex in Dinosaurs in Their Time. Image credit: Joshua Franzos, Treehouse Media

Jurassic Park

One motion picture that did take artistic liberties with T. rex for the sake of suspense was 1993’s Jurassic Park. In one memorable, hair-raising scene, several of the movie’s stars are saved from becoming this dinosaur’s savory snack by standing completely still. According to the film’s paleontological protagonist, Dr. Alan Grant, the theropod can’t see humans if they don’t move. Does this theory have any credence, or was it just a clever plot device that made for a great movie moment? In 2006, the results of ongoing research at the University of Oregon were published in the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology, providing a surprising answer. The study involved using perimetry (an ophthalmic technique used for measuring and assessing visual fields) and a scale model T. rex head to determine the creature’s binocular range (the area that could be viewed at the same time by both eyes). Generally speaking, the wider an animal’s binocular range, the better its depth perception and overall vision. It was determined that the binocular range of T. rex was 55 degrees, which is greater than that of a modern-day hawk! This theropod may have even had visual clarity up to 13 times greater than a person. That’s extremely impressive, considering an eagle only has up to 3.6 times the clarity of a human! Another study that examined the senses of T. rex determined that the dinosaur had unusually large olfactory bulbs (the areas of the brain dedicated to scent) that would have given it the ability to smell as well as a present-day vulture! So, in Jurassic Park, even if the eyes of T. rex had been blurred by the raindrops in this dark and stormy scene, its nose would have still homed-in on Dr. Grant and the others, providing the predator with some tasty midnight treats.

Now, it may seem that this blog post might be a bit critical of dinosaur movies. But, truly, I appreciate them just as much as the next filmophile. They do a magnificent job of providing all of us with some pretty thrilling, edge-of-your-seat entertainment. But, somewhere along the way, their purpose has serendipitously become twofold. They have also inspired some of us to pursue paleontology as a lifelong career. So, in a way, dinosaur movies have been of immense benefit to both the cinematic and scientific worlds. And for that great service, they all deserve a huge round of applause.

Shelby Wyzykowski is a Gallery Experience Presenter in CMNH’s Life Long Learning Department. Museum staff, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

#Carnegie Museum of Natural History #Dinosaurs #Dinosaur Movies #Jurassic Park #Jurassic #Land Before Time #Paleontology

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redrose-arrow · 2 years ago

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I have a question can you make some valentine fanfic with Halt and Pauline ? I really need a good fanfic about them and your writing is amazing. But you know no pressure or anything. Anyway love your account 🦭

Flowers

In which, again, Halt is about as out of character as he is in character. Requested for Valentine’s by a very sweet anon! I don’t think this would classify as a Valentine’s fic but hey, relationships need time to be build.

~~~

It had been a challenge to hide the flowers under his cloak without damaging them. But, Halt had decided, it was of the absolute, utmost importance, that no one saw the colourful leaves in his hands.

He hadn’t been stationed at Redmont for long, but had already granted himself the reputation of being grim, strict, and forbidden. And nothing, not even the gracious Lady Pauline, was reason enough to break that image.

Flowers in one hand, Halt raised his other to knock on the door before him. But before his knuckles could come into contact with the thick wood, he hesitated. He hadn’t thought this through. What if she wasn’t home? What if she was busy? What if-

‘Halt?’

A voice like a sharp knife that could effortlessly slice through the hardest of materials. That was how Halt would describe Pauline’s voice, though he realised it might not be the most eloquent of comparisons.

He turned around, forever thankful that he didn’t blush easily and that if he did, there was a beard to hide it.

Pauline stood a few metres away from him. Her blonde hair was tied into a knot in her neck, not a single strand out of place. The deep-blue cape that was draped over the simple yet elegant white dress indicated that she had just returned from a trip outside the castle walls.

Internally, Halt kicked himself over not having heard her approach. In his defence, he hadn’t yet figured out the sounds and noises of the castle. Plus, Pauline had the suspiciously Ranger-like ability to move without being heard - a skill undoubtedly learned by the hours spent undercover. Still, Halt was a little ashamed to admit that he had allowed himself to get distracted.

‘What are you doing here? Do we have business I forgot about?’

Halt doubted that if they did have business to discuss, Pauline would forget it.

‘No!’ he said. ‘I uh, Arald mentioned that the Diplomatic Service was slammed with work, so I figured you wouldn’t be out much, so I thought… I picked flowers.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Pauline said, ever so politely. ‘Why don’t you come in so we can put them in some water?’

Appreciatively, Halt took a few steps back so Pauline could unlock her door. As she turned the key in its lock, she said: ‘I hope you’ll forgive me, but I don’t think I have much to offer. I honestly only come here to sleep.’

‘Water’s fine,’ Halt assured her.

‘Good… Feel free to make yourself comfortable… if there’s any space.’

She hadn’t been kidding. When the door opened, Halt was greeted by stacks and stacks of paper. They were everywhere. On the table, on the chairs, on the couch, on the kitchen counter, and even on the floor. Colourful papers indicated to Halt that there was a system to the chaos, even if they seemed random to him.

‘So… Diplomatic Service truly is slammed, isn’t it?’

Pauline nodded as she handed him a glass of water.

‘We weren’t hit as hard as the Ranger Corps, but even we couldn’t escape the Morgarath-sympathisers.’

Halt raised an eyebrow.

‘Surely not here at Redmont?’

Pauline shook her head.

‘We came out relatively unscathed. Arald’s been critical of whoever he hired from the start and my predecessor and I were no less easy on our own divisions. But with many regional and even the national Services weakened… much is falling onto our plate. In fact, I think I might even have to travel back up to Araluen soon. The King is hosting a banquet for foreign ambassadors and I don’t think he has any suitable representatives of the Diplomatic Service available.’

‘Maybe we could travel together,’ Halt offered. ‘Crowley asked me to come up as soon as I could. Apparently, this guy Thorgan is wreaking havoc, and I think Crowley wants my help getting him to stop.’

‘Some company would be nice,’ Pauline smiled.

They stood in silence. As Halt had already noted, they had no business to discuss. And it seemed like Pauline had other things on her mind. Halt was not oblivious to the way her eyes kept drifting

He drank the last of the water and put it in the sink.

‘I should probably go,’ he said. ‘Patrolling, and all that.’

‘Sounds like your evening’s all booked.’

‘Yes, well. Except for dinner. Do you have any plans?’

The gracious Courier nodded.

‘Usually Chubb whips me something up. He knows my schedule. One of his apprentices will probably be at my office later tonight.’

‘Right,’ Halt said. He didn’t know what he had hoped for.

‘Well, good luck.’

‘Thank you,’ Pauline replied. But her voice was already distant and her eyes were drifting towards one of the stacks nearest by. Halt pulled the door close behind him. Something about what Pauline had said didn’t sit right with him. He shook his head - he was probably just looking for excuses.

But when he walked to the stables to retrieve Abelard and heard the celebratory sounds from the soldiers’ quarters, he remembered. Tonight, Arald was hosting a small feast for his men at arms, to thank them for their service in the battles of the past few months. Obviously, Master Chubb was the cook. There was no way he would have time to send one of his apprentices upstairs with some leftovers.

It must’ve slipped Pauline’s mind. Halt thought about going back to tell her, but dismissed the idea. There were other ways for him to be helpful.

So instead, a few hours later, the Ranger slipped back into the castle, a covered bowl with a steaming stew in his hands.

Pauline’s office was empty. She was probably at a colleague’s office, undoubtedly discussing important matters. Halt debated going to her apartment a few floors up, but decided against it. The Diplomat had said Chubb usually had the food sent to her office. This is where she would expect it. So he carefully brushed some papers to the side and put the covered bowl on the table.

He didn’t leave a note. Just a flower.

#i do not want to talk about how long this took me #and i have very mixed feelings over the results #ask redrose #ask redrosearrow #redrose writes #redrose writing #i should really just figure out one tag instead of two eh #rangers apprentice #ranger's apprentice #john flanagan #halt o'carrick #pauline dulacy

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httpjeon · 5 years ago

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MINE FOR TODAY — KSJ (M.)

synopsis. as part of a special valentines day sale, you make a bid in hopes to get a special discounted date with one of the dreamy bachelors of club ardor. you decide to choose The Romantic.

pairing. seokjin/reader genre. angst, fluff, smut au. fake dating!au, date-for-hire!au wordcount. 6,171 contents. sad!seokjin, lonely!seokjin, light pining, teasing, protected sex, breast play, fingering, size kink (?), scratching, overstimulation, doggy style, pet names, light aftercare note. seokjins was by far the hardest to write. i have such a difficult time writing him ): i apologize, i did my best for him!

— club ardor masterlist.

Your phone let out a startling ding, making you jump as you hadn't realized you'd forgotten to silence it. Taking a look around your cubicle, you made sure no one had noticed before you pulled it out and went to put in do not disturb mode. Before you did, however, the preview notification caught your attention.

"CLUB ARDOR VALENTINES DAY SPECIAL: See Inside for Details."

As you were about to unlock your phone to take a look, you heard the light clicks of your boss's heels coming towards you. You quickly slid your phone back into your drawer and turned your attention to your screen, feigning reading something.

Her footsteps paused outside of your cubicle before she called your name. You spun around in your chair to meet her gaze curiously.

"I really need those expense reports within the next hour, can you do that?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," you nodded, turning around once again to face your desk, "I'm actually almost done, I can probably have them on your desk in 30 minutes."

"That's perfect," she smiled, "Thank you."

You returned her smile and let out a sigh once you heard her footsteps disappear. Shaking your head, you let yourself become absorbed in your work once again -- forgetting about that email you'd received.

You caught a taxi to head home, not feeling like walking even though your apartment was only 5 minutes away. Your feet were aching and you just desperately wanted to take a shower and eat dinner as you'd accidentally missed your lunch break by working through it.

It wasn't the first time you'd considered yourself a bit too much of a workaholic.

It was nearing 11PM by the time you finally were able to settle down on the couch. Your hair was freshly washed and you were wrapped in a soft bathrobe with a nice face mask.

Reclining as the TV played in the background, you unlocked your phone to check after spending most of the day without. You responded to texts and checked your social media before suddenly remembered the email you had received earlier.

"CLUB ARDOR VALENTINES DAY SPECIAL: See Inside for Details."

It sat at the top of your emails and when you opened it, you were greeted with an image similar to a party invite. In pretty, cursive font it was written; "Once in a lifetime chance to meet the man of your dreams!"

There was a link beneath it that you clicked, causing it to open a new Safari page. The search bar indicated it had taken you to clubardor.com. It wasn't the first time you'd been on the website.

You heard of it's grand opening half a year ago and went to check it out. Unfortunately, you discovered that even the most basic package was 2 grand for 12 hours. The deluxe had a price that nearly sent you into cardiac arrest.

In the end, you just signed up for newsletters and things to be sent by email.

It seemed it paid off, as you found yourself on a page detailing a Valentine's special.

For the entire month of February, they were hosting a giveaway. According to each Date's schedule, a lucky woman would be chosen from a lottery to get a date with them for just $500 instead of $2,000. The insane discount had your jaw dropping.

You weren't embarrassed to admit that you were curious about the date-for-hire service. Biting your lip, you decided to throw your hat into the ring and place a bid on the special.

"Full money-back guarantee if you're not chosen!" was written in bold letters above the credit card input.

You had no worry about being scammed, Club Ardor had risen to the top in terms of dating services in the country -- after just 6 months of activity and just 7 bachelors available. They had an excellent reputation and were known for having an extremely high-class clientele.

With your lip caught between your teeth, an excited smile on your face, you put your payment information in and hit 'Enter'.

"Thank you for your bid! Please keep an eye on your email within the next week to determine if you've been chosen! Your lottery number is 1-241-994."

You opened up your note app and typed down the number on a blank note for safe keeping.

Returning to the website, you began to do some digging into each of the men available to hire. While their pictures weren't viewable -- for safety reasons, you supposed, there was plenty of information about them.

"Each Date has full control over creating his own scene. Location, dynamic, and length of time will vary. Please speak to your Date for more information on his plans to be sure you have allotted the correct time-frame. Abide by rules and limits he sets."

You flicked through the profiles of each man, eying their listed physical and emotional qualities.

That night, you went to sleep with excitement stirring in your heart.

Somehow, you managed to work through a couple days and ended up forgetting about even signing up for it. You were working so hard to get a promotion so you could escape the shitty cubicle that somehow spending $500 completely slipped your mind.

At least, that was until you were eating a bowl of cereal at nearly 3 in the morning on a Friday night -- 6 days after you had signed up, and your phone pinged with the alert of an email. Holding the spoon in your mouth, you picked up the device and unlocked it without even looking at the notification.

You went to your email and paused when you saw the email was from Club Ardor.

With shaking fingers, you opened it.

"Below are the applicants who filed for the lottery that won. If you do not see your number, expect a monetary refund within the next 24 hours."

You clicked out and went to your note app to check the number you had gotten. Refreshing your memory, you returned to the email and scanned down the list. There were a lot of numbers listed, you quickly realized. But by some miracle, you spotted your own number listed there in the middle.

"If your number is listed, please check your email for further instructions."

You backed out of the email and refreshed, sitting up straight when you realized you had a new one from Club Ardor.

"Congratulations on winning a special night, please follow this link to register for a date with the man of your choice!"

Clicking the bright red hyperlink, you watched the screen load for several seconds and go from white to black.

You flicked through all seven of the men passing the boyfriend, the romantic, the quiet one, the playboy, the softy, the bad boy, and the alpha male. It was easy to rule out the playboy, bad boy, and alpha male -- deeming them a little too hard of scenes than what you would be able to handle.

After a bit of deliberating, you decided on the romantic. He seemed to be the oldest at 26 years old and from the silhouette of his picture, you could see he had a very nice build with hide shoulders and pretty, thin waist. You assumed he would be closer to your type and you did enjoy romance so with a couple of clicks, you were registered for a date with him.

You were brought to another page which held instructions for downloading an application called Club Ardor along with a code it told you to input.

You did as you were instructed, highly impressed with the company's extensive work on the hiring process. It was very obvious to you that Club Ardor was, in fact, suited for those of high class. The service held an obviously high regard for discretion and safety for both its bachelors and clients.

Once the app was downloaded, you opened it and found a box to enter the code you'd been given.

You were then brought to a page to input information such as your name, age, height, likes, dislikes, and preferences. After entering it all, you were brought to an empty text message thread.

Before you could attempt to look around, your phone let out a jingle and a new text message popped up.

From: Seokjin Hi cutie! Our date is set for tomorrow night. Meet me at the Club Ardor building at 7PM sharp. Wear something nice and pretty, but comfortable. Can't wait to see you!

You read the text several times, surprised by the quick work he made before typing out a response letting him know you understood. The final thing he texted was a an address to the building you would meet him at.

Thankfully, your job has required you to dress nicely for business dinners in the past so you had a decent amount of things to wear. You decided on just a flowing dress that was breathable but complimented your figure. Placing it in the front of your closet for easy access, you went through your nightly routine and got into bed.

You worked through the day, it was a Friday so you compiled the information of the entire week and input it into the data system. It kept you busy and the hours passed by quickly.

You got off at 5, having made sure you finished everything as quickly as possible so you wouldn't have to work over time.

"You're in a rush today, _____," your boss smiled as she met you in the elevator, carrying a couple files.

"I um...I have a date tonight," you confessed sheepishly, face flushing when she gasped.

"Congratulations, I hope you have a wonderful time," she said, patting you on the back, "Stay safe, I'll see you on Monday."

The elevator opened to the 3rd floor and she got off, shooting you a little wave before the doors closed again. You were dropped off at the lobby and you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, bidding a goodbye to the receptionist as you exited your building.

Grabbing a taxi, you made your way home.

As soon as you stepped out of the shower, you heard your phone go off from your bedroom. The notification bell for the Club Ardor app was extremely hard to miss.

Wrapping a towel around yourself, you wandered into your bedroom and picked the device up.

From: Seokjin [5:45PM] Super excited, cutie! Can't wait to see you!

You smiled, typing out your response immediately, "Me either! See you soon!".

You were ready earlier than you would have liked. There were still 20 minutes until you could leave and be at Club Ardor on time. You didn't want to be too early or too late.

Timing it just right, you grabbed your purse and slipped your phone into the side pocket before slipping your heels on. The Uber you called pulled up right on time as you exited the lobby of your apartment complex.

Exchanging pleasantries, you crawled into the back seat and let out a nervous breath. Of course it wasn't until you were literally on your way that the nerves would kick in.

Club Ardor came into view at precisely 6:58PM.

The building was a huge high rise building with several floors. Club Ardor was a brightly lit neon sign atop the building. The Uber pulled up to the front curb and you stepped out, checking the time to see it was 6:59PM.

As the Uber sped away, you stepped up to the door, unsure of what to do. Deciding that you should probably let him know you were there, but as you unlocked your phone, the lobby door opened and a man stepped out.

He was dressed in a tux with a bowtie and he looked around for a second before his eyes landed on you.

"_____?" he smiled, walking up to you with his hand out, "It's nice to meet you, I'm Seokjin."

"Hi, Seokjin," you greeted, noting how big his hand was in yours before he pulled away.

"My cars in the garage," he jerked his head in the direction around the building, "Do you want to come or I can pull up."

"I'll...wait here," you said, making him laugh before nodding his head.

"I get it," he waved it off and began to jog around the building.

You could hear the rev of a car engine echo from the garage before a sleek white car came into view. Seokjin got out and jogged around the car to open the door for you.

You thanked him with a soft smile before getting in, pulling the seat belt on as he slammed the door shut.

Once in an enclosed space with him, you were immediately aware of how good he smelled. An almost sweet, fruity perfume wafted off of him and if you looked closely you could see he had a lip tint on.

"So, what's the plan?" you asked, breaking the silence that had settled.

"A romantic date on the water for two," he sighed, almost dreamily.

It couldn't help but laugh, which in turn brought a bright smile onto his face. The atmosphere became increasingly less tense as Seokjin drove to somewhere unknown.

"I'm so hungry," he complained from the driver's seat, making a turn onto a less populated road, "The food is honestly to die for."

"Whoa, what is this place?" you asked, not fully hearing his comment as you watched him pull up at a parking lot near a huge lake.

"This is where our date is, silly!" he grinned, getting out of the car and rounding to open your door for you.

He took your hand, escorting you towards a pier where there was a large boat bobbing with the waters natural movement.

"Hop aboard, lovely," he kept h is hold on your hand as you got onto the boat. He followed you and tugged your hand to get you to follow him.

Your body wavered as the boat suddenly took off but Seokjin was there to steady you with a broad grin.

"Have a seat," he motioned to a small table with two chairs across from one another.

"So," you huffed a laugh as you took a seat, "When you said...dinner on the water."

"I meant it literally," he shrugged, reaching over to click a button and several strings of white fairy lights illuminated everything around you.

"Whoa," you gasped, looking around.

You could see the lights from the buildings on shore and there was a beautiful cast of the moon shining over the water. It was beautiful and as you turned your gaze back to Seokjin, you were surprised to find him leaning his chin on his hand as he watched you.

"Your eyes are sparkling," he said, an almost serene smile on his lips.

In more proper light, you could make out his features more. He had wide shoulders, pretty, plump lips and flawless skin. His eyes were sparkling as well, the dark irises looking like stars were shining within them.

"Would you like to start eating?" he asked, reaching across the table to place his hand over yours. His skin was soft and warm and it made you smile as you nodded.

Dinner was a blur, he had a few dishes available to choose from since he didn't know exactly what you would like. You chose the steak, which seemed to make Seokjin quite happy as he ordered the same thing.

You could see where his romantic title came from as he reached across the table to feed you a couple bites every once in a while. Once the main course was over, the two of you shared a strawberry cheesecake slice after he lit the candle at the end of the table.

You had a good laugh when he failed to light it a few times because the breeze kept blowing it out.

"Now, the next portion of our date I'll admit...it's a little lame," he confessed sheepishly as he walked you back to the car.

"Oh?" you climbed into the seat after he opened the door for you.

"We're going to head back to Club Ardor, drink, and watch movies," he said, turning the key in the ignition.

"It's not lame," you giggled, resting your head back on the seat, "I think it's a great way to unwind."

"I'm glad you feel that way," he said, sounding relieved.

When you finally pulled back up to Club Ardor, Seokjin was blasting music and singing obnoxiously to it. You had your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing too much. Every once in a while, he'd take a look at you and end up laughing midway through his singing.

He pulled into the garage and pulled into a parking spot that had his name on a sign in front of it.

There was a door that he had to scan a card to unlock which led into what appeared to be a lounge room. He didn't waste any time in clicking the button to call the elevator.

Seokjin was comfortable. He had such a calm, relaxing demeanor that it put you at ease.

The two of you sat on the couch and clinked your glasses together before you both downed the shot he had poured. You cringed as it burned going down your throat, leaving a horrible taste in your mouth.

A bit of a lightweight, it didn't take much to get you tipsy and soon you were both losing it over some horrible movie he had accidentally picked.

"I swear it looked good in the previews!" he argued through laughter when you teased him about his choice.

"I'm picking the next one, you've lost movie-picking privileges!" you laughed, stealing the remote from his hands, making him gasp in shock.

He immediately began to try and get it back from you, his body pressed against yours. His perfume once again and it made your eyes flutter.

Pressed against the arm of the couch with Seokjin's body dangerously close to yours, you both paused. He met your eyes, seemingly searching for something in your gaze. As you searched his, you couldn't deny how...sad they looked.

Your breath began to quicken when his face slowly got closer to yours. You could feel his breath against your lips but before they could meet, he was pulling away. He took the remote with him and took his seat beside you once again, leaving you pressing your hand to your chest as your heart raced almost painfully.

There was a terrifyingly loud alarm that rang throughout the room, making you jolt awake.

Looking at the clock, you were disgruntled to see that it was 7 in the morning. Sitting up, you realized you were in bed when you were positive you fell asleep with Seokjin on the couch.

"Hey," he said, making you jump as he suddenly appeared in the doorway, "It's 7am."

"I see that," you mumbled, sliding out of bed, still sleepy.

"Our 12 hours are up."

And just like that it was over.

However, Seokjin didn't leave your mind after that though. Even when you stepped into your apartment, you couldn't stop thinking about him.

Especially how you almost kissed.

You were, of course, aware that Club Ardor dates would occasionally participate in physical intimacy. You hadn't expected it to happen to though. You could still remember the way his scent wafted around you and how close his lips were to yours or that sad look in his eyes.

A week passed by quickly and painlessly. You fell back into a rhythm with work, giving vague replies to your boss when she asked about how it went.

Somehow, Seokjin kept slipping into your mind. You couldn't shake him.

A measly 12 hours with a man you had only just met, and he seemed to have invaded your very subconscious.

That day, after work, you decided to take a detour to a local bar. It wasn't a very big, popular bar but the people in your neighborhood frequented it quite often. The atmosphere was buzzing inside and you made to take a seat at the bar but paused when you spotted a figure you recognized. You blinked several times, making sure you weren't hallucinating him.

"Seokjin?" you asked, making him jump.

His head snapped over to look at you, his eyes wide. He took you in for a second before his face morphed into confusion.

"What're you doing here? How'd you know I was here?" he sounded defensive and it made you frown, shaking your head.

"I live in the apartment complex down the street, I stopped here after work for a nice Friday drink," you motioned to your work attire and he seemed to relax. Part of you was offended that he thought you were some kind of stalker but you supposed in his line of work, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

He was drinking a beer slowly, seemingly lost in his own little world as he turned away from you. You got the hint, and went to walk away from him but you stopped when he called your name.

"Um...why don't you sit with me?" he asked, motioning to the empty stool beside him.

You were relieved he asked you to join him because that's all you wanted. You took the seat and he ordered you a drink, for which you thanked him. Being in his presence again felt nice and you already began to relax.

It seemed Seokjin had been drinking there for a while. His face was a little red and he was openly giggly and friendly -- a complete difference than what he was when you first sat him sitting there.

Time flew by with him but eventually you realized it had gotten dark outside and you'd stayed far longer than you had intended.

"I really need to be going," you sighed, the words painful as they slipped out of your mouth. You didn't want to leave him, you'd thought about him so long.

"Wait!" he cried, grabbing a hold of your blouse sleeve, effectively halting you.

"What is it?" you asked, alarmed by the saddened look on his face.

"I...Can't you stay?" he asked, voice soft.

"I...I really need to get home...I've got some reports to go over for work..." you explained, wincing when you watched him visibly deflate, "You...you can come over, if you want?"

"Really?" he looked hopeful again as he hopped off the stool.

He wobbled a bit and you laughed, reaching out to steady him even though you were a little tipsy yourself.

The two of you walked outside, the cool night air hitting your heated skin and making you shiver.

"I really...I'm not supposed to go home with clients..." he mumbled, as if talking to himself, "But I guess you're not technically a client anymore, right?"

You chuckled, cheeks burning when he pulled you close against him, "I guess I'm not."

"Yeah, so it's fine!" he chuckled.

Once the two of you stepped into your apartment, things seemed to shift. He took a seat on the couch and relaxed.

It gave you a moment to take him in; he wore jeans and a t-shirt, looking even better in casual clothes than he did in formal wear.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" you asked suddenly, unable to hold back your smile when he visibly perked up, "I'll make you some."

You disappeared into the kitchen, letting out a deep breath as you realized your heart was racing. Seokjin seemed to have the effect. He didn't even do anything and he had you flustered.

You heated up some milk in the microwave, not wanting to bother with stove top. Pouring the powder into the cup you stood and waited for the milk to be done.

Before it could finish, you felt a presence behind you that had you jumping out of your skin. Turning around, you were face to face with Seokjin's incredible visage. His brown eyes were wide, almost curious and a smile lingered on his pretty lips.

You subconsciously licked your own lips and you swear your saw his own eyes drop to your lips. The energy was tense between the two of you and his perfume was permeating off of him once again. Seokjin opened his mouth to say something but before he could the microwave beeped.

The spell was broken and he backed off, wandering back into the kitchen as you began to mix the powder and milk in the cup.

You took a seat beside him, handing him the cup before turning the TV on. The two of you relaxed, you pulled your throw blanket over you shoulders as Seokjin sipped on his hot chocolate.

As you watched him, you couldn't help but find him cute.

"Hey Seokjin?" you asked, earning a hum from him, "How come you work at Club Ardor?"

"Why do you ask that?" he questioned, frowning as he sat up straighter.

You followed suit, shrugging your shoulders, "I mean surely being a date-for-hire wasn't the job you dreamed of," your words brought a smile to his face and he let out a soft chuckle, "Plus, you're crazy good looking, funny, and charming...I'd expect someone like you to be a model or something."

"Well...thanks..." he smiled, cheeks a little red, "To tell you the truth...I've dated quite a bit but..." he seemed to deflate as he spoke, "It never worked out, they all just wanted me for my money and looks."

"How shallow..." you sighed, shaking your head in dismay.

"Eventually, I just decided to stop trying but...if I'm honest I get so lonely," his confession made you frown, "But I just...don't want to be open to anyone so...this job makes me feel loved, even if it's fake."

"You won't even try to find a girlfriend again or something?" you asked, pained at the idea of him just giving up.

He shook his head, "No one ever wants me for me. Do you think I haven't tried my hardest? It never works, I'm sick of feeling left like I'm worth less than I am."

"Seokjin..." you muttered, reaching over to place your hand over his that was curled up in a fist on his knee, "You...deserve to have someone genuinely love you. It seems impossible but...it can't be like this forever. Someone will come along that will see you for you but you can't just...shut down. You should keep trying," you squeezed his hand, feeling it relax from the fist, "Maybe you've been dating the wrong women!"

"You're right," he mumbled, surprising you, "I think someone more like you is my type."

It took a second for those words to sink in,"Wha--" you shook your head, letting out a soft laugh, "Don't tease me like that!"

"No, I really mean it, _____," he whispered, meeting your gaze. It held such conviction and sincerity that you felt your heart speed up, "I think you're beautiful and you're so sincere. When we had our date," he paused after saying the word before sighing, "I had never wanted to kiss or touch someone more than I wanted to with you. You are absolutely captivating and you don't even know it."

He shifted on the couch, turning to face his body towards you. Your proximity was closer than you expected once he faced you, if you leaned in just a bit more your noses would touch.

The tension between you rose, something hot building that neither of you could deny.

Then, his lips were on yours -- soft and warm with the taste of hot chocolate lingering on them. It wasn't even a thought to hesitate, you were immediately returning the kiss.

It became more heated as the seconds ticked by. You found yourself pinned to the couch with him above you, never breaking the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. Whimpering, you felt a shiver go down your spine when he softly nipped at your bottom lip.

When you pulled away, there was a minuscule thread of saliva connecting your lips. Once you met his heated gaze, you both knew what the other wanted.

The walk to the bedroom was a blur of shared kisses and wandering hands pushing clothes off. By the time you were pinned to the bed, you were both naked.

Seokjin's pretty, plump lips found purchase on your neck, making you shiver as his breath fanned over the sensitive skin. Kisses trailed down to your chest, over your collarbones and sternum before reaching the gentle swell of your breasts.

Your chest rose as you inhaled sharply at the feeling of his warm lips enveloping a perked nipple. His fingers caressed your skin so delicately you could almost miss it completely

His digits dipped between your thighs to find your folds already wet. He groaned, lightly grazing his teeth against your nipple before looking up at you through his lashes.

“All this because of some kissing?” he teased, making your cheeks burn.

He huffed a laugh and moved to take your other nipple into his mouth. At that same moment, his fingers parted your folds and found your clit. You gasped, spreading your legs further for his access.

His digits were skilled and graceful, circling your clit to make you whimper before dipping into your entrance. His fingers were long and found your sweet spot quickly, chuckling when your hips twitched upwards at the stimulation.

He sat up, pulling away from you as he sat back on his heels. His fingers were still inside you and he eagerly watched the way your entrance stretched to accommodate his two — three fingers.

Your eyes fluttered, rolling back in your head as he fucked you with his fingers. As a result, you missed him wrapping his left hand around his own cock, biting his lip as he finally got the stimulant he needed.

Precum dripped down his shaft and he eagerly used it to lubricate his movements. He scissored his fingers inside you, making sure you were stretched enough to take him.

When he pulled out, you whined at how empty you felt.

“Have you got a condom?” he breathed, tightening his fist around his cock when you reached into your bedside drawer and pulled one out.

You settled back, spreading your legs once again. He groaned, shuffling forward to cover your body with his. Your eyes met as the tip of this cock kissed your entrance.

Both your mouths fell open as he sunk into you. Your tight walls squeezed him so wonderfully that he groaned. He stretched you open even more than his fingers had, giving you that wonderful burn you needed.

He met your lips in a sweet kiss as he angled his hips toward your sweet spot. You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to ground you as the pleasure ran rampant. He hissed, cock twitching at the sting of your nails on his back.

His pelvic bone ground against your clit every time he sunk in, edging you closer and closer to release. Seokjin could feel the way you fluttered around him and he groaned.

Sliding a hand between your bodies, he circled the bud until you arched with a cry of pleasure.

He eased you through the high, grinning when you trembled through the overstimulation. Finally, he slowed to a stop and pulled out. You whimpered, feeling your hole clench around nothing.

“Roll over,” he breathed, cupping your hip to urge you onto your front.

With your face buried in the pillow and your ass in the air, you looked like a delectable treat for him. Standing on his knees, he sunk his cock back into your cunt.

You both groaned. The angle had him hitting your spot with painful accuracy. You cried out, muffled in the fabric of the pillow, as he fucked you into even more overstimulation. Your recent orgasm had you much more sensitive and this position allowed him to abuse that.

An almost sadistic grin crossed over his face as he enjoyed the little cries and whimpers you released the harder he fucked his cock into you.

Reaching down, he tangled his hand in your hair. You gasped as he tugged until you were up on your knees as well. Your back was against his chest and you could feel him panting against your neck.

His lips found the junction of your neck and shoulder, nipping at the skin there. Your walls fluttered around him and he released your hair to reach around and cup your breast.

“Fuck,” you gasped as he pinched your nipple, making your eyes roll back in your head.

“What is it, baby?” he groaned, the pet name making you flutter around him again.

“M-Make me cum, please,” you begging, making him groan once more.

He didn't say anything further, simply slid his hand down your body until he found your swollen clit. The second his fingers touched the bud, you clenched tight around him in sensitivity.

He circled the bud until you were trembling and gushing around him. You cried out his name as pleasure coursed through your body from your high. Seokjin didn't stop circling your clit and fucking his cock into your spasming walls until you were near tears.

He finally let you fall back down to the bed and began to chase his own high. He spread your ass cheeks apart, getting a good view of the way your cunt tried to suck him back in on every out stroke. The sight made him groan.

It took you deliberately squeezing tightly around him tightly for him to cum. It was sudden and knocked the air out of him. He gripped your hips tightly as he spilled into the condom, his cock twitching the entire time.

Everything was still for several seconds before he pulled out.

You rolled over to lay on your side as Seokjin got up and went into the bathroom. He came out a moment later with a wet cloth that he used to clean your thighs and folds with, laughing when you playfully smacked his shoulder from the oversensitivity.

He finally crawled into the bed, the two of you wiggling until you were comfortable.

You laid with Seokjin's chest beneath your head, the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat the only thing you heard. His hand softly combed through your hair and you smiled.

"This...This is what I've been needing for so long," he whispered, "No one trying to get something out of being with me. Just a sincere...caring touch."

"This is what you deserve, Seokjin," you sitting up to look at him. His hair was messed up in an adorable way that made you smile, "You can have so much more if you just...open yourself to it again."

Seokjin's gaze turns glassy as he opened his mouth to speak, "I'm just...scared."

Your heart ached when you saw a tear trickle from his eye. Reaching up, you swiped it away, "I know but...you deserve to be loved, Seokjin."

He didn't reply, simply reaching up to pull you back down into his arms. You held him in return, running your fingertips over his skin until you felt him relax as sleep finally overcame him. Adjusting yourself more comfortably, you let yourself fall asleep in his arms.

You opened your eyes to the morning sun shining into your bedroom. You licked your lips as your mouth felt dry and moved to sit up. As you did, you remembered what happened last night.

Looking beside you, you realized he wasn't in bed and the sheets were cold. Standing up, you wrapped your fuzzy robe around you and crept out of the bedroom.

"Seokjin?" you called, frowning when you received no reply.

Your heart was pounding as you made a round around the apartment to see if he left a note of anything. When you couldn't find anything, you returned to your bedroom to pick up your phone.

You froze, realizing you never actually got his phone number. You'd only communicated through the Club Ardor app.

Clicking on the icon, you waited for it to load.

Instead of being brought to your profile, you reached a page with a simple notice on it.

"Your date has filed a report, you are now blocked from using the Club Ardor service. If further contact is attempted, Club Ardor will be forced to take legal matters."

You stared at your phone for several seconds.

Everything that happened flashed through your mind -- the way he kissed you and confessed his feelings of loneliness and hurt to you. You wondered if any of it was true. Were you a game to him?

Your view of the notice on your screen became blurry as you realized you would never know.

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anteroom-of-death · 3 years ago

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The GFE (1/2)

A/N: back at it with the shitty wish-ful thinking fics.

Synopsis: Helmut wants a hooker. That's you babe.

Your second phone rang. Unmarked number, typical of idiots who were too afraid to man up and admit they weren’t just some other man paying for sex.

Letting it ring while you finished the spoonful of tomato soup, you slid open the face and sighed, “Hey.” You composed and dropped your voice down a half-octave. “It’s (insert chosen name you want reader.) How are you doing today?” You arched your back and let yourself get comfortable before reaching for your pen and pad.

A distinctly European voice whispered into your ear. “I was wondering if you would spend the evening with me.” It was extremely matter of fact.

“That…can be arranged.” Very polite. Not outwardly demanding. His voice was hinged with gruffness yet broke at the vowels. You started to build up a mental image of the man in your head. “I offer an GFE for 1850.”

“And how long would that be?”

“Eight hours.”

A small amount of silence happened, and you went and grabbed your laptop. You had to do the paltry amount of security that this line of work offers you. Especially since you were independent. Especially since you knew how clients were. Especially the ones that go silent but still stay on the line.

“That would excellent. I assume that you will come yourself. Or could I pick you up? I’ve not much time left on my hands.”

You scratched your chin with one finger.

“I would meet you there.” You established the boundary.

“Ah yes. Your listing says that you are strictly outcall?”

Duh. Of course. You weren’t going to let the crazies know where you live. And you weren’t going to rent out a second space to host them. Plus they seemed like less money.

“What would this….GFE entail?”

“I’m yours for the evening. Why don’t you book me and see...?” You channeled your days doing customer service at retail stores and smiled through the phone. As if to emphasize that you would be a good investment in his 8 hours.

“Alright. I have a private resid-" You stopped him mid-sentence. “Sorry, no private residences. Safety hazard.” You added and jokingly said “You could be a serial killer for all I know!” You laughed it off and added, “I’m sorry.”

“That could be arranged. I can get a room last minute. May I call you back?”

“Of course, darling. I’m here for you any time!”

“Thank you, (insert a name here)…” he seemed to croon and clicked off the receiver.

You slid the phone close and went back to your rapidly-cooling soup. He wasn’t going to call you back. They never do. Men like that are time wasters on civilian girls, yet alone pros…

You placed your self back into your slumped position and sighed.

At least the had a great voice, no? At least it was at that. Probably very ugly. Tad impotent. That’s how it goes- trade offs

You sighed. You needed to do your laundry. You needed to go get your feet scraped again. The amount of tasks needed just to maintain a household? Insurmountable. But running your own business? Insane. Literally, you dreaded your weekly mani-pedi wax massage session. The knots and stress you carried really showed.

You drank your soup and turned on your TV. You weren’t doing anything tonight. You might go out. You might climb out and sun yourself on the roof. The evening was open.

Your phone went off again. Unmarked number. Again.

No! It couldn’t be? Really?

You slid open the face and said yet again, “Hey, it’s (insert chosen name here).” But you were cut off. Him again.

“I have made a booking at the local Edition. I hope that’s satisfactory for you.” He sounded very amused, if not a little annoyed.

“Excellent…” you drew it out a bit. That was a truly amazing place. You were always interested in that place when you went to a park for selfie to update your site’s social side.

“Alright. Do you want to discuss anything prior? Do you have any specific ideas?” You tried to resume a normal, nonchalant vibe with your work voice.

“Just be there, and be comfortable and yourself.”

Oh. He was one of those types. He wanted you. So long as you are a perfect woman. Not really you.

That would be easy to do, hard to mask. Masking on GFEs was hard. It was so long. And he seemed like someone who’s ne hard to tire out and then fuck around on tumblr in the bathroom for a few hours while he sleep. You felt that from him already. You resisted the urge to bash your head off your laptop.

Speaking of which. The safeties. The formalities…

“I’ll just need your full name and credit card number. Oh, and your real phone number. Don’t worry. It’s just for better reserving. I will discard of it all later.” You really resented doing that every time. The urge sometimes to just run off and take some of these guys identities really hit you at times. If Capitan America can do it for years, pre-Snap, so could you.

“Of course.” He complied. “My name is Helmut Zemo.” And he gave you a number and his card information. You started to type it in on the background checking service you were subscribed to. It loaded.

“I need you there at 9:15 sharp, Draga. I must be going in the morning.”

You made a mental note to Google what “Draga" meant.

“I will be there!” You promised.

“I really must be going…” he said before you heard what sounded like screaming carry on in the background. Including a “Looking strong John.”

You put your phone down and stared at the wall for a few minutes before you looked down at the results.

Baron!? Helmut Zemo. Convicted criminal. Tore apart the Avengers. Widower.

You went to grab the old cup of water on your table and sipped at it.

Flabbergasted. Ex-Sokovian royalty. Calling you up. Booking your services. A man who destroyed Earth’s mightiest herod.

Wow.

The criminal thing worried you. Though who, yet alone you, could speak. You too, were engaging in criminal acts.

Your conscience spoke up, “Yeah, but not a fucking war criminal.”

You hushed that.

The photos of him from old outings and events he did in the public eye were pretty gorgeous too. His wife was also insanely beautiful. They had a son, Carl. Both dead. Pity.

Darling, dearest, dead?

You didn’t look much like her, but there was a little bit of a similarity in some of the outfits on your sight you posed in and her casual gala wear. Maybe that’s what he was after.

That wasn’t uncommon, but it was uncomfortable.

It had him as in a German super prison. But he was on the phone?

You watched a YouTube video about him speaking on some topics of children’s literacy on Sokovia with subtitles. His voice was younger and less gruff. But still the same man. In it he was having a charity read-a-thon and helping reform the education system better.

His favorite book? Machiavelli's The Prince. He said he had fond memories of his grandfather reading it to him as a child.

You weren’t going to unpack that. You didn’t get paid nearly enough to be both a whore and a therapist. Though plenty of men treated you like both at once…

You were walking into a lion’s den, and you knew so.

You screamed a bit, as it was half-six. You needed to shit, shower, shave and pack…

You put on a stupid meme review video and stumbled into the bathroom. You cut yourself doing your own bikini line. You stumbled out and went to your closet.

You didn’t know how to dress. A baron? A man who evidently escaped from prison without suspicion arising? Was he on the lam? If you are running away, do you get an escort?

Questions mounted. You knew you would or should never ask.

You decided simple. Black bustier. Black skirt. Silk wrap. Sheer black tights. Basic Louboutin pumps. Basic black thong….You figured you might play up a part.

You laid that all out on the bed and got lotions your skin and doing your skincare. You really regretted your chipping nails.

You sighed.

You called for a cab to come pick you up and started packing your usual overnight bag. You toyed with the idea of your pocket paddle and crop, but decided against it. He was probably over brutality onto him at that point.

You’d never let them be used on you in a work setting. Too much risk.

You started on your makeup. Letting yourself be a Subdued Smokey. Classy but stackable so it wouldn’t wear off so easy.

You tossed in your refreshing kit into your bag. And a pantyliner. It was close and you were thinking this was last call before your break week.

Getting dressed, you turned off your inquisitive nature. Work mode. Not dork.

The cab came, you doubled checked it all,, grabbed your tazer and keys you exited. Ha

It was a quiet drive.

Thank heavens for that.

You called Helmut as you approached the place. He confirmed and gave you the room number. You exited and tipped the driver.

Once past the lobby, you checked your teeth in the reflective surface of the door and refreshed your signature scent. A more masculine perfume from Krigler. Carefully though, it was green and it stained. You aired out your arms and took a deep breath and nearly jumped at the arrival ding.

The 5th floor.

Walking to the room was a heart attack and a half. You didn’t know what to expect. You knocked on the door and held your wrap.

He opened it and you, you were the one blown away…

#personal #i wrote this #baron helmut zemo #baron zemo #baron zemo x female reader #baron zemo x reader #self insert #self insert fic #mcu fanfiction #daniel brühl #helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #reader fic #yeet

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severetimetravelnerd · 4 years ago

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Let’s Switch Things Up (ft. MINO) (5)

Part 5

Andy reminds you of something you thought you had put behind you.

A/N: Heyy! So this is my new series, that I’ll be updating every Thursday. All images I’ve used in this moodboard that I’ve made are just representative of the emotions, not the way the reader looks :)) Please show this lots of love!

Comment if you’d like to be added to the taglist.

I’m so sorry about missing last week’s update :(((( I thought I would be able to finish it by the weekend, but I couldn’t

Taglist: @herewecomeitsjekki ; @kwonnansi ; @happiestgirlontheeastcoast ; @unabashedturkeytreeslime; @to-all-the-stories-i-love

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know!

Word Count: 2344

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of cheating (kind of angsty), drinking, mentions of bullying, suggestive

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The next morning, Minho woke up and found you snuggling into his side. You were cold. And even though he would have taken the spontaneous decision to hug you to warm you up, he knew that after yesterday, it wouldn’t be awkward. And so, he covered you with the blanket properly, lifted you lightly, laid you on his chest and wrapped his arms around you. you were fast asleep, but you appreciated the warmth and curled up even closer. Minho couldn’t keep the light smile off his face. That was the moment his subconscious registered that this what he wanted from life. Of course, he had dated before, but this was different. No one had ever made him feel this way; made him react this way. What he had with you was special. It had only been two days since he met you, but things were different. He looked down at your face. Your cheeks were squished, your hair was messy and you just looked so peaceful. He held you a little tighter and somewhere deep down, hoped to god you felt the same way about him.

---

The two of you had a lazy day, ordering room service and watching movies all day. Both of you were too tired to go for the mixers Andy and Liza had organised. Natasha and Jae had a date and Mirae and Sophie were out sightseeing with Sophie’s friends. Neither of you addressed the fact that you were basically cuddling the entire day. You refused to bring it up when you felt his hand on your hip. He refused to bring it up when he felt you run your hands through his hair and trace his piercings. It was like both of you were scared to acknowledge any of what was happening, scared that it would all disappear. Both of you knew that you would go back to Seoul tomorrow and he would go on to meet his friend. You were scared. this was the first time you felt this way about someone. Not even Andy, and you had known Andy for eight years. There was just something about Minho that made you feel so warm and comfortable, and no other person had manged to make you feel that way. You didn’t want to lose him. It was just that you were scared.

---

You took out the dress you were planning on wearing, smoothing it out and hanging it up. You decided against going to Natasha’s room to get ready. You saw Natasha and Jae earlier from the window, and things were not looking PG13. You had already showered, done your hair and were in the process of doing your make up. Minho was taking a shower. You didn’t even realise you had a smile on your face from hearing him sing. After you were done with your make up, you slipped on your dress. It was a bottle green off shoulder dress, form fitting with a slit up your right thigh. It was very simple, but it was very you. Just as you finished slipping on the dress, you heard the bathroom door unlock. Minho knocked against it.

“Hey, let me know if you want a bit more time to get ready.”

“No, Minho, I’m almost done. I actually need your help with something.”

He opened the door. His hair was wet and tousled, and he had a bathrobe wrapped around himself. You felt your throat constrict. You quickly turned around.

“Minho, can you help me with my zip? I’ve zipped it up as much as I could on my own.”

His voice sounded distracted when he responded.

“Oh yeah sure.”

His hands were slightly shaky when they touched your lower back to get a hold of the zip. It did nor help either of you that you arched your back at his touch. It just felt different. You ignored the light hiss that escaped his lips. Both of you knew that the level of tension was high. Minho zipped your dress up and his hands just ran down your sides, without him even thinking about it. Something in him almost made him suggest unzipping the dress and getting late for the reception, but he stopped himself just in time. He had no idea how he would have gotten out of that one, not that he wanted to. He just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

You moved to the couch to double check your hair and put on jewellery so that Minho could use the dressing table. you lost track of time on your phone and suddenly remembered about your necklace. Digging it out, you were trying hard to figure out the clasp situation on it and how you were going to put it on your own. You were trying hard, completely absorbed with trying to put it on and not getting it caught in your hair. So absorbed that you didn’t notice that Minho had just finished getting ready. He watched you for a minute with an amused eyebrow raise.

“Y/N?”

You jumped.

“Hmm?”

“Stand up. I can help with that.”

“Oh right!”

You turned around to flash him a grateful grin when you realised you were just a few inches apart. Your breath hitched. Minho typically wasn’t the one to make the first move but he gently took the necklace from you and turned you around. Your breathing was now controlled. You were working too much on that to notice Minho’s eyes; glazed over and hazy. One look at them and you would have known that you weren’t the only one who wanted to know what the other’s lips felt like. He gently pushed your hair away and hooked the necklace on. Neither of you moved. He kissed your neck at the spot the necklace met. His hands remained on your shoulders and he turned you around. You couldn’t meet his gaze. He smirked. Leaning down just a bit, he whispered,

“Y/N, you look stunning.”

And before you could respond, his lips trailed onto your cheek, playing it off as a kiss to the cheek, dangerously close to your lips, when both of you knew that was not what either of you wanted. He lips had barely touched the edge of your lips and your hands were now on his chest when someone knocked at the door. Both of you jumped back. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. You heard Natasha’s muffled voice yelling at you to get out, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Minho. You made eye contact and he abruptly turned. You blushed and turned away, feeling very embarrassed even though he had been the one initiating things. You were about to go down this black hole of doubt when he cleared his throat. He still couldn’t look at you, but he extended his arm for you to slip your hand through.

“Let’s go?”

---

Two hours later, you sat there awkwardly at the table with Minho. Natasha and Mirae were with you, but they had started with the champagne a little earlier than you had. The entire vibe of the party felt off. Andy had his god-awful cousin Ken hosting it, and you did not know it was possible to be that unfunny. And Andy and Liza were both drunk already, which, to you at least, didn’t seem like a good sign. Minho gently squeezed your hand to get your attention.

“I’m going to go get us something to drink. You want a mojito, right?”

You smiled and nodded. At least things were beginning to get less awkward there. You were swaying lightly to the music, grateful that at least the DJ was good, when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around smiling, expecting Minho but that smile left your face the moment you saw it was Andy. Just Andy. Not with Liza, not with Ken, but alone. Why did you have a feeling this was not going to end well?

He smirked at you and you fought the reflex to gag.

“Hey Y/N.”

“Hi Andy.”

“How’s the night going?”

You forced a lie.

“Oh it’s lovely. The party is amazing! Congratulations.”

His smirk deepened and so did your disgust. He pulled up a chair and sat down close to you, with his arm over your shoulder. You hated it but you told yourself to take deep breaths. Y/N, it is his wedding. You cannot sucker punch him on his wedding. He’s also shitfaced.

“Y/N, you look amazing.”

Oh no. You did not like where this was going.

“You look so sexy.”

Immediately, you felt like you looked repulsive.

“Aren’t those the diamonds I bought you?”

Your hatred for him grew in that moment. Even if he was trying to hit on you, which was bad enough, hinting about the money he spent on you and implying that you owed him something was just awful.

“No. They’re not. I gave them back to you and you gave them to Liza. Liza, your wife.”

“Oh, right. But you know Y/N, they’ve always looked better on you.”

Your jaw dropped. He literally just got married. How?!

“Andy, you don’t mean that. Go find Liza and dance with her.”

He leaned in closer, whispering,

“But I want you! You’ve always been so different. And most of the time, you being different was just weird, but right now, it’s sexy as fuck.”

You were in shock. How does someone slip that low? In your shock, you didn’t notice Minho coming back.

“Andy. You’re in my seat.”

Andy jumped up, his face red and flushed.

“Ah I was just going. Y/N…if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Minho took one look at you and he knew something was wrong. Your face was pale, and your hands were shaky. He placed the drink down in front of you and sat beside you quietly. He just knew not to say anything until you did. You took a sip of your drink and looked around. Your eyes darted everywhere until you saw the roof of the low, barn like setting they had and grinned. It was an unsettled grin, but a grin nonetheless. You turned to a worried Minho.

“Hey, can we get out of here?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Oh, I have something in mind.”

And this was not the kind of thing Minho did. He always stayed till he left for home, never did anything impulsive or out of the ordinary. But he looked at your eyes and suddenly, he felt this deep desire to get out of that stifling party with you. He nodded. You stood up with your hand stretched out and he grabbed it.”

---

Ten minutes later, he climbed the final stair to the roof of the barn and watched as you spun around. You had taken off your shoes and were in the process of removing all the hair pins from your head. You shook your hair free, looked up and grinned. Minho had never seen anything more beautiful.

You sat down and looked at Minho, expecting him to join you. he paused, as though arguing internally, and then slipped off his shoes and socks, removed his tie and jacket and unbuttoned his shirt a little.

“That’s the spirit Minho.”

He smiled, looking at peace. He sat down next to you. both of you just sat there in silence, enjoying the night sky and the cool breeze. But you knew you had to tell someone. So you waited, until you were calm again, and leaned against him.

“Andy just asked me to sleep with him.”

Minho was surprisingly calm. He already knew Andy was awful. He simply nodded.

“It made me feel awful.”

Minho wrapped an arm around you, gently rubbing your shoulder.

“He…he said I’m weird. And usually, it’s a pain, but today, he’s finding it sexy.”

Your head fell. You were planning on staying that way until Minho’s hands gently coaxed your chin up.

“Hey, listen to me. You’re not just an object for him to find sexy. He’s an asshole, so clearly, he doesn’t know what he lost. You are amazing. I don’t know why he would call you weird. You’re literally the most amazing person I know. And I…you mean so much to me, even if we haven’t known each other long. Don’t listen to him please? You’re so much more than his words.”

A single tear ran down your face. Minho had no idea how much that meant to you. you had always been made fun off for being ‘different’. Sometimes it was the way you dressed, or the hobbies you had. It was honestly just people looking to bully you. and you thought you had worked past it, but it was always difficult to hear it again. You smiled as you felt his hands gently wipe the tear away.

“Thank you, Song Minho. For everything.”

You sat there in silence again for a while, but there was something you knew you wanted to do. you wanted to let Minho know how you feel. You had to. Yeah, you were scared, but you knew you would regret it if you didn’t. You suddenly turned towards him only to find him looking at you with a nervous expression. Both of you froze. And then, you leaned closer, letting your forehead touch his. His eyes widened. His hands reached up to hold your face.

“Y/N, are you sure you want”-

You nodded. And he kissed you. You had always known Minho was different, but that was the moment every part of your body knew as well. No one had ever been able to make you feel this way. You felt his tongue swipe your bottom lip and you willingly let him deepen the kiss. He pulled you onto him, so that you were straddling him, and his once neat hair was now a mess with your hands running through it. You both pulled away panting.

“Let’s go to the room Minho.”

---

Any unlawful and unauthorized sharing of these works will result in legal action.

(Reblogs are good :) )

#mino angst #mino fluff #mino x reader #mino series #mino crack #winner x reader #winner angst #winner fluff #winner series #winner crack

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silverfishy · 3 years ago

Text

Antivan Sip-Sip

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Zevran/Dorian Rating: T

Notes: My first attempt at friday night @dadrunkwriting! Thanks @monsterthalia for the suggestion I use it to get through writer’s block! Also at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33804118

The air was heady with incense, sweet and smoky. Around the delicate filigree’d chandeliers floated winking sparks of magelight like drifting fireflies, and every corner one looked upon held a beautiful young body, alluringly clad in translucent silks, shimmering as they twisted and swayed.

Dorian rather thought it was a bit overdone.

He took another draught from the fluted crystal-cut glass and hid a grimace at the bitter undertaste – a necessary side effect of the evening’s catch-all antidote swirling through what had been a very fine Rowan’s Rose. Whatever might be said of Magister Tiberius’ extra-curricular activities, his wine cellar was without reproach.

Secluded in a corner, Dorian’s heartbeat had almost entirely returned to its normal rate when the host himself approached, clapping him on the shoulder with weight enough that he might have buckled had his breeding not been so impeccable, and the wall at his back.

“There you are, young Pavus! We were beginning to despair of seeing you tonight. Where have you been, hmm?”

Digging through the forbidden volumes of his library was unlikely to be an answer the man appreciated. “Merely appreciating the delights of your household, Magister.” His accompanying bow was short, meticulous, striking just the right notes of flattery to put an indulgent smile on Tiberius’ face.

“I bet you were. Ah, to be young again! I recall when your father and I were just the same, sneaking off into dark corners with a comely thing at every chance we got.” It was difficult and somewhat horrifying to imagine the elder Pavus in flagrante delicio, but Dorian was loathe to correct such a convenient assumption, and forced a laugh instead. “How is Halward, anyway?”

"Very well - He was particularly satisfied by the Magesterium’s verdict on the new ritual binding laws. Your work, I understand?”

Pleasure settled on the Magister’s features like a bird of prey in its roost – the law’s passage had been then unofficial reason for the party. “Indeed. A most satisfactory outcome. Well, I shan’t keep you; in fact-” He clicked his fingers and a slave appeared at his elbow, balancing a tray of drinks. “I insist you thoroughly enjoy yourself at my expense.”

The lascivious way his eyes lingered on Dorian as he drawled the word thoroughly made him feel faintly unclean, and left him in no doubt as to whether the Magister had heard the rumours. The ones concerning the Pavus scion’s proclivities, as Halward so distastefully put it.

He glanced at the creature who’d been offered to him as thoughtlessly as the slave himself presented the liquor. An elf, of course – and beautiful, as all Tiberius’ things were; golden blond and bronzed, lithe muscle and catlike grace, more like a dancer or a soldier than a serving boy. Dorian wondered, fleeting, what colour the elf’s eyes were behind the respectfully lowered gaze, had a brief image of taking the boy’s chin and lifting his face to see.

Sighing, Dorian accepted the proffered drink, and waved a dismissive hand when the elf lingered. “You needn’t stay – I'm not so crass as to bed the unwilling.” He took a long draught – a marvellous Sun Blonde Vint, smooth and strong, and wasn’t that the perfect metaphor for the elven treat laid out before him? The liquor sparkled tauntingly. “To tell the truth, I’m only here to establish an alibi.”

A raised brow, liquor-gold eyes raised disrespectfully to his own. “What a coincidence.” Honey-mead come to life. But the voice that had spoken was decidedly not Tevinter, nor the gaze like any slave Dorian had before met.

“You-” Surprise startled the word out of him before he was interrupted by a hand which yanked him further into shadow behind a gilded curtain, and the shock of that, of being so manhandled by a slave, quite left him speechless as the intriguing accent rolled over him.

“But I would hardly describe myself as unwilling, Magister.”

Dorian’s mind was racing – a spy? A runaway? One of Tiberius’ mad games? He could shout – Maker, he could light the bastard on fire – but they were sheltered behind the drapery, and all it would take was one inquisitive guest to draw back the curtain and their compromising position would be revealed. Dorian cursed the years of illicit trysts that had turned danger into a spice which made his cock sit up and pay attention. A pressure at his hip made him roll his eyes. “Why mysterious stranger,” he drawled. “Is that a knife in your pocket or are you just happy to-”

“It’s a knife.” That treacherous whisper against his ear, and Dorian’s heart rate spiked, blood pounding and already tight trousers becoming nigh-on painful as the distinctive cold bite of metal met the flesh at his hip. “Why Magister,” The elf drawled. “Is that a staff in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“You do know,” Dorian murmured, fighting to keep his breathing steady, his voice unaffected. “That I could fry you from the inside out with lightning?”

“Perhaps.” The elf sounded nonchalant at the prospect. “But I am extremely fast. What if in my convulsions I...slipped?” He pressed the knife in closer, over the exact place Dorian had seen Magister Alexius draw forth a kidney from a corpse. Maker’s balls.

“What do you want?” Impressively casual, he thought.

“Silence.” The elf murmured. “Well, in the matter of my not quite being what you expected. In other matters...” He trailed off, and Dorian swallowed as the false slave pressed up against him and he felt a second ‘knife’, just as hard and no less dangerous to his sanity.

“Perhaps we ought to go and establish our alibis, ah, thoroughly.”

“An excellent idea, Magister.” He could hear the grin in that purr. “I hear Master Tiberius keeps a bottle of Golden Scythe in his desk drawer.”

“How interesting, I heard it was Antivan Sip-Sip.” Dorian raised a brow, footing somewhat regained now he was on steadier ground. “Perhaps you’re familiar?”

“Care to wager? Whoever wins, tops?” There was less menace in those rolling vowels now, but no less swagger, and Dorian felt a thrill as a genuine chuckle burst from his lips.

“You have a deal.”

The assassin stepped back, golden eyes never leaving his, and any thought of revealing the elf’s deception died a quick death as the sultry gaze was joined by a molten smile, a bow which put the man’s mouth tantalisingly close to Dorian’s waist. “Lead the way, Magister.”

“I’m not actually a Magister, you know.” Dorian muttered as they emerged, pushing past another slave who looked at them with wide eyes as they slipped out into the corridor.

“And I’m not actually a slave.” The elf rolled his eyes. “What of it? Did you want me to call your name out in passion, little Magister?”

“It’s Dorian.” He pushed the man into an alcove, feeling the muscles under the liveried tunic tense and the expected bite of the knife at his gut but paying it no more heed than the thrill it sent up his spine as he leant forward to whisper in a pointed ear. “And yes.”

The elf grunted a little, but there was a breath in it that seemed to be torn unwilling from his throat, a twitch in his breeches Dorian felt against his leg. “Perhaps it is you who will be calling out, hmm?”

Dorian ran his tongue along the delicate skin under his mouth, trying to recall what he’d done last time he’d taken an elf to bed, before he’d realised a slave’s consent meant nothing. His partner now was certainly no slave, the Dalish marks on his skin revealed as Dorian brushed powder away with a hand to his cheek. “And what name should I call?”

“Zevran of Antiva City.” The elf nodded a little mocking bow, and then did something complex with his hands and twisted so that Dorian was the one slammed against the wall, breath knocked out of him and off balance. “At your service.”

“Well, Zevran of Antiva City.” Dorian breathed. “Will you be staying in Tevinter long?”

“Hours.” The smirk played about Zevran’s mouth, and Dorian couldn’t take his eyes off it. “All night, if necessary.”

“Maker.” Dorian groaned.

“And then, once my business is concluded,” A hot, hard press against his thigh left no doubt as to exactly what business he meant. “I will be gone with the dawn.”

A pang of disappointment that Dorian quashed ruthlessly, smothered with determination. “We’d better get started on that Golden Scythe, then.”

“I thought it was Antivan Sip-Sip?”

“Ah, no, that I have right here.” Dorian murmured, licking his lips like a man parched, very much enjoying the way Zevran’s eyes seemed drawn to the motion, enjoyed the heat in the gaze.

“Drink, then.” Zevran murmured, breath close, and as he captured Dorian’s mouth the taste was all gold, liquor-sweet and sharp and heady.

Regret might come in the morning, but he’d never shied away from getting drunk.

#da drunk writing circle #zevran x dorian #zevran/dorian #monsterthalia

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unholyplumpprincess · 4 years ago

Text

Corrupted Angel

For twitter user @/EnEssTimesTwo bc I fell in love with her vampire Bloodhound art and this is based off one of her art images which I can’t seem to link back to!

Summary: Essentially a monster au where human Elliott is a burlesque/exotic dancer who has caught the eye of a owl masked person who tips very well yet is too damned polite when Elliott just wants them to grab him and make him a meal. Not knowing, well, what kind of meal they’d really want.

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bloodhound/Mirage

Warning: NSFT/R18+, monster au involving vampire Bloodhound, Bloodhound has body mods so if you don’t like those!, Elliott has a fang kink, Bloodhound’s nasty oral fixation, basically Mirage’s dick is a caprisun and Bloodhound is Hungry, nothing really like ‘terrible’ in here as far as kinky just oral and some dirty dancing.

Words: 7k

_______________

In a world like this, getting clients that were of inhuman breed wasn’t so uncommon.

Other folk, or commonly known as the monster breeds of their species, were just as normal to have around as humans were. Beasts of great heights and strengths covered head to toe in fur and too many arms, or to the more human looking ones with sharp teeth and a wicked grin, to the ghostly apparitions that haunted your very heart.

Elliott had been one of four children to end up being a human. His brothers had all been lycanthropes like his mama, Maria, while he took after his mom Evelynn. Not that it had been too big of a deal, just that his brothers had a higher appetite than himself and he needed to learn to not laugh when his eldest turned into the fluffiest little wolf pup he’d ever seen.

Old memories that would forever fill him with nostalgia and happiness, he missed them dearly.

Elliott nowadays kept himself busy at the club he worked at. Twirling on poles, racking in delicious clientele who were to die for in their own very beauty, dancing and working them up in certain costumes. He was a crowd pleader, widely beloved in the club as one of the best around. A beautiful tease with an award-winning smile.

~Rest under the cut~

The problem? Well, most dancers liked to get some extra cash by bedding their regulars. It wasn’t an issue here, the way it was run was a safe environment for the dancers. Body guards rested around at the ready, panic buttons in the hotel rooms that were upstairs above the club; Condoms and lubricant supplied- not to mention anything else you may need when dealing with clients who were more...monstrous. Or those who weren’t interested in bedding you, but feeding.

Elliott, however, didn’t just let anyone take him upstairs. He enjoyed intimacy, sure, loved to tease and plead the masses, but you had to get his attention in order to even pay for his services. Tips weren’t hard for him to come by, not when he used long, strong legs to frame his client’s lap and purred in their ear with a low tone of voice. Letting his stubble scratch over their flesh and murmuring teases.

A rumor had spread around about him that he would laugh at. That he would not bed humans, that he liked the danger too much. Whispers in the club of how you had to be tall, had to have cash, that you had to not want sex but instead be seeking out feeding or discipline, all sorts of rumors that were just false. Or at least, vaguely correct but not quite.

He...he liked danger, he’ll admit that much, but in the end not a lot of people caught his eye in that way. He had to want and enjoy it too, right? And not just for the sex that came out of it.

Yet, the only client that came to mind that he’d oh so willingly bed to the point he was ready to beg THEM to go up to a room with him, was one who was too polite.

Devilish red, glowing eyes, always coming masked like most people were to enter a club such as this. Dressed in tight old-fashioned leathers and an old owl style look to their mask, and though full faced, Elliott could feel the hunger clearly through it. They only spoke with him after dances, never for him to come to the back with them, just offering generous tips in the politest way of giving it to him straight forward. Compliments that spread redness to Elliott’s cheeks as they’d boldly brush their knuckles over his cheek, only to retract and apologize for the act.

The person was loaded, that was for sure. Their gloved hands always had wads of cash that would pay his rent in one sitting. He’d tried offering more, a private dance, a private...event even. Trying not to make himself look TOO desperate.

But they would always kindly decline, saying they were busy and only here for just a moment. Even going so far as to kindly tell him that they did not wish to take up too much of his time. Always so damned polite .

What Elliott would do to take a peek under that mask and see his most fantasized about person.

A small note of the club was a twist on the old concept of burlesque dancers, their clients were masked, while the dancers could choose to wear one or not. Elliott thought it gave excitement for their clients to be masked, while providing privacy for their identity if they chose to not be recognized outside.

Wraith preferred the mask, one of his coworkers and closest friend. Though, not human. Her class was a banshee, long since caught between death and life as she’d told him.

Her pale skin was ice cold to the touch, her voice sounded like multiples and could send chills down your spine. She always took upon a laced mask and some sort of leather costumery. You could find her perched on the lap of her most regular client, an old soldier who went by the alias Bangalore and showed up with an upper half face mask designed like a fluffy dog.

Elliott’s eyes drift in the dark room over to where Wraith’s stage was. Vaguely seeing her outline in the low dim of red LED’s surrounding her. He had seen her in the dressing rooms before they went on stage, he’d meowed at her and winked as she laughed and told him to get his outfit on. What? She looked hot; He could appreciate it.

She dressed in a leather body suit with matching thigh highs and killer heels that made up for her short height. The body suit looked more like an upper corset or bustier, the clasp at her crotch secured but the cut of the hip area coming high up above her hips for a sexier cut. Horns perched atop her head with a matching devil tail and red eyeliner to match. Her lace mask suited well for it, something he’d adjusted as he passed by and brushed her hair from her face affectionately.

It settled her own quiet anxieties as well as grounded him when Wraith had smirked at him and told him she was fine. Two peas in a pod, he’d always tell her before wishing each other luck.

A breath escapes Elliott’s lips now as he hooks his fingers around the pole. Motor motions, a slow warm up with the lights off as he idly twirls on the pole. The quiet, slow rising of the beginning of the remixed song. He lets his head fall back as he feels the anticipation, feeling his curls fall onto his chin where he’d purposefully made them loose and messy today.

It fit his own theme for the song of choice for both himself and Wraith.

His own is a lovely little angel get up. His hair had been loosely done today, curls allowed to fall freely and beautifully to curl onto the side of his face. Soft makeup had been applied of lipstick, kitten liner, and soft highlights. His facial hair had been trimmed up a bit for the event. His outfit consisted of a white ribbon choker with a matching harness that tied over the top of his chest and at the bottom of his ribcage, coming up over his shoulders for small wings to sprout from his back.

A white, see through bralette rested over his chest, yet the harness presses his pecs to give the appearance of more cleavage. A small pair of white shorts, small enough to be considered panties, rest over his lower half, as well as white thigh highs with garters and black boots.

He looked cute, if he would admit that to himself. He liked getting all dolled up and showing off his strong body, fit with lean muscle and sharp curves. He liked being drooled over, liked being watched. Not to mention the fact anyone in this club didn’t mind whether he dressed feminine or masculine, or what name he went by. All they knew was his stage name-

“Presenting- Mirage and Wraith! Give it up for them whilst they give an electrifying performance to the song: Horns!” Natalie- better known as Wattson was always a good show host, standing a little ways away on her own stage in her ring leader outfit, she throws one gloved hand in the air as she speaks, a big smile on her face and her other hand full of the microphone. The crowd cheers before quieting down just as the song begins.

The song is a remixed version, starting slow as the lights begin to flash. There’s the briefest moment that Wraith and him share a look as it begins before they’re matching movements.

There’s a slow twist of his head thrice that he knows she’s matching. The grinding movement of hips downwards into a crouch that leaves the crowd cheering matched with the slow rise up with a dramatic bow of the back to make eyes fall to his ass. The repeating humping motion until the lyrics begin and he’s doing a twirl around the base of the pole. Followed by the low, slow grinding crouch with too much leg pushing out, his head falling to the side as his eyes narrow sensually and he looks for his targeted prey in the audience.

The sight of an owl mask never leaving his form makes him grin.

The desperately cried out word of ‘ breathe ’ in the song makes him slow to his knees, wrapping fingers around his throat and adding up the sexuality with a flutter of his lashes. It’s so brief before his body is dragging itself upwards, both hands gripping the pole as he hoists himself up onto it, turning his body upside down to hang off in a back bending twirl before beginning to ascend with each grab and pull. All never breaking his own innocent flutter and smiles. He knows damn well without looking that Wraith has an opposite expression of a snarl and sexual energy.

Every time he comes back around to be able to look at the crowd, normally he’d let his gaze sweep the crowd, let them all feel attended to. But Elliott can’t help it when his gaze keeps settling on that owl masked wearing stranger. Even when it comes time to the part of the song where he sings ‘Heel stomping down my throat’ and he rolls onto his back, arching himself upwards with a dramatic bow of his back and letting his eyes flutter when his hips thrust into the air and roll.

His gaze never falters.

Elliott swears he could hear a growl from them, but the music and bass is so loud, there’s no way he could have heard it. Right? But why was it so clear? As if it echoed in his mind.

He doesn’t falter regardless in his routine. He likes the hungry gazes on his body, but more important how that full faced mask never loses him for a moment. Even at the end of the routine where Wraith ends with her back facing the crowd, head tipped over one shoulder, tail curled around her wrist and a red glow over her frame, and Elliott reflects by facing the crowd, head tipped to one side as if bashful, and thumbs interlocked to fans his hands into wings at his chest, the light reflecting blue.

With the crowd cheering and the lights dimming, both of them are able to make their way off the stages towards the crowd and begin to find people who wish to engage with them. Wraith, as Elliott notices, works her way through the crowd with her polite ‘thank you’s as she finds her way to her favorite client. He could laugh, really, but honestly was he any better?

When Elliott enters the crowd, he works his magic all whilst waiting for the telltale feeling of gloved fingers stroking over his arm to gather his attention. When he feels it, he excuses himself with promises of returning with playful winks.

“You shall not be returning.” Comes a voice in his head, practically a purr echoing throughout and Elliott’s eyes blink a few times, tempted to look around the room- but that voice was familiar. The same person who now rounded a corner ahead of him, cloak billowing behind them.

Well, damn, mark Elliott down as scared and horny.

Normally this stranger liked to give him the cash and let that be that. But the idea of them wanting to keep him around longer this time? His heart flutters, wondering if he’d get to see them unmasked, to hear that gorgeous accented voice sing his praises and stop acting so polite and let him see them absolutely unhinged -

Wait, could they hear his thoughts or just talk to him through them? Quick, Witt, think something less horny! Uh- Old mcdonald had a farm, E I E I--

“Come here,” Comes the haunting voice around the corner. The one Elliott has been following down and down the halls until they’re near the staircase that led up to private rooms. His heart is pounding when he turns the corner, already ready with a pick up line and a thank you from the bottom of his heart. But fingers hitch into the straps at his chest, yanking him close until next thing he knows he’s pressed up against the window nearby. The flashing neon lights outside of the sign reflecting across his skin.

“H-hey there! A little eager for the bedroom, aren’tcha?” Elliott manages to get out, his voice nervous as that mask is so close to his own face. Near nose to nose—or rather, nose to beak with the mask. Able to make out the respirator so close, and the dark fabric on the owl’s eyes seeming to hide a pair behind them much brighter. He also notes that their gloved hands are resting politely on him, one on his shoulder, the other hovering over his waist. And oh, how he wished they’d just give up the mystery already, maybe even yank him closer-

As if blessed, the hand that had been hovering at his waist lifts to their mask. Grabbing at its beak to pull it up, “No. I am simply ready for my meal-- if you are willing.” And the entire time they say this singular sentence, they slowly pull up their mask to set on the stairs nearby. Elliott’s heart races because of course they’d be attractive. With a voice like that, honestly what was he expecting?

Their hood still remains on their head, a few loose red curls framing their sharp face. He notes the red face paint on their face- before realizing that’s tattoos. The scarring across the right side of their face looking like they got into a fight with a beast, the eye blinded and appearing like a mini solar flare. Yet their other a deep, dark red with a slit pupil focused entirely on him. More scars edge at their throat, climbing up like lightning across a sky over their jawline.

Elliott’s already dizzy, eyes tracing over their deep olive skin tone, over their pierced roman nose and down just in time to see their plump lips part. Showing a double set of fangs and a split tongue with vertical piercings up each tongue- good lords.

“Th- th -those are some serious chompers.” Is all Elliott can manage to get out, his breath caught in his throat as his hazel eyes focus on their teeth. He could beat himself up for THAT being the thing out of his mouth. Not how attractive they were, not how he really wished they’d just skip the tip and take him right to the bedroom- free of charge!

The phrase makes their head cock charmingly, as if it hadn’t occurred to them that their teeth would be the focal point. Though he hadn’t said ‘no’ nor did Elliott look AGAINST said ‘chompers’. They lick over their fangs, only serving to make Elliott’s head fall back as if he was already preparing to be the most delicious meal.

“Do not worry. I do not ‘chomp’, as you say.” They speak lowly near his ear as they lean in. Elliott can hear the way they inhale his scent, sounding like they’re swearing under their breath and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t ragingly hard in his already too tight of shorts. Especially when they come closer to him, lips brushing over his throbbing pulse and Elliott can only hope he’s making it quite clear that he’s all game for whatever ‘not chomping’ they’re about to do.

Vampire. It all made sense, really, when he put it all together. The get up was rather old fashioned, their politeness even more so. Or the fact he’d noticed that they’d adorably pause at the bar every single time, never ordering anything, but always seemed keen on counting all the bottles. Then of course the mental communication- seems his client was one of the older of the breed, maybe a few centuries old.

Thoughts he’d save for later. When he’s not being distracted.

Lips brush up the length of his exposed throat, just brushing and making Elliott shiver. Their lips press to his pierced lobe, lightly nipping and making Elliott gasp out a low moan. When they chuckle lowly at his reaction, he swears he could cum right then and there.

“Wait,” He starts, amazed at how quickly they back up but he’s quick to whine to ease their worried expression. Cute how they thought they had crossed a boundary- anyone else would probably have tried ripping off his clothes right then and there. “Your--your name. I never got it?”

His client’s furrowed brows relax near instantly, their worried expression easing up as a soft, relieved breath leaves them. Idly, a gloved hand comes up, tucking a curl behind Elliott’s ear and making his heart throb. There’s only a pause longer before they murmur out. “Bloodhound. You may call me Bloodhound. I assume your tongue could not handle the original pronunciation.”

“But your tongue may be able to handle other things much better.” Comes the echoed purr in his mind, though their lips do not move to speak, they do curl into an attractive smirk that makes him about whimper.

“Bloodhound,” He breathes out, enjoying the way their eyes seem to narrow at the sound. It’s as if he knew they’ve wanted to hear it this entire time. It’s almost a power trip, almost, if he weren’t the one pinned to a wall and about to cum in his own shorts from some gentle petting. “You said meal- now-now I’m absolutely willing! Promise, absolutely down for it, it would be a ple- pleas- pleas— absolute delight to do that for you.” Curse his need to talk too much when he was like this.

Bloodhound's eyes seem to grow darker at that, despite his clear mishap, they don’t mention it. A quiet gesture that honestly put Elliott at ease. The hand on his shoulder slides up to his neck and Elliott’s eyes flutter, willingly moving his head to the side with the gentle touch so they could trace their fingers up and grab his jaw lightly.

“...You mentioned a bedroom?”

Oh, fuck yeah.

Elliot had never moved quicker in his life. Bloodhound had slid their mask back on, following him up the stairs and towards one of the hotel rooms that were available for their work to continue. He could laugh at them politely waiting outside the door before he remembers to invite them inside.

It’s a standard room with soft lighting and a bed fit in the center. Toys are lined on the wall, a pole in the room and a few comfortable chairs. There’s a bathroom for freshening up too, fit with anything that may come in handy.

The lights and any music could be adjusted via a panel on the wall when they entered. Something Elliott is quick to shift the lights to a deep red and letting music play lowly. When he looks over at Bloodhound, Elliott gets the pleasant view of watching them remove their mask and cloak.

They shake their hair loose, moving a gloved hand through it to toss their curls. Now, Elliott had seen plenty of attractive people around here. But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so beautiful in his life. Not even himself, and that’s saying a lot.

He feels his mouth go even drier when he looks down at what they’re wearing. Normally they were always in an old fashioned get up or in leathers. But now their outfit consists of a plunge neck black dress reaching just beneath their chest to show cleavage. The dress skirts the floor, a long slit up each leg and heeled boots resting upon their feet. They looked dressed to kill. Even more so when Elliott’s eyes are trailing back up slowly, feeling ever so dizzy when he meets their gaze, a smirk on their lips quirked ever so to show one fang on their lower lip-

“I have not looked into your rates.” They speak casually, walking towards him with one foot slowly in front of the other. As if they’re stalking him. A devil stalking an angel. Oh, Elliott would be a good sinner, he swears. His knees wobbling by the time they reach him, their gloved hand cupping his cheek and their thumb running across the sharpness of his cheekbone.

“Consider this a ‘thank you’ for your gen- generous tips.” Elliott manages to practically whine out, hating how his voice pitches up when their hand slides down his throat to trail down and rest on his chest. They’re walking him backwards, until the back of his knees hit a chair and he’s sinking right down. He has the pleasure of looking up at them, seeing their hair curling around their face beautifully with the red light illuminated behind them. Now, Elliott prides himself on being a good boy, so he lets it known he’s very interested by cocking his head to the side, straining his neck and trying to look as appetizing as possible.

“Ah, but those were merely for watching your beautiful body dance, Elliott.” They croon out his name in a way that makes heat roll down his spine. He REALLY needs to be out of these shorts yesterday, but he’s willing to wait a little longer if it means wearing some nice bruises and puncture marks on his neck. He whimpers at the thought, rolling his hips up into nothing and he swears he hears Bloodhound inhale like someone inhaling the scent of a bakery.

He’s waiting for them to pounce him, sink those deliciously sharp looking fangs into his throat- maybe they’d even let him grab their ass while they were at it? They had such a nice ass, rounded and juicy even in their dress. He wonders vaguely if they’d ever done dance work as well-

But before his mind can wander too far. Elliott watches them pull their hair back, tugging it up into a ponytail and tying it. The visual makes his cock jerk in his tight little shorts, a whine escaping his throat as they tuck loose strands of hair behind their pierced ears. And instead of pouncing on him like he expected and is tensed for, they sink to their knees.

Wait a minute.

“I thought you were hungry?” He manages to squeak out, watching as they rest between his spread thighs. A small grin makes its way to their lips, and it truly should be a crime how attractive they are, fangs and all.

“You must not be aware of feeding habits,” Bloodhound softly laughs out, their hands running over his thighs and the leather feeling just as sweet as it did over his throat. Elliott’s breath catches when they skirt his inner thighs, his legs trying to fall apart further. “If you would prefer I sink my teeth into your pretty neck and mark you as my own, I would not mind.”

Elliott moans freely at the idea, head falling back and hips rolling into nothing. He could just imagine it, the teeth marks in his neck, the bruises. He imagines they’d snarl if they saw he’d tried to cover them up with makeup. Normally he’s not about someone trying to stake some sort of claim on him, especially in a situation such as his job. But something about Bloodhound made him want more and more and more.

“Or,” They murmur, catching his attention again as their hand finally slides over the front of his shorts. Elliott cries out, over sensitive as they apply pressure to grope him. “You shall feed me everything you can from here. And we can discuss regular feeding sessions in...other manners, if you so choose.”

Other manners?! OTHER MANNERS?! Elliott’s catching onto the whole ‘life force’ rumors not being rumors like he’d thought. Blood and cum, yeah, he could do that- fuck what else could they do to him? What would they do to him?

They’re loaded with cash, absolutely drop dead gorgeous, AND implying they’re kinky. Call Elliott a sucker all you like for even offering something for free, but could you BLAME HIM?!

“I shall not continue if I do not hear verbal consent, sweet one.” Bloodhound’s voice pierces his loud thoughts, not having even noticed he’s practically dry humping their hand that they’ve so generously kept pressure with. Elliott’s dizzy already, panting and rolling his head to the side so he could finally look at them again.

Oh, yeah, he could definitely get used to that sight.

“Yes! Yes- fuck, yes, absolutely. However you- you- you want to feed! Whatever you want, Hound, please just- fuck stop teasing. Please? Come on I’m not supposed to be the one- the one begging here!” The nickname slips out, truly, as does his pleading. It rolling right out of his mouth as easy as breathing. They don’t seem to mind, in fact, they seem pleased by his begging. Going so far as to give him this wolfish sort of grin that shows a lot of fang and- yeah he’s definitely going to cum in his shorts if they do that--

“If you insist.”

That’s the last thing he hears from that torturously delicious looking mouth. His shorts are immediately tugged off, hanging off one of his ankles, but when he goes to discard the harness and angel wings, they stop him with a dangerous look in their eye. He wonders if they like that sort of thing- roleplay. God, he could just imagine them in some devil get up seducing him. Fuck.

Elliott’s mind immediately stops when he looks down, however. His cock is out in the open, heavy and drooling with pre-cum in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever done. The head is reddened, desperate with arousal, a prominent vein on his cock more pronounced. He’s always thought he’s had a nice dick, the foreskin coming up to rest just about the round of the head, a good size of seven inches and a good girth around. He’s trimmed his body hair to look more presentable on stage, but is clean shaven on the mound and his balls.

The best part is the way Bloodhound’s gloved fingers wrap around the base of his cock, giving it one full stroke to pull the foreskin down. Their lips are parted softly, enough for him to see the way their split tongue wets their lips with prominent saliva as if they’re drooling.

He’s never felt more look food before.

Elliott’s not sure if he’s more turned on at how desperate and hungry they look or the fact he’s about to get what he’s pretty sure is going to be the best blowjob he’ll ever have. He’s already tensed, whimpering low in his throat and flexing his fingers on the arm of the chair in anticipation. But before he can start begging again, they move.

First their tongue presses to the very bottom of his cock, licking up in a slow stripe in a way that Elliott can’t tear his eyes away from. Their glinting fangs look so dangerous, only to vanish when their plump lips seal around the head to give a soft suckle to, practically a wet heated fleeting kiss. Elliott would never admit to how he sounds now, not even faking the noises of his cries at just the smallest of touches.

It makes it even worse when Bloodhound has the audacity to moan. This soft little sound in their throat like a content fucking kitten. Ridiculously, Elliott only feels closer because of the sound, his fingers practically clutching the arms of the chair for dear life. His thighs are trembling, his skin feeling far too hot even in something so little as a harness, and his voice isn’t feeling like his own as moans and sobs slip out.

They repeat the same motions a few times of licking him up and suckling the head briefly, and he has half a mind to tell this beautiful vampire with insanely sharp teeth to stop playing with their food. But once their lips finally suckle around him, their head comes down in one go, swallowing him down a strangely cool throat with the threat of teeth resting at the base of his dick.

Elliott cums.

He cums harder than he thinks he’s ever cum before in his life. His body reacts on instinct, hands coming to Bloodhound’s head to hold them right where they are as beautiful sobs leave his lips and swears flying out. His thighs tremble, his hips weakly trying to hump against Bloodhound’s face with nowhere to go since they’ve deepthroated him entirely.

“Such a delicious taste,” Comes that haunting voice in his head. It only serves to make Elliott’s hips weakly jerk again, feeling their throat constrict as they swallow his cum with a moan. “ You were a deserved wait. You taste divine, lítill engill. Better than I have imagined. ”

“Thank you,” Elliott practically sobs out, his fingers still pressed to their scalp as he sobs out again. “Thank you, thank y-you- fuck-”

The gentle lift of their head signals for his hands to retreat. Watching and feeling how their mouth slides over him with a fleeting kiss pressed to his still reddened head. Elliott just about goes cross eyed at the sensation, leaning back in the chair and throwing his head back as he tries to focus his panting breaths to narrow out into something normal.

A cry leaves his lips when their gloved hand wraps around his cock to jerk him a few times. Over sensitivity ringing across his skin as he sobs out, “Wait, wait- can't go again that-that— fuck- quickly!” He’s practically begging, yet his hands stay glued to the arm of the chair again. Only able to look down at them and the way their eyes dance with mischief.

“And I am yet sated. Do you wish for me to starve, little one? You were so eager to be made a meal of.” Their tone is taunting. As if they know exactly what they’re doing. And fuck, they probably do. Curse their fucking beautiful, stupid face and how their eyes make Elliott feel so small and yet so adored. So...paid attention to- more than he had in forever.

Elliott’s immediately whimpering, shaking his head and rolling his hips up against their hand despite how his motions are quivering with the strain of his muscles. “No! No, no, no, promise! Promise I can be good for you, I want to be good for you- oh god just let me-” Elliott’s breathing is wet, strained with tears pricking his eyes as their hand squeezes his cock to wring out anymore cum he may have. Just to watch them lap at the head of his dick to take it all eagerly.

“God -” Elliott sobs out again at the sight alone.

“You flatter me.” They respond with a teasing tone, letting their lips brush across his slick flesh with each movement.

They’re a devil in disguise, Elliott is sure. This is what he gets for wearing an angel get up today, of course he’d find himself at the mercy of a demon who’s going to suck the absolute soul out of him via his dick. And he isn’t even mad is the funniest part of this, he’s willing his body to try and relax, despite their teasing motions and the way their lips part so he can see their fangs again and how hungry they look.

Elliott’s fingers flex again on the arms of the chair, wanting so badly to maybe pull their hair or ease them back to him to show he’s ready. He’s too busy wondering if he’ll get chomped by them that he doesn’t notice they seem to sense his inner turmoil, not until their free hand gently grabs his wrist and begins guiding it to their ponytail for him to grip.

Elliott’s face flushes deep red at the simple action, a blinding smile crossing his face and showing off his dimples. His heart twists pleasantly at such a simple gesture, and vaguely he’s wondering if he can’t get Bloodhound’s number and make this more than whatever sort of sugar baby relationship this feels like.

What he doesn’t realize is how Bloodhound is looking at his smile, at his flushed face with a healthy glow about him. Thinking how beautiful he is, how darling he must be to have as a lover, how obedient and kind he must be. Even so willing to accept their claim on him already as to get excited at the prospect of being bitten and exposed to being claimed on stage. They could supply him everything he needed. Could fulfill every sexual desire, make sure he had enough money for anything he wanted.

Longing. Yearning. Emotions that Bloodhound should not have whilst trying to play with their food.

“O...okay, okay I think I’m ready to go.” Elliott finally says after a comfortable pause of silence. Their gaze is so intense on him, making him feel like the star of his own show right now. Even more so when they smile, this genuine little thing that makes his heart pound and not just because he’s thinking about their fangs on his cock again.

Way to go, Witt, already falling for someone.

Their lips wrap around the head again and Elliott’s breath is taken away again. He groans, head lolling to the side and eyes half lidded, making sure to watch them. Their own eyes flutter closed, their thumb tracing along the underside of his cock in their grip as they stay suckling and toying with the sensitive glands at the underside of his head. They keep his foreskin pulled back, their tongue lapping at the slit and making his thighs jerk with sensitivity at each brush.

Bloodhound is clearly starting slow, but still keeping him on the edge of overstimulation. Elliott’s toes curl into his heels, his other hand coming to rest on the back of their head and feeling over the shaved hair with his thumb idly. A whimper blossoms from his throat when their hand moves down from holding his cock to slide down to cup his balls, thumbing the seam and gently squeezing.

It’s like they know exactly how to play him.

“Fuck, baby-” He hisses out, not paying any mind to what is coming out of his mouth. They hum at him regardless, and vaguely he can hear this sort of hum in the back of his mind that he can feel pressing until he hears their voice curling into his mind like delicious smoke.

“You taste divine, little one.” It’s a purr in his head, resounding and making his cock throb at the praise, let alone the pet name. He wants to say thank you, but his mouth feels like honey, only spilling out soft whines and moans. “You are being such a good boy, so pliant and willing for me.”

Yep, that’s really doing it for him.

His hands press at their head as his hips come up, finding that they go with ease and no resistance. It gets to the point where he’s able to hold them still, fucking up into their mouth as their hands slide under to grab his ass to urge him to continue his thrusts. Elliott’s mind is swimming, swears finally able to come from his mouth and filth following along with it along the lines of, “W-want to touch you. Want to make you- ah!- feel good, want you to-to-to bite me-” All promises and praises keening from his lips like a singing bird.

In his head he can hear phrases murmured back at him, some in a tongue he doesn’t recognize. Some make sense like ‘ good boy ’ and ‘ you taste divine ’ echoing again and again matched with deeper snarls that make his skin sing like ‘Mine ’ and ‘ I shall ruin you for anyone else ’.

When Elliott cums again, their fingers sink into his ass and hold him up with amazing strength. They have him in their throat again, swallowing everything he has to offer as he sobs out his praises. His body feel tensed, overstimulated and ringing with a pleasantness of ’too much’. But he doesn’t feel like he couldn’t go again, feeling like he could just be their toy forever.

When they finally lower him back to the chair and slide their mouth off, Elliott feels the whine coming from his chest as his fingers scrabble to press back down on their head. It’s like they were a drug he couldn’t get enough of, even if he is shaking. “Please, please, more, please, baby, please, please, please- ”

The snarl he hears from their own chest sounds possessive and pleased, a low grumble as they take him again.

He cums two more times through the night before Bloodhound is finally sated. Elliott is an absolute mess, babbling away once he’s finally come down from his high. He expects they’re going to maybe just pay and leave, but for a small moment he kind of blacks out.

When he comes back to, he’s naked and been placed in a cool bath. The temperature is soothing on his too hot of skin, and when he lolls his head to the side, he sees Bloodhound resting on their knees by the tub. Their eyes flick up to him, the washcloth they were using to wipe at the glitter on his chest pausing. They offer a small, almost nervous smile. “It appears you passed out momentarily. I assumed you were overheated. My apologies.”

“Can I kiss you?” Elliott blurts out in reply before he can even think differently of it. He almost laughs at their surprised look, not knowing that their confident expression could drop into such a look so quick. Their eyes widen ever so slightly, eyebrows raising before a soft laugh leaves their chest, almost...flustered sounding.

Man, what Elliott would do to hear it again.

“I...Yes, you may.”

It’s all the consent he needs before he’s reaching over, resting a hand on their cold cheek and vaguely understanding why they wore the gloves now. They felt chilly to the touch. Bloodhound, in turn, looks at him expectantly as they lean over the bath tub, hovering above him and letting their breath mingle at their closeness.

It’s intimate.

When their lips meet, both of Elliott’s hands come to rest on their cheeks, sliding into their hair with a low moan in his throat. They kiss him gently in turn, their hand resting on his chest to steady their body as they guide the kiss. When they lick into his mouth, he can vaguely taste himself, only serving to make a familiar whimper resound from his chest.

When they part, Elliott takes the chance to surprise them again with a murmur of, “Can I have your number? You...you know, in case you get hungry again and I’m not working...?”

Their looks is definitely worth it again when they lean back slightly, a crooked smirk upon their lips. “You are bold, Elliott Witt.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I suppose it is not.” They agree, eyes dancing with mischief as their eyes flicker to his lips when he licks them and bites down on his bottom lip. Bloodhound could sigh, he was too cute, even if they know the exact reason he’d want their number. And not just due to him wanting to get ‘chomped’ as he so put it.

When Elliott beams brightly at them and tilts his head for another kiss, they feel that they are too weak to even consider denying him. Leaning in to take his lips again and again and again.

They suppose that this was a rather unconventional way to try and seduce the dancer, but in the end it pays off when not a day later they receive a lengthy text of Elliott saying of what a good time he had and thanking them for the tip, as always. And that when could he catch them for a date?

It would certainly be sweet, if he didn’t leave the damned vampire emoji at the end.

#miragehound #Bloodhound #Mirage #apex legends #apex lemons #vampire bloodhound #nsft #lemon #princess writing

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

❉ 139 Dreams (Molag Bal) Fascination

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Angst, Suggestive 16+, Romance ☁

Word Count: 3,629 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Molag Bal ☁

World: Skyrim ☁

Author’s Note: Am I thirsty as fuck for Molag Bal? Yup. Do I regret writing this and showing off how thirsty I am for Molag Bal? Nope. Highly inspired by the sexy ass images found here. And yes, I know technically none of the Daedric Princes have been given definitive genders, but I don’t care. I view them as men and if you want to see them differently, you do you boo.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

Thunder boomed loudly overhead, making you take pause as your eyes slid toward the darkening sky. You were currently on your way to Whiterun from Solitude, delivering an order of fancy clothes to Carlotta Valentia, who was hosting a party soon. Your mother had ordered you to do so, often using you as a free delivery service and offering you no choice nor reward for your efforts despite traversing dangerous roads in her name. You had mentioned borrowing the family’s horse in order to make the deliveries faster, but she didn’t want to risk her baby getting hurt.

‘Yet she sends her child across Skyrim with no protection,’ you scowled, kicking a rock to vent your frustrations. ‘What sense does that make?’

Thunder boomed again and with it came a sheet of rain. You cursed, doing your best to shield the bag of clothes with your body as you ran for cover beneath a large tree just off the road. What were you supposed to do now? If you continued on your journey, the clothes would surely be damp and possibly ruined, something you were sure Carlotta would not pay for. On the other hand, if you didn’t show up on time, she would report that to your mother who would then take out her anger on you again, which you knew would also happen if you delivered wet clothes.

‘No matter what, I lose here.’ You leaned your head back against the tree, closing your eyes as a headache began to throb at your temple. All you wanted was to be free, happy, but that was just a dream, you knew. If you ran away again, she would find you and make you pay dearly for wasting her time. The last time you had attempted to flee, she injured you so badly that you weren’t able to walk for a week.

A soft breeze ruffled your hair and you opened your eyes toward the sky. Despite the thunder still rumbling, the sun was now shining down on Skyrim. You waited a few moments to see if the rain would start up again before you decided to continue on your way, picking up your pace to make up for the lost time.

You made it to Whiterun without further incident. Though the bag had been a bit damp, the clothes inside of it were completely dry, much to your relief. You pocketed the two-hundred gold and started the trek back to Solitude but the closer you got to home, the more depressed you felt.

You had just reached the halfway point of your journey, just before Markarth, when you suddenly paused, turning your eyes to the sky. The sun was shining brightly, making you squint. “I don’t want to go home,” you muttered sadly.

“Then don’t,”

The deep, husky voice of a man startled you. You whipped around, eyes scanning around you for the source of the voice, but there were no signs of life, not even a deer or a rabbit. Your brow furrowed in confusion.

‘Have I gone mad?’ you wondered before shaking your head with a bitter chuckle. ‘No, my mind could never think up such a sexy voice like that.’ You continued on your way when the wind suddenly kicked up ominously.

“You dare to ignore me, mortal?”

You swallowed, realizing that the voice was, in fact, not in your head. “Who…who are you? Where are you?” Instinctively, your hand went to the dagger at your belt. It was a poor excuse for a weapon, but it was all you had to defend yourself with.

The man chuckled in a sultry tone and you felt your heart skip a beat. “I am the Daedric prince Molag Bal, lord of domination, god of Oblivion! And I want your soul.”

“My soul?” You breathed out. You knew you should feel afraid but… honestly, you didn’t. It couldn’t be any worse than what your mother puts you through, right?

“In exchange for your soul, mortal, I shall free you of the chains your woman has so tightly placed around your neck.”

“From one prison to another, huh.” You chuckled bitterly. “Forgive me for saying so, but that hardly seems like a fair trade.”

“You have some nerve, mortal, to dare speak to me in such a way.”

Your eyes slid closed and you forced your body to relax. “Just kill me and get it over with. Please,”

The voice was silent for a moment and you briefly wondered if you had been imagining the whole thing, and then he spoke again. “Hmm, fine. Let us come to a more… agreeable deal, then.”

Your brow furrowed. Why would a Daedric prince be willing to make a deal? “Like what?”

A black and purple cloud materialized before you, making you take a cautious step backward. Was he going to appear from that black hole? “There is a man that needs to be slain in my name, for he has been destroying my alters and smeared my name. He is a follower of Boethiah,” he spat the name as the smoke cleared to reveal a rusty spiked mace. “Take my mace and end his life. Show Boethiah that my followers are absolute and can not be bested.”

As if in a trance, your hand lifted toward the mace, head tilted to the side. Your fingers wrapped around the hilt, the metal surprisingly warm against your palm. It was quite heavy, but nothing you couldn’t handle after constantly lugging around large bags of clothes. There was something… strange about this weapon, about this whole situation. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t fascinated, but there was something you just had to know. “This is a trap… isn’t it?”

Molag Bal chuckled, a deep sultry sound that reverberated in your head. “If you complete this task that I have assigned to you, mortal, I will allow you to walk away with your life. And then, you will be truly free, just as you desire. My mace will be yours, and with it, you will harvest the souls of every enemy you slay.”

Everything within you was screaming at you not to trust this Daedra. Anyone with half a brain knew better than to do so, but what did you have to lose really? Your hand tightened around the weapon. Despite how dangerous, how powerful, it felt within your grip, it also felt so right, like you were meant to wield it.

“Tell me,” you breathed out. “What is the man’s name?”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

You stepped into the city of Falkreath, known for its expansive graveyard. The two itself was quite small, hosting only a couple of shops and homes. The guards watched you with weary gazes as you passed by, not knowing what your intentions may be. You offered them what you hoped to be an innocent-looking smile, not wanting any trouble from them.

You came to a stop in front of the inn, glancing up at the sign hanging above the door. ‘Dead Man’s Drink? How charming,’ The door creaked as you pushed it open, eyes scanning the inn. Only one patron was inside and he was passed out drunk against the table at the back of the room, snoring louder than anyone you had ever heard before.

Standing behind the counter was an Imperial woman with shoulder-length brown hair and matching eyes. She leaned forward on the counter, her hands flat on the wood. “Welcome to Dead Man’s Drink. We offer food for the hungry, drink for the thirsty, and sleep for the tired.” The words sounded so rehearsed as if she had repeated that same line dozens of times before, but you hadn’t been aware of Falkreath receiving that many visitors.

You approached the counter. “Hello, I was hoping you could help me locate a man named Hans Coralian. I believe he came through here quite recently.”

“A lot of people come through here,” she responded, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why are you looking for him?”

You glanced over your shoulder at the empty Inn, raising a brow. ‘I feel like that comment is a bit of a stretch,’ Your eyes met hers as you went over the options within your head. “He… He’s my father. I’ve been searching for him for such a long time, ever since my mama passed away…”

Her gaze softened considerably and she nodded. “Yes, he was in here two days ago, talking to some woman about something they needed to find, talking in real hushed voices.”

“You don’t know where he went, then?” You questioned, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“Maybe,” She closed her eyes in thought, folding her arms over her chest. “When I brought them a second round of mead, I heard them mention Knifepoint Ridge, just northwest of town, but I wouldn’t go there if I were you. It’s supposed to be home to a group of Daedra-worshippers. Real dangerous.”

You offered her a kind, thankful smile. “Thank you for your concern, but I can handle myself. Good day.” As you stepped out of the inn, your fingers brushed against the mace attached to your belt. Something about having that weapon just made you feel so safe, so powerful. You hadn’t felt that way in such a long time and it was a welcoming feeling.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

You reached Knifepoint Ridge without issue.

As you climbed the hill, you quickly crouched down behind a large boulder when you heard people fighting up ahead. Peeking around, you noticed two men fist fighting in a circular ring surrounded by spiked wooden barricades. Several others stood around the ring and on the stone steps leading up the mountain, watching the fight with clear amusement.

“Who are you?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, whipping around with your back pressed against the boulder. Standing before you was a Dark Elf female and a Nord male, their eyes narrowed suspiciously. So much for the element of surprise. “Uh, well, I… I’m an adventurer, and I believe I got lost…”

The woman hummed, folding her arms across the black chest piece she wore. “We are lord Boethiah’s faithful. If you dare, you may test your mettle and join us in worship.”

‘Boethiah… well, at least I know I’m in the right place.’ You glanced at the Nord man. ‘He matches the description of Hans, too. It might be easier if I’m on the inside. Perhaps I can befriend him.’ Hesitantly, you nodded. “I’ve heard… great things about the Daedric prince Boethiah and, since the opportunity has presented itself to me, I wish to join you. Fate has brought me here and I shall answer its summons.”

She smiled slyly, licking her lips. “If it is so, and if Boethiah appears, then we will welcome you as one of us. If you wish to gain Boethiah’s attention, you must slay a thrall upon his shrine.” She pointed to the right, where a set of stone steps slowly curved upward, stopping where a tall statue stood on the edge.

‘A sacrifice? Where the hell am I meant to find someone to sacrifice?’ Your brow furrowed as you cautiously approached the steps, but a sudden, angry voice boomed across the open area, making everyone take pause.

“Defiler!” Roared a feminine voice. Suddenly, the Dark Elf started to seize, dropping to the ground and clutching at her chest. She gasped in agony before falling still. Several moments passed before her body stiffly rose up like a corpse from the grave, limbs unnaturally stiff and face contorted in rage as she looked upon you. “You DARE to bring that thing near my shrine?!” She wailed, pointing a finger at the mace. “Do you have ANY idea who I am, mortal?”

You opened your mouth to respond, to try and calm the raging Daedra by spinning a tale that you had simply found the mace and had no idea what it was or who it belonged to, but she wouldn’t hear it.

“Silence!” She snapped. “Do you know what we Daedra are, child?”

“You’re a god,” breathed one of the star-struck followers, his eyes wide as he looked upon his lord with awe. “Your voice, it’s so… beautiful, my lady!”

“I am a man, you foolish mortal.” Boethiah scowled as he waved his hand through the air. An invisible force flung the man backward, his body pierced on the spiked barricade behind him. “We Daedra are far more powerful than any god. And among my brethren, I am the most feared!”

Deep laughter echoed loudly throughout the clearing before a black and purple portal materialized beside you. You didn’t even have time to back away before a man stepped from the portal, standing at least two feet taller than you. His skin was midnight blue, white symbols etched across his chest and arms, and two sets of curved horns, similar to a goat’s but much thicker, jutted out from either side of his head. Eyes the shade of red rubies shined under the moonlight as he looked upon Boethiah with amusement, placing a clawed hand on his hip. His hair was short and messy, and as black as a raven’s feathers.

You couldn’t help but stare at him, your cheeks turning red. ‘He’s so gorgeous…’

“Dear Boethiah,” He drawled. “You are the most feared? Don’t make me laugh. You’re the least feared among us and you know it.” The corner of his lips tugged up into a smirk as he witnessed the rising anger within his face. “You’ve been sending your foolish little followers to destroy my shrines, leaving me with only two left. Now I will do the same to you. While your chosen champion hides out deep within the mountain like a coward, my champion will destroy your influence!” His eyes snapped to you and you felt your breath catch in your throat. “Y/N, I command you to take my mace and destroy the shrine!”

Your body reacted on its own, turning and taking off for the stairs before your brain could comprehend what was happening. You pulled the mace from your belt when Boethiah screamed out in anger, giving chase.

Molag Bal intersected him and he sneered. “With only two shrines, both of which are so very far away from this location, your power is weak, brother. You can not best me, Molag Bal!” The body he was in started to expand and morph, growing until it was the same height as Molag Bal’s. His skin darkened to the color of the midnight sky with hair as white as freshly fallen snow, flowing to his knees like silk. His eyes, completely white and full of anger, snapped to you.

You were halfway to the shrine when he appeared before you, swiping at you with his hand, nails as sharp as nails. With a squeak of surprise, you barely managed to dodge the attack but your foot slipped out from beneath you and you hit the stone, your wrist twisting at an unnatural angle. It was painful, but the adrenaline coursing through your body like fire kept the pain mostly at bay.

You scrambled to your feet as he tried to grab you, his nails slicing open your arm as you dodged his grip, stumbling up the stairs like a toddler who had only just learned to walk. There was only one thing running through your mind – destroy the shrine.

‘Just as lord Molag Bal ordered,’ you thought. A part of you didn’t want to let him down, but you didn’t know if that was because you hoped he would save you from your mother, or simply because you had fallen under his spell. It was probably a bit of both, to be fair.

Boethiah grabbed the back of your leather armor and tugged hard, pulling you back toward him. You cried out, trying to grip the stone beneath you but he was much stronger than you and you no longer had feeling in your right wrist. “This is where you die, mortal!”

A thick red fog filled the air, making it impossible to see more than arm’s length in front of you. Boethiah howled in pain from behind you, his grip loosening on your shirt. You could feel the will of Molag Bal urging you forward and with a cry, you mustered up all of your strength and pushed forward, feeling the leather tear and the cool night air hit the exposed skin of your back. You were breathing heavily as you booked it the rest of the way up the stairs, the mace poised to strike as you zeroed in on the statue.

“No!!”

Just as the mace made contact with the stone, you felt a sharp pain in your side, a cry escaping your lips as blood splattered to the ground around you. Using all of your fear, the pent up rage, and now the pain coursing through you, you raised the mace and struck the statue again. Chunks of stone exploded from the statue, flying in all directions. You closed your eyes on instinct and continued to strike at it until there was barely anything left.

Boethiah screamed from somewhere behind you, a scream so loud it made your ears ring, and the last thing you saw was a brilliant explosion of light, and then nothing.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

“Ow, my head…” A groan slipped past your lips as you came to, slowly opening your eyes. The room you were in was small, lit by the soft orange glow of cream-colored candles. They were nearly fully melted, offering only a few hours more of light. You shifted your body, feeling straw and leather beneath you. ‘This is definitely a bedroom, but… it’s not mine.’ You struggled to remember the last place you had been, but your memory was coming up blank.

The wooden floorboards creaked as a man wearing a dark robe entered the room, carrying a tray with two mugs of milk and some steaming bread. You could just barely make out his smile from beneath the hood. “It’s about time you awoke. I worried you would sleep the whole day away.” His voice was deep and aroused something familiar within you. He carefully set the tray on the table beside the bed before resting his hand upon your forehead. “Your fever is gone, that’s good.”

As he pulled away, you noticed the rich blue tone of his skin. Your brow furrowed in confusion. “I… I’m sorry, but… who are you?”

He looked upon you with surprise. “Do you not remember me, my love? Well, no matter. I’m sure it’s just the side effect of your illness.” The man smiled charmingly and reached out to stroke your cheek. “I am your husband, Mikel.”

“Mikel…” you whispered, hoping if you tasted the name on your tongue, it would awaken your memory, but nothing happened. Your brow furrowed in frustration. “Where are we?”

“Our home in Markarth,” he answered, taking your face between his large hands. “Trying to force your memory will do more harm than good. You should rest.” You seemed unsure about this, so he leaned down and claimed your lips with his. It felt like a fire erupted within you, flowing through your entire body like lava and it felt… amazing. Like nothing you had ever felt before.

A moan slipped past your lips and he smirked as he pulled back.

“Rest, my love.”

Your hand shot out, tightly grasping his robe to prevent him from standing up. “No,”

“No?” he quirked a brow, red eyes shining with amusement. “You dare to defy your husband, Y/N?”

“Stay with me,” you begged breathlessly. The fire was beginning to face and you wanted more, needed more. “Please,”

His tongue slowly slid across his plump lower lip as he shifted to hover his body over your own. “How could I dare deny such a request from my most treasured?” His voice was husky and low, reverberating around your brain. You clutched at his body, trying to bring him closer but he didn’t budge. “Now now, my dear Y/N.” He chastised, pulling your hands away so he could pin them both above your head, easily holding them with one hand. He hummed, pleased at the way your body yearned for his touch, slowly sliding his hand down your side. “We should take our time and savor our first union together, don’t you agree?”

You couldn’t respond, too pre-occupied with the firey haze that had invaded your mind. No one had ever had such an effect on you before and your body couldn’t handle it. It felt like you were losing your mind.

He clicked his tongue before letting his hand dip between your legs. The way your body arched into such a simple touch fascinated him and he wanted to find every single tic your body would offer to his ministrations.

Leaning down, his lips brushed against your ear, warm breath creating goosebumps across your flesh. “Say my name, Y/N.”

“Mikel – ”

“My real name,” he growled, tightening his grip on your wrists.

You moaned as pain mixed with pleasure. Images flashed through your mind so quickly, you could only see bits and pieces, but a name stood out among all of the images. Your voice was breathy as you met his red eyes, shimmering with want and amusement. “Molag Bal…”

He smirked, showing off a set of sharp fangs. “You are mine, Y/N, in every sense of the word. Do not forget that.”

Your only response was a sharp intake of breath as his body pressed flush against your own, bringing his lips down to claim yours in a heated kiss. His body pinned you to the bed, making it difficult to breathe, but you had no objections to offer.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

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trilies · 5 years ago

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an argument for AO3

So I’m in a conversation with someone who is kind of in the “against AO3″ camp, and they asked me a couple of questions. Namely, who wouldn’t be uncomfortable with pedophilia? Isn’t it sketchy that a beta website is asking for so much money despite reaching its goals?

And my answer became so long... I figured it might as well become its own post. Please bear in mind that this is cut from a whole conversation.

But here it is.

------

No. It doesn't seem sketchy to me at all. Why would it? I know we make jokes about how much money tumblr has cost the various sites which purchase it like Yahoo, but there's some truth there: it's really expensive to host a website to thousands and thousands of people. It's why we see so many tumblr owners trying to shoehorn in ads or make people buy services, or why Photobucket tried to pull that truly atrocious bullshit a year or two back. Without image hosting capabilities (tumblr and photobucket's big thing), the strain isn't as huge.... but AO3 is MASSIVE. It is hosting literally thousands of accounts, millions of stories. That's massive on a server scale alone, ignoring all the other work they do. Yeah, it's in beta... but that's because it's trying to reach a goal of being as good a fanfic archive as they can be, and they don't believe they've reached that goal yet. Being in beta means they can better listen to their uses on shit like tagging systems and make those changes. Not to mention, again, they are INCREDIBLY transparent. If you are worried about where the money is going, you can go on the site and they have all their stuff up there.

As for the pedophilia subject matter.... Please give me a moment. because there's honestly a lot to say on that particular issue, if nothing else. This will take a while, so if you see this and there hasn't been a reply yet.... I'm still typing lmao.

To start with, of course people are uncomfortable about pedophilia. However, there are a lot of problems with how pedophilia is viewed or *used* as an accusation in the current fandom climate.

For example, in honestly EXTREMELY recent times, I was told I was "defending" pedophilia because I disagreed that a character (an immortal food gijinka) was "minor-coded" or "designed as an underage teenager". (As a note, an argument for this view was that the character's breasts were too small.) When I pointed out, hey, that's kind of a fucked up accusation to throw at a complete stranger, especially as I am a CSA survivor, I was told "You have to be lying about that, then, because a real CSA survivor would understand."

c o o l

That's just my personal experience that happened within a couple of months. Other people have talked about running into people who think that a character turning 18 means they're a pedophile for still dating a 17 year old. Or running into people who think a 40 year old dating someone in their 30s is pedophilic. Or believe that even SHIPPING characters who were not yet 18 was pedophilic if you yourself were over 18.

(Of course, you also have the kinds of people who try to use Moral Purity as a way to bash ships they don't like. I once saw someone try to claim that a popular mlm ship, A/B, was pedophilic because one half of the equation looked young.... when some other artists drew him... Of course, on the side, this person liked to also get angry that *their* favorite ship, a dude/chick ship composing of A/C, wasn't more popular. So. You know.)

So that's one half of the problem: the word "pedophile" being so warped that a lot of people now have no idea if the person using it has a genuine concern or if the accuser is trying to smear someone who doesn't ship the same thing. FFnet and Tumblr have gone with the "burn it all down" approach, which hasn't actually helped anyone and is, to boot, sloppily moderated. So we know from history, from experience in cases like mine, that it doesn't help in that area.

The other half of the problem is... How far is too far?

This is where "anti" culture begins to find similarities with the whole Warriors for Innocence thing. If you completely and blindly block an entire tag, or anyone associated with it, you have to ask: who are you hurting? Warriors for Innocence hurt actual rape victim, and queer folk, and a whole lot of others. Far as I can tell, anti culture is on the route to the same thing, because I have yet to see appropriate answers to a lot of issues.

If one says "anything with underage sex in it is bad and should be banned", what about fics that tackle it in a serious manner? The young adult novel "Speak" deals with rape of an underage girl and how she works through that mental trauma; are fics with stories equivalent to that allowed? Do fics with underage sex have to focus purely on how it is Horrible And Bad to be allowed? Does only a chapter have to be allowed? A paragraph? An author's note? A tag? Or are we allowed to never explore dark subject matter?

Is fic with underage content in it only horrible if it's someone over the age of eighteen who writes it? Can a teenager write smut (terribly written as it may likely be) between teenage characters? Can a teenager write smut between a teenage character and an adult character? For the record, i did in fact, over the summer, run into someone who said that teens/minors "shouldn't even know about NSFW", which is asinine to me, because Abstinence Only is a terrible thing to put in schools, and somehow worse in a way when you try to put that into effect in fandom. If the answer is 'yes', what are you going to do, demand to see people's birth certificates in fandom?

(As a note, I think this is a terrible message to put into fandom for teenagers because I believe it will inevitably lead to self hatred and a warped view of sex. If you make the extremely simplified black-and-white statement of "teens and sex should never go together ever in any way", that's going to mess up teens who are starting to experience arousal in their bodies. The message, whether intended or not, ends up as "NSFW things are bad, which means my brain which thought NSFW thoughts is bad, and my brain thought those thoughts because my body had these feelings". )

(This is bad for any average teenager. This will be especially worse to CSA and rape victims, along with queer youth who, in a lot of places, are still struggling with their bodies and/or feelings because the world is still pretty damn queerphobic.)

Speaking of CSA and rape victims, what about those of them who write/read underage ships or dark content as a way to cope with what happened or Just Because? That's a thing lots of us do, especially those of us who don't look like the Perfect Victims people can use as an excuse for whatever crusade they're waging. I've heard anti types go "Well, it's an unhealthy way to cope" or claims that CSA/rape victims who write such dark content are "just as bad as their abusers"... But are they psychiatrists/therapists? Are they the psychiatrists/therapists of *those specific people*? Will you moderate this kind of content by forcefully interrogating CSA/rape victims to out their trauma to a complete stranger? Will you demand to speak to their therapists? Over fanfic?

When I was a teenager, I wrote all sorts of stuff. I wrote dark dub-con fic, because I liked to explore those dark feelings in the process and the aftermath separate from myself. I wrote a fic with a fairly young teenage girl (what age was kh2 kairi? who even knows, I sure didn't) falling for a MUCH older man built like a brick shit house so that there was never any doubt to him being an adult, even giving him her first kiss, because they were my favorite characters, I wanted both of them to have a moment of happiness (that i promptly ruined but hey), and, *in this fic*, I knew it would be alright. I knew the girl would always be in control, she'd be the one making moves, that the guy was nonthreatening and kind and protect her and work alongside her.

(and then I began the process of killing him off in the next paragraph through him saving her life, but, like. Drama (tm), baby)

This was all good for me. At an age where I was young, vulnerable, and figuring out weird shit like arousal and romantic feelings, it was *invaluable* to have a space where I could explore all of that while relatively safe from actual danger, even if the stuff I wanted to explore was a little messed up. This whole thing against AO3 wouldn't have helped me, and I'm pretty sure it's not helping a lot of other people too.

There is an issue with underage people and sex stuff- not just in fandom but in culture at large. We have Hollywood dressing up young girl actresses in super slinky or revealing clothes. We have schools saying girls basically should never wear shorts, and capitalism fucking this up further by only selling SUPER SHORT shorters. We have media of all sorts giving us adults, whether in real actors or character design, in the roles of young people. (See: "how do you do, fellow kids") We should probably take more care about fandom spaces, so that people of all ages don't feel pressured to engage in sexual shit they're not 100% game for or into, or just have it shoved into their faces without consent. It's a complex issue... and it's not stuff that can just be 'banned' and have that fix it.

AO3 has on its plate a very complex problem that will, if we're all honest, never have a perfect answer. It has given us the best that can possibly be asked for. It obeys the law by not having actual child pornography on it (aka visual proof of actual real children, defined by us law as such), which is closest to "objective" we can get at the current stage in humanity and state of fandom. It has a very comprehensive and moderated tag system, so that people can post warnings along their fic so that people don't stumble onto shit they don't need to, and so that people can moderate their own reading experience to some degree.

If some people aren't comfortable with AO3, that's fine. However, most of us are getting annoyed not with those people, but with the people who just blindly say "AO3 supports child porn and is probably stealing money" (statement simplified for the purpose of this post). It shows an ignorance of the fandom history that lead us here, no understanding in either AO3's practices or how expensive it is to run a site, and no consideration for how complex this problem can really be. It would be great if this was a black and white issue, if there was an easy answer as just "banning" certain kinds of content... but there isn't. And that's where I am.

#long post #ao3 #fandom #here comes the ruckus #csa tw #rape tw #you never realize how long what you've written is #until it's in a whole ass tumblr post #well!

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tracing-ao3 · 4 years ago

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Fanfiction’s Biggest Platform Wasn’t Built in a Day: The History of Archive of Our Own

Hey! What do you know about fandoms and fan works? Chances are that the answer is a lot. People here on Tumblr are rarely strangers to fandom and that’s pretty much what this social media platform is used for. Fandom has become a big part of the human experience, and there are loads of places both online and in person to get excited about the media that interests you. From stan twitter to the Dashcon ball pit, there are plenty of ways we share fan experiences.

Most notably are fan works, the art and stories created by fans to extend, “fix,” or build upon the stories from canon. Arguably the most popular method for sharing fan works, specifically fan fiction, is Archive of Our Own. AO3 is popular now, but it is far from the first of its kind. There is a long history of fandom culture and similar technologies that lead to the creation of this platform. More under the cut since things get a little long.

From Humble Fandom Beginnings

First, we have to acknowledge that the first building block to Archive of Our Own was the existence of fandom itself, which existed in different terms long before there were internet platforms to share it on. A Fanbyte article shares some funny perspectives of where fan culture might have started, and it involves Sherlock Holmes (but not that Sherlock). When the Holmes books were originally being published by Arthur Conan Doyle, readers easily became very invested. So much so that there were angry letters and actual protests when the author killed off the title character, so at least we know today’s Sherlock fans come by it honestly.

It may not have been called fandom back in Doyle’s day, but consumers have been highly dedicated to the media they consume for some time now. However, if a modern fan is unhappy with a decision to kill off a character or any other looked down upon plot decision, there may be a different place for them to turn aside from protests.

What the Fanfiction?

Moving on from the 1800s but still before the rise of the net, the fandom landscape was about to be shifted. Popular sci-fi series Stark Trek had its fair share of dedicated fans. Together a group of fans would help in the movement to popularize fan fiction. A zine called Spockanalia was published in 1968 and was comprised entirely of fan work, responses to the show, and, yes, fan fiction.

Prior to widespread internet access, fic was distributed in similar zines, at conventions, or even passed among students in schools.

This zine was probably not the first example of what we think of fan fiction, but it sure did help shift the landscape and make way for the digital versions of platform to come.

Fan Fiction Takes the Web

With the existence of the internet increasing people’s ability to share their content, it’s no surprise fandom found a new place to thrive. Fans were now posting content online, but we were still a long way from the platforms we have now.

Tech savvy fans developed online spaces for their specific fandom or even a certain ship. This became the storage place for fic and true hubs for fandom activity. These designs are a little outdated, but they represent a blueprint for later fic hosting sites.

Images from Vice’s “The Forgotten Early History of Fanfiction”

In October of 1998, we see FanFiction.net pop up. This site serves as a true predecessor to AO3. FF.net was one of the first sites dedicated to fanfiction that housed multiple fandoms, not just one specific fandom per message board. This platform received a lot of attention from fans and writers for its unique offerings and ability to read from multiple categories in one place. Despite the popularity of FanFiction.net, the site had its own host of problems that would come to fruition in the coming years.

Censorship and Greed (Come Before the Fall)

FanFiction.net offered a service that fans were looking for, but it was somewhat restrictive in the content it allowed. This included the array of content rating, bans on sexually explicit content, etc. Additionally, there is no fic to be posted by authors who have voiced their criticism of fan fiction.

Casey Fiesler, a professor in information science, also has a fantastic video on the rise and death of various fandom platforms, which discusses some additional predecessors to AO3 and the issues that arose from them.

For example, LiveJournal was being used as a platform for fan content creators to post work and communicate with other fans. This was effective until a change in LiveJournal’s policy affected the type of content allowed on the site, once again banning sexually explicit works. This policy change resulted in over 500 journals being deleted overnight and without warning. Furthermore, some of these accounts didn’t even host fan fic, and instead were accounts from survivors of sexual assault. LiveJournal clearly made some mistakes in this move, and users were pretty unhappy with the treatment.

In 2007 around the same time as LiveJournal’s purge, a new fic platform was breaking into the scene: FanLib. The creators behind FanLib seemed to notice the growing popularity of fan fiction and aimed to turn a profit off of these works. Naturally, the site faced a lot of criticisms and distain from the community.

With the outrage caused in fandom communities, it was time for a change. Controversy surrounding censorship and profit on existing fan work platforms fed directly into the creation of Archive of Our Own.

By the Fans, For the Fans: Archive of Our Own Sheds Restrictions

As much as AO3 was created in direct response to these aforementioned, it also borrows from their structure. It is a place for all multiple fandoms, much like the bold move on FanFiction.net’s part in the 90s.

While AO3 built off the existing technologies of prior fic hosting sites, it also boasted quite a few differences in regards to the content allowed.

Whereas FF.net restricted what authors fan fiction could be posted for and both it and LiveJournal posed restrictions of erotica, AO3 took the opposite approach. Their policy allowed any and all content to be hosted on their cite, as long as the work tagged the necessary archive warnings (including major character death, rape/non-con, etc.).

More recent years have inspired much debate on this concept. Some advocate for further restrictions that would prevent fics featuring incest, pedophilia, and other illegal and disturbing topics. This viewpoint certainly has merit, but these works do nothing to violate Archive policy as long as the content is indicated within the warning and tags. It is also worth considering that user are able to filter through warnings and tags, excluding ones they don’t want to see.

The other side of this argument points to the long history leading up to the Archive’s creation. Indeed, given that AO3 was developed to combat censorship on similar platforms, the lack of restrictions makes far more sense. There are certainly valid points to be voiced on both side of this debate, but looking to the textual predecessors of AO3 makes it clear why such a policy would be in place.

An additionally difference in AO3’s structure lies in the profit. While FanLib met a premature death due to its desire to profit on the back of content creators, AO3 does no such thing. In fact, it is run by nonprofit group Organization for Transformative Works and the site’s work is done by volunteers.

Archive of Our Own builds upon the conventions of fan work sites while adapting them for its own needs.

Borrowing From Other Social Media Practices

The Archive also demonstrates trends that can be seen across social media platforms such as Twitter, Facebook, and here on Tumblr. The hashtag that is used to sort posts and material online is also utilized on AO3, but in a slightly different fashion.

Tagging on other social media is sometimes ineffective when users include different tags to talk about the same concepts (think one user tagging a post “Doctor Who” while another uses “dw”). This makes it difficult for users to find the content they’re looking for.

To improve upon the tagging system used across social media, AO3 uses a method called tag wrangling. This involves volunteers sorting through new tags that are used and linking them to other tags that mean the same thing. As such, a poster can use whatever tag they are most familiar with, and tag wranglers will make sure it shows up under any tag that has the same meaning. Tag wrangling solves the issue that alienates users from finding content and also ensures that the filtering system is as effective as possible.

Fanfiction’s Biggest Platform Wasn’t Built in a Day

It’s clear that AO3 is far from the first of its kind. The widely used platform built upon the existing structures and uses of similar platforms, structures, and communities.

By building with and improving upon these existing formats, Archive of Our Own has created an online space that utilizes existing technologies in a fresh way that attracts users.