#like he literally KNEW they were only there because of being forced (sexually or economically or socially) but he DID NOT CARE
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Thinking about how Victor Hugo wrote one of the most famous portrayals of prostitution that is sympathetic to the prostituted woman (Fantine from Les Miserables) and shows how she is forced by poverty to sell her body, how it clearly is a traumatic experience, and how much disrespect the pimps have for her in reality... And yet he continued constantly visiting brothels and using the women's bodies - so much so that a very famous rumor was created that all the brothels in Paris closed down to mourn him after his death... Kill all men?
#not to pretend Fantine's character is the epitome of sympathy though (lolz) but it makes me feel insane#like he literally KNEW they were only there because of being forced (sexually or economically or socially) but he DID NOT CARE#like........#mine#history#radblr#victor hugo#les mis#anti prostitution#🐝#hall of fame
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Mad Passion | 2
Pairing: namjoon x reader
Genre: arranged marriage au, smut, angst, fluff
Word count: 14k
Warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, graphic sexual content, unprotected sex
Summary: As you become emotionally invested with your marriage, you have grown accustomed to being Namjoon’s wife. Not until you realize you barely have an idea what it is really like to be his wife.
*unedited
Part I | sequel
The midnight moon illuminates vibrantly on the clear, dark blue-ish sky— a clear view from the sky high cocktail bar and lounge, of which is about to approach its peak hours, serving exclusively to the hotel guests.
The four and a half thousand square foot space is indeed a perfect place to unwind minus the bustling crowd and unnecessary loud music. Among the tables neatly scattered in the open air terrace, the two men occupied the miniscule pavilion situated on the right corner of the sky high rooftop, the farthest possible spot from the little crowd growing as the night progresses.
Seokjin and Namjoon are currently on a business trip. Namjoon rarely joins him on his international-scale meetings one as he isn’t an expert of the global market of fisheries like Jin himself. This time, however, it was Namjoon who initiated the trip to meet a good number of businessmen to secure a majority vote on the retail corporation he had invested in several months ago. He was new to this particular field, which was why Jin was here with him.
Jin was with him all through the course of said meetings. As Namjoon’s schedule abroad concluded today, it was safe to say the result of these meetings posed a good sign. Namjoon will soon take over another company. Of course, Jin wouldn’t let the night pass without them celebrating. He could’ve invited the rest of the group if they came along on the trip. So it was only the two of them who are celebrating, as Jin insists to call it.
Namjoon could have turned it down, and calling his wife appeals to him more, but he really needs a proper drink even if Jin under the influence of alcohol means having to endure his annoying ass for an hour or two.
“Your wife doesn’t have any idea on all of this, does she?” Jin nonchalantly asks, the alcohol cleansing his palate refreshingly from the numerous glasses he had. They had been in the pavilion for over an hour or two, he’s not certain.
Namjoon gave him a stern look, almost feigning innocence on the question his friend suddenly threw at him. “Know what?” There it was, the annoying side of Jin.
Jin smirks, shaking his head. He could read his friend like the back of his hand. Amongst the group, he knows Namjoon the longest. Even with the passive expression he always wears, Jin could easily see through him.
“She doesn’t know? You’re screwed, Kim.”
By now, both have already had a decent amount of alcohol in their system. The younger one, however, doesn’t appear as fuzzy as the older one.
“She doesn’t need to know about my business affiliations. It would not matter what she would think of it.” He remarks, before emptying the liquor in his glass.
His reply only made Jin snorted. “I bet you don’t.” He muses before continuing, “No doubt, it would be a pleasure to meet the woman who stole your heart. Hoseok told me a lot of things about you and her. I’d like to confirm it myself. After all, it’s been months since you secretly changed your marital status.”
Also, he ought to know why Namjoon seems to talk too little about his wife, as if he was avoiding the subject itself.
Namjoon’s eyebrow shots up. “Confirm what, exactly?”
“How smitten you are to the woman.”
Namjoon leans his back on the couch, “Shut it, Hyung.” He shrugs, eliciting too little expression that only fuels Jin’s amusement further.
Crossing his leg to the other, he continues to nag his friend. “I thought I’d never see the day, my friend. Have I not mentioned how surprised we were learning about your marriage in a newspaper?”
“You did, you couldn’t seem to move on from it, can you?”
“How can I? You didn’t even us at your wedding!”
“I already told you why.”
“Well, you have to give the girl a proper wedding. That is… if you already bear feelings for her.”
“There’s no need for that.”
“Did you ask her? Girls like those romantic shit.” Jin concludes, his own experience being his reference.
“The marriage is a part of the deal, Hyung.” He says in an indifferent tone, a pretense he had mastered through the years of his experience in the industry. Jin already knew the story behind his marriage, but the rare chance of pissing his friend off tempts him as always.
“If you don’t love the girl, you can easily get a divorce once you have secured the position. With the influence you have over the Korean government, there’s no way you can’t be granted a simple request.” Jin continues to press, enjoying the look of irritation growing on Namjoon’s face. Namjoon chose to keep quiet, distracting himself with pouring alcohol in his glass.
“What do you think the princess would feel if her castle has already been claimed by her King long before her father steps down on his throne?” Jin queries in a teasing manner.
“You forgot to mention she had long abandoned her throne. She already lost the title when she left.” Namjoon was quick to answer back.
Jin smirks, “Touché.”
Namjoon purses his lips, letting the air be filled with silence. At the mere mention of the lost princess that is his wife, his mind wanders off.
It’s been almost a week since he last saw his wife. He misses her that no amount of alcohol could suffice. Although he consistently calls you every day, it was not enough to make peace with his mind. How should he converse with you to prolong the conversation? He loves hearing you talk endlessly, regardless of what it is about. The conversations feel restricted. Whether it was because of his intimidating self or you’re merely not interested to talk to him—he has yet to know why.
What is certain, though, is he will finally come home tomorrow.
Mingyu quietly turns the ignition on the moment you climb inside the passenger’s side. Silence has awkwardly ruled between the two of you since two weeks ago especially when you don’t initiate a conversation, yourself. His actions are always calculated alongside the formality in his voice whenever you attempt to have a casual conversation with him.
And you figured, he might have been instructed not to entertain your friendly gestures, much less converse with you.
You find his awkward but formal disposition adorably hilarious, which sometimes make you laugh out loud, that in return, earns you questioning look from him.
Since his post as personal security detail two weeks ago, Mingyu always lingers on your whereabouts. The role he plays is obviously a college student, casually eating on a table far away from your usual spot, or pretending to read books in the library when you’re studying so he could unnoticeably guard you around. The pretense alone is a dangerous task, you presume, because he is an eye catcher and he has to stay low-profile not to gets busted.
You don’t even know how they can roam around the vicinity of the campus without alerting the security department. When you say ‘they’, you’re generally referring to the team of agents responsible for your well-being.
After the incident involving your friend and one of them weeks ago, they have visually disappeared. But you were not that dense to believe they’re literally gone. For all you care, they are just scattered everywhere, pretending to be whoever they are. Namjoon is too smart to have the same men follow you around. If he intentionally wants to make you think he has removed an entire team in your care, he would strategically have new faces to do the job. As if Mingyu’s presence will make you believe that he’s the only person that guards you.
Until now, you couldn’t believe your husband selected Mingyu as your shadow amongst the couple of hundreds working under his security agency. Knowing he’s territorial when it comes to the male acquaintances you have, it makes you there’s an underlying reason for it. Perhaps, is it trap to test your loyalty? But the probability of it being true is too low, because why would your loyalty matter to him in the first place?
When Namjoon married you several months ago, not only has your life changed, but your feelings too. You used to dislike the thought of being forced into a marriage with him, with someone you barely know, with someone who has so many similarities with your father.
It wasn’t just a simple attraction that you have developed towards him, nor was the socio-economic status he has. There is not even extraordinarily admirable about his personality that could justify your feelings—that unavoidably blossomed through time.
He was not the typical guy, of course. Men his age are probably enjoying the time of their lives, partying and all that stuff or perhaps, struggling to even get a decent job that would financially support themselves.
He was not the romantic type of guy. Sweet talks, knows how to make you feel giddy, charms his way to your heart— he is far from that.
Strange, how he still unknowingly earns more brownie points the longer you live with him, despite the uncertainty.
The awkward tension between you two have improved after months of having formal and painfully monotonous interactions. Perhaps, the rare intimacy has helped you open up to him more casually.
Despite that, you couldn’t rest your mind with the fact that your relationship with him lacks emotional commitment.
While he has the money and power at such a young age, you have nothing but student loans and your father’s last name. While he sees to your every need, it was never really established what you two are aside from the arrangement of your marriage. Unfortunately, it was just that. There may be papers which legally conclude your matrimony as husband and wife, but there’s no certainty of mutual, requited feelings.
Every single day that comes and goes around, you couldn’t stop yourself from wishing that the marriage had been alternatively a result of a conventional, romantic affair. Part of you wishes he could, at least, learn to reciprocate your feelings for him.
He asked you on a date before, the first and only one so far. It turned out as expected— a little awkward because he basically rented the restaurant leaving you two alone in the spacious, luxurious place which meant having to endure silence while he enjoys his food as you try to think of things that you could talk to him about. It was, nevertheless, sweet because you have not predicted he would be thoughtful enough to know the food that you like, having it served as the main course.
Since the date, Namjoon never really spoke about it or anything that may hint another one. You’re ashamed to even admit that you’re eager to know what he feels for you, now.
Has it changed?
~
It didn't take long before you arrive at the apartment.
Without waiting for your guard, you went straight to the bedroom, the same one you share with him. Despite his absence for six days, the scent of his signature perfume still lingers in the vicinity.
Heaving a sigh, you huff on the mattress, allowing your muscles to relax, and allow your mind to wander into nothingness.
Earlier, you magically crammed mind-draining essays due today as well as made progress on your provisions for your upcoming midterms. The mere thought of it all makes you want to take a nap before proceeding with your papers, again.
After a moment of silence, you decided to have a long, warm bath instead. It’s been ages since the last time you had one since you have a waiting husband in mind whenever you’re using the bathroom even though he has several spares in his penthouse.
You did just that. And about half an hour, the comforting and relaxing warmth seeping through every part of your body, and the peppermint scented diffuser further lets your mind float elsewhere. Before you know it, you have lurked farther into the depth of your endless thoughts, slowly leading you where darkness and dreamland meet.
You woke startled by an endless sound of a familiar tone ringing. And as your eyes strained by the blinding light, you mindlessly search for the source. You couldn’t seem to find where it was coming from, although you know it was your phone. The mere sound of it tells it was not in the bathroom. Where did you place it, anyway?
Still dazed with the traces of your unsolicited nap, you carefully but swiftly climb out of the tub, grabbing the towel on top of the counter to quickly dry your body. You found it on top of the bedside table. The eerie silence inside the room made the sound echo all throughout, that you feel your ears bleed as it continuously rings.
Your thumb slides on the screen after you took a brief glance at the caller.
Your abandoned, dripping hair sticks irritatingly on your nape, soaking your towel as you forget to put on a robe.
“You’re not answering my calls.” Namjoon greets, his voice unrecognizably low.
What time is it there, again? You wonder.
“Sorry, I dozed off in the tub.” You replied too quickly, words jumble in your mind as they stumble out of your mouth. Listening to the words seems wrong when you have come to understand what you said.
“You what?” He asks, sounding puzzled. A trace of concern laces in his voice more than anything, although you were too flushed to take the hint.
“Uhh... Yeah, I fell asleep. Sorry about that...” You sheepishly falter.
As you wait for his reply, you hear some shuffling instead on the other line.
Your mind still is blank as white while struggling to come up with a better reply.
“I heard that, but you fell asleep? In the tub? That’s not safe.” He probably just woke up. Perhaps, that must be why his voice is extra low, though he calls you every night and it sounded quite normal in his previous calls.
“Right, I’m fine though. It’s not like I would drown or something.” You try to joke.
The silence lingers for a few seconds, before you hear him speak on the other line. “You should have rested instead of taking a bath.” He lightly scolds over the phone.
A chuckle bubbles past your throat, nodding in agreement. That was your initial plan. “I will...eventually.”
“Busy?”
This time, you hear people talking in the background. He’s in his hotel room, right?
“Just about. I had a long day, spent most of my free time in the library. I presumed, Mingyu already told you that, right?”
At the mention of his name, you didn’t see the way Namjoon’s eyebrows rose, as something weak but ugly feeling stirs inside him. “Hanbin communicates with him.”
Your mouth fell into an ‘o’, nodding as if he could see you. “Oh, right. He’s fine, right? I mean you approved of him as my guard?”
“Yes. Why do you ask? I trust that you’ll tell me if he ever acts inappropriately and I’ll make sure—“
“No, no, he’s okay, I mean… uh, he’s actually really formal.” You stammer, slowly growing flustered at the way you have spoken about Mingyu. The subject itself doesn’t really interest you, it’s just that you don’t want him to be dragged into Namjoon’s territorial issues especially when he’s not around.
Not only is Mingyu a taller version of Namjoon’s physique, he is also as attractive as your husband, which didn’t matter to you as Namjoon pretty much owns your heart, that you didn’t choose to.
“Good. I’m also expecting you to behave while I’m gone.” He warns playfully.
You scoff, returning the playfulness of his tone. “When have I not?”
“Of course. You’re a good girl for me, yeah?” He casually prods although the impact of his words seem to have struck you somewhere.
You bit your lip, started pacing back and forth with the towel as the only cover in your body. What would he feel if you tell him that?
You decided to change the subject, “Hey, listen… uh… I heard your birthday is approaching.” You begin, recalling the conversation you had with the housekeeper. This would be your first time spending his birthday with him.
“Uhuh...” He trails, silently telling you to keep going.
“Do you have plans for it?” You nervously ask, biting your nail in agitation as you kept going around the vicinity of the room.
Being a part of the elite social class means birthdays are extravagantly celebrated. You had them when you were young. Yet, Namjoon has not mentioned to you about his birthday plans, if he has any.
“Plans?” He echoes with a curious tone.
“I mean parties and stuff.” You immediately clarified back.
“Angel, I don't celebrate birthdays.” He says in a casual tone as if he was just telling you a random piece of information.
Taken aback by his response, you repeated what he said in a form of question. “You don’t?” Namjoon has not sensed the change of tone in your voice.
“I don’t. I have to go, baby. I will call you again. Hmm?” He didn’t even wait for your reply, ending the call right away.
He doesn’t celebrate his birthday?
Namjoon, who obviously has all the resources in the world to organize the most luxurious social events, happens to have disinterests celebrating his birthday?
You mean, you have too little enthusiasm toward social gatherings but that doesn’t mean you don’t celebrate your birthday. Even when you barely have enough savings to pay for your bills, you couldn’t let your birthday pass without treating yourself or spending the day with your friends.
It sounds weird, at the same time, lonely to hear that he disregards such an occasion enough to make your heart tug painfully. He must have had a horrible childhood, you thought. Or perhaps, he’s merely not fond of any kind of celebration. It shouldn’t be a big of a deal, right?
Slight dismay washes through you at the abruptness of the call.
What is it about him being away that bothers you? Is it his safety, your safety or...his mere absence?
For the nth time since Namjoon left for his business trip, you had slept through your alarm which only meant you were late again in your first class.
The day progresses rather slowly. When it feels like you’ve spent ages sitting inside the lecture theatre, barely listening to half the professor was saying turns out to be just a couple of minutes whenever you check the time on your phone.
After what felt like a day, your break comes rolling around. Bearing the effect of sleep deprivation, your walk towards the dining hall was unusually sluggish. Fortunately, Jihyo was already on the table of your usual spot waiting when you arrived.
Your shadow has yet to make his presence known which seems odd as he always tail you far behind, at the same time, intentionally allowing you to spot him wherever he is.
With his height, you could easily see the top of his head through the crowd, only that you didn’t need to look around because he’s in front of you and Jihyo, slightly wide-eyed with Jackson on his left, the former seemingly forced to be here.
Your eyebrows narrow in confusion. Though your friends knew you’re being guarded by him, they never really showed intention to befriend him.
“What’s going on Wang? Mingyu-ssi?”
Jihyo seems amused at the mere sight, holding back her laughter as she notices the discomfort written in the poor handsome boy’s face.
Your bodyguard surprisingly fits well in his all black casual attire like as if he is sporting a bad boy college student vibe. You couldn’t even point anything suspiciously odd with the way he casually holds himself as if he has his own world, not minding others’ business.
Jackson plops on the vacant seat across Jihyo’s and drags Mingyu on the seat next to him. He obligingly follows suit.
“He seems nicer and harmless than the other ones, Y/N. Had to befriend him before he makes me his next target.”
Mingyu gazes at him with his sharp gaze that strangely reminds you of your husband’s stare.
“I can perfectly hear you.” He formally says to your friend, which presumably meant alternative to warning him.
Jackson paid no mind on the harmless threat, giving Mingyu a friendly smack on the back instead.
“I know, bud. I’m not the enemy here, is what I’m trying to tell you.” He quips, which made Jihyo chuckle in return.
Mingyu peers in your direction, then goes back to Jackson’s and Jihyo’s in utter confusion.
He probably has no idea what transpired before.
“You didn’t know?” Jackson attempts to confirm with a question.
“What?” Mingyu immediately asks back.
His act of ignorance isn’t believable enough for you. On his first day as your guard, you were stunned at how proficient he seemed to be on his pretense for someone who barely knows his way around the campus as if he’s been here before.
Shaking the thought away, you chose to butt in, “Don’t give him ideas.”
Jackson’s eyes slightly widen in realization. “You’re right. Anyways, I’m officially inviting you to eat lunch with us everyday. Is it a yes or a yes?”
Mingyu stares at him, dumbfoundedly.
“Shut up, Wang.” Jihyo laughs and then turns her head to meet Mingyu’s curious eyes. “Ignore him, but you’re always welcome to sit with us, just in case you’re allowed to— you know, eat with us.”
You only nodded in agreement.
If he ever considers it, he never showed any sign that he did as he ate silently the whole time while he listened to the three of you converse endlessly.
Like the past few days, the home feels different and strange without the towering owner lurking around the spacious vicinity like the king, himself.
Namjoon never really confirmed when he will be back. He had not brought it up again after he once mentioned that the trip would take him a week. Perhaps, longer?
It’s been a week. You don't know how long you’d manage without seeing him. His absence, as you first thought, would be a sense of breather for you for the first time since the marriage happened. But as days rolled around, you only hope for the week to end so you could see him again.
The longer you ponder over the thought of missing him, the harder it is to ignore the ache on the pit of your stomach, and desire pooling between your legs.
The temperature on your body feels strangely higher considering it’s not yet summer and the room is fully air conditioned like the rest of the apartment.
Your hair was pulled up in a bun, clothes thrown haphazardly on the cold, bathroom floor as you skimmed inside naked without bothering to close the door.
You let the shower run as you gradually get used to the feel of the water on your skin, your body shudders ever so lightly as you step under the running water, cautious enough not to get your hair soaked in the process. Shortly after, your shoulders slug as the water finally cools down your body, your insides almost relaxing.
You drew a long sigh, eyes closing, loving the therapeutic sensation of water as it soaks your body.
It wasn’t until you felt strong arms encircling your waist from behind that the heat spirals back into your body, especially in your lower region.
Their clothed body molding perfectly against your naked back as they pull your body impossibly closed. It was too sudden, and you were probably too lost in your own thoughts that you failed to hear any strange sounds, footsteps even.
A shriek of surprise went past your throat, harshly squirming in reflex. You're too shocked to process who it is until he made a hush sound, calming you down. His lips found your naked shoulder, further making himself known through his gestures.
“It’s me.” The familiar voice whispers next to your ear. Your violent movements instantly halted, but the shock still is evident through erratic beating of your heart.
“Joon?” you softly call, trying to peer behind to have a proper look on him. In a teasing manner, he kisses your other shoulder, ruining your intent while your body is kept locked on his arms.
By now, his clothes are already soaked against your back as wet as your hair as the running water continues to shower you both.
And just as his lips found your nape, his hand cups one of breasts, softly squeezing the mound, his fingers gently pinching the pink nub. Your hand mindlessly flew to the hand on your waist that is keeping your body close to his, gripping it tight enough that your knuckles are turning white.
Your eyelids fell shut at the sudden sensation, biting your lip to suppress any sound from your throat. His hand didn’t stop the gentle tormenting on your breast, his warm, sinful mouth now assaulting the skin on your neck, sucking it until the spot turns purple. The mere contact is enough to make you dizzy in need, intensely lighting your long overdue desire.
And then the sensation stops all at once, his hand gone and his nose nuzzling your now-soaked hair.
“J-Joon...” you softly beg.
He didn’t answer, yet you could hear his ragged breathing, his crotch pressing hotly on your back.
“Please,” you impatiently murmur.
“Hmm...” Hums Namjoon, feeling his lips on your temple.
“Please let me see you,” Your voice almost breaks. It’s been a week since you last saw him, his absence certainly overwhelmed you achingly.
His lack of response drives you into frustration.
Then he swiftly spins you around, his hand on your hip pushes you further until your back is pressed flat on the cold tiled wall. Palms planted on either side of your face, entrapping you.
Your mouth left agape at the sight of him.
His soaked white dress shirt, clinging to his torso like a second skin, further accentuating his lean body, his dripping wet slacks evidently showing the bulge of his arousal. Your mouth instantly waters at the sight, suddenly wanting to feel it under your touch, have your mouth and tongue taste him.
But you were too nervous to initiate a move.
He continues to torment you under his wanton gaze, as if challenging you to protest against his captive.
His eyes then roamed over the length of your body, feasting the view beneath his lashes, “Beautiful.” His fingers caught your chin, tilting it so he could look into your eyes.
His mouth draws nearer, until it lands on the wet skin of your cheek. He mumbles against your skin, “You have no idea how much I missed seeing your pretty face. Did you miss me, sweetheart?”
Your eyes closing shut, nodding. “Yes,” You manage to say, while finding the strength to rub your palms sensually on his forearms that would hopefully coax him to initiate a move. He only hums in return, to your dismay.
The running water from the shower head has stopped. Namjoon probably turned it off although it was too late as his whole body is already dripping with water.
His mouth is so close to yours, teasingly hovering over the corner of your mouth. When you ever so lightly tilt your head to the side, your lips caught his supple ones. Your delicate fingers found his cheeks, deepening the kiss.
A groan vibrates on his chest, the weeks worth of abstinence has not been too kind for him, and he would undoubtedly break you if he suddenly loses the control he’s been nurturing instead of his desire.
Your actions, however, are doing so little for your own good.
To your dismay, he was reacting too little, maintaining a minimal response. “Joon, please...” You mumble in between kisses.
“What do you want, sweetheart?”
“I-I... I want you.” You moan, your voice almost failing you from the overwhelming heat of your desire.
The burning ache on his abdomen only intensifies at the mere sound of your begging.
“You have me.” He says back in a soft voice, nuzzling your cheek while keeping a safe distance between your bodies.
When your hand dares touch his crotch, a low growl rumbles on his chest, swiftly catching your hand on his, restraining your very intention. Tears pool in your eyes in desperation. And as much as you want him to fuck you senseless right this second, the desire to taste him was too intense and stronger to just set the thought aside.
“Let me touch you... Joon, please...”
His breathes quicken, refusing to entertain your offer. But it didn’t mean his desire is not spiraling wildly, his member twitching painfully the more your pleas feed his ears. His head momentarily threw back, and you use it as an opportunity to shuffle on your knees, your hands quickly found his crotch.
Taken aback by your bold eagerness, he hisses harshly as your delicate fingers found his bulge. His intent to drag you back on your feet vanishes as he took in the sight of his naked goddess— blazing eyes returning his stare while hovering over his sensitive arousal.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” He curses when you impatiently palms him while your other hand trembles as it attempts to unbuckle his belt.
Helplessly murmuring, “Help me...” when you couldn’t seem to do it on your own. At your helpless plea, Namjoon quickly came to rescue your little dilemma. No more than a second, his large hand swiftly unbuckles his belt, your hand greedily undid his buttons, and tug his boxers enough to release his hard member.
A gasp falls on your lips, taken aback at the sudden jolt of his thick cock against his stomach before your eyes. Surprise at the size of it, your insides clenches achingly, wondering how it had fit inside you before. But realizing why his entrance burns your insides despite your wetness, his huge cock filling you would extremely stretch your walls to fit himself.
You have seen it so briefly before on your first night together, but you haven’t had the time to admire it as Namjoon took you so urgently.
Your mouth waters at the sight of a glistening pink head, your cold, delicate fingers coming in contact with his slick member to wrap themselves around his thickness.
The subtle touch of your fingers felt too good. If it’s possible, his brown eyes only grew darker, that they are almost black now. Your mind is in shambles as both of your hands gently pump their way up and down his length.
His hips stutter at your ministration. As Namjoon falls into a state of euphoria, his head is thrown back, palms glued on the wall behind you to prevent his strength from crumbling.
Drawing your lips near, your tongue did an experimental lick at the glistening pink head. The harsh intake of breath you heard from him coax you further, swiping the underside of his length with your tongue before slowly taking him in your mouth.
”Fuck!” He growls so sexily at the feel of your warm mouth.
You felt his cock twitched, hips bucking at your warm, inviting mouth. Then you suddenly felt your bun loosens, followed by the pull of your hair as his fingers thread into your soaked hair.
“That’s it, pretty slut.” He breathlessly praises.
He draws back before filling your mouth full again. His sensitive tip touching your throat has you moaning rather erotically which only turns him on further.
He is huge, and despite willingly taking him down to your throat, the length of his cock couldn’t possibly fit all inside your mouth. Your eyes closing for a moment, suppressing the urge to choke.
“Such a good little slut for me, aren’t you sweetheart?”
Namjoon’s grip on your hair tightens, manipulating the pace to his desired speed. You didn’t care, because his pleasure matters to you more at this point.
When he glides his cock back inside, you hollow your cheeks just in time, tight enough to have him nearly gasping his next breath.
You let him fuck your mouth slowly, until he picks up a pace. Assaulting your mouth with the intrusion while mixture of your saliva and his arousal continues to leak out of your mouth.
The sounds of pleasure you hear from him only intensifies your own arousal, your stomach heating up each time your core achingly clenches.
The darkness in his eyes and the way curses recklessly stumble out of his beautiful mouth while you suck him raw takes your breath away. You’ve never seen him this vulnerably clouded in pleasure. And you’d willingly let him fuck you again this way if it means having to witness him this helpless while he chases the feel of your mouth.
Your eyes never left his as you peer up from your knees. The more you listen to his pleasure, the harder you want to take him in.
When you felt it twitch again, you deliberately took him deeper until you’re nearly choking.
Namjoon has had his fair share of women— all of whom are experienced, knew their way to pleasure him. But the goddess beneath him—his sweet angel, the woman of his dreams and dirty fantasies unknowingly had him at his mercy.
The addicting warmth and suction of your mouth pulling him further into the depth of bliss. “No, angel—” He rasps in between rapid breaths, wanting to prolong the fire until he gets to fill his favorite addicting hole, so tight, he could already taste the feeling.
You whimper, “No…” You wanted it so much. The thought of him cumming undone inside your mouth is a dirty fantasy you suddenly wish to fulfill right now.
“We’ll save it up for when I’m inside your tight pussy.“ He breathes, pulling you up and bracing you against the wall. Your thighs wobble from your previous position.
His eager mouth captured yours, harshly sucking your bottom lip, teasing it as his teeth gently pierces through your bruised lip.
He could taste himself in you as his tongue thoroughly laps the inside of your mouth. Until he moves down to your jaw, his tongue tracing his tracks down to your neck onto your already purple skin while his fingers found the pink bud of your breast. It was what made you react so sexily, moaning helplessly, burying your fingers in his hair tightly as his teeth punctures the skin then laps the area soothingly.
Your body continues to heat up in his ministrations despite the cold atmosphere in the bathroom, certain that your arousal now visibly pools out of your core to your thighs.
Your fingers hastily unbutton his dress shirt, impatient to reveal his bare torso for your eyes to feast on. But just about you had undone the last button, he crouches, robbing you of the chance to admire his body. His mouth encloses on your hard pink bud, his tongue teasingly encircling on the crown of your breast as his other hand works simultaneously, squeezing your mound inside his palm.
The sensitivity of your breasts adding up to the sensation of his mouth and hand is too much, panting as you struggle to catch your breath. Until his head lowers farther down, tracing his way down with his open mouth kisses.
Namjoon swiftly pulled your thighs apart, hooking your thigh over his shoulder to see all of you.
The mere sight of your sex could already tell how turn on you are, but it wasn’t enough for him. His fingers part your folds, dipping his thumb to feel your arousal. “Ah, you’re dripping, baby. Is this for me, hmm?”
His head lowers more, mouth hovering your pubic bone, teasingly planting sloppy kisses there.
The rapid intakes of your breath did not go unnoticed by Namjoon. A devious grin spreads on his lips as his thumb starts assaulting your clit enough to have your legs trembling from bliss. The reaction he seeks from you were generously poured out of your mouth.
“Yes god. Joon please—” Your hips jerking, needing more friction than what he’s giving. He was quick to restrain your movements, pushing your hips flat against the cold wall. Your whines of frustration soon echoes inside the bathroom.
Namjoon draws his mouth nearer, his nose erotically nuzzling your front sex that you could already feel his warm breath, “You smell exquisitely alluring, angel.”
Your anticipation shortly turns into desperation, continuously sobbing his name. Your heavenly pleas were enough to give you what you want, Namjoon willingly rewarded his tongue on your clit, licking your nub so good your eyes clenched from the sudden spark of sensation.
“So sweet…” he mumbles appreciatively, before sucking the sensitive nub in his warm mouth. The act alone has you panting in pleasure.
“Ahhh! Joon—fuck!” Your fingers quickly found his hair, your grip tightening the harder he sucks and laps your clit. You were drowning in need, darkness fills your vision as they remained shut, focusing on the sensation brought by his mouth’s ministrations. You could feel yourself leaking, and made it easier for him to slide his fingers inside your aching core, rubbing and curling them until you're visibly writhing. Cries of pleasure continue to pour out of your mouth.
“Ah! Joon! Oh god!”
Your beautiful sounds alone could bring him to hilt, his cock painfully growing harder, merely listening to you as his mouth and fingers drive you oblivion.
The painful tug of your fingers on his scalp as they tighten their grasp on his hair signals your forthcoming orgasm.
“That’s it, cum for me, little slut.” He mumbles against your sex, the vibration of his mouth against your core sending you further in the brink, as the knot of pleasure building up in your stomach snaps. You cry out, his name the only thing you can articulate of, as you climax deliciously against his mouth. Hips grinding to ride out your orgasm.
Namjoon greedily lap every bit of your sweet juices, while his thumb strums your clit to prolong your orgasm. He didn’t stop, not even when he hears you whining from overstimulation. He only withdrew his mouth on your core when you finally met his gaze, coming back from your high.
Your fingers raking his wet locks out his face as it keeps the span of his forehead hidden, wanting to see all of his pretty face.
Namjoon stood, his knees skillfully bracing you flat from the wall. He yanks his soaking, white top off his body, discarding it there before doing the same thing to his slacks proceeded by his boxers, revealing his perfectly honeyed skin body. This is the first and only time you had seen him completely naked right before your eyes.
The two of you sharing an expansive closet lets you have a glimpse of his naked torso once in a while, sometimes him adorning a pair of boxers while he selects his working attire for the day. But those times were always short lived, you shying away from staring for too long than casual glances.
From the intimate instances you had with him, you never had the opportunity to appreciate his nudity. Your eyes glint with pure admiration, seeing all of him now in front of you. Your tongue dazedly darted out to wet your lips, feasting purely on his body.
Namjoon yet again found your lips, his tongue unsolicitedly invading your mouth, fighting for the dominance which you willingly gave up. He took your responsiveness as an opportunity to pull your body in his embrace, your legs following on their accord as they automatically weave themselves around his hips over his back, your hands finding purchase on his nape. His very arousal pressing on your stomach has you moaning against his greedy mouth.
Namjoon gracefully carried you all the way out towards the bedroom, completely dazed in his kisses.
He didn’t let go of your lips all the way out, not until he dumps your wet body on the mattress. Namjoon kneels on the foot of the bed, hands grasping on your hips to flip you over.
“On your knees, sweetheart.” He commands.
A sound of what he initially recognizes as a moan tears out of you. He plants a small kiss to your hip, before he hears you object, “No!”
“What—“
“I want to see you,” You whimper, pulling his face closer, fishing for a kiss.
A smirk slowly made its way on his face, eyes darkening at the sight of you helpless in his mercy.
“You want to see me while I fuck you, is that it?” He trails, pulling your thighs apart, crawling his way between your thighs.
His nose nuzzles yours teasingly, hovering over your mouth.
Heaving a sigh in contentment, you nod. “I miss you...”
“Do you, now? Or... you only want to be fucked hard?” He murmurs, mouth ajar as it tormentingly touches your lips.
Your forehead creases in a frown, “That’s not true.”
“I’ve never seen you this needy before, Y/N. Tell me, what do you want me to do?” His fingers brushing wet locks away from your beautiful face.
“Please, fuck me...”
He nods, gently bucking his hips to slide his length on your slit. “Is this enough for you, sweetheart?” You whine helplessly.
“Joon, please… just fuck me!” Plea pours out of your mouth in complete devastation. His warmth doing nothing but fuel the ache in your core as it clenches in wanton need of friction.
You beg more and more, the longer he teases you. Namjoon lowers his head further in the crook of your neck, his teeth and tongue alternately grazing and soothing the sensitive skin. The sensation feel achingly erotic, until he not so gently bit your skin, enough to leave a mark. The mere distraction made you almost forget his tip on your entrance, until he thrusts so hard your eyes closed from the undesired pain, stretching you far too much.
“Joon—“ Your moan stifles, crying out at the painful intrusion. Tears brim in your eyes as his length stretches you fully, your slick wetness welcomes him in a swift but burning entrance. He captured your lips, somehow distracting you from the unavoidable ache of your union.
You almost didn’t want him to move from the burning ache of your walls around him. He rocks ever so gently, eliciting a sound of pleasure from you. The burning ache didn’t subside, but as he prolonged the small pace he started, you became used to the pain, chasing the tiny pleasure that comes with each thrust he gives.
The sounds you continuously emit signals him to keep going, until he picks up a pace. Soon after, sparks of euphoric bliss came shooting within your core, numbing the pain.
Your lustful gasps and his grunts were in unison as you both get used to the delicious friction of your intimate union.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You deliriously moan when he suddenly pushes your thigh up on his shoulder, allowing his cock to plunge farther into your warm, tight depths until you’re writhing, your sounds were music to his ears further pulling him deeper in euphoria.
The feeling of your tight walls gripping around his cock is such a sweet, addicting sensation. The deeper he hammers into your core, the closer he gets to chase down the delicious spark of his pleasure. The new angle allowed him to discover the places untouched, thus finding your sweet spot, that has you rolling your eyes in the back of your end. Toes curling as sparks violently shoot through your core, intensifying the knot that holds your desire.
“I’m— oh yes, right there!” you gasp, “Fuck!” Your fingers tightly thread on his hair, mouth greedily seeking his attention.
“So fucking tight, sweetheart. You feel so good around me.” Namjoon growls in between sloppy kisses against your mouth.
“So good… Joon, please... don't stop!” You sob, getting lost at your pleasure as you desperately chase the end.
Namjoon rolled his hips incredibly faster, ramming through you endlessly making you shudder from the intense sensation.
You could feel it, so close.
The violent pushes and pulls of his hips didn’t stop, rapid plunges in and out of your depths until the pleasure came rushing from the pit of your stomach.
“Joon!” You moan, the knot finally twisting, waves of euphoria shattering through your trembling body.
Namjoon’s hips stutter, savoring the feel of your clenching walls around, nearing his high. “Angel—fuck!” A long, carnal sound vibrates on his chest, as he picks up his speed while your insides tremor at the intensity of your orgasm, ferociously thrusting his cock so fast as he chases his own climax, and shooting his liquid generously inside you. His mouth attacks your breast to counter his sounds of pleasure.
Your whimpers echo in the room, the post-orgasmic bliss mixes with the stinging sensation brought about by the love bites he generously marked on your skin slowly pulls you back from oblivion, while you listen to your pants and his rapid breathing.
When he finally comes back to his senses, his tired eyes briefly surveys your length. Your body remains still as your eyes are closed shut, chest rapidly rising and falling. Assuming you dozed off, he carefully untangles his limbs off of you to clean you up before tucking you in.
As he climbs off the mattress, your hand manages to grip his arm in time. “No, don’t go.” He hears you breathlessly whimper.
You look spent— satiated even. He could clearly see your eyes as they struggle to open still. He retreats back on the mattress, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He reassures you in a soothing tone. A sigh went past your lips in relief. You gave him a subtle nod, trusting his words.
“I miss you,” You croak, you were just so tired, and sleepy. But you can’t seem to move on from missing him too much for the past few days.
He could see it in your eyes, the vulnerable side of you in the aftermath of the lovemaking.
“I know, baby.” He whispers close to your ear as he strokes your hair in a comforting manner.
His touch, so gentle in contrast to how he rammed you to the hilt minutes ago. It was as if he was cooing you to sleep. Few moments later, your consciousness slowly shrinks, finally succumbing to darkness.
The next moment your eyes open, the first thing they search around is him. His side of the bed is empty. And the moment you dared to move, you instantly felt the ache in your muscles and the numb feeling in between your thighs. Then your eyes noticed a shirt, which you have on. Just by the size of it, you knew it was Namjoon’s but you don't ever remember putting it on before you fell asleep.
How long have you been sleeping?
It was dark in the room, the dim lights supporting just enough so you could see your way through the room.
“Joon?” You call out, looking around the room. There’s no sign of him— until your ear caught a distinct clinking of glass, your gaze instantly landed on the very subject you were seeking for.
At the sound of you calling his name, his head snaps, instantly meeting your gaze as you struggle your way towards the corner of massive room.
He wore a pair of plaid pj pants and a plain white shirt similar to the material that covers your body now. His messy hair tells you that he had pushed back his locks more than once. His isn’t this long before, and you wonder how many regular haircuts he had abandoned to have it this long. With how endearing he looks with his hair, you made a mental note to have your way to stop him from cutting it any time soon.
When you shifted your gaze away as you near the stone coffee table, you saw there on top, a glass container of expensive alcohol, a liquor glass and an ashtray which made you turn your eyes back at him. You didn’t notice the stick in between his fingers right away.
“Angel,” he greets in a curious tone, surprised to see you awake.
“You’re not asleep.” You say, your stare following his fingers as he inhales a long draw through the stick before crushing its end against the ashtray. Smoke coming out of his mouth and nose as he exhales.
His hand caught yours, coaxing you to sit on his lap. His fingers brushing away your hair out of your face. “You okay?” His surprisingly gentle tone laces in concern.
You only nodded in reply, willingly obliging onto his embrace. Your thighs curling on his lap as his arms instantly pull you on his chest, preventing you from falling off.
The lingering smell of cigarette and alcohol from his breath mixed with his natural scent wafted through your nostrils as you find yourself burying your face on the crook of his neck. You didn’t know it could smell this intoxicating on him. As if your core is not literally burning enough from the intimacy earlier, you could feel yourself slowly leaking, core clenching painfully at the thought of his thick length inside you.
His hand rests on your back, the other on your thigh, the warmth in his body enveloping you from the cold.
You tilt your head to the side, “I didn’t know you smoke.” You say in dazed of your growing desire.
“Hmm, does it bother you?”
You didn’t answer. But let yourself drink in his exquisite smell.
You felt his palm soothingly rub your back, “You should rest, I’ve worn you out.” You cheeks heating up on his mere words.
Your lips pressing tiny kisses there, on the skin of his neck.
He stills, recognizing the intention of your sweet gestures. “Sweetheart—“
“Please, make love to me Joon.”
He sighs, “I was not gentle with you, sweetheart, it’s too soon for you.”
His shirt crumples beneath your fingers, “I want you.”
The way you beg him to take you made him forget how he was striving to control himself to fuck you again and again, until his needs are temporarily sated.
He was not gentle and the aftermath of the intimacy surely left traces of pain from how tight your core is. It was the reason why he’s now several glasses in from liquor, distracting himself because it’s too soon to satisfy the urge have his addicting vice.
With your plea, his restraint vanishes so quickly, giving you what you had begged for.
He took you there on the couch.
You were clinging onto him, urging for him to fuck you harder. Your sweet moans, your stinging bite marks on his shoulders, and your warm, tight core choking his cock brought him to the hilt. Cumming in the depth of your insides raw and hard. The thought of you bearing his child briefly feeds his mind as his liquid mixed with your juices gushes out of your core.
The alcohol, being the source of his early distraction, fail to restraint him to fuck you, again. For the third time of the night, you willingly gave yourself in to his carnal needs. Despite the evident ache in your muscles all throughout your body, his touch, his kisses and the pleasure he made you feel were enough to coax you.
The next morning, you unquestionably feel horrible. You could feel your head throb, and the slight attempt of moving made you whimper in pain. The burning sensation in your core is difficult not to miss as much as the ache in your body.
Namjoon is nowhere in sight and as much as you want to come search for him, the blinding light seeping from the floor to ceiling glass wall made it such a heavy task to do so.
What time is it?
You inwardly groan at the thought of missing your classes. You have done it a lot of times before that you literally couldn’t afford to miss some more.
Feeling the exhaustion from your body, you dozed off some more and only stirred awake when you felt something on your face.
With your eyes closed, you know it was no other than your husband. His hand moves from your face to your hair, gently stroking and raking your locks away from your face.
When the afternoon break came approaching, he paid a short visit to the room to check you in. He didn’t come to his office today, shifting his appointments through digital meetings in his study.
He’s been watching you for a few minutes now. Worry creeps into him, the intimate activities must have drained your energy empty. He mentally reminds himself to be gentle to you next time.
“Hey,” Namjoon suddenly hears you greet. His gaze lifted toward your eyes.
A smile slowly spreads on his lips.
“Good afternoon, sweetheart.”
He laughs when you groan, shutting your eyes closed in distraught as you realized it is indeed late.
Frowning, “I missed my classes.”
“You did. Your friend called this morning, I answered the call and told her you’re unwell.”
“Jihyo?“
“Yes. Perhaps, you’ve rested enough?” You nodded.
Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the only time you missed most of your classes just because you were too tired to get up in the morning.
He didn’t falter the following days. Taking you one way or another. You even thought he would finally be sated with his needs after several days. You’re wrong. Because the more you allow him to touch you, the more he wants to take you shamelessly just about anywhere he can make his advances.
“Joon, we’re in the kitchen.” You manage to say as his hand slides inside your sweatpants one Sunday evening.
You‘re heating up a pasta that was abandoned several hours ago, starving from fulfilling your other needs. Miyoung must have kept the food in the fridge when she realized the two of you have no intention to eat the supposed lunch.
Namjoon tags along, watching you prep the food in the microwave until he decides touching you seems like a better idea.
His fingers almost there, where they were earlier on the bed, and if you weren't too hungry and spent, you would probably let him do you here. Your hand grips his arm tight, restraining whatever intention he has.
“No one is here.” He insists, lips assaulting the skin on your exposed shoulder. The bulge of his crotch pressing on your back, feeling the evidence of his growing arousal.
A mere slave to his touch, you appeal, “Joon, can we eat first? I’m hungry,” when you feel his other hand sneaks under your shirt.
His movements gradually took a pause, sighing in defeat. He kisses your temple before letting you eat in peace.
“Listen, can I talk about something?”
Mingyu gave you a brief glance, although he seems to have his focus fixed in front as he drives you back home.
“Of course, Mrs. Kim.” He says politely.
Your face scrunches up. “I told you to call me Y/N.” That was on his first day, you instructed him to address you by your name when Hanbin introduced you to Mingyu as ‘Mrs. Kim’.
Mingyu nods without returning your gaze, “I could, but I’m not sure the boss would be thrilled to hear I’m on a first name basis with his wife.”
He could be right. But you choose not to voice it out. Shrugging, “I’m sure he would not mind.”
“You don’t want the boss to get mad.” He states as a matter of fact, then adds, “What do you want to talk about, anyways?”
You shifted in your seat, slightly angling your body towards him. “So, do you guys know what time Namjoon usually comes home?”
He didn’t speak right away, eyes narrow hearing your question.
“Hanbin does not tell me that sort of information, unless it’s necessary. My job is to guard you, anyway. Why do you ask?”
There was something in his demeanor that changed, or was it your mind playing tricks on you?
“I... Uhm...” You fumble through the right words that could explain your plan, but all you had come up with is a simple reassurance of his participation. “Can I trust you though? You know... not to tell him?”
He clears his throat and shuffles on his right earpiece. Your eyes caught it. Is someone speaking on him through it?
“I’m not sure, we don’t keep a secret to the boss.” He responds, shortly. Part of his job requires him to disclose your activities and anything related to your safety. Entertaining your antics might put him in serious trouble.
Your eyebrows rose. “Ever?” You ask, testing the water. His cooperation would really help you out.
His forehead creases, sizing up your words whether it’s a trap or just some white lies far from a threat to his job. “Are you questioning my loyalty, Mrs. Kim?” The thing is, as the conversation prolongs, it would be difficult for him to avoid trouble, he thought as he fails to understand your purpose.
“No. Just... it’s a different kind of secret.” Your voice falters.
If you want to keep a secret, why should you drag him with it?
“A secret is a secret. It would cost me my job, you know.”
Your eyes roll as if you don’t know that. He’s not even letting you talk before deciding on his own. You wouldn’t even bother telling him if you don’t need his support to pull off your plan, how will you buy stuff without him tipping it all off to Namjoon’s right hand man. Speaking of which, perhaps, you shall consider tagging Hanbin along in your plan.
Heaving an exaggerated, you convince him further, “It's not something bad, will you hear me out? You won’t be in trouble if you keep it a secret. Just promise me you won’t tell him?”
He didn’t look at you, nor made an effort to acknowledge it.
“Hear me out first?” You try again when he seems doubtful.
His focus was clearly on the road as he shows clear disinterest to listen to you.
“Fine then...” You surrender, crossing your arms.
Silence filled the air inside the car all throughout the journey home, with you frequently shooting childish glares in his direction the entire time.
When Mingyu expertly maneuvers the car on the garage, you quickly climb off the car fully intending to ignore him just so you could stir guilt in him because you couldn’t directly admit you need his help.
Unexpectedly, Mingyu catches up with you and suddenly offers, “We can talk tomorrow. On your break.” Then he sprinted toward the flight of stairs instead of usually taking the lift before you could even process his words.
He changed his mind that fast?
Out of curiosity, you did try to talk to him again during that night but you couldn’t get a hold of him. And going to the basement where the team camps in could raise suspicion so you waited until tomorrow.
The following day, you notice an unfamiliar guy adorning a similar all black uniform. It does not bother you though since your husband owns a whole agency. However, Mingyu didn’t show up and was replaced by a new one. Although questions start stirring up in your mind, you never really voiced out your concerns to anyone.
When you got home that night, you attempted to wring out an answer from Namjoon.
You didn’t need to find him because the moment you returned from uni, he was at the foyer with Hanbin, backs facing your direction. By the mere looks of it, he was sort of giving commands to his right hand man, something you couldn’t properly hear what it is about.
“Hi.” You finally speak, catching both of their attention. Namjoon made a gesture in his hand, dismissing Hanbin while you approached his tall figure.
As Hanbin passes by you, he sends a polite nod to your direction as a greeting, before disappearing from one of the doorways.
With a few steps forward, Namjoon met you half-way, eyeing you up and down. “Sweetheart,” He murmurs while swiftly reaching for your hand, to pull you in for a kiss.
It wasn’t even just a peck. His lips have instantly dominated yours, making sure he sucked and licked your lips enough to have you catching your breath when he drew back.
Your cheeks instantly flame at the sudden ministration. You couldn’t even keep an eye contact with him, too embarrassed with how quickly your body reacted to his lips.
Unlike you, Namjoon still wear a passive expression, not even a single affected by the kiss. Of course, he did more than just a kiss to you before.
Keeping a safe distance from him, you took a step back.
“You replaced Mingyu?” You begin inquiring.
Out of all the things you can ask, it has to be the very reason for his anger.
He didn’t seem one bit pleased to hear you mention your bodyguard’s name instead of asking how his day had gone like your usual opening question during dinner.
“I did, should it matter?” He answers with another question.
Nervous by the intensity of his stare, you shrug, “I was just wondering why he’s not around.”
It’s true. If Mingyu didn’t promise the talk today, you wouldn’t be this curious.
“He’s back in the headquarters.” Namjoon briefly provides.
But the information was too short to rest your mind in peace. Why did he suddenly removed him as your guard?
“Oh, okay.“
Something tells you, it’s not all of that. Mingyu’s absence, for all you care, could be anything work-related or personal as long as the boss is concerned. You‘re already aware that Namjoon does not take jealousy too lightly, and somehow you’ve presumed Mingyu will inevitably be victimized under Namjoon’s territorial behavior. The problem is, you couldn’t seem to think of any instance that would make your husband jealous. Unless... Namjoon knows something else you’re not aware of.
“Will he come back here?” You ask further, nervously fidgeting your bracelet while surveying his expression. His eyebrows knitted for whatever reason, significant or not.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Namjoon cocks his head to the side, his now pitch black eyes strangely spoke with raw emotions you couldn’t tell what exactly is.
“Tell me one good reason why he should be here...” He suggests with a nonchalant tone. Unknown to you, his patience is shrinking as he lowers his head to eye you with his tense stare.
You didn’t understand what it is for, but you couldn’t help your body as it faintly shudder under his stare. “I’m just curious—”
“How many secrets of yours have you told the boy, Y/N?” Your heart momentarily stops at the mention of your name. Because he rarely calls you by name.
Is he referring to the conversation you had with him yesterday?
“W-What... do you mean?”
The cold temperature couldn’t even cease the rising tension between you two.
“You perfectly understand what I mean.” He answers right away, locking his gaze to you. Making sure you could see the way his eyes flicker with fire.
Mingyu told him?
You fumble with words, confused at Namjoon’s anger towards you. “How...w-what...what did he tell you?”
“What do you think?” Namjoon returns the question back. And it confuses you more now for how your inquiry has turned into a confrontation, especially that the unnecessary anger is directed at you. You should have not beat around the bush and just directly told him you wanted to surprise Namjoon.
Now, Namjoon thinks you’re actually keeping something serious from him.
Did Mingyu really snitch on you? You quietly ponder over, as you recall what happened inside the car. Mingyu was barely participating in the conversation, and the way he responded to you... it was formal, and uncooperative like the usual. The fact that Namjoon knows about it is already a giveaway that Mingyu actually tell-taled. Unless... the earpiece—
“If he told you about it, then you would know he didn’t even let me talk, unless he told you something else...“ You trailed. The longer you think of it, the more convinced you are that Namjoon knows something more, just from the look he bears...
“We can talk tomorrow. On your break.”
Mingyu’s words echo in your mind, once again. And as your brain slowly processes the information, it gradually makes sense to you…
The way he was talking to you in the car made you believe he didn’t want to participate in whatever ploy you have, but he quickly changed his mind once both of you were out of the car. It was not his two-way earpiece. But the car--
Namjoon saw the horror slowly creeping into your face.
“You heard, didn’t you...” You breathed. Namjoon heard it clearly, fully comprehending the words you just uttered.
“Something must be in that car, isn’t it?” You press, further.
He is well-aware that you’re not stupid, and you’ll eventually find it out. He just didn’t imagine it to be revealed this way.
Nonetheless, his lips only pursed as he remains calm and collected, no trace of remorse or guilt visible on his face.
His expression tells you he was not bothered by the fact that you found out. You didn’t know how the fire in your eyes is effortlessly piercing his heart. The kind he does not want to see in your eyes.
You scoff, “What else—Is my phone bugged?” You suddenly prod, tilting your head up so you could fully observe him through your lashes. His face, however, maintains a straight face. You waited for his answer, silently wishing he would debunk your assumption.
The lack of response only made you confirm it.
Fury quickly courses within you, “Why?” Your hands rub your face in utter disbelief. “You have me tailed everywhere by your men, is that not enough?” You spat, resentment slowly clouding your mind,
”You have my freedom under your mercy, now my privacy? What else do you want from me?”
“It’s for your safety—”
You laugh humorlessly, harshly brushing the stubborn tears on your cheeks. “Tell me, is everything in your apartment bugged? The bedroom? The closet? The bathroom—”
“Hush sweetheart, your body is mine and only for my eyes to see.” He was quick to come to your side, catching your arms. You didn’t like the proximity. It makes you weak.
“I’m not your fucking toy! You can’t do this to me!”
“Calm down, baby. I love my woman submissive.” He says in a soothing tone. His words as softly as they were spoken hurt you deeply, fueling your ire even more.
You didn’t know how you found the strength to slap him. Your hand trembles, stinging from pain after it meets his skin.
“Find another woman, then!”
His face barely turned from the impact, proceeding to address your anger.
“Calm down.” He attempts to console, but it only did the opposite to your ego. You trash your arms out, hating the way he still has the upperhand despite the table being turned upside down. Your strength could never compare to his as you struggle to push him.
“You are my woman. Need I remind you that?”
Harshly shaking your head, “No! Don’t touch me!” His grip loosens on your arms, and you took it as your chance to sprint off towards the stairs, not wanting to repeat what happened in his office before.
You locked yourself in the bathroom, somehow trusting that this is the only place kept hidden from any prying eyes. Tears uncontrollably flow through your cheeks, face buried on your hands as you helplessly listen at the loud thumping of your heart. If you didn’t pull back, chances are he would have his way to take your weakness in his advantage. The strong surge of emotions you feel cannot even compare to his physical strength.
You’re confused, hurt and disgusted all at once. You didn’t expect how messed up this whole marriage thing could get, realizing you actually know so little of him, of what he does in a living. To think that you have learned to trust him because of the stupid affection you have been nurturing for months, makes your insides twist in fury.
Perhaps, it was a spur of the moment thought that you regarded as a wise decision, as anger overpowers your senses.
You didn’t understand how it transpired, accordingly. When you quickly packed up a few things put the bag underneath the bed while waiting for the night to progress, Namjoon didn’t come to the bedroom. You thought it helped you leave smoothly.
Little did you know, Namjoon was watching the scene unfold through the numerous cameras simultaneously viewing before his eyes on the screen of his laptop. It was taking all of his willpower to stop you and lock you in his bedroom until your anger subsides, but something tells him it would not do good to cool down your anger.
Funny how the situation unexpectedly turns upside down as he recalls being gutted with anger. Not liking how you so easily open up to others than him. He couldn’t deny the ugly feeling traversing within him when he listened to your interaction with the boy.
As the night rolls around, the burning sensation of the alcohol in his throat becomes addicting, taking more until the ache in his chest numbs.
Jackson’s apartment was the only place you could reach at this hour. Considering Jihyo is staying in the college dorm, you wouldn’t be able to get inside the building for it was already past two in the morning.
His place was not even considered a hideout. But at that point, you don't even care if Namjoon comes along breaking down Jackson’s doorway to force you back at home. You only needed a safe place away to think at the moment because you couldn’t bare to see him, yet. And you’re well aware of the effect he has on you. He can quickly cloud your judgement over his will through his mere touch. That’s how bad you’ve fallen for him.
Few days of distancing should enough for you to sort your feelings, if he doesn’t come collecting you himself.
“You okay?” Jackson croaks, seeing you trembling a little. Minutes prior, he was ready to beat the shit out of the person who was smashing his doorbell like a madman. Never would he think it was you of all people.
“He didn’t... hurt you, did he?” He hesitatingly asks, seeing the traces of tears staining your cheeks.
Shaking your head, “No. We just had a fight.”
“He doesn’t know, right? That you’re here?”
You gave Jackson a knowing look, “He probably does by now.”
Jackson offered his bed on the first night, but you turned his offer down. You took the couch instead, somehow preparing yourself for the imminent devastation of the storm. Fortunately for you, no one tried to break their way into Jackson’s apartment that night, relieved that everything is still in place or it’ll surely make you guilty for dragging your friends to your problems with Namjoon.
That following morning, you transferred into Jihyo’s dorm, deciding it would be best for Jackson’s safety.
Six days insufferably passed. However, it felt longer than that. Staying away had not concluded the fight you had with Namjoon. There was also no sign of Namjoon or his men lurking around the college or the dorm in the past few days. And it bothered you more than it should have given you peace. The thought alone made you realized, you were more affected by your action as you were deeply tormented by the thoughts of him and the possibility that he doesn’t want you, anymore.
Your anger towards him couldn’t tame your feelings for him. Maybe you have underestimated it as a mere attraction—infatuation, even.
That night, Namjoon showed up in the dorm’s doorsteps, to which you had already expected since the first night. But you’re still left surprised, nonetheless.
Your heart painfully tugs, as your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “What are you doing here?”
Indeed, it was unfair. While you wallow in despair for days, he seems not one bit affected by the situation.
“You will go home,” He calmly orders, his eyes briefly scanning you over.
As ever, he didn’t fail to make your heart thump crazily from the mere sight of him. While you look worse—missing a lot of sleep from trying to balance your studies and your issues with him, he looks stunningly gorgeous, powerful, and unfitting to be in a place like this.
“No, I‘m staying.” You insist.
“I’m not asking for you permission.” He corrects you in a formal tone, before walking past your figure.
“Namjoon—wait! Where are you going?” You panicked, tailing behind him as he immediately finds Jihyo’s room where he scans around the small space. This is barely a room to stay in, he silently thought.
“Pack your clothes. I’ll give you five minutes before we go. Unless, you want to leave without them—” You didn’t let him finish, cutting him of mid-sentence.
“No, I'm not coming with you.” You compel, determined to follow what you had planned in your mind.
The look on his face is all too familiar, the one that tells you he won’t take no for an answer. “Do not test my patience, sweetheart.”
“Namjoon, stop.” You begin, visibly in distress by the sudden shift of the situation. You are aware he always has the upperhand.
“I want to stay here. Can’t you at least give me that after what you’ve done?” You implore. As much as you miss him, you couldn’t afford to see him yet, or it could break you.
“I already gave you space, that’s enough for you.”
Shaking your head, “I didn’t ask you to. I left.” You say.
His height does not intimidate you anymore, but the way he holds himself now, he seems different. As if he was deliberately trying to make you succumb to him.
“Sweetheart, I had all the means to stop your ploy if I wanted to. I didn’t, because I figured you would need it.” Declares Namjoon, drawing himself closer to where you stood.
You took a step back. “What if I don't want to?” You challenge.
He lowers his head, allowing you to have a glimpse of his dark eyes, silently warning you. “You don't have a choice, sweetheart.”
You let him win, again. Because you were left with no option. You couldn’t think of anything else that you could do to oppose him without compromising anyone, especially your friends. Nothing you could do but to give in for now.
Namjoon already disappeared from somewhere when you entered the living room, leaving you all alone until you hear footsteps nearing towards your direction.
You turn to see who it was.
“What are you doing here?” You warily ask, utterly surprised to see him. How many more surprises do you need yo deal with today? By how ugly the events have turned out, you won’t expect to see him again, or anywhere near the penthouse.
He gave you a nod as a form of greeting, before answering, “Working. What else do you think I’m here for?”
“For Namjoon?”
“Of course, he’s my boss. But he gave me a specific instruction to guard the queen.”
You only gave him a look, although with the obvious height difference, you had to tilt your head up to do so.
Your visible annoyance quickly amuses him. After what happened, he really has the nerve to smirk right in front of you?
“I’m sorry Mrs. Kim, but you look horrible today. You alright?” He shamelessly nags to which earns him scowl from you.
“That’s nice of you to say.” You retort, “I’ve been missing a lot of sleep, thank you very much.” He laughs as if nothing really happened.
It’s not his fault, anyway. You don’t blame him for what happened. However, the urge to ask him why he’s back here almost slips past your lips. Only that you remember someone could potentially be eavesdropping to which you didn’t need unnecessary suspicions from Namjoon, anymore.
The conversation was short lived when Miyoung called you in, gesturing for you to come with her in the kitchen, not expecting to see Namjoon sitting in one of the stools in the island counter where food is sumptuously served.
Your footsteps stagger, half-considering to leave the kitchen. However, Namjoon patiently waits for your next move, as if silently ordering you to take a seat.
Heaving a sigh, you did just that, not wanting to stir an argument with him.
Once you sat down across from his seat, he starts placing various food from the empty plate in front of you, until it is almost full that you’re not sure if you can eat all of it.
“Stop... I can’t finish all of that.”
Namjoon pauses, peering at you in disbelief. “You can, it’s your favorite.”
You didn’t like the way he was acting up like he didn’t cause the problem in the first place. You hated how the impact of his action didn’t seem to affect him a single bit.
“I’m still angry,” You couldn’t help but to say.
His serious stare tells you he has no time for a confrontation, but so are you.
“I know, you can be angry for as long as you want. But please, angel, eat the food so I could have the peace. You haven’t been using your cards for your meals, did you intentionally do that to make me worry?”
You scoffed, his indifference to your issue only frustrates you even more. “Why would you think I’ll use your money while I’m gone?”
“You don’t have the means to live independently.”
“That’s not the point here, Joon.”
“It is, when you were not looking out for yourself. You haven’t been coping well… you look a few pounds lighter.” He said in a firm persistence to prove your inability to live well without using his resources.
So what if you were miserable? You couldn’t really force yourself to eat if you didn’t have the appetite to consume food. Either it was because of your distress over the fight or food simply didn’t appeal to you.
Speaking of, you barely touched the food in front of you. You’re not even hungry anyway.
“Shut up—“
Namjoon was quick to cut you off, dismayed by the lack of light in your eyes, you almost look like you’re about to pass out. “Why is it so easy for you to disregard yourself for your pride? If you have been taking care of yourself well I would have given you longer time to mourn in that little cubicle room you call a place.” Namjoon says in a clearly disappointing tone.
The fact that you lost a few pounds in a matter of days bothered him. It took so much of him to let you wallow in despair, he knew that disrespecting your privacy is not right and he understands how it left you scarred with the horrid feeling of betrayal. The same reason why he let you on peacefully for days, until he couldn’t handle it no more.
The short glimpse of you while he had you followed only did more damage to his heart than the peace he was aiming for. A single look from you and he already knew the fight took its toll on you deeper than what he had expected. Your physical state was the last straw to make up his mind to take you back, unwilling or not.
“My pride? You think it’s because of my pride? You think I’m mad because you outsmarted me with your stalking shenanigans?” You echo his words, finally losing the will to touch the food.
“What else is there to be angry about, I told you, it’s for your safety.” He counters back. His mind was spiraling wildly, uncertain how to handle this situation in a way it wouldn’t upset you more.
Namjoon was used to having the control in every situation, a single look from him and no other human being would dare speak further. He used to not care whether he could tear anyone apart with his mere words or sharp glares. He tried it with you and the impact only came shooting back at him, there in the depths of his heart, which no one had been able to inflict him with such raw powerful emotions, enough to make him bend helplessly on his knees.
“That’s the problem! You didn’t even tell me! I was kept in the dark all this time! And now what? You suddenly care about me when you didn’t even consider what I would feel when you gave everyone else something to snoop in about right under my nose?” You accuse, finding the strength to hit him with your words. A moment ago, you felt too empty to even bother a conversation with him. As the remnants of disgusting feeling stirs within you, you now want nothing but to lash out every bit of your anger towards him.
However, Namjoon didn’t want the confrontation this soon when he just had you back home. Though he would not avoid it, he believes now is not the time to talk it over.
“We can talk after you eat, sweetheart—“
“No, we will talk now!”
His gaze pierces straight through your eyes. Although his eyes almost reflected defeat, the aura he carries is so powerful. No one would ever dare scream or say no at him, unless, they don’t value much of their life.
You really are something. Someone who can never compare to him, someone whom he can easily crush in a snap of his fingers— but you’re not just some woman out there. You are his woman, the only one who has bewitched him—not only claiming his heart but also owning his dark soul. If you only knew the effect you have on him...
Silence fills the cold air, shortly. As you look away, not liking the effect he has on you, he quietly seeks for your eyes. He could always see through you—the emotions your eyes transparently reflect. He failed to see any of it when you turned your head away.
He sighs, before breaking the cold silence. “No one can access your phone, you don’t have to worry about it. It is for when… something happens, I could track your location and your digital activities.” Namjoon briefly explains.
There are things that should be left unsaid for your sake. His company has long strayed away from the black market since his father died. But the industry he belongs to will always bear ugly truths in order to sustain the reputation of his company. What he did, to put it into the simplest terms he could articulate of, protection does not only mean hiring people to be your human shields. In this digital age where perpetrators can utilize technology to harm their target, something has to be sacrificed to protect an individual alongside. In your case, it was your freedom, privacy and much more you have yet to realize. He didn’t want you to run away every time you learn something about him or the kind of business he has.
He could not tell you anything else.
“Liar! You’re only saying that to validate your action.” You say in an accusing tone. You got up from your chair, increasing the distance from him as the ambience gets suffocating.
“I’m not justifying what I did whether it’s wrong or not. I would do it again if it means to protect you. When have I not shown you I didn’t care?”
He didn’t mean no harm to disrespect your privacy, but that’s just a part of many things you would have to deal with when you’re married to him. Danger has come along with his name long before he was born.
As he steps closer, you quickly step away. Your head lowering, avoiding his eyes. “W-What are you… saying, you shouldn’t have kept it from me, in the first place. You don’t have to pretend you care. You’re only protecting me because I’m your responsibility.”
His forehead creases, “You are my wife. That makes you my responsibility, isn’t that the same thing for caring, sweetheart?” His hands extend forward to coax you closer.
You shook your head, “No.”
You couldn’t deny that he’s been attending to your needs, being more than just a guardian, crossing the line beyond the role of a mere provider. He became someone you have come accustomed as a husband despite the lack of emotional commitment from him, a friend under the guise of a husband. Even if you wanted more from him, who are you to demand such thing? The mere thought of your unrequited feelings towards him painfully tugs your heart.
Namjoon caught the raw emotions swimming from eyes. To what are those for?
“Have I not shown you enough? With my actions, with my kisses... when we make love—“
“Shut up, you d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about.” You stammer, turning your back at him as you feel your eyes welled up.
“Then tell me how you feel, I can only take so much when it comes to you. I’ve never felt so helpless when I see you suffer, when you cry. Baby, I was so lost when you left. Tell me what I should do.”
“Stop… you’re confusing me with your words.” You croak, as you struggle to process his words.
The sound of his steps nearing made you still. Your eyes clenched shut, and as the tears stain your cheeks, you quickly wipe them away. Namjoon is so close, you literally could feel the heat of his body.
“I’m not good at expressing my feelings. But I thought I made my intentions very clear. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you baby, please let me hold you.” Namjoon drew himself nearer, until your bodies are touching. When you made no effort to distance yourself farther, he cautiously encircled his arms around your waist.
You remain still as he pulls you even further in his embrace, nuzzling your hair from behind. You hate yourself for giving in too soon, the moment he has you locked in his arms, your anger quickly melts away. The warmth from his body felt too comforting as it slowly envelops your body, reminding you one again how much it tore you apart when you left. The ache in your chest, somehow, subsiding. You didn’t want him to let you go from his hold.
His nose traces an invisible path on the side of your head, loving the alluring scent of your hair. Softly murmuring just above your ear, “I have loved you since the day I saw you taking orders in that coffee shop. While you made me this crazy for you like no one else has ever done, you’re willing to leave everything. It was that easy for you to walk away and leave me, just like when you left your home for your freedom—“
The hard thumping of your heart is so loud as you cut him. He could probably hear it from the close proximity of your bodies.
“No, that’s not true! I didn’t leave you,” you pause, shaking your head violently to give emphasis on your point. Your heart aches, as your chest felt suddenly constricted hearing his confession. The information felt foreign in your ears, as if you were hallucinating. Is it true? Did he really know you way before you met him?
“I needed some time to think for myself. But I wouldn’t leave. I could never… I’ll always come back. I would come back to you.” Tears instantaneously flow in your cheeks.
Namjoon spoke no more, as he squeezed your body in his arms, burying his face on the crook of your neck. Savoring this moment.
You in his arms.
You barely had a glimpse of what kind of his life he has, and have no knowledge of half the ugly things he had done. The deeper he falls for you, the more he willingly succumbing himself to your mercy, as if surrendering a dagger for you to destroy him through his weakness.
He silently wishes from the gods above that you would never walk away from his life again, when pieces of him slowly unravels to you through the course of time.
“Namjoon,” you whisper, seeking the attention you unknowingly have.
“Don’t leave me again, Y/N. I can take your anger, scream at me, hurt me— anything. I can take so much from you, as long as you’re right in my sight, the way I can protect you. I’ll give you as much as time alone.”
“Joon,”
“Promise me—”
“Namjoon!” You plead loudly, tugging his arm to gain the attention you want.
He takes a deep breath, confused at the tone of your voice. “Hmm?”
“I love you, too.” You murmur so suddenly.
He stills, hearing the words he had heard you say in his dreams. This time, he was awake with you in his embrace and he was uncertain if he actually heard the words right.
“Angel—”
“I love you so much.” You repeated, with a longing voice, this time you turned to face him. The look in his face tells you all of it. Shock was written all over his face, as if your confession was something he was not expecting in his wildest dream. Between the two of you, his confession of love for you is the most unpredictable thing you heard from him.
You tiptoed, reaching for his lips. He quickly met you halfway through, greedily capturing your mouth. His tongue went past your parted lips to dominate the kiss. You sigh against his mouth, missing the rich taste of his lips.
Nothing else matters now but his embrace.
Note: Hope you all enjoyed this one sjajahahagj
This turned out a bit longer than what I had initially written only because I kind of included something to introduce characters/details that are part of my upcoming series.
mintseesaw © 2020
#namjoon x reader#namjoon smut#namjoon fluff#hyunglinenetwork#btsprotectnet#namjoon x you#namjoon angst#bts smut#rm x reader#bts x reader#namjoon x y/n#namjoon scenarios#namjoon imagines#namjoon fanfic#bts imagines#arranged marriage au#namjoon au#bts au#namjoon!ceo#bts fanfic
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The Bidding of the Prince Twins: Chapter 1
AO3 Link
Masterpost
Chapter 2 ~
Pairings: (vague/qpr) Loceit, eventual Analoceit
Word count: 2,977
Story summary: Virgil finds himself being held hostage in an unknown location. His two suspected captors seem to care for him more than any strangers should, especially strangers who kidnapped him. But were they really the ones who kidnapped him? That aside, Virgil also can't shake the feeling that there's something familiar about them. He just can't pin-point what it is. As time passes, the layers of lies the three of them are caught in are gradually peeled away, one by one.
General CW: U!Roman, U!Remus, food, kidnapping, implied Stockholm Syndrome, moderate to severe amnesia, swearing, sexual innuendos, graphic descriptions of gore/violence/scarring, minor character d-aths, anxiety attacks, panic attacks, non-graphic descriptions of needles (will be added to as I write more)
Chapter CW: food mentioned, minor amnesia, kidnapping hostage, swearing, non-graphic description of anxiety attack, non-graphic description of a needle (let me know if i missed anything please!)
Author Notes: <none>
...
Virgil winced, squinting sharply as a blinding white light was trained on his face. A giant light getting forced into someone's face would be jarring under any circumstances, but it was especially so considering he had previously been engulfed in an almost equally jarring darkness. He'd also just awoken from an unexpected stint of disorienting unconsciousness.
He felt a presence behind the light, and the edges of hair tufts caught bits of light from behind the cone of death that was focused on him. The figure was clearly tall, and though Virgil was seated, he could easily tell that if he weren't, this person would probably be a head taller than him at the very least. He tried to twist his wrists in the several zip-ties that had them bound together behind his back, as well as to a rod running up the center of the back of his chair. He clenched his jaw, looking down as the light sent a shock-wave of pain through his eyes.
"Virgil Black." A stern monotone voice came from where he'd seen the shiny bits of hair before. It's familiarity wasn't striking, but it had a relatively calming effect on Virgil's nerves, so his mind didn't feel the need to follow that train of thought.
"That's me, man," He tried, voice coming out slightly hoarse. "Mind explaining why the fuck you've got me tied up in this interrogation basement? Last I checked I'm not involved in any CIA bullshit," He sneered. Suddenly, he heard the sound of someone pushing a chair out and standing sounded somewhere to his right, behind the first figure. Someone else was there too. A step or two sounded as the second entity vaguely came toward Virgil. Great, two assholes to shake off.
"Very funny." A deeper voice came, much snarkier than the first. Virgil felt his spine tingle. This voice was oddly familiar as well, but he was still too out of sorts to try and figure out why.
"I apologize for the unsavory conditions, but it is imperative that our identities be kept classified for the time being. All we need is a minute amount of information, and we will be on our way." The first voice again. A very small clacking sound of plastic came from near the figure's face.
"Imperative to what?" Virgil hissed between clenched teeth, looking back up at the mysterious person. This time, he was able to pick out another feature; the light also caught what appeared to be the rim and lens of a pair of square prescription glasses. That explained the plastic clacking, he guessed. Virgil doubted they could be any other sort of glasses; it's possible that this person was a constantly-wearing-sunglasses type, but based on his brief time interacting with them, Virgil didn't really buy that. As well, some part of his intuition told him they were most certainly prescription, the same part that had noted the familiarity of both voices.
"That will also have to remain classified for now. But enough." The voice grew firm. Virgil tried to keep himself from swallowing audibly. "What are the most recent events that you remember, Virgil?"
He tried to think. "Well it's awful hard to recall anything with that giant light in my face, so can I have a minute to think? On top of that my memory is shit anyway because of my anxiety. Is that cool with you, thing 1 and thing 2?" A scoff came from Thing 2, seemingly off in the corner. Virgil hoped the half-hearted remark would keep them entertained as he tried twisting his ankles. They were tightly and securely duct taped to the legs of his chair, which was slowly cutting off his circulation. He felt his toes starting to grow cold and tingly. That meant he'd only been secured like this for a short amount of time, a couple minutes at most.
"By all means. Take your time." Still the first figure's voice, dripping with sincerity. Virgil detected what seemed to be a hint of remorse in their voice, as if they genuinely felt sorry, or at least uncomfortable with what they were doing. Virgil wondered why the second person was so evasive. He figured he'd try to provoke them into speaking again soon.
But for now, he had to think. What was the last thing he remembered? Before a throbbing headache, before the pitch black, before the sound of heavy rusty doors whining open and closed, and two sets of footsteps approaching him. He hadn't really registered them at the time; he'd been too disoriented, he guessed from some sort of anesthetic.
He tried to think back further. He pulled basic facts from his mind, hoping to jog his memory. He lived in New York, in a one-bedroom apartment with his roommate and best friend Patton. They'd fit two twin beds in their little bedroom. They were both Seniors at NYU. That started things off, at least. He spent a lingering moment recalling the cat they both took care of together. Her name was Natalie, and she was pitch black, each and every hair on her body a rich raven shade.
He knew Patton had planned to have a little get-together with some Psych major friends he had, and encouraged Virgil to bring some of his Techie buddies. They'd gone shopping for snacks last night.
He figured he'd start with that.
"Well, I remember Tuesday night for sure. Me and my roommate went grocery shopping. Getting snacks for a little get-together we were having. Not my idea, of course. I'm not a huge fan of parties, or-"
"We asked for your most recent memories, not your life story," drawled the second voice. Virgil smirked behind his bangs. "Will you get on with it already? Unless Tuesday night is really your most recent memory."
"As much as your- contributions - are appreciated, J, I am conducting this interrogation, and I'd prefer if you'd keep your snide comments to yourself for at least the first session," The first voice came again, hushed and sounding strained. Virgil clung to what little information he got from the comment. The second voice belonged to someone who could be identified as "J" apparently, and this was the first... session? Virgil had to set his mental notes aside for the time being though, since he had evidently not yet produced an adequate response. "My apologies, Virgil. My colleague is... rather, anxious, to... move things along. You may continue."
"No sweat. Sounds like J just needs a bit of a chill pill." Virgil smirked in the general direction he'd heard J's voice coming from. He was met with an almost disturbing silence. As expected. "Anyway. I remember shopping, and heading home, and... eventually sleeping. Ah, I guess I woke up a little late Wednesday morning, because I was rushing around and shit. My roommate looked kinda worried about it, but that's just how he is." Virgil paused for a moment. He wondered if these two mysterious figures knew about Patton and NYU and where he lived and everything, and considering he knew nothing about them or what they wanted from him, he wouldn't have been surprised. Regardless, he figured it would be best to keep things as anonymous as possible for the time being. "...Hmm. Then I think I rushed onto the bus. I think I caught it just before it was leaving. I got to, where I was going, and did what I was meaning to do, and then... I guess I headed home? I remember the thing I had to do, and finishing it, but... after that things get kinda foggy. I dunno." He paused again. A beat of silence. "Then again, I'll probably remember more in a few minutes. Especially if I'm not being literally slowly blinded." He finished, looking up at the figure behind the light with as large eyes as he could manage. The figure cleared their throat.
"Thank you Virgil. As well, there is no need for anonymity. We are fully aware of your roommate Patton, and the Economics lecture you nearly missed on Wednesday. However, your attempt at omission was... if nothing else, entertaining." Virgil scoffed under his breath. Even if his anxiety had predicted this just moments before, he was getting really freaked out now. It's never the same at all, imagining worst case scenarios and actually living them. The initial shock of this whole situation was wearing off, giving way to panic.
"At this time, in return all I can offer you is this. You are aware of the second man in your presence, I'm sure. For now you will know him as J, as you clearly caught on to rather quickly."
"He loves the witty ones," J's voice came this time directly from Virgil's left, and much closer than before. It took all of Virgil's self control not to flinch away. "So you'll entertain him well. He's L, by the way."
L cleared his throat. "Yes, thank you J. I shall be addressed as L. You will likely only see both of us at once. Perhaps on rare occasions we will each come in alone, but J and I are partnered, so that would likely do little more than impair our... performance."
"Partnered? Performance? What am I, a high school science project?" Virgil snickered bitterly. "My wrists are starting to hurt pretty fucking bad. This is pretty sketchy, L. I didn't fucking do anything wrong. Why am I here?" Virgil tried not to let the shrill breathiness overtake his voice too much, but the anxiety rising in his chest was far from merciful. He tried to calm himself internally, but that wasn't exactly working out.
"I can understand your frustrations," L replied, and the glint of his glasses shifted, the small plastic clacking sound coming again with it. Virgil realized it was just L adjusting his glasses, likely out of habit. "But, for your safety, I cannot give you a direct answer to any of those questions yet. Ah, except; no, you are not a high school science project." Virgil could practically taste the smirk on L's face. He wanted to spit at him. He wanted to tear himself out of the fucking zip ties and duct tape. He felt his heart pounding in his chest.
"Listen, I get that you two are having a jolly good time fucking me up, but I'm," Virgil struggled, each word becoming harder to force out of his trembling mouth, "I'm kinda freaking out here." He hated the way his voice cracked then.
Virgil could see the glint of L's glasses shifting again, the tall man turning to look at his sarcastic counterpart. A short nod, and with a small clicking sound, the light was shut off.
Somehow, the room seemed darker than it had before. The change was so disorienting that Virgil couldn't pinpoint just where the sounds of shuffling of feet around him were coming from or going. No screeching metal door sounds came though, so he knew J and L had to be in the room with him still. His breathing was becoming very labored, and it overwhelmed him as the only sound he could hear. God, how he hated anxiety attacks.
"Virgil." J's voice came from directly in front of him - J was likely crouched to be on Virgil's level - and it was uncharacteristically silky smooth. He flinched that time, but was able to keep himself from hissing. He was only sure it was J's because of its specific inflections; there was no way this could be L, and there was certainly no fourth person in the room (he hoped). "I understand you are very disoriented right now, but the last thing we want to do is cause you an anxiety attack. My sincerest apologies for triggering the beginning of one. That aside, I need you to focus on your breathing. Nothing but your breaths and the sound of my voice."
His voice felt like butter melting, gliding across a hot pan and leaving a silky trail. Or maybe like warm honey running down flushed skin. Virgil was captivated, and thank fuck, because if it weren't for Fuck Face #2 over here, he doubted he would have been able to get out of this one so easily. So he focused, focused hard on the labored breaths he was huffing.
"Now, I need you to try to slow down. Just a little bit. Slow down for me. Feel the air filling and retreating in your lungs. Let it stay a little longer. Then, let it leave in a gentle skip instead of a frantic sprint." God, if Virgil wasn't Fucking Freaking Out right now, he'd probably be trying to flirt with Mr. Butter-tongue, considering the shivers going up his spine weren't only thanks to his panic disorder.
Gradually, he managed to slow down. It wasn't a straight path, but eventually he got there. J continued cooing sweet nothings to him as he came down before any sort of climax. He thanked the darkness for hiding his horridly hot face from his captors. He heard a slight creasing of fabric.
"All better?" J's smile was practically visible with the way he almost sweetly sneered those words. His voice came from higher up, so Virgil knew he must've stood once again. He just scoffed in a half-assed cover up.
"Sure, Fuck Face Number two." He tried rocking himself side to side in his chair, but it seemed to be attached to the floor. He groaned.
J tsked a few times. "Is that any way to talk to someone who just kept you from what would surely have been a horridly exhausting anxiety attack? Honestly. You ought to be more grateful, Virgil." Virgil was beginning to passionately hate the way J talked; so sassy and drawly, as if he thought he was some serious hot stuff. Virgil wanted to smack him something awful.
He heard soft receding footsteps, feeling J's presence recoil.
"So how does this work? Is someone gonna have to whip out my dick for me when I have to pee?" Virgil prodded at the void around him.
"Very funny, Virgil. No, you will soon be... enlightened, regarding your temporary living situation, so to speak." L's voice came again, finally, from slightly to the right. It was a lot less variant in tone than J's, and Virgil greatly appreciated the constancy.
He couldn't respond soon enough; he felt something pierce his skin on his left outer thigh. Warm breath teasing at skin behind his left ear was the last thing he remembered. "Go to sleep, V. We'll see you again very soon."
"Night night, J," He whispered, before the lights really went out.
...
Logan sighed, shrugging off his navy pinstriped suit jacket as he shut the door behind him. He held it by the collar in one hand, turning to survey the disheveled mess that the observation room had become over such a short period of time.
Piles and piles of paper were stacked high on the wall-to-wall desk, and stacked higher on the floor. The interrogation light - just an industrial Flashlight with a cone of metal wrapped around it's end to amplify it - had been discarded lazily in one corner. Janus was seated at said desk, slouched over himself on a fold-out metal chair, resting his chin on his palm as he looked out through the false mirror at a peacefully sleeping Virgil.
His hat was resting on a corner of the back of his chair, along with his gold-encrusted swallowtail coat. He looked a bit of a mess. His hair was fraying and splaying everywhere. His eyes looked tired, even if Logan could only see his one blind eye from this angle. The jagged scars that crept up his neck and covered the side of his face seemed paler than usual.
"Are you okay, Janus?" Logan inquired as neutrally as he could manage, sitting beside his friend.
Janus merely side-eyed Logan, in his all-knowing way. "I think you and I both know the answer to that question."
"Look, I know this method is-- well, disconcerting," Logan's words rushed out of his mouth as if they were being chased, "but we do not have another choice right now. We will get this over with soon... we will find a way to get through this." Logan cleared his throat and fidgeted with his tie. Janus considered rolling his eyes and responding snidely, but he knew Logan wasn't taking kindly to these new... circumstances either.
"We will." He settled on an attempt to be reassuring. Janus had always been good at that, or at least he'd been told so. He only wished it worked on himself too, especially now. Logan offered a small smile.
A long silence overtook them. They both simply sat side by side and observed their unconscious hostage. He was sprawled rather inelegantly across a deep grey satin bed, one arm wrapped in a death grip around a plush pillow. His leg stuck out haphazardly over the edge of the bed, and his hair was in worse shape than Janus' - which was saying something, since Janus' hair was notoriously wavy and curly and constantly out of sorts, while Virgil's was just straight. His mouth was slacked open, but he didn't snore. His eyebags were somehow visible under his black eyeshadow.
Logan broke the silence first. This normally would have dismayed Janus, but again, these were... unusual circumstances. "Well, he seems figuratively out cold for the time being. Shall we seek out some sustenance?" Logan shrugged his suit jacket back on. Janus didn't move a muscle.
"I'm not hungry right now. You go ahead, I'll make sure he doesn't wake up and start tearing out his hair or something." Janus' somber tone stole his voice's usual sarcasm. Logan rested a hand on his shoulder with a great softness.
"I'll grab you a little something. Try not to stress yourself out too much." With that, Logan set a water bottle on the desk beside Janus' elbow and left in near silence.
Janus heard a faint receding clicking as Logan walked away down the hall.
#sanders sides#virgil sanders#janus sanders#logan sanders#thomas sanders#unsympathetic roman#unsympathetic remus#sympathetic janus#sympathetic virgil#sympathetic logan#ts roman#ts janus#ts remus#ts virgil#ts logan#roman sanders#remus sanders#sanders sides fanfiction#anxceit#ts anxceit#loceit#ts loceit#ts analogical#analogical#analoceit#ts analoceit#virgil x logan#virgil x janus#janus x logan#janus x virgil x logan
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Arthur Fleck is like super super handsome so I really need a rough, spicy and sweet smut. Reader walks around the house in a long shirt and panties cus it's super comfortable and Arthur keeps imagining this possibly uh ahem touching himself, but yeah smut it's hot and reader is preferably chubby
OMG I do this all the time in the summer so this is a mood. This one is a female reader smut piece but I do have some male!reader x Arthur smut in my inbox too, so keep an eye out for that. I’ll also do some gender neutral smut for our boi too, so there’s hopefully something for everyone.
NSFW. Hidden from those in Safe Mode. Don’t read unless you’re over 18.
Features: protected sex, oral sex (female reader receiving), lots of fluff, aftercare. Some angst sorry I can’t help myself lmao I love angst/smut/fluff all put together.
Contains swearing and mentions of smoking.
This literally took me three hours to write. I started at 7 AM this morning after that smutty dream and now it’s 10:06 AM and I’ve just stopped so please let me know what you think!
Word count: 3, 608 (my longest one yet)
Oh, help you, it was so hot.
The air conditioning in the apartment building hadn’t worked for more than a decade, and those who were responsible for maintaining the building hadn’t so much as glanced at it for just as long. Why would they care? They had new cars every six months and didn’t even live in the fucking city in the first place. The stench of rubbish that littered the overcrowded streets filtered in through the dirty windows of the apartment you shared with Arthur; you had moved in with him some months ago when you realised that your two incomes could be better used split between just one home. Yours. With any luck, you would get out of Gotham quicker that way, with both of you sharing the bills (though you always paid a larger portion without saying anything to Arthur; you both knew you did it, but out of embarrassment did he stay silent. He paid you back in other ways, anyway) and doing half of everything else together.
With no air conditioning and no breeze to aid you in any way, you had had to resort to desperate measures. With an equally suffering Arthur already at work, you had stayed home in one of his long sleeved t-shirts. It came down to your mid-thigh and just covered your bum. You wore underwear, too, and that was it. Nothing else. You were still too hot, but with the windows open you didn’t want to inadvertently flash any pedestrian who happened to glance upwards as they walked past the neglected apartment building. You would have to deal with it the best you could. Thoughts of Arthur always made you feel warm from the inside, so with him in your head it wasn’t too hard to grin and bear even the worst of circumstances.
All day did you stay home, letting your body run on auto pilot while you cleaned the apartment. You hadn’t needed to clean the apartment, you and Arthur did incredibly well keeping it clean given your economical situations, but you also needed something to do; anything to distract you from the way that Arthur’s shirt, baggy on you, was clinging to your damp skin. While you worked, not moving so fast that you made yourself even hotter, you found yourself thinking of Arthur. His intense green eyes hidden underneath those thick, dark eyebrows. The way his eyes glittered with innocent mischief when he told you his newest jokes. The way his hands dangled a cigarette elegantly between them. The way he looked when he danced; his lithe form easily moving to a beat that only he could hear. The way he danced with you with no music playing. The way he kissed you the way a drowning person would hold onto their last breath; desperately and with a sense of urgency which only increased. The way he used his entire hand to trace parts of your body, his fingers gripping at your thighs…
You spent the entire day growing increasingly hot and bothered, flustered by all the memories of things that Arthur had done to you, and even things that you had done together. You so loved loving him. You loved the way he moaned, the way he gasped, the way he murmured his love for you against your skin like a prayer. You loved the way he shifted closer to you in his sleep; even if you went to sleep on separate sides of the bed, you would wake up and he would be clinging to you like a koala; his legs wrapped around you and his nose breathing you in. Arthur loved with his whole being, and you wanted to protect him, love him and keep him safe for the rest of your lives together.
So lost were you in your arousal, which stayed pooled in your panties because despite being an adult, you had no real idea about how to adequately take care of yourself when tensions within you grew high, that you didn’t notice Arthur come home. You didn’t notice the way he dropped his bag in shock at the sight of you laying on the sofa, one leg dangling off the side, the other crooked at an angle and resting against the back of the sofa. Your hair dropped over the edge of the sofa, too, such was the angle of your head… your legs were parted, your eyes were closed and all Arthur could think about was fucking you into the worn springs of that old sofa.
His throat was as dry as the day outside, and he couldn’t help the way he just had to palm himself through his trousers. His resounding guttural groan wrenched you out of your thoughts, and you shot upright, standing up so fast you felt dizzy.
“A-Arthur! Hi!” You walked to his still frozen form to give him a hug, and he melted into your touch, his hands staying high on your back. He kept his hips away from you. It wasn’t your fault that he was aroused, and he wouldn’t force you into anything. Really, the issue wasn’t that he didn’t want to touch you, but rather he inherently felt that he shouldn’t. He didn’t deserve such a gorgeous woman to be waiting for him at home, he didn’t deserve to be able to show you how much he loved you.
Now that he was home with you did you become aware of just how aroused you truly were. You could feel it sticking to your inner thighs and you knew if you didn’t do something soon, you would spend the rest of the afternoon suffering. Would Arthur want to? Truly, he was keeping his eyes firmly planted on your face, his hands high on your body and he kept his lower half angled away from you. If you didn’t know any better, you would think that he just wasn’t sexually attracted to you. But you did know better. You felt the way his fingers were tightly gripping you as he kept himself in place, kept himself from touching you. You could see the dilation of his pupils, blown wide. You could see Arthur just as you always had, and you couldn’t help the smirk that formed on your face as you moved to nibble upon his neck.
“How was your day, honey?”
Despite the innocence of your words, what you were doing to the column of his neck with your lips and tongue was positively sinful and Arthur found himself having to make a concerted effort to keep himself still.
“I-it was g-good, it was, uhh, so good,” His words faded into a moan as he tipped his head back, allowing you full access to his throat. His Adam’s apple was exposed and you kissed it, sucking gently as your hand came up to thread your fingers through his dark hair, tugging gently at the tangled strands. Arthur whimpered as his hands slid down your body to grip your hips. “Y-Y/N, p-please - “
“It’s okay,” You smiled as you let him go, pressing your lips against his. You kissed him sweetly, letting him feel how much you loved him. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, and Arthur copied you. He was a fast learner, and what he lacked in experience he more than made up for in how passionate his every encounter with you was. “You can touch me. I want you to.”
“No,” Arthur’s voice was so soft you had to strain your ears above the pounding of your heart just to hear him, “If I start I don’t know i-if I’ll be able to - “
“Then don’t,” You cupped his face in your hands and looked him full in the face. You made no attempt to hide anything; your lust, your love, your adoration, your trust and your want. You showed him everything. Eye contact was so important to Arthur because he could read you like a book, and he liked to see you. So many people saw through you, but Arthur could almost gaze into your soul when he looked at you, and you treasured him above all else for it. “Don’t think about it. Don’t worry about anything. Just feel.” To emphasis your point, one of your hands slid down his back to cup his bum, and you squeezed, pushing yourself into him at the same time.
Arthur groaned, as did you, and his head dropped forward to rest in the space between your neck and shoulder. His lips moved to explore your neck, a shaking hand moving the collar of his shirt out of his way so he could better reach the exposed flesh. You shivered, but not because you were cold. No, your every nerve was on fire, and Arthur’s touch left goosebumps in his wake as you desperately sought more contact.
You pulled Arthur’s head up from your neck and pressed your lips to his, kissing him with as much desire as you felt swirling through your heated veins, your blood singing as it pulsed through your body. You walked backwards with him, relying solely on muscle memory to safely get you to the sofa, and you fell backwards, taking Arthur with you. He landed on you easily but you barely felt it; too lost in your arousal to notice the way his sharp pelvic bones were digging into you, the way his elbows were digging into your ribs. You parted your legs and immediately did Arthur make himself at home, a delicious blush on his face. His hair was hanging about his face, some curls sticking to his forehead. It was hot outside. It was one of the hottest days on record and you weren’t helping yourselves, but you didn’t care. You wanted each other, and you wanted it now.
You cupped his face in your hands once more, using your fingers to brush his hair away where it clung to him. Arthur leaned into your touch, looking at you like you were an actual angel. He looked at you the way you felt when you had that first cup of coffee in the morning, and it was enough to bring tears to your eyes.
“I love you so fucking much.” You whispered, your voice hushed with awe at the celestial being hovering above you.
It only served to deepen Arthur���s blush and he leant down to kiss you sweetly. “I love you too. You have no idea how much.”
Your lips twitched mischievously and Arthur’s eyes followed the movement. “Show me, then.”
Immediately did his eyes darken and you shivered once more, suddenly aware again of the fact that something was changing in him. You couldn’t deny that you liked the change that you glimpsed in him sometimes, though. He was confident in those moments and aware of what he did to you with a mere look. It was maddening and sometimes did you wish to tap into that new part of him, to see it in all its glory. You had no way of knowing that you wouldn’t have to wait too long at all… all it would take was one bad day for your sweet Arthur to snap and succumb to all that he had spent his life fighting against. You would stay, though, no matter what - you felt an inexplicable connection to Arthur Fleck and all that he was. You had sworn yourself to him. You couldn’t have known how much this promise would be tested and run through the mill just as much as Arthur had, in the future.
“You might regret saying that.” His voice was soft but raspy now.
You shrugged, still smirking. “Is that a promise?” It was a challenge and you both knew it. If anything, it only fuelled the rising flames within your bodies; the room temperature was now as hot as you were both feeling, and it would only be relieved by each other; acting on your lust and love, desire and passions would douse the tensions that were coiled within yourselves.
Arthur dipped his head down towards you once more, lavishing kisses upon your neck. “Off.” He tugged at the shirt you were wearing with a short, sharp tug and you arched your back on purpose, pressing yourself against him as you shed yourself of his shirt.
You felt a single second of insecurity - you had never been fully confident with your soft curves - and Arthur saw it. He had kept his eyes on yours this entire time, and he saw it all.
“Don’t do that, sweetheart. You’re beautiful.” Arthur shuffled down your body to press kisses all over your stomach. He traced your stretch marks with a single finger and you put your hands over your face to hide the tears. How was this man real? He was the personification of all that was pure and good in this world, and you loved him so much it felt like your heart would burst.
A hand tugged at your wrist and you pulled your hands away from your face. It was a silent, gentle admonishment and you wisely took it for what it was. Arthur was quite sensitive on your behalf and the last time you had ranted to him about the way you felt about your body, he had grown angry on your behalf and had spent the rest of the night showing you how much he loved you; holding you so gently that it had made you cry. Arthur smiled as your eyes were revealed to him, and he saw the tears. He let your wrist go once you lowered your hands. He saw your embarrassment but he also saw your trust, and his smile for once met his eyes as he ducked his head back down to carry on with his actions.
That same finger which had traced your stretch marks reverently was now hooking into the waistband of your panties, which he slid slowly down your legs. You hissed as you were exposed fully to the room - Arthur was fully dressed still and it was unfair - and helped him to shed your underwear from you. They landed somewhere on the floor but neither of you cared where. You had no doubt that you would find them tomorrow in an obscure place, somehow still standing on shaky legs.
You thought you heard Arthur murmur something that sounded like, “I’m so hungry” before he ducked his head down between your legs. His nose was buried against your folds as he lapped at you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. He really went to town on you, and you couldn’t help your hand sliding down your body, your fingers grabbing a handful of his curly hair, your body writhing against him. You made some noises but you weren’t entirely sure, so lost in the feeling of what he was doing to you. Arthur moaned against you. If there was one thing you hadn’t expected from Arthur, it was that he derived just as much pleasure from going down on you, if not more, than you did. He truly enjoyed the feeling of his tongue inside you, of the taste of you. It was enough to drive him crazy in the best way. He would never get enough of you.
You felt that coil of tension in your stomach wind even tighter, and hurriedly did you use your grip on Arthur’s hair to pull him up to face you, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. "Please fuck me. Please.” You sat up to kiss him, tasting yourself on him. It only made you feel even more turned on than you already were. This was the most delicious torture you could think of, pulling him up to sitting with you as you desperately tried to undress him, your hands pawing at his clothes. Arthur huffed a laugh as he stood, undressing quicker than you had ever see him do before; your caring hands steadied him when he almost fell when removing his underwear, doing a funny one legged dance which could have caused him to hit his head on the living room table. Nothing would ruin the mood quite like a concussion.
Arthur laughed again, the sound quick and joyful as he swiftly rolled a condom onto his length and came back down onto the sofa, your legs parting without you even thinking about it. You could feel him lying hot and hard against your inner thigh. Both of you were panting, both of you were sweating both from how hot it was but also from your love, and you took a moment to just look at Arthur. His dark curls, his green eyes… that smile which was currently in the corner of his mouth. His eyebrows seemed to soften as he looked at you, and his eyes were roaming all over your face as he, too, took a moment to just look. You were so in love with each other that it hurt sometimes. But not in a bad way; you knew how lucky you were to be able to feel such a love, never mind actually receiving it in return. If you were less of a cynic, you would even call yourselves soulmates.
“I love you.”
Arthur shifted so that he was pressing against you. He sunk into you so easily, so wet were you, and you groaned together; you kept your eyes on Arthur. He kept looking at you, using his flattened palms to trace your body as he moved within you slowly, galaxies in his eyes and all the love in the world on his face.
“I love you so much,” He panted, leaning down to press kisses to your face, your neck, your chest… anywhere and everywhere did he rain attention down on you.
You hooked your legs around his hips, wanting to drive him even deeper into you, and you played with the curls at the nape of his neck, kissing his neck and shoulders. Sometimes would you gently bite, wanting a taste of that darker part of him that you saw sometimes, and you would soothe the area with your tongue. You found a rhythm that worked for you both pretty easily; you were Arthur’s whole experience and he was a fast learner. He knew your body better than you did, and often just as something occurred to you, would he already be doing it. You were perfect together and unstoppable as a result.
The music that resided within both of your souls quickly reached its crescendo, and with a shuddering moan did the coil within you snap. The feeling of your tight walls clenching around Arthur as you came drove him to his climax, too, and it was with heavy breathing and a feeling of dizziness that you rode out your highs. Arthur pulled out of you slowly and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his heart and eyes full of soft love. He stood carefully, and went quickly to the bathroom, grabbing some flannels to clean you up with.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
You smiled. You took one of the flannels from him and washed him over. He had already taken care of the condom, so it was easy for you to look after him as he stood naked before you. He wasn’t just physically naked, but also mentally, too, and it was this vulnerability that you were most interested in protecting. A fragile soul was he.
“No. You were perfect. Are you okay?”
Arthur nodded. “More than.” He smiled a real, genuine smile that spread across his face, taking years of hardship off his face. Your breath caught in your throat and you took the flannel from him, kissing the palm of his hand as you walked to the kitchen to dispose of the evidence of your coupling.
When all was cleaned and you were feeling a little less… ravenous, did you redress and make something light to eat; you had no appetite when it was hot outside, but it was important to refuel your bodies. Arthur smoked, you both ate, and together did you talk the remainder of the evening away, safe in the knowledge that to love and to be loved was one of the greatest treasures on this earth. How lucky you were to find each other.
You made a mental note to wear his shirts more often - if that was his reaction, then it was something you would do every day. You hoped that never would he tire of you, of your body, of what you had together. That darkness in him that was quickly rising could only come to the forefront of his mind one day, and you could only hope that he would still long for you in those unknown future days as he had since the day you had first met when it had been pouring down with rain and you were lost with no idea of where to go to find shelter. He had helped you then, and in return you had been the only light in his dark, cold world. He was your entire world and you would spend the rest of your life proving it to him, over and again, never faltering and never allowing him to doubt how very special he was to you.
To say that you and Arthur Fleck were in love was an understatement. It didn’t matter, though. As long as you both knew the other’s soul was tied to yours, the rest of the world ceased to matter.
The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z @x-avantgarde-x @mapreza1 @insomniabird @mavalenovaninagavi @itwasrealenough @morrisonmercurymalek @rand0ms-fand0ms @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing @rebs-doom @vivft @help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection @taintednihilist @vladtoly @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92 @that-s-life @dopey-girl-blogs @seeking-dreamland @sweetheart-syndrome @heartxfdesire @xmusichealsthesoulx @0callmejude0 @the-one-that-likes-riddles @hannibalsslut @folliaght @freeeshavacadoo @bingewatchingmylifegoby @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything @okamiredfoxx @sp0okysp0oky @the-pandorabox @mardema @jibanyyan @honeyflvredcoughdrop @emissarydecksetter @jokerfleckk @epidendroideae @chuuntas @stillmabel @pumpkinpeyes@onehystericalqueenposts @the-jokers-wolf @nalsswa @justahyena @arianatheangelworld @soullessblondbitch @gothamslittlejester @twentyonestarrynights @sirianfromsixties @kissmeclownman @joker-is-my-hero @lazyloosah @lovesickkloxx @ladylovelyluna
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Callis was Gavaldon’s first witch gynecologist and here’s why
Okay so, in this post we’ll be discussing topics such as sex, contraception, and some religion in the context of it being used as a mean to control people sexually.
If you’re younger than 13, honestly, this post isn’t for you.
If you’re unlucky, like me, and your school didn't give you proper sex ed, I beg you to ask someone about it. Your older sibling, your mom, someone, okay? Ask google. It’s important stuff you need to know.
First of all, for composure’s sake, let’s all pretend I didn’t start thinking of this due to me writing a smut fic. At 4am, on my tablet notes. On my defense, tho, there’s an astonishing lack of E-rated fics on this fandom and someone ought do it, okay? Moving on.
So, where shall we start?
Let’s get context out of the way, welcome to my analyses, the actual headcanons are here, I promise, let me just bore you to death first:
The SGE book series overall is set in fantasy fairytale land (The Endless Woods), with the exception of Gavaldon, aka, the reader village. Due to this, there’s not really a time period liking the SGE world to ours, neither can it be presumed by the world building, as Soman mixes traditional medieval elements with modern elements, which I know bothers some of you too, it ain’t just me, but nevermind that right now.
The point is, the arguments I’m making on this post are based on aspects mentioned in the books, but I’m also going to draw some information from the real world.
A big chunk of the first two books rely on the world the existence of a patriarchal structure in that world, as do some plot points during the rest of the series, but if I were to dive into that we’d be here all night. Talking about the Endless Woods social structure is very complicated, specially with the ‘no labels in the woods’ stuff combined with the misogyny. It’s messy.
Thankfully for this post, we’ll only go into Gavaldon, because I feel things there are more… explicit (pun intended).
So here’s what we know of Gavaldon’s social structure pre-book 1:
It’s a decent sized village with no official government. There’s no political figure of power, such as prince or a mayor, as they eventually get in QFG. There also doesn’t seem to be an actual economic class distinction between the people of Gavaldon, other than mentions of beggars (pretty sure it’s just one tho, but I might be wrong). Everyone works and trades amongst themselves, with people having more or less the same things (except for Callis and Agatha, due to them being social outcasts).
Who has power in Gavaldon?
The Elders Council. They make the laws, they are respected, they have influence, and therefore they have power. These dudes stopped people from selling food to Stefan’s family during book 2, and threatened his new family in front of everybody during book 3. And everyone in Gavaldon loved that man. Why are they powerful tho?
Power is born out of inequality. If you have what we have not, we follow where you lead. Gavaldon has no nobles and no bourgeoisie. Geez, I wonder which powerful class we’re missing.
The clergy.
Personally, I hold no love for the church. I’m an atheist, but, as this post is about SGE and not religion, I’ll try to be as neutral as possible, as the point is not to offend or disrespect anyone. When I mention ‘religion’ or ‘clergy’ from this point on, I’m talking about religion as an Institution. As in the Medieval Catholic Church (which if you don’t agree was at least kind of very evil, I don’t know if I want you reading my posts anyway, so feel free to leave).
Most likely, the members of Elders Council of Galvadon were linked to its Church, whatever religion they may have. I can’t see any reason why they would have so much influence otherwise. Who appoints new men to the positions once one of them dies? I’m gonna guess the remaining members of the Council.
And no one said anything? For centuries. Okay. Corruption? Never heard of her.
Also, burning unmarried women as a way to solve problems claiming they were witches? Wonder where I’ve seen this before.
The fact they’re men, should get mentioned too, just in case you forgot. I bet there are women just as old and wise, if not wiser than the members of the council. Hm, wow why they’re not part of the council.
This hypothesis ties in with the fact that the education given to the kids is limited to the local school, which, given the lack of government and simplicity of work relations, is probably funded by the clergy. We don’t see any proof of this, but again, if we’re comparing Galvadon to a medieval village, it would make sense.
What is even taught at this school? Math and whatever language they speak there, sure, but like they have little to no history that we know of, geography would be pointless, there are no foreign languages, science who, and with these clowns running the village I’ll bet there is no philosophy or social studies and... Doesn’t matter, let’s not do this right now.
Callis briefly mentioned that all girls in Galvadon must marry before the end of their school education, or they are deemed witches. The Elders Council even chooses the matches, in case those aren’t naturally formed or if they disagree with pre-existing ones. These kids are what,15,16, maybe younger?
(this makes me so mad, you have no idea-)
ANYWAY. They form these child marriages, for... look I’m gonna presume is because of population reposition. They need an average of 2 kids per couple or they’ll have more people dying than people being born. Let’s just presume it’s because of this because if it’s because of some tradition stuff I’ll scream, okay?
Maybe they have a low life expectancy in Gavaldon (which is another evidence for the case that the elders are part of the clergy, they probably don’t work, so they live longer).
So have them teenage girls poping them babies, I guess.
Also, a miracle they have survived this long, because the genetic pool for Gavaldon must be the worst ever, everyone is related to everyone, ew. At least, in theory, there would be no STIs.
In theory.
Ahem… During the middle ages, all forms of birth control tended to be frowned upon, at least here on the west, including coitus interruptus (aka, pull out method), (tho it depends of who was the pope at the time, some of them were cool with this one if you already had too many kids and was like super poor), because sex was supposed to be about procreating, so a marriage with no kids was ‘pointless’.
(hear me raging in the background, this context is stressing me out, i just wanna get to the headcanons-)
We can assume this view is probably compatible with the Elders Council mindset, as they are marrying CHILDREN.
If there were any available contraceptive methods, you can bet they weren’t teaching this stuff at school. They probably have no sex ed, and if they do, it’s going to be just about periods and vague stuff. Gotta love them church schools (I never went to one, officially, but honestly, I live in Brazil, what even is Secular State).
(“Don’t have sex before marriage, you’re gonna get pregnant and die”, - one of the teachers at the Galvadon school at some point, I bet)
Let me also mention that there is an specific Gavaldon law that states that if a girl is pregnant she is going to marry the boy who knocked her up. Which, specially in Vanessa’s case, makes no f-ing sense. Could she prove it was Stefan’s? Did she sent it to a DNA lab? If Stefan was the Elders favorite why would they not take his word?
I digress, let’s say Stefan didn’t deny sleeping with her and only said he was under a spell, which, hm, how dumb do you have to be to do that, it’s lying 101, Stefan c’mon, but okay, you do you.
So they are probably super “moral” in Galvadon. You know, the kind of moral who just swipes stuff under the rug. Like, yeah, Stefan you’re now doomed to marrying Vanessa, but ain’t nobody gonna say a thing if you cheat on her as long as you don’t do it during plain daylight.
(The amount of closeted gays in Gavaldon is probably astronomical, can you imagine?)
And then you have Callis. Whom I think is probably responsible for the introduction of birth control in Gavaldon. We have arrived at the headcanons. Hear me out:
After Stefan saved Callis, she was deemed a witch. She’s a ‘witch’ doctor for the town. Only the most desperate of people seek her out.
That means she normally wouldn’t get a lot of patients. Like, Idk about you, but Gavaldon doesn’t seem big enough for her to have people looking for her everyday. And she probably had to feed Agatha somehow.
But, while her being a doctor for normal diseases wasn’t really working all that well, everyone knew she had a hand in Vanessa’s miracle child. So ‘infertile’ women and women who had been getting sickly during pregnancies start looking for her, asking for her to help them.
Callis obviously doesn’t use her magic, but as she can’t say she used magic for Vanessa, she gives them generally good advice about herbs and stuff they can add to their food to make it ‘more likely’, aka stuff that reduces stress, telling them how to eat better, stuff they should avoid, etc. She’s no big expert, but at least in the Endless Woods they had sex ed and she was witch, she just knows stuff.
So she becomes this sort of witch gynecologist for Gavaldon’s desperate women.
It works for a while, but then people eventually share these tips amongst themselves to avoid going to see her. Then, it’s back to slightly starving herself so baby Agatha could eat.
One day, a teenage girl arrives at her doorstep in the middle of the night, trading food for her help. If she could ‘make people more fertile’, she could surely make them miscarriage. Maybe this girl got pregnant by sleeping with someone the elders didn’t aprove for her to marry, maybe it was something else a bit darker, but we won’t talk about how that could be common, given you could literally force someone to marry you if they had your child.
Callis panics, because she wasn't ‘making anyone more fertile’ really, she was making them healthier and therefore more likely to have a healthy kid. If she were to tell her to do the reverse of what she told the others, not only it wouldn’t work, but it would actually harm the girl’s health.
At first she’s like, “I can’t help you…”, but then she hears baby Agatha crying, poor thing, so hungry all the time. So Callis decides, “you know what, might as well”.
There’s probably many potions made with magic one could take to not have a baby in the Woods. Even ones that cause abortions with no side effects or danger to the woman. But there also more natural ways, ones that maybe aren’t 100% effective, but would work, tho it had some side effects.
So Callis, makes her a potion to take. For real life comparisons, let’s say she used Queen Anne’s Lace, which works a bit like Plan B. The girl is thankful, and goes on her way.
Soon enough, everybody knows Callis can do these potions. You have girls sneaking to Graves Hill in the middle of the night to get help in exchange for food and while the elders know something is fishy, they can’t do much anything about it. They ask Callis what is up with that and she’s like ‘nope, just ya know, helping them have babies, plan b who’.
She tries to introduce a variation of the potion, one that acts as birth control, because it would stop people from being irresponsable all the time, but the Plan B one is the one every girl wants, because well, it’s easier. You can be unsafe and then take a potion and it’s fine. Soon, it’s not just girls. There’s full grown women there too, who should really know better.
She is pissed, so she says she won’t make them any more potions unless people stop being so careless.
Someone tries to make a knock-off potion, but it ends tragically, because people don’t really know what Callis puts in it. And well… you know what looks a bit like Queen Anne’s Lace?
F-ing Water Hemlock, that’s what.
After that incident, people listen to Callis when it came to ingesting stuff. And thus, birth control culture is born in Gavaldon. Other people started trying out other things to avoid dealing with Callis, like animal-based condoms, pull-out method and inserting acacia gum into your vagina before you had sex,but she had a good clientele overall.
The Elders? Pissed. But since they couldn’t just prove this was her fault, they just kept on hating on her from a distance.
After Agatha has her first period, Callis sits her down and pretty much gives her the talk. Agatha doesn’t really see a point to it, boys are gross, but she listens nonetheless.
Callis gives Agatha the best sex ed homeclass ever, you can bet she will teach her correct anatomy, debunk myths the school told her about both periods and her own body and even promised her to teach her how to make the birth control potion once she got older.
Again Agatha doesn’t see a point, but okay.
When Agatha comes home with Tedros, years later tho. Callis is... worried.
She tries to ask Agatha if she’s being safe but her daughter just... stops functioning. Blushing like crazy.
(“We just kissed, like, once, mom.”)
That being said… Callis doesn’t live long enough to teach her how to make the potion.
So when Tedros and Agatha’s relationship starts to progress (hm… if you wanna read something about it, maybe wait a couple of days, I might or my might not have a sin fic in the works, it wouldn’t be one of my posts if it had no self-promotion, I’m my own sponsor after all) she’s unsure of who to ask about this.
And it makes her extra sad about her mother’s death, so that’s great.
I honestly don’t know who she would ask. If you have any ideas, please tell me. Because I’m kind of inclined to think that maybe Merlin might have predicted this and handed a recipe to her as a semi-joke, but idk. Maybe Uma?
But yes, Callis was totally Gavaldon’s first witch gynecologist. And after they made Stefan mayor, I want people to remember her for the absolute legend she was, okay?
#school for good and evil series#school for good and evil#sge#Callis of Netherwood#Agatha of Woods Beyond#gavaldon
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The Ugly Truth About Korea: Racism
Growing up moving around England, U.S. and Korea, I was always taken as ‘ching chong Chinese’ or a ‘Jap’. What hurt me even more than the racist name calling was that my country wasn’t even known well enough to have a nickname. With the success of Samsung, Hyundai, K-pop and the Hallyu wave, this is not the case anymore. People still mistake me for Chinese or Japanese, but when I tell them I’m Korean, almost everybody knows the country now. As a child, this would have made me very proud, mostly because I wasn’t smart enough to think about the side-effects of my country’s development.
In the year 2000, during my freshman year of high school, my family moved back to Korea and I started learning about those side-effects. With the developed economy and improved education, Koreans didn’t want to work in manual labor anymore. Like history has shown in developed countries, those jobs were filled by immigrant workers from Southeast Asian countries or India. The name calling and harassment by Koreans were shocking. People would walk up to foreigners on the bus and tell them that they ‘smell’ and they should get off the bus and walk. There was an instance where an old man complained so much to the driver that the driver asked two Indian men to get off the bus. I knew exactly how those two men felt, but couldn’t say anything as it is considered absurd to question the elderly in Korea. I was seriously confused about the values I learned through experience and the values that everyone else around me seemed to have. The two never felt so apart. In the Korean high school history book, it even stated that Koreans are to be proud of the ‘single race’ nation (한민족 국가).
But as I had done growing up in different cultures, I learned to adapt to Korea too and the acts of racism that I occasionally encountered got muted away, until one day, when I was forced into an even worse situation that I remember clearly to this day. After graduating high school, I spent a lot of my time enjoying nightlife at Hongdae. I made a lot of friends that seemed to be into arts and culture and they seemed to be much more open to foreign culture and foreign people. One night, I was at a bar with some friends when a female friend of mine noticed a foreigner with dark skin drinking alone. Rap and hiphop was big back then and my friend showed an interest towards the foreign guy. She asked me to invite him to our table and we started hanging out. He did not speak any Korean so I had to translate between him and my friends. I failed to notice that after about 10 minutes, my friends didn’t like the translating situation and wanted the foreigner gone. Of course, I had to be the one to tell him. I could tell that he was trying very hard not to show that he was offended. I was so embarrassed about hanging out with racist friends and angry at the same time that those so called ‘friends’ had put me in that situation. I decided to leave with the foreign guy and repeatedly told him how sorry I was and how Koreans are not accustomed to having foreign people around. But somehow every word I said made me feel worse. I never went back to that circle of people after that incident.
At this point, some people might think that these are isolated incidents and shouldn’t be generalized to the entire Korean demographic. If you’re one of those people, here’s an even worse shocker. In 2004, a Korean comedian impersonated foreign workers on national television. Foreign workers were portrayed as having poor language skills and often ignorant and lacking common sense. What’s worse, the whole country loved it and “Sajangnim Nappayo”, meaning ‘My boss is not nice’, became a popular phrase in Korea. Think of Dave Chapelle’s jokes about African Americans, but told by a Caucasian. Children would yell this phrase to foreigners on the streets with a forced accent. The severity of racism and ignorance was incomparable to what I had been subjected to growing up in England or the U.S. I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like living in a foreign country where literally the whole country would make fun of me for being a foreigner.
Believe it or not, racism gets even worse. In 2017, accommodating foreign refugees and immigrant workers became a huge issue in Korea. To be fair, there had been incidents where immigrant workers were involved in sexual offense cases. However, the discussions regarding this topic on national radio and television were shocking to say the least. Racist and nationalist comments were taken seriously by the show hosts and discussed as legitimate opinions of the Korean people. Some discussions were actually based on assumptions that foreigners are potential criminals. There was even a discussion about whether the economic benefit of foreigners working manual labor was worth the risk of the foreigner causing social nuisance. The reasons for opposing immigrants were so appalling that it was hard to believe that this was a discussion taking place in 2017. Even worse, nobody questioned the ethics of such ridiculous framing.
The problem is, those subjected to racism in Korea usually don’t have a voice that can be heard around the world. Most Koreans are very kind to people from western cultures. It’s the people from developing countries that are subjected to unspeakable acts of racism. Yet, earlier this year, some Koreans, with the help of another national television broadcasting service, MBC, accused KLM of acts of racism at the beginning of the COVID 19 pandemic. The reason was that the flight crew on one of KLM’s flights had posted a note on the lavatory door saying ‘for flight crew only’ in Korean. MBC immediately framed this as an act of racism and many Koreans were outraged. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about how Koreans were treating Chinese people at the beginning of the pandemic. There were even rumors online stating that Chinese people had to have used bats as sex toys to have had the virus transmitted to people. At the beginning of the pandemic, Asians were considered more likely to be carrying the virus. Even myself as an Asian living in Europe stayed away from other Asians in case they had recently been to China, Korea or Japan, where the pandemic was more serious than elsewhere. KLM ended up apologizing publicly in Seoul. Have I ever seen any Korean organization or company apologizing for racist acts? Never in my life.
As a child, I would have given anything to be from a country that is wealthier and more powerful so that people wouldn’t call me names. But with the tables turned, I feel much more disgusted to be associated to racists than being subjected to racism. Korea is the single most racist country I’ve lived in and the severity is incomparable to any form of racism I’ve experienced. This is a serious problem that even the government is failing to recognize. Historically, Korea has had problems after trying to shut itself away from the rest of the world. Korea is heading straight back to those problems and major drastic changes will be needed to avoid being left behind globally. I thought wealth and prosperity of my country would make me proud. What a short sighted thought that turned out to be.
Comedian Jung Chul-Gyu on KBS making racist jokes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=veoPkZZUBgs
#racism#korea#korean#south korea#mbc#kbs#racist#대한민국#인종차별#kpop#한국#한류#단일민족#한민족#국수주의#배타주의#nationalism#societal problems#societal commentary
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GENERAL
Name: Preston chao
Age: 26
Place of birth: Northchester, New York
Spoken languages: English, learning ASL, chinese
Sexual orientation: heterosexual
Occupation: security guard at the hotel
Eye color: Brown
Hair color: Black
Height: 6′4′’
Scars: Chest after car accident
Tattoos: back of both hands; rose on one and wolf on the other.
FAVOURITE
Color: any of the colors that associate with fall; brownish-reds, deep oranges
Entertainment: watching 80′s movies, cooking, listening to crime podcasts, parties
Pastime: beer pong, movies, flirting, reading
Drink: peach soda and double shot espresso
G E N E R A L -
-To be born under a wealthy man might be a blessing to many but for Preston he’d consider it a curse. He is the product of an affair and lives uncomfortably under the roof of a huge secret.
-His mother had become a young cleaning lady for Bruce Langston; leader and CEO of the economical department in the city of derry. He is a huge deal and any scandal can lead him to lose his position, apparently he didn’t care about that when the man had sex and impregnated Preston’s mother despite having a wife. Once she found out she was pregnant Preston’s mother made absolutely sure that she used that for her advantage and so she became a live in maid, had her life paid for and when it came to her child everything that Preston would need would be taken care of. Even if it meant that Preston would forever be cast into the shadows of the family like an ugly scar.
- This was agreed upon after Bruce’s wife found out and bitterly accepted so her husband would keep his title and money. That was all that the woman cared about after all; not having to give up her rich and lavish lifestyle. But that didn’t mean she was at all accepting of the boy especially when just a few weeks later she became pregnant herself and now there would be two babies under the household that would have to know they were different.
- And the wicked mother she was. She purposely spoiled Preston’s half sibling making sure they had everything. Preston was set for live but they still lived as middle class people so no suspicions were made. Preston always knew he was never going to be treated equally and that was why in his teen years the boy began to rebel in hopes to get caught by his father.
- Bruce hated the fact that Preston was all just a huge thorn in his life. And didn’t exactly treat him all too kindly, even though living in the house was nice Preston was treated just as the secret bastard. Even to his half sibling that was born two years after him they were close.
-it was sad, the only other person preston loved more than anything and they had to act like they didn’t like each other. but it didn’t stop his young sibling from taking care of him and any moment they were able to have together they made sure they had fun. all until they were in public and had to act like they had no relations at all. how hard it was for preston and the sibling to at like they hated each other but it was what was forced upon them.
- This led to a few rebellious streaks in his life growing up, hanging out in the poor sections of town, dealing with boys who were not part of the langston Aesthetic and even getting in a lot of trouble by fighting. This only caused more of a hate for him in the household but as long as he was only seen as the maids boy to the town he got away with it. This family secret was deep. So much so when it came to schooling and his mother’s push that Bruce send Preston to the same schools as his other child, there was a fake scholarship created in the company that Preston was put under. No one suspected a thing and didn’t have to question why the Langston’s were paying for some no-good maid’s son.
- while in school Preston found the life of underground fighting. Getting bets and fighting in a ring with no rules. Due to his size and build he trained and soon became a top competitor. He was getting the spotlight and loved it, plus there was no better way to get a rush and release his anger then fighting in a ring.
PERSONALITY &&. HEADCANONS -
- Being the literal mistake in the chaotic family Preston is a bit of a bitter person. Eye rolling, stubborn, hot headed, and quick to defend himself.
- He’s had no one to stick up for him at home and he learned to do this on his own; he is hated at home and only has been told to never speak of his family ties, even being forced by his half sibling to never speak to him in public. This makes him pushed away. The tall boy in the back of crowds; out of the spotlight. Preston is not allowed to be seen. Not wanted and that affects the way he is motivated to show off his actual skills.
-his mother has been his biggest teacher and he has an everlasting respect for woman because of it. He will find himself too ashamed to ever mistreat a girl in fear of his mother finding out.
-As much as preston respects girls, he really loves to hook up with them too, not that he wont show them a good time but if he finds his chance with someone he takes it.
- If he was allowed he’d want to be in art, he’s been a lover of arts since he was a child and he is very good at it but of course he is far too self contentious on being forced down. Preston isn’t even allowed to use his size to play sports and as a result he sneaks off to other cities to fight at night. It’s not safe and he uses a fake name but people cheer for him. They see him it’s the only time he feels at peace… even if that peace is dangerous, illegal, and leaves him in bruises that lead his mother to worry.
-being an unknown artist he picked up on street painting/graffiti growing up. he has a bansky like lifestyle, painting at night and going by the alias PREZY. so far he’s picked up a big social following only he has never shown his face and doesn’t plan to. he uses his parkour skills to help him find unique spots to paint and display his art. EXAMPLES: HERE and HERE
-part of the lifestyle he picked up on the road was joining a gang. he didn’t want to take it too seriously and part of them understood. mostly just using him as brawn when they would make drug deals or the scary face on one side of the room is anyone were to talk to the boss. he spent a few years in a gang in new york and making sure he never burned bridges he moved on. still... seeing the things he had in that gang has change his views on things. made him even tougher and part of him is proud of that. some guys still keep in contact with preston and will see his fights when they are in town.
- He loves to party; going out and living the life away from that home of his where he is seen as a burden. It’s fun unless his brother is around and the whole time he just gets hard glares to not embarrass him.
- Find him sketching in his books, doodling along the pages or in sketchbooks in the halls of courtyards. Don’t be surprised if you become his muse. He loves drawing people.
- Anger; he’s quick to it no matter how much he doesn’t want to be. He just has been pushed to the side so much that he takes things seriously and any insult will trigger him. Sorry if he fights you, he just finds it easier than anything else.
- Aside from being a hot head though he has taken interest in girls and as most boys do tries to test out his flirtatious ways as much as he can. He might not be the best flirt, as he has been told his scowl and serious attitude seems to drive a pretty girl away at times but he still tries.
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The College Society Chapter 3 Part 12
Here’s the next part ! One part left after this one for Chapter 3 !
Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey Monday March 4, in France
"Dude, it's fucking okay. You're out of the water for god sake. Calm down"
They were almost at the hotel. Fuck this cruise. Fuck this trip. Fuck these guys. How the hell the fatty roommate managed to fall in the Seine exactly ? Well, to fall. This moron probably didn't go there all by himself. He looked dumb, but not that dumb. Anyway, the real question was : why he, Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey, decided to bring him back to the hotel once they had pull him out of the water ? Why he, Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey, the god among the hunters, was nice to the baboon's friends ? I hate my life. But I'm also so eager to see my fuckin' boyfriend. Damnit.
"I'm sorry." muttered the fatty roommate (what was is name again ?). "I ruined the day."
"Don't open this stupid mouth of yours to talk nonsense." replied the Dean's grandson. "You fell into the water, you had the fucking right to lose your shit. And these filthy assholes who laughed can go eat dicks in their mother's pussy."
The freshman looked at him with amazement.
"You sure are swearing a lot when Liam isn't around." he noted.
Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey did not answer. It wasn't worth it. To be clear, yes he had spent a good weekend with his baboon's friends. Yes, they were good people. But who cared ? Yeah, this damned Nate had some sense of humor after all. Yes, Colton was a pure good heart built like a gigolo. And yeah, Nick (now he remembered his name) was a freakin' genius. But seriously, the best hunter wasn't here to make friend. Definitely not. They arrived at the hotel at that moment.
"Thank you." says the dark-haired lad. "I'll take a shower and I'll work with Liam on our group project. What are you going to do during this time ?"
"Don't know. Don't care."
He hadn't planned anything. He just went in France for the baboon, and he did not know what to do without him. I can't even believe I thought this. Am I really dependent on him now ? Quite pissed by is own stupidity, Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey just left.
For a while, he just wandered in the streets, at least to calm down. I need to bang someone. He was tore apart between two opposed feelings. A rational part of him only needed sex. Another, stupid and weak, desesperatly wanted Liam. I'm like a fuckin' teenager. I hate it. Finally, he went in a nightclub with the hope to pick up a chick or two. French people knew how to make a good party. It was loud and noisy, but also very sexual. They had their own way to dance, more sensual, more appealing. At first, Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey had great fun. And he found a guy more than eager to please him. They ended up in his apartment for sex. Trust me, you won't wake up after that. They banged in every corner of the flat. The Dean's grandson was so demading. Only he pictured Liam with him, and not this random dude. For god sake. The more he was thinking about the baboon, the hornier he was. He could feel his sweet and wide hands cuddling his body. He could imagine the contact of his strong chest. He wanted to stroke his soft belly. To squeeze his ass.
"Je suis rentré." shouted someone.
It stopped this stupid asshole who obviously wasn't Liam to continue. C'mon. You would not let me so horny, would you ? The idiot who interrupted them arrived in the living room. When he noticed them, he opened his mouth wide, like a big and really dumb carp. I saw him somewhere.
"You... You were with Liam last night." he said.
Now I recall. It was this bloody hell ex-boyfriend. Kevin, Kilian or whatever. Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey understood he wasn't gonna get laid anymore tonight. He put his pants back, annoyed.
"Wait, before you leave... Can you tell me how is Liam ?" asked this blonde guy. "I mean, we didn't have the time to discuss yesterday."
The Dean's grandson scrutinized him. He was very tall, at least 1m90 (6'3"), and rather imposing. Well, I fucked almost the whole football team of my university, and some of them were bigger.
"Look, whatever you want from Liam, just forget it. He doesn't need any extra problem right now."
His bestfriend's situation plus his family, it was enough.
"It was just a question." mumbled the other.
"A stupid question."
Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey didn't wait for an answer. He left this brat and went back to the hotel.
When he arrived, the baboon had already fallen asleep. Same for the fatty roommate. But Nate was waiting in the corridor, looking a bit weird. What more ? I'm done being the fuckin' shrink of everyone for today. But when he came closer, he realised the dwarf wasn't just a bit weird, he was literally crying.
"Bud'. What's wrong ?" he asked with a more gentle tone than he intended to.
"I... Sorry..."
Nate took a moment to calm down. He sniffed loudly.
"You weren't supposed to see me like this." he mumbled.
"Dude. I saw the worst part of you, this is nothing."
Honestly, Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey did not care at all about this short guy. Am I, really ? He was just fooling himself, right ? I hate all these feelings which cross my mind. He never felt the need to help anyone, well maybe except Archie and Zack, and now here he was.
"It's harder than I thought." confessed Nate. "To be normal again I mean. I truly need a talk with Archie right now."
The junior sat down next to his friend (let's call him that way and fuck it) in silent.
"Thank you for having introduced him to me by the way. Archie helps a lot."
"Well he's experienced some rough stuff too." replied Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey. "And you shouldn't try to act normal after what happened. Whatever happened. You seems smart enough to know this wasn't a random accident."
A blank followed. Of course, Nate did not want to remember this dreadful night. Me neither.
"Look midget, I need to ask." grumbled the Dean's grandson. "I already know what we're talking about, but I wonder... Am I fuckin' protecting a criminal who did a truly stupid and horrible mistake ?"
Better that than a sociopath with very good acting skills... Nate remained quiet for a while. His eyes showed all his suffering.
"No." he finally responded miserably. "You're helping a weak, pathetic and unworthy person. An idiot as you say, who can't even protect himself. Who can't even take care of himself."
He started to cry again. Fuck this wicked world. Fuck these assholes who thinks they can do whatever they want without the consent of the others. I hate them so much. Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey hugged the midget. It reawakened bad memories of a miserable Archie.
"You're not unworthy." he whispered. "And I will find all the help you need."
He dialed Archie's number. Thankfully, it was dawn back home and the quaterback replied. The blond lad gave him to Nate, and only when he was sure the boy was okay, he left silently. I'll have to talk with D.R about this one day or another...
Liam Tuesday March 5, in France
In other circumstances, the young lad would have enjoyed this visit of the economics departement. After all, he had a wonderful breakfast before, and he was feeling nice. But he sensed the force of evil everywhere. This morning, Nate wasn't feeling great, and he had stayed at the hotel with Dami. In the meantime, Liam and his group were supposed to work on their project. But it's like the Cold War. Nick was sulking. He still resented Rebecca, but he also seemed to dislike Barbara. The two girls were mean and they often mocked the poor major of their promotion. As for Colton, he tried his best to apease the tension, without any success yet. So Liam did what he did the best. He let his mind ramble. He imagined himself in a paradise. There were living pancakes everywhere. They begged him to eat them. (Liam is a nice guy, you all know that. So he kindly agreed to ate them.) (Ate them ALL). Nick brought him back into reality with a nudge.
"Now, you'll split into your groups." was saying their professor. "Students from the Economic College of Paris will guide you."
Liam followed his roommate towards a group of students, but he froze when he saw them. Tell me it's not happening. Why ? Am I cursed ? Kilian was right here, looking straight at him.
"My god. Kilian is that you ?" asked Barbara. "You have grown so much. My lord, you're so impressive !"
Their old classmate thanked her.
"It's nice to see you again Barb'." he said. "Liam."
Send help. Send help. Send help. (Liam knew his internal screams weren't helping at all.) (But maybe Dami would hear him ? His boyfriend could read minds, right ?).
"Okay, this is weird." intervened Nick. "Can we start the tour ?"
Kilian smiled.
"Of course. Follow me."
It was a true nightmare. An impossible situation. Liam was running right into his death. (Maybe not, but he always loved a bit of drama). What should I say ? What can I say ? He knew Kilian had left the United States after the... incident to go back to France. But what were the odds they would meet again here, in Paris ? I'm convinced this is an international scheme to destroy me and the unicorns.
"Dude, you're so tensed." murmured Nick. "What's the deal with your ex anyway ?"
Liam did not answer. He was truly panicing. Without Nate or Dami to support him, he was completely lost. And what if his new boyfriend discovered the story ? He'll hate me. He'll realise how unwrothy I am.
"I need to go. Far far far away. Right now."
He didn't wait for an answer. He wanted to avoid a panic attack.
Because he wasn't thinking clearly, Liam finally got lost in the building. A bit relieved to be alone, he sat on a bench and got his breath back. What am I supposed to do ? His mother never prepared him for a moment like that ! (He wasn't blaming her, but she could have anticipated right ?) (Educate your children to face their exes ! It's crucial !).
"Why did you run away ?" asked suddenly a voice he recognized (much for his displeasure).
Kilian looked curiously at him. (How he managed to find him ? Did a witch lead him here ?) His ex-boyfriend smiled softly.
"You know, I'm very surprised to see you here, but it's nice."
"What do you mean, it's nice ?" asked Liam, surprised.
"Well, we never spoke since... the middle of 12th grade. Since what happened. I never had the chance to thank you."
"To thank me."
Right, Kilian had lose his mind. The french food must have turned him crazy.
"I almost killed you with my stupid plan." recalled Liam. "I... I have been selfish, reckless and stupid. How come you want to thank me ?"
"You kiddin' right ? My parents blame you, but I don't. It wasn't your idea, but ours. And it was the first and only time someone wanted to take so much risk for me. I owe you Liam, for real."
It was too much for the chestnut lad. He wasn't able to come to terms with all that stuff.
"I thought..." he mumbled. "I thought you resented me. It's what your parents said."
"They lied to you obvious... Wait... you blamed yourself for what happened ? Oh man I didn't know you were putting so much on yourself. I'm sorry Liam, it must have been hard for you."
Hard for me ? He had been through hell with this story. The freshman couldn't think clearly. Everything he thought about Kilian was... false ?
"The others are here." whispered his ex-boyfriend. "Look, once this tour is over, I think it would be nice to talk. I can't tonight but maybe tomorrow night ?"
Liam only nodded, completely lost. Does that mean... I blamed myself for months for nothing ?
Barbara Tuesday March 5, in France
It was better than everything she had planned so far. Way better. She never expected Kilian to be here, in Paris. But this is a godsend. I will make the most of it. Catch Liam would be hard for her, but for his ex ? All she needed to do was to bring back them together for one night. One night and she would dethrone Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey. Afterwards, it would be chaos, and she would appear as a savior for the university. This is perfect.
"Your smile is so creepy. I kind of like it."
Barbara turned towards Matthew. He was almost living in their bedroom with the two girls. I'm glad they didn't have sex while I was here.
"I just came up with a good plan for my next move." she explained. "Soon enough, you'll be proud to be close with the queen."
He snorted.
"You mean, all of this was to be the queen of the university ? Oh man, that's funny."
"Why ?"
"It's nothing." he mysteriously replied. "Good luck girl."
She left one hour later. The short girl had done some research before. Apparently, Kilian had moved in France approximately one year ago, in the middle of 12th grade. Well, after this sad incident with Liam. He was living with his uncle, and was studying this year as a freshman at the local university. He had multiple friends, but no boyfriend in sight. Which meant he was avaible. Barbara also managed to find his adress, so she came right at his home. When he openned the door, she felt again surprised by his height. He is so tall now.
"Barbara ? What brings you here ?" he asked.
"Hey Kilian. I wanted to talk, in memory of old times."
And at first, they did. They lengthly shared memories. He was nicer, more talkative than she remembered. Well, his parents were beating the crap out of him, and the whole highschool bullied him. No wonder he feels better now. Eventually, she led the subject towards her main concern.
"It's nice to see you." she laughed. "I mean, I was already surprised when I met Liam at my university."
She glimpsed a shining light in Kilian's eyes. He wanted to talk about him. Nice. Maybe the story she heard from Jessy wasn't completly right.
"Yeah, it was quite a surprise for me too..."
A little blank followed. She sensed he wanted to add something. He was so predictable.
"I never wanted things to end like this." he whispered. "I would love to... come back in time. I missed him, you know ?"
"He missed you too." she revealed. "He told me."
A little lie can't hurt. Kilian didn't know she wasn't her friend anymore. He would trust her.
"Really ? It doesn't seem like that..." he mumbled. "I mean, he looks so paniced everytime I'm around. We barely had a normal conversation. He was so stressed."
You sure have confidence now. He was way more assertive than before, and it was kind of attractive. Liam can fall for that.
"Well, it's... Look, I'm not supposed to say this but... Liam fell into the wrongs hands. There's a guy who uses him for sex."
Kilian frowned. Please, believe it. It was the hardest part of the plan. She needed him to trust this.
"Is this by the aggressive guy ? The one with scary eyes ?"
"Yes. How do you know ?" she wondered, surprised.
"He was here last night." explained Kilian with a bit of rancor. "He was having sex with my cousin all over the place."
Oh man. Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey was playing against himself. That was so ironic.
"I think... the best way to help Liam would be to reveal what you're feeling." she stated. "You want him right ? As your boyfriend ? I'm sure you two will work together. Just tell him."
Kilian barely hesitated.
"Okay. I'll give it a try. I don't like him being exploited by this bad guy anyway."
And now, this is the fall of the king.
To be continued
Well things are escalating. Kilian’s in the place and it changes everything. What will happen to Liam and Dami now uh ? Will they escape the dangerous plan of Barbara ? We’ll see that soon :)
#the college society#cs#Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey#Liam#Barbara#poor Nick#that wasn't fun#Nate is talking about himself#he's a sad cinnamon roll#Liam and Kilian are talking#someone is up to no good#Chapter 3#Part 12
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[ JORDAN CONNOR, 24 , MALE , HE/HIM ] welcome to the du pont institute for the young & gifted, [ PRESTON CHAO ]. you have been accepted as a [ SCHOLARSHIP ] student from [ USA ], going into your [ SENIOR YEAR ] and majoring in [ SPORTS MEDICINE ]. your peers at the institute say that you are [ +STRONG WILLED & +CHARMING ], but being [ -HOT HEADED & -BOLD] may be the reason why the police are asking about you. did you think they wouldn’t find out that you were michael’s [ EX-BEST FRIEND ]? [ DUCKIE, 23, SHE/HER, CST ]
Get ready for a muse! Much different than Gabe I am positive that Preston will be fun because he gets in a lot of drama. I really love Preston and I’m sure you will too !! Please feel free to message me if you want any plots or connections!
GENERAL
Name: Preston Morgans
Age: 24
Place of birth: Northchester, New York
Spoken languages: English, learning ASL, chinese
Sexual orientation: heterosexual
Occupation: Student
Eye color: Brown
Hair color: Black
Height: 6′4′’
Scars: Chest after car accident
Tattoos: back of both hands; rose on one and wolf on the other.
FAVOURITE
Color: any of the colors that associate with fall; brownish-reds, deep oranges
Entertainment: watching 80′s movies, cooking, listening to crime podcasts, parties
Pastime: beer pong, movies, flirting, reading
Drink: peach soda and double shot espresso
G E N E R A L -
-To be born under a wealthy man might be a blessing to many but for Preston he’d consider it a curse. He is the product of an affair and lives uncomfortably under the roof of a huge secret.
-His mother had become a young cleaning lady for Bruce Langston; leader and CEO of the economical department in the city. He is a huge deal and any scandal can lead him to lose his position, apparently he didn’t care about that when the man had sex and impregnated Preston’s mother despite having a wife. Once she found out she was pregnant Preston’s mother made absolutely sure that she used that for her advantage and so she became a live in maid, had her life paid for and when it came to her child everything that Preston would need would be taken care of. Even if it meant that Preston would forever be casted into the shadows of the family like an ugly scar.
- This was agreed upon after Bruce’s wife found out and bitterly accepted so her husband would keep his title and money. That was all that the woman carred about after all; not having to give up her rich and lavis lifestyle. But that didn’t mean she was at all accepting of the boy especially when just a few weeks later she became pregnant herself and now there would be two babies under the household that would have to know they were different.
- And the wicked mother she was. She purposely spoiled Preston’s half sibling making sure they had everything. Preston was set for live but they still lived as middle class people so no suspicions were made. Preston always knew he was never going to be treated equally and that was why in his teen years the boy began to rebel in hopes to get caught by his father.
- Bruce hated the fact that Preston was all just a huge stick in his life. And didn’t exactly treat him all too kindly, even though living in the house was nice Preston was treated just as the secret bastard. Even to his half sibling that was born two years after him they were close, little diana not letting her parents hatred come between her and her only brother.
-it was sad, the only other person preston loved more than anything and they had to act like they didn’t like each other. but it didn’t stop his young sister from taking care of him and any moment they were able to have together they made sure they had fun. all until they were in public and had to act like they had no relations at all. how hard it was for preston and diana to at like they hated each other but it was what was forced upon them.
- This led to a few rebellious streaks in his life growing up, hanging out in the poor sections of town, dealing with boys who were not part of the Langston Aesthetic and even getting in a lot of trouble by fighting. This only caused more of a hate for him in the household but as long as he was only seen as the maids boy to the town he got away with it. This family secret was deep. So much so when it came to schooling and his mother’s push that Bruce send Preston to the same schools as his other child, daisy, there was a fake scholarship created in the company that Preston was put under. No one suspected a thing and didn’t have to question why the Langston’s were paying for some no-good maid’s son.
- while in school Preston found the life of underground fighting. Getting bets and fighting in a ring with no rules. Due to his size and build he trained and soon became a top competitor. He was getting the spotlight and loved it, plus there was no better way to get a rush and release his anger then fighting in a ring.
MEETING MICHAEL VALMONT-
-Preston always had a hard time setting in with the fact he was a burden and shadow to his father and would lash out. He didn’t know why Michael liked him so much but once Michael found out Preston’s secret he took him under his wing and they practically became brothers.
-always close, preston didn’t exactly agree with everything Michael did and the two would fight but after a few hours it would be brushed under the rug and forgotten. Except for the final straw.
-Michael started dating a girl and Preston was instantly drawn to her. Falling for her hard and quick. It wasn’t until Preston and the girl started to hook up that Michael ended their friendship and threatened preston’s secret which meant Preston had to stop seeing the girl and he was down a best friend. this has always been hard on the boy and even after trying to fix it with michael the two would only end up fighting again.
PERSONALITY &&. HEADCANONS -
- Being the literal mistake in the chaotic family Preston is a bit of a bitter person. Eye rolling, stubborn, hot headed, and quick to defend himself.
- He’s had no one to stick up for him at home and he learned to do this on his own; he is hated at home and only has been told to never speak of his family ties, even being forced by his half brother to never speak to him in public. This makes him pushed away. The tall boy in the back of crowds; out of the spotlight. Preston is not allowed to be seen. Not wanted and that affects the way he is motivated to show off his actual skills.
-his mother has been his biggest teacher and he has an everlasting respect for woman because of it. He will find himself too ashamed to ever mistreat a girl in fear of his mother finding out.
-As much as preston respects girls, he really loves to hook up with them too, not that he wont show them a good time but if he finds his chance with someone he takes it.
- If he was allowed he’d want to be in art, he’s been a lover of arts since he was a child and he is very good at it but of course he is far too self contentious on being forced down. Preston isn’t even allowed to use his size to play sports and as a result he sneaks off to other cities to fight at night. It’s not safe and he uses a fake name but people cheer for him. They see him it’s the only time he feels at peace… even if that peace is dangerous, illegal, and leaves him in bruises that lead his mother to worry.
- He loves to party; going out and living the life away from that home of his where he is seen as a burden. It’s fun unless his brother is around and the whole time he just gets hard glares to not embarrass him.
- Find him sketching in his books, doodling along the pages or in sketchbooks in the halls of courtyards. Don’t be surprised if you become his muse. He loves drawing people.
- Anger; he’s quick to it no matter how much he doesn’t want to be. He just has been pushed to the side so much that he takes things seriously and any insult will trigger him. Sorry if he fights you, he just finds it easier than anything else.
- Aside from being a hot head though he has taken interest in girls and as most boys do tries to test out his flirtatious ways as much as he can. He might not be the best flirt, as he has been told his scowl and serious attitude seems to drive a pretty girl away at times but he still tries.
C O N N E C T I O N S -
Muse: preston seen this girl around and every time he just... feels something. She makes him happy and even though it might sound creepy... he gets caught more then once sketching her; Fallon Kingsley
I’ll scratch your back you scratch mine: They don’t really get a long but always help each other out when they need it: Alice
Crush; they are always one moment from hooking up and yet it always ends with one of them pulling away with a nervous smile, could be the girl that ended michael and preston’s friendship; daisy
You annoy the hell out of me; always butting heads and yet they hang around the same people; Alice
you’re weird but I kinda like you: preston finds him awkward but nice so he still talks to him from time to time; Hugo
Party buddies/wingmen: Preston is a terrible flirt and at least he’s got; cristian
Friends: just close, eats lunch with, drinks peach mixers at parties; william
Rivals: this person is more than annoying, Preston can’t be in the same room with them without fighting with this person;
hookup, fwb, one night stands, exes; analyn (he was her first time)
the little sibling he never got; she was one of michael’s ex’s when Preston and Michael were still friends, Preston hated that Michael would brag about sleeping with the girl and preston never felt Michael treated her right, he found she was a good girl and deserved to be treated much better. He still is very protective of her and thinks she’s too good for dupont. soshanna
his cash cow; The girl has been a past hook up but now, the only thing she hooks up with preston for is the percentage she gets off his winnings. She tells him where to fight, who he’s fighting, and how to win... and preston hands over some of the money he makes. it’s a good thing they have just... don’t tell her they are friends, she denies it every thime.; Sabina
Preston’s half-brother (or sister): this person got everything from his father that he didn’t and it’s all because his father could, and did, show them off to the world. Preston can’t hate his half-sibling but just once he wants to have his father view him as more than just the “maid’s son”. they are close though, and when they are alone they treat each other like the close siblings they with they could be; diana langston
should be girl: her and preston have a strange relationship. they are close but in a way that hurts him every time. They were a strong thing in high school and he got every attached to her, to this day he would do anything for her... which includes being her booty call every time her and her boyfriend break up. He wants nothing but to keep her happy but he knows that she and her boyfriend will always get back together and he would be stuck waiting for the call to drop everything and go to her when she was crying over her boyfriend; Maddy
the girl who changed it all: she was dating michael, and at this time preston and Michael were still at brother status, best friends no matter how much they fought. But when she came into the picture Preston fell head over heels for her and she had her eyes on Preston as well. They snuck around for the whole time saying they just hung out at the gym or were studying. When Michael found out he and preston fought so bad it ruined their friendship for good and even though Michael was no saint he was greedy and knowing preston loved this girl he wanted the boy to suffer. So to make sure of that he told preston that if he still saw his ex he would tell everyone how much more of a relation he has to the towns big bad political CEO. and no one could know that preston was his son. so preston tried to stay away... only to keep hooking up with her on the down low;
the secret high school hookup: she stole his crayons when they were young and that sparked a feud between them. but a heated feud that had its breaks when the two seemed to be alone... he kissed her in the slide and that opened them up to years of secretly hooking up in high school just for the fun of it. they still act like they hate each other but the door is always open for good memories in between the times they are saying they hate each other; Calla
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Lannisters, Sex, and Power
“Everything is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.” ~ Oscar Wilde
Perhaps I’ve shown my hand a little too soon — perhaps I should have left you hanging. But sex is a key means by which Lannisters in A Song of Ice and Fire (ASOIAF) cement and legitimise power.
Tywin and Joanna
For Tywin and Joanna, this is particularly interesting. Their marriage was not so much a dynastic match (although it had a pertinent symbolic value in ensuring that the world knew that the Lannisters stood together now, and these two young, powerful nobles were its future) as a love match. While it may be tempting to characterise Joanna as someone who is gentle (another example of the “fix-it” ship, where one heals and softens the other — whilst it’s true that Tywin hardened after Joanna died, that does not mean that either of them were gentle before then, except with each other), Tywin does not respect gentleness, does not respect conventional “womanly” attributes. And, again, that is not to say that Joanna did not follow her duty as a lady to the letter (ruling Casterly Rock in her husband’s stead, providing him with counsel when appropriate, bearing perfect golden twins, a willingness to bear him more children) — simply that she should be treated as a person in her own right, and not subjugated to Tywin’s narrative and thematic needs.
Joanna, as I picture her, is very similar to Tywin in her ambition (I think she was going to be married to Lord Lefford before the match with Tywin was proposed? That may be fanfic though — in any case, as a Lannister from a lesser branch, finally making it to the Rock is a dream come true) and in her means. And then, are we really to assume that a woman who has Tywin’s ambition, pride, and commitment to the idea that the end justifies the means would consent to be the King’s mistress? The stories of the mistresses of Aegon IV would have been well-known — not only for their bastard-born children, but for the way in which they were cast aside when the King had had his fill. The idea of being the King’s mistress may have seemed like it had power (and, if your bastard grew ambitious enough, it did, although this is a negatively-coded power), but not as much as one could have as 1) Lady Paramount of the Westerlands, a position matched in prestige only by the Lady Paramount of the North and the Queen Consort, and 2) as a trusted Lady Paramount whose lord was away ruling the kingdom. For all intents and purposes at this time, Joanna would have been ruling Lady Paramount of the Westerlands, far more important than an ordinary wife.
Sex would have been, then, a way for both of them to cement their legacy. Partly because, well, Lannisters are canonically sexually desirable — in the books, Cersei is described as the most beautiful woman in the world, for all her sneers, and Jaime as her twin fares no worse. Even Tywin, aged 58 at the time of his death, is described as broad-shouldered and trim, and was described by Stannis as having been everything that the realm would expect of a King. But also for the potential power that an heir would bring them both, materially and symbolically. Materially, of course, it meant that the succession was secure, and that both Tywin and Joanna had done their marital duties (although whether they truly felt like duties is debatable). But there was a great deal of symbolic importance to this as well. In providing House Lannister with both a healthy son and a healthy daughter, Joanna not only highlighted the ideal of fertility/virility always connected to House Lannister; but also the dynastic potential — in Westeros, loathsome as it is to our modern sensibilities, a daughter is a useful carrot to be dangled in front of unruly lords (if any remained after the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion), and a son, especially if warded with one’s vassals, as Jaime was at Crakehall, would be a nod to tradition, to legacy, and to present prosperity. Just like now, Westerosi economic and political arenas hate uncertainty.
Tywin and Joanna’s marriage was, then, both mutually beneficial and beneficial to House Lannister in terms of present and future prestige and standing in the noble community of Westeros. And it would, therefore, be seen as the benchmark against which all other Lannister marriages were measured.
Kevan and Dorna
As one would expect, we have less canon information about Kevan and Dorna’s marriage, as they are tertiary characters at best, but their marriage represents an important union in Westerlander politics. After the War of the Ninepenny Kings, Tywin demanded hostages from any debtor who could not afford their repayments: to ensure that they would remain true and that they would remember that House Lannister would no longer tolerate insolence or refusal to conform to the responsibilities of a vassal. Indeed, Harys Swyft is said to have said, on learning of Tywin’s demands, “The lion has awoken.”
Dorna Swyft was one such hostage — we can only imagine how she would have felt, mostly because GRRM doesn’t tell us — and it was in this situation that she became betrothed to Kevan.
Kevan is obviously cut from a different cloth to Tywin — one not unlike their father, Tytos. More willing to follow than to lead, gentler (though not necessarily kinder) and more willing to appease than to demand. Whether he and Dorna grew fond of one another or whether it was simply an arrangement by Tywin to ensure that Lord Swyft stayed loyal, Kevan would have obeyed without question, no matter his personal feelings. We can glean two things from this:
1) Kevan and Dorna’s marriage is a sign of the power of House Lannister. Not dissimilar to the threat faced by women in places plagued by Dothraki warriors, the fact that House Lannister can both take the daughter of a vassal and then marry her to one of its menfolk is a clear sign of dynastic power: liege lords asserting their dominance in the feudal system. No matter how happy in marriage they may have become by the time the books begin (and let’s not forget, we only have Kevan’s reflection on that), their marriage would have continued to be a sign of Lannister dominance. But we can see something else in this example.
2) Kevan and Dorna’s marriage is a sign of Tywin Lannister’s power over the lives of others. In linking himself so closely with the fortunes of House Lannister, its dominance heightens his own. Part of it is because of the differences of character between Kevan and Tywin (Kevan would be more likely to obey anyway, regardless of who it was); however it is largely down to Tywin’s own forceful and uncompromising nature that this match was made, and it is another sign of Tywin’s dominance in every area of Lannister life. Again, however happy in marriage Kevan and Dorna may have become by the time of the books, one of the most important decisions in a feudal society was made by Tywin and they have been living by it ever since.
Genna and Emmon
Genna was betrothed to Emmon Frey at the age of 7 and wed to him as soon as she had flowered, and she has been making him pay for it ever since. We know from the text that Emmon has been overpowered by Genna and that she has never let him forget that she is his social better and that he is not worthy of her. Genna and Emmon’s marriage is another example of how potentially disastrous Tytos’ “reign” was. If marriages can be seen as yardsticks for the power of a house in a feudal society, then marrying your only daughter, your key “carrot”, to the second son of a minor and ill-respected house from another Kingdom instead of to one of your principal bannermen (such as the Reynes, which would have avoided so much bloodshed) was a major blow to House Lannister’s credibility and a major blow to Genna’s own reputation: even with Jaime’s assertion that she is “all Lannister”, and even if Emmon were to die and she could remarry, her reputation would be tarnished by the dishonour of a marriage below her station.
That said, I think Genna would have remained faithful to Emmon — the consequences of being found guilty of infidelity would have been far worse than being simply married to him, and there are other ways she can avenge herself on him. By allowing the rumour to persist, she is slowly eroding his reputation, while the fact that he is so intimidated by her means that there is little damage to her own reputation, as he does not challenge her. In doing this, she reminds him that he is not worthy by both Westerosi standards and by her own, as he cannot please her (he has never been satisfactory, and he never will be, and in such a cutthroat environment as House Frey, where we have literal child murderers running wild, looking like you can’t even control your wife is not an option).
Another point to note in this, although it’s not so much linked to sex and marriage as it is to Westerosi gender and feudal expectations: the fact that Genna is described as laughing and joking with household knights etc. mirrors strongly with Ned Stark’s much-praised style of operating, whereby he invites a member of his household to sit at the high table to talk about their business. One could argue that, in this sense, Genna is not only showing that Emmon is not satisfactory, but that even she, a woman, can be a better lord.
Tygett and Darlessa
If we only have a little bit of information about Kevan and Dorna’s marriage, we have less about Tygett and Darlessa, as at least Tygett is dead before the series begins. However, what information we do have suggests that they were not as fortunate as Kevan and Dorna in their match. Lord Marbrand, aside from being Tywin and Tygett’s uncle, is one of the most important bannermen in the Westerlands, as shown by the continued importance of Addam Marbrand in Jaime’s life — their sons are cultivated as friends and allies to the heir, their daughters seen as worthy wives. So on paper, a match between Darlessa and Tygett is only natural.
Despite the apparently beneficial nature of the match, they only had one son. Looking at the age of Tyrek (apparently about 13 at the time of Myrcella’s departure for Dorne), there are two options left to us:
1) Tygett and Darlessa married relatively late for a Westerosi noble couple. (Westeros is early compared to our own medieval average marriage ages). This in turn means that either Tywin specifically reserved Tygett for a Marbrand bride, waiting until Darlessa came of age (and Tywin’s draconian control over his life can only have grated with Tygett); or that Tygett tried to “pull a Blackfish” for as long as possible but, significantly, failed. Which could compound the seeds of resentment already present since their youth and Tywin’s conduct in the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion.
2) Tyrek was born very late in their marriage. This could either have been a calculated example of resistance on Tygett’s part (Tywin may have forced him to marry, but he wouldn’t be able to force him to have sex with his wife any more times than was necessary); or another example, in the Westerosi mindset, of why Tygett just didn’t quite match up to Tywin. Either way, we can see clear signs of how the relationship between Tywin and Tygett fully disintegrated (having already been partway there following Tygett’s horror at Castamere, which doesn’t seem to have been shared by any of his siblings).
Tywin creates such an unliveable goal that it would have been very difficult to live up to. This would, of course, cause further conflict, as Tygett is expected to conform to the Westerosi ideals of masculinity, and all that entails — having to occupy a dominant position in literally every aspect of his life, having to essentially roleplay as Tywin, would have been just as personally damaging as every other part of Tywin’s influence.
Tygett and Darlessa’s marriage can, therefore, tell us a lot about the more coercive nature of marital culture in Westeros. This was a marriage which had power exerted upon it from outside since the beginning, and this did not stop until Tygett’s death from a pox (interesting in itself — it’s not specified what kind, but if it were a venereal disease, Darlessa is not recorded as having had this or having died from it herself; which could suggest that he took it upon himself to relieve his unhappiness in a way designed to remind Tywin of their father…but then that failed too, and led to his death).
Gerion (featuring Joy and the Sailor’s Wife)
Gerion’s an interesting case — despite the fact that he doesn’t ostensibly fit into half of this piece’s remit, Gerion’s attitude to marriage, from what we can glean from the text, is very telling about his character and his relationship with Tywin.
For a start, Tywin is likely the only ‘Lord of the Rock’ that Gerion has ever really known — of course, Tytos was still alive when Gerion was born (indeed, Gerion’s wetnurse became his new mistress after Jeyne Marbrand died — but Gerion himself says: “My lord father would have made a splendid innkeep, but old Toad would have been a better lord”), but the main authority figure in Gerion’s life was…Tywin. This, and the age gap between the brothers, highlights some key aspects to Gerion’s relationship with authority and what this means for his attitude to sex.
1) Gerion’s the youngest of five siblings, the fourth son of Tytos Lannister. He is unlikely to ever have a keep and is therefore not that much of a dynastic catch, despite having the last name “Lannister”. So Gerion is really the only one of the five siblings who can enjoy being a Lannister, with no responsibilities or expectations. He doesn’t even have to attempt to make a name for himself from under Tywin’s shadow, he can kick back and relax. Which, in turn, means that he has a much more relaxed attitude to sex, since he has no form of dynastic responsibility
2) Joy is a key example both of the friction between Tywin and Gerion and of Gerion’s attitude to the world. We never hear of Briony except for the fact that she gave birth to Gerion’s bastard (was she provided for? Perhaps, but certainly not at the Rock, after Tytos’ own mistress — Gerion poked the sleeping dragon, he never stabbed it with a pitchfork) and she and Joy were separated. This last was probably at Tywin’s behest (‘fine, have a bastard, but she will be a Lannister bride with all the responsibilities that that entails’) but Gerion certainly, then, showed no signs of taking responsibility for her. He may not have power in any conventional sense, but he still takes his rights as a Lannister and as a man in Westerosi society.
3) The Sailor’s Wife is also interesting in terms of Gerion and his view of sex. It’s not really clear from the text why the Sailor’s Wife has to marry her clients: but it is quite telling from Gerion’s perspective. For him, because he has no dynastic responsibilities, marriage is a means to an end, and he probably didn’t even think of what would happen after he left and went on to Valyria. He drifts in a way that skips over the line from naivety into thoughtlessness.
4) Every canon piece of information we have about Gerion seems to directly clash with what we know about Tywin: Tywin, proudly connected to Casterly Rock vs Gerion, who seems to have spent as little time in the Rock as he could as soon as he was able to travel; Tywin, who desperately hid any sign that he had extra-marital sex vs Gerion who has two known bastards both bearing his look and one named for the emotion he feels his brother lacks the most; Tywin, desperately committed to legacy vs Gerion, who vanished without a trace. So we can suggest that there is something slightly Freudian, perhaps, in the way that Gerion rebels against everything that Tywin stands for: symbolic patricide.
#asoiaf meta#a song of ice and fire meta#house lannister#tywin lannister#joanna lannister#gerion lannister#kevan lannister#joy hill#dorna swyft#genna lannister#tygett lannister#formerly: kingofthelannisterpride
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you know what? i’m gonna say it. the simplification of the vietnam war as well as vietnam’s current government today under the left and right is frustrating and harmful. the situation of vietnam is so much more complicated than “wow look at this amazing example of communism”. also if you’re a right winger/moderate/anti-leftist of some kind, i don’t want you interacting with this fucking post at all. this isn’t for you. american involvement in vietnam is wrong, has always been wrong. the american military’s treatment of my country has always been disgusting. the viet cong, at the very least, liberated my country from your bloodstained, sinful hands.
america completely razed and destroyed vietnam. an american win would have created literally another genocide (as if they didn’t already commit one during the war) against basically every north vietnamese in the name of...what, your shitty capitalist, imperialist, colonialist democracy? the viet cong liberated vietnam from western imperialism and that much the left gets right.
what the left gets wrong is everything that follows. the re-education camps were actually not that great. it wasn’t just for the re-education of arvn soldiers and the bourgeoisie (many of whom did actually die of illness and overwork. we are all one vietnam? no, everyone knew we weren’t), it was to re-educate the writers and artists (nha ca, her husband, the latter of whom served over fifteen years. he is a poet) and musicians (see trinh cong son and, to some extent, pham duy. pham duy didn’t serve time in the re-education camps, but a lot of his music is actually censored in vietnam because he became a dissident) of what was south vietnam. eventually, even originally viet cong soldiers who disagreed with the corruption of the later government would be sent there too (read up on the writer duong thu huong, a viet cong soldier turned dissident after she had seen the treatment of the south vietnamese under the viet cong government). the conditions were bad. don’t compare it to shit like “at least it wasn’t a gulag” or “the americans would’ve been worse” or something. it was what it was. it wasn’t just re-education, it was forced labor for men and for women, it was a place where they were regularly sexually assaulted by the guards (read duong thu huong’s memories of a pure spring).
people who say that the vietnamese refugees who left vietnam after only because they lost land--sure, it’s true for some, but my parents owned no land. they were poor as shit and because my mother was related to soldiers in the arvn, she wasn’t allowed to attend finish school. my father was born in a nameless fishing village that the government didn’t care for. there was an influx of economic refugees into hong kong’s refugee camps in the eighties who weren’t just fleeing from the effects of the war. there were people who have always been poor and received little help from the government, at least, less help than they were promised. the viet cong performed literal ethnic cleansing on the chinese populations in cholon, which is where we get another influx of refugees as well. not every refugee that left vietnam was a landowner and saying this is overly simple, and disrespectful.
our government today regularly jails, tortures, and beats activists for peaceful protests (see a taiwan company dumped oil around vietnamese waters, ruining the fishing industry). the police and the government are some of the most corrupt in asia. there are poor people cannot receive medical treatment without bribing doctors. i don’t understand why it is the left praises vietnam’s government all while brushing these mistreatments under the rug. is it because every western capitalist + imperialist power is just as bad if not worse? but how does that make this any better? oh right, the left loves that vietnam passed some legislature better recognizing the rights of LGBT people in the country, but what of the internet activists in jail? what about mother mushroom? she isn’t even a fucking capitalist. she’s not bourgeoisie. none of them are. they are regular citizens just want people to recognize the corruption in the government but i never hear a peep about her from anyone as mother mushroom’s going on hunger strike in an unknown jail cell and other activists are being tortured.
i love my country but every time it is used as some kind of symbol of the left or the right’s selfish messages of their ideologies (”vietnam is a communist/socialist utopia, the refugees were landowners who left and made the country better” <=> “look at how shitty vietnam’s become if only us americans had won and made it better by literally killing all the commies”) , i can’t help but feel betrayed.
vietnam is a country that liberated itself from the west’s imperialist powers
vietnam is a country that does not love all of its people
vietnam is a country that has lost and gained so much in the past century
vietnam is a country with so many people and so many histories that surpass simple description
vietnam is not just some fun fact to throw around when you’re promoting your ideology. regardless if you’re right or left.
#just a criticism of the left. i don't know#please keep these things in mind before you use my country#as an example of 'communism works'#and i am not some anti-communist asian. to be fair i'm still figuring things out.#but it makes me very tired when people erase the stories of vietnamese#just to make their ideology look good.#also excuse my bad english i've been studying chinese and speaking mandarin + vietnamese exclusively so...
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RANT TIME
(NB: this is gonna be long and may include some profanity lol sorry not sorry)
Okay, SO! I was at dinner tonight with some family friends and the restaurant we were at had the radio playing lightly in the background, and unsurprisingly, as Taylor is SLAYING the charts, Gorgeous came on and I immediately, very nicely, asked our waiter if she would mind turning it up a little and she was happy to oblige. Anyway, it’s like a minute into the song and the first ding™ was coming up so I was mentally preparing to wink and try my best to do Taylor sassy-sexy smirk thing when the boy I’m out with (he’s a few years younger than me and dead-ass knows how much I fucking LOVE Taylor Alison Swift) goes “ugh, how do you like so much? her music is SO boring, all she writes about are her boyfriends” at which point my mother’s wine glass loudly made contact with the table and my sister started vehemently shaking her head and trying to cut him off because they knew that I WANTED TO FUCKING PUNCH HIS SMUG ASS FACE AND MOST LIKELY WOULD’VE HAD I NOT BEEN IN A CROWDED RESTAURANT IN THE MIDDLE OF LONDON! But, I stayed calm(ish), which was truly a remarkable feat considering that the bridges in Gorgeous are especially emotional to me because Taylor and I bonded over them at the SS, and then went on a long ass rant about why his statement was totally wrong and a product of the sexist and incredibly self-conscious media industry that has made Taylor out to be this man-using slut who falls in love only to make money which let me tell you as someone who has met and spent time with her is THE FURTHEST THING FROM THE TRUTH POSSIBLE!!!!!!!! So, for anyone out there who still buys into that whole character-assassination plot that is Taylor using her exes and boyfriends purely as writing material, listen up whilst I explain to you why the statement set me off so fucking much that I had a whole pub of people listening to me scream at a teenage boy about Taylor Swift on a Friday night.
1. Whether or not meaning to be, it is an ENTIRELY sexist statement to make that Taylor Swift only writes about her love interests because when has the media and/or society EVER criticised a man over using exes and love and break-ups as content for song writing? All successful male artists have written about love at some point, and some of them have been successful because they have ONLY written about love, and never once has anyone had a problem with that or suggested that their music was any less fabulous because of it. Meanwhile, a woman uses her experiences in life which just happen to coincide with her experiences with love and the whole world automatically stirs up this narrative that she’s boy-obsessed, hysterical and has nothing else to write about but those relationships, failed or not. MEN HAVE DONE THE SAME THING OVER AND OVER AND IT HAS NOT BEEN A PROBLEM, TAYLOR DOES IT AND IT MAKES HER UNTALENTED, MAN-HUNGRY AND BORING - WHERE IS THE LOGIC IN THAT?!?! Oh right, it’s back in the Eighteenth fricking century when men thought women were hysterical for acting out and having thoughts/feelings. Honestly, saying Taylor’s music, or any other female artist’s music, is boring because it’s all about love is bullshit because 99% of the music on the market has always been about love from Mozart’s Fur Elise to Beyonce so that is one argument my feminist ass will always take down and hold against you.
2. IT’S 2017 AND TAYLOR HAS PROVED TIME AND TIME AGAIN THAT SHE CAN WRITE MUSIC ABOUT FUCKING ANYTHING! She could literally write a song about a brick wall and it’d go platinum in record time - why? BECAUSE SHE’S THE MOST TALENTED SONG-WRITER OF THIS GENERATION!!!! I can list multiple songs of Taylor’s that have NOTHING to do with romantic love (aka The Best Day, Long Live, Never Grow Up, Eyes Open, Mean, Welcome to New York, Bad Blood, Shake It Off, Look What You Made Me Do etc.) most of which are her biggest hits, like Shake It Off for example which was number 1 in multiple countries for MONTHS! I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT PEOPLE THINK IT’S ORIGINAL/VALID TO MAKE THAT CRITICISM BECAUSE HONESTLY IT’S BEEN TALKED ABOUT TO DEATH AND THERE ARE SO MANY PEOPLE WHO WILL FIGHT TILL THE DEATH TO PROVE THAT LOVE IS NOT THE ONLY THING TAYLOR WRITES ABOUT!!!!!!!
3. “Boring” and “Taylor Swift” do not belong in the same post code let alone the same sentence because Taylor never has been even close to “boring”. She is one of the only artist out there that is in touch enough with their audience and fans to know what they like best and never fails to deliver it. She has changed her sound over the years not just for us, the fans, but also because she naturally recognised the need for a shift in her music (see her comments on Red not wining AOTY at The Grammy’s like it should’ve if you don’t believe me) and there are not many people in the industry who have been courageous enough to take the risk and break away from what made them successful in the first place. Yet, Taylor did and became even bigger and better for it; 1989 was a totally new direction for her and still deeply resonated with ALL her fans from her country days. Name another artist that has successful transitioned from one genre to another so seamlessly, flawlessly and in a way that still keeps true to their sound and themselves?! I’ll be waiting a long time for you to answer that.
4. LOVE IS THE MOST COMMON HUMAN EXPERIENCE EVER!!!!!! Even if it was all Taylor wrote about, which I think it’s safe to say we’ve established is not the case, could you blame her?! We have all had or are going to have an experience of falling in love someday whether it be in a romantic, sexual or platonic way. There is literally nothing more common in humans (other than hearts and lungs and death) than love - it happens to every one of us in our lives despite race or religion or gender or socio-economic class or geography or political stance so of course it is an experience that a writer would want to use as inspiration and share to an audience. Love is in everything from sciences to literature to music - is it really that inconceivable that someone who wants to connect with others would do so by using a universal experience!?!?!
5. Lastly, if it doesn’t have a negative impact on your life or actively harms someone why the fuck do you even care?! Taylor’s music makes SO many people SO incredibly happy (as does Taylor, just saying) so why try to ruin that for them? What has Taylor ever done to you? It is honestly NOBODY’S business who Taylor writes her songs about or who was in mind when it was conceived, whether a fan or a friend, it is her life and her story and she DOES NOT have to share it with anybody unless she wants to and chooses to! SHE DOESN’T OWE US ANYTHING!! And if you know that somebody strongly resonates with her music and is a huge fan of her art, what’s in it for you to make them sad and hurt? Do you think we like to hear people talking shit about someone who has been nothing but kind and loving towards us? It’s not fun being a Swiftie at times because we literally have to spend all our time defending Taylor over and over again from stupid, false and cruel misconceptions about her, we would much rather be out enjoying her music, baking cookies, watching Friends and looking at cat videos on YouTube but instead we need to remind you that Taylor is a fucking person rather than some object you can use and abuse for your own selfish agenda. So, please, keep your opinion to yourself, especially when you know how much @taylorswift means to us.
Basically, you have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about and if you honestly believe the things the media says not only are you stupid but you are undeserving to have your ears blessed by Taylor’s music, and I feel sorry for you that you won’t get to have it in your life because it is fucking amazing!
I know that “Haters Gonna Hate” but really, couldn’t they at least be factually correct instead of hiding behind decade-old jokes and tabloid headlines?!
OH ALSO IN CASE ANY OF Y’ALL WERE WONDERING AFTER MY LITTLE RANT I WAS SO WORKED UP MY MOTHER ACTUALLY LET ME HAVE A GLASS OF WINE TO CALM DOWN WITH AND THE WAITRESS MADE A POINT OF TURNING UP THE RADIO AGAIN WHEN TAYLOR CAME ON (I MADE MY MUM LEAVE A HUGE TIP FOR THAT LEGEND!) AND I FORCED SAID BOY TO WATCH THE READY FOR IT MUSIC VIDEO WITH ME WHILST I PAUSED IT TO EXPLAIN THE METAPHORS AND THE MEDIA AND THEN I BLASTED TAYLOR ON REPEAT AS LOUD AS POSSIBLE TO WRITE THIS.
#taylor swift#taylor swift defense squad#i have lost my chill#AKSJABCMAZXATKA#sorry for the rant#rant over#lol i hope taylor doesn't judge me for this#I'M EMOTIONAL OK#ALSO ITS 1989'S 3RD BIRTHDAY TODAY AND IM SBBING#dont mess with a swiftie
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The Boy In The Bubble, pt.1
If you’re of a certain age, you might just remember a TV movie starring John Travolta, “The Boy In The Plastic Bubble”. Travolta was only TV famous then, not yet movie famous, and the bubble wasn’t literally a bubble, it was all of the plastic suits and rooms and boxes on gurneys that protected Travolta’s character and his broken immune system from the always sunny yet lethal outside world.
It was an innocent story from an innocent time. Of course, no one at that time thought of it as being particularly innocent. In the mid to late 1970s, America was still dealing with the fallout from the Vietnam War, Nixon’s Watergate scandal, the sexual revolution, spiritual curiosity and psychological awakening, the civil rights movement, and the women’s rights movement.
We dealt with none of it well.
Far from learning any actually helpful lessons from the carnage of Southeast Asia, American foreign policy switched from supporting dictators and death squads there to doing so in Central and South America. Those working for Nixon who didn’t end up going to jail, such as Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld, only learned the lesson that next time, whatever they did, they just shouldn’t get caught. That, for them, was Nixon’s only sin.
Meanwhile, whites were fleeing to the suburbs and the cities they left were burning. The religious cults that people fled to for emotional support either fleeced their flocks or convinced them to kill themselves - sometimes both. In the cities and suburbia, depraved serial killers suddenly seemed to be everywhere and spreading like a plague. Children were no longer safe playing outside at night. Worst of all, the decades long threat of nuclear war was rapidly becoming matched by the growing fear of nuclear power and nuclear meltdowns.
All this, and the pandemic that would come to be known as AIDS wasn’t yet even on anyone’s radar. That would come a few years later, about the same time we learned not to trust non-prescription drugs like Tylenol without tamper-proof lids.
And yet, it was a much more innocent time. Perhaps this is because we knew less. We didn’t yet know what we didn’t know, and what our leaders knew, they generally didn’t share. Not that we knew, or even thought to ask. Nixon and the Pentagon Papers destroyed our faith in government, but even then we chose not to seek answers we didn’t want to know.
There’s a lot of willful ignorance now, too, but it has more to do with the corruptions of consumerism and tribalism. Thanks to the internet and mobile devices, we have the ability to learn what our leaders once hid and got away with hiding, and to do with speed that 40 years ago seemed like science fiction.
Sadly, that same technology has allowed us to have what we want when we want it, right down to a reflection of our own, narrow, self-serving political beliefs and the fantasies we require to hide from what we don’t want to know or even see.
We aren’t challenged, we don’t have to be, and to make matters worse we have externalized so much of our collective memory that we each know just about nothing that doesn’t reflect those same narrow, self-serving interests.
We fetishize our ignorance, embracing it as an affectation, something restoring us to and maintaining us in the perceived safety of pre-adolescence. If anyone comes along showing us rational proof that we are wrong, we dismiss them because we can and continue until we absolutely can’t.
If nothing else, this helps explain our current economy and with it our current politics.
We jump from one short term solution to another, from one passion to another. Our collective speculative interest raises the fortunes of politicians as if they were stocks on Wall Street, reducing them to flavors of the week, almost all fading just as quickly as they rise.
To win, a politician needs a hook, something to elicit strong emotions. It must be bold or reckless, or even violent. To sustain that success, a politician needs to keep delivering. What they deliver seems to matter less than the how and the when.
It’s quantity over quality. In short term thinking, quantity will do. You offer options and the enabling audience takes what they want to suit their own short term interests. Everything else is just a cost of doing business. It’s transactional, pure and simple.
Quality demands more from an audience. It answers the rarely asked question of what the audience actually needs rather than what it simply wants. There’s a very good reason that question is rare. Its answer demands a stronger, lengthier commitment, one that requires many to sacrifice what they want for a greater good.
If perfect is the enemy of good, in politics it’s the enemy of winning.
Deliver a clear, rational plan to solve the country’s long term problems and you should be elected; do so without entertaining, without pandering to the basic emotions and short term interest of your audience, and you might as well be one of those brilliant but cancelled shows lost to the Netflix algorithm.
Case in point, Elizabeth Warren. The Massachusetts Senator made a few missteps in her now ended campaign for president, but the further she got the more those errors were dictated by things beyond her control.
The one getting the most press, and deservedly so, is sexism. Of course, sexism played a part in her candidacy’s failure, and that of the other five women who ran (Tulsi Gabbard’s zombie of a campaign was over almost as soon as it started).
So much of our culture, starting with our economy, is built on an imbalance of power. Today’s relationship between employer and employee is little changed from that of the feudal master and apprentice.
In this model of behavior, the apprentice starts out having no power, exchanging time in servitude for an education in a craft. The master, possessing the resource of knowledge which he may share as he chooses, may exploit his apprentice however he pleases.
In the short term, this works for both of them. The master is served and the apprentice learns. An imbalance of power, however, cannot be sustained indefinitely. The more the apprentice learns, the less of an imbalance there is and the more difficult it becomes to exploit him.
To maintain his power, the master has two choices: enable the apprentice so that he may himself become a master and then find a new apprentice to replace him, or abuse the apprentice so that he will be forced to stay as and where he is. The more the master abuses the apprentice, the more the apprentice wants to leave and the more effort must be made to keep him where and as he is, and so the cycle repeats until the apprentice revolts against the master, removing him one way or another.
For decades now, the backlash against unions as well as civil and women’s rights has attempted to maintain an economic underclass, to push men and women back where and as they are supposed to be. This has not been some grand conspiracy. It is just what happens when a group that has had it good finds itself in decline, or merely in competition.
Sadly, this backlash has to a great extent succeeded. Union membership has fallen, partly because union leadership has become disconnected from those they serve and partly because laws have gutted their ability to fight. Civil and women’s rights have never been stronger, but members of those groups face racism and homophobia and sexism transmitted like a virulent plague by bots and trolls hiding behind the perceived safety of anonymity.
For someone representing a group that has been abused and exploited because it was different enough and acceptable enough to be abused and exploited, the challenge of campaigning for office let alone winning an election is daunting. They do from a position of weakness defined by the same imbalance of power that underlies the very culture and economy in which they run.
So, how else can we expect the candidacy of someone on the wrong side of that imbalance to end?
True, Barack Obama won twice, but his victories were an outlier. He was the right, inspiring campaigner at the right economic catastrophe of a time going up against Republicans who failed to show either economic competence or empathy when it was most needed. Had it not been for the idiotic deregulation of banking that helped John McCain and Mitt Romney’s most important campaign contributors, Obama may have faced far stiffer competition both times. He might even have lost.
Obama was helped, too, by changes in our culture. Black, male presidents had already been portrayed as competent, empathic heroes in popular films and television shows. All he had to do was inhabit the role, and he did so as if those earlier films and shows had been written specifically with him in mind. If only he had their script writers.
He arrived with a mandate for change, and yet in his two terms Obama just about gave it all away. Part of that was because even as “the most powerful man on the planet” he was still on the wrong side of an imbalance of power. An unscrupulous Republican-led Congress obstructed him at every turn, nakedly serving the very wealthy at the expense of everyone else and daring him to call them on it.
He never really did. Perhaps this was because, as a follower of The Chicago School and “Clinton” Democrat, he simply agreed with many of the Republican’s “business friendly” policies. Mostly, though, it was because of the color of his skin, which those same Republicans and their business friends exploited to stir up fear and hatred in communities facing decline, ones looking for an other to blame.
What’s odd is that Obama won in many of those regions, even as congressional Republicans shifted their party further and further towards the naked racism and scapegoating of Donald Trump. Those people, the ones who voted for both Barack Obama and Donald Trump, really did seem to want change, and perhaps still do.
Could Warren have won in those regions? Possibly. Campaigning as a woman meant that she, too, had to curb her sharp edges the way Obama did, and for a while that seemed to be working. But then it didn’t.
That, ultimately, had less to do with being a woman and more to do with being a brand.
Bernie Sanders is a brand. So is Joe Biden. The difference between them and the twenty-something candidates they have so far beaten has been name recognition. You might be thinking, “What do you mean, ‘name recognition’? Everybody knows who Elizabeth Warren is by now!”, and to an extent you’d be right. But you’d also be wrong.
What the Bernie and Biden brands have going for them is longevity. Brand loyalty is built on habit, and people having a good feeling about a brand for a long time is an enormous advantage. It’s incumbency by another name.
The Bernie brand has been around for four years and it remains strong, in no small part because it has big ideas that require no detail whatsoever. Ask any die-hard Bernie fan to describe his Medicare For All plan in any kind of detail, and the vast, vast majority won’t be able to. It would be great if they could. It would be great if they even took the time and effort to look it up. Few do.
So few people do, in fact, that the insurance lobby has gotten away with painting it as irresponsibly expensive - it isn’t - and even aired a commercial during the South Carolina debate in which they claimed that it would raise already expensive insurance premiums. Medicare For All doesn’t even have premiums! Aside from one article published just last week in the New York Times, no one in the media even caught on. That should embarrassing all of us.
Still, the Bernie brand is strong. He represents a fantasy of what our country could and should be for a growing percentage of the population. That he may not be able to achieve his campaign promises is beside the point. That is, it’s beside the point for enough of his fans - the real fans, not the possibly Russian and/or alt right Bernie Bots - that they don’t want to hear about it.
That, naturally, hurt Warren. The cold, hard reality of what we must do for each other has long been her brand. That means details, and details mean quality, which requires long term thinking on the part of an audience, which means good luck back in the Senate.
Too late, she tried to pivot to place herself as the sensible choice halfway between Sanders and Biden, but sensible isn’t a choice voters like to have to make, and Biden’s brand has proven to be just as strong as Sanders’.
Biden’s strengths both match and mirror those of Sanders. His name recognition was so great that before he even announced he was the frontrunner. He was a popular vice president, endearingly known for gaffes, not policy. The details of his past are not pretty, not if you were on the wrong side of that imbalance of power.
His current power, however, rests in fantasy, one equal and opposite to that of Sanders in one very specific way: Joe Biden is the “safe” choice, promising to return us to a happier past.
In his case, it’s life before Trump, which is quite a fantasy to have when you consider just how bad things were under Obama. This is because life under Obama was ruled not by him but by his nemeses in Congress, Mitch McConnell and Paul Ryan, who together pushed the imbalance of power in the country almost all the way back to the time before unions or civil rights or women’s rights really took hold.
It was their effort, along with their friends in business and in the right wing media, that paved the way for Donald J. Trump to take Movement Conservatism and make it his own. They, of course, were just building on the work of Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld, who rode the Bush family brand back into the White House and rode American credibility and the American economy right into the ground.
They were as responsible as anyone for the election of Barack Obama. That was the America we wanted to leave behind. Now, we have something far worse.
The idea of going backwards to something better is a terrible brand to have for Democrats. It’s one built on fear. It’s one built on short term, transactional thinking. Biden’s solution to our growing health care problems is to slap a patch on it, to tweak it here and there. He, too, doesn’t have any details, but he isn’t offering them because it’s an advantage not to. We want fantasy, we want that protective bubble, and the fantasy he’s selling of leaving this toxic world behind is plenty.
For now.
Biden currently has momentum and it may well be enough to secure the nomination before the party convention this summer. If he does, expect Sanders to endorse him and campaign with him in order to rid the country of the one thing they both agree it needs to lose: Donald Trump.
Do not, however, expect a campaign filled with details. The fantasy, writ large with big, bold messaging and one main theme, is all you will get. It may be all want, especially if he succeeds.
Then what?
- Daniel Ward
#the boy in the plastic bubble#politics#economics#fantasy#2020 democratic primary#2020 presidential race#elizabeth warren#medicare for all#bernie sanders#joe biden#primaries#democrats#republicans#barack obama#bill clinton#hillary clinton#neocons#chicago school#john travolta#long reads#john mccain#mitt romney#george w. bush#dick cheney#donald rumsfeld#richard nixon#watergate#donald trump
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