[FIC] Big Chicago, by Samaelthekind
Title: Big Chicago
Author: samaelthekind
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~173K (36 chapters for now)
Warnings: Explicit sex, Non-magic AU, angst, dub con, non-con, drug usage, rape, humiliation, cross-dressing (as Drake says it himself, he is a " queen who prefers to dress as a woman but still keeps the parts that make him a boy.") Oh, and it's NOT COMPLETE YET.
Summary: Drake Malfoy is serving his seventh year in prison for acting as a drug mule for his old boyfriend, then a green eyed man shows up and turns his world upside down.
Why I loved it: First, let me just say I never read AUs, because they're not my cup of tea. Second, I am not crazy about stories involving most of the warnings listed above. Third, I never read stories that are not complete, because it is way too frustrating. So when I started reading this last summer, knowing it had not been updated in three years, I wanted to stop. But then I just couldn't. I couldn't put this story down. I read it almost in one go, and then read it again.
I just fell in love with it, as much as I fell in love with Drake. It is absolutely amazing, very well written, intense and so, so beautiful. A very unique love story. It takes place in a universe that I'm not familiar with, but it's so well done that you'll be drawn into it without even noticing. This is the kind of story that will stay with you, and haunt you for a long, long time.
AND the great thing is, its author, samaelthekind has just resurfaced here on LJ, and has started posting his stories on AO3 AND is currently completing unfinished stories. So there is great hope for this one as well! :D *keeping my fingers crossed*
Anyway, please don't let yourself be put off by the warnings. Just go and read it. You won't regret it! :D
Excerpt:
These are the very first lines of the story.
This is what it comes down to. Hands clenched around steel bars, teeth gritted quietly, eyes closed while another pumps into my body. It isn’t an act of desire…it’s a matter of claiming property. It’s stress relief in a pressure cooker for humans. It’s silence broken by the small, wet sounds of a greased hole being used roughly and quickly and the terse grunts of the unsophisticated bastard behind me taking his pleasure. This is hell. This is where bad people go for good reasons. By that definition, I must be a bad person. I must deserve this somehow…someway. This is a federal penitentiary, where the worst dwell among the worst. This is my life, but it wasn‘t always like this. I came from heaven where the angels sip champagne and worry over brand names. It was a long way to fall.
My family was Old South nobility, back when things like that still mattered. After the Civil War they lost everything and moved north looking for a new start. My great-grandfather was a shrewd investor, and so was my grandfather. As for my father, by the time he took the helm of the family and controlled the fortune that had been left to him, he could have lit his cigars with thousand dollar bills and still never exhausted the interest on our accounts. Naturally, this being Chicago, he went for politics.
Father was the kind of man who made other people feel like they worked for him…even if they were nominally supposed to be the one in charge. The city aldermen of Chicago are a viper’s nest of movers and shakers and money makers, but without the need for obvious graft, my father quickly became untouchable. It was never about money…it was all about power and influence. In truth, now that I can look back, life really doesn’t deviate much from that in prison. It’s cruder and even more brutal, but it works the same as anywhere else.
I have come to realize that, no matter how much I adored her as a child, my mother is a self indulgent lush interested only in her own comforts. She is the ultimate trophy wife, and never complained because she really couldn’t have cared less. Her husband is rich, she has everything she wants, so nothing really matters. She’s little more than a glorified blonde lapdog to my father, but that’s neither here nor there. I know these things because I take after her in many ways.
Ours was the kind of family born into isolated luxury. Gated mansion and servants at beck and call. Cars and chauffeurs, stables and horses, gardens and parties that took weeks to plan. I am the product of private academies and tutors and piano lessons. I can speak French and Italian and Spanish and write or compose in them just as well as in English. It rather makes the irony of surviving based solely on my ability to sate an engorged cock somewhat more embittering, don’t you think?
Among the upper class, being beautiful is a way of life. It is the norm. People wonder why the spectacularly wealthy always possess the glow of good health and look younger than they are. There is a reason for things being that way. It’s called money. Doctors, nutritionists, dentists, plastic surgeons, personal coaches and an endless array of professionals who can help you change anything you don’t like about yourself. All it takes is money.
Only when one is poor or of the lowest class is being beautiful a crime or a curse. You become vulnerable to those who hate you for being what they can never be. Even if all you have to call your own is the image of beauty and success…the fantasy of what it must be like to be as fabulous as the rock stars or famous actors, there are a hundred bitter souls who would take pleasure from stripping even that from you…just because they can. Those kind of people tend to wind up here.
This is where beauty is a curse. It damns you to servitude or suffering, slavery or death. If you aren’t strong enough to take, you become the taken. This is where I fit in. There shouldn’t be any shame in being beautiful, but here, in this forsaken place, I wish I’d been born disfigured, or obscenely hairy, or morbidly obese. Anything but willow slender and smooth as a girl. Here, the way I look makes me a commodity. The only virtue in it is that, being exceptionally pretty, it was inevitable that whoever was strongest would claim me as their own, jealously guarding what they took to be their property.
Author: samaelthekind
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~173K (36 chapters for now)
Warnings: Explicit sex, Non-magic AU, angst, dub con, non-con, drug usage, rape, humiliation, cross-dressing (as Drake says it himself, he is a " queen who prefers to dress as a woman but still keeps the parts that make him a boy.") Oh, and it's NOT COMPLETE YET.
Summary: Drake Malfoy is serving his seventh year in prison for acting as a drug mule for his old boyfriend, then a green eyed man shows up and turns his world upside down.
Why I loved it: First, let me just say I never read AUs, because they're not my cup of tea. Second, I am not crazy about stories involving most of the warnings listed above. Third, I never read stories that are not complete, because it is way too frustrating. So when I started reading this last summer, knowing it had not been updated in three years, I wanted to stop. But then I just couldn't. I couldn't put this story down. I read it almost in one go, and then read it again.
I just fell in love with it, as much as I fell in love with Drake. It is absolutely amazing, very well written, intense and so, so beautiful. A very unique love story. It takes place in a universe that I'm not familiar with, but it's so well done that you'll be drawn into it without even noticing. This is the kind of story that will stay with you, and haunt you for a long, long time.
AND the great thing is, its author, samaelthekind has just resurfaced here on LJ, and has started posting his stories on AO3 AND is currently completing unfinished stories. So there is great hope for this one as well! :D *keeping my fingers crossed*
Anyway, please don't let yourself be put off by the warnings. Just go and read it. You won't regret it! :D
Excerpt:
These are the very first lines of the story.
This is what it comes down to. Hands clenched around steel bars, teeth gritted quietly, eyes closed while another pumps into my body. It isn’t an act of desire…it’s a matter of claiming property. It’s stress relief in a pressure cooker for humans. It’s silence broken by the small, wet sounds of a greased hole being used roughly and quickly and the terse grunts of the unsophisticated bastard behind me taking his pleasure. This is hell. This is where bad people go for good reasons. By that definition, I must be a bad person. I must deserve this somehow…someway. This is a federal penitentiary, where the worst dwell among the worst. This is my life, but it wasn‘t always like this. I came from heaven where the angels sip champagne and worry over brand names. It was a long way to fall.
My family was Old South nobility, back when things like that still mattered. After the Civil War they lost everything and moved north looking for a new start. My great-grandfather was a shrewd investor, and so was my grandfather. As for my father, by the time he took the helm of the family and controlled the fortune that had been left to him, he could have lit his cigars with thousand dollar bills and still never exhausted the interest on our accounts. Naturally, this being Chicago, he went for politics.
Father was the kind of man who made other people feel like they worked for him…even if they were nominally supposed to be the one in charge. The city aldermen of Chicago are a viper’s nest of movers and shakers and money makers, but without the need for obvious graft, my father quickly became untouchable. It was never about money…it was all about power and influence. In truth, now that I can look back, life really doesn’t deviate much from that in prison. It’s cruder and even more brutal, but it works the same as anywhere else.
I have come to realize that, no matter how much I adored her as a child, my mother is a self indulgent lush interested only in her own comforts. She is the ultimate trophy wife, and never complained because she really couldn’t have cared less. Her husband is rich, she has everything she wants, so nothing really matters. She’s little more than a glorified blonde lapdog to my father, but that’s neither here nor there. I know these things because I take after her in many ways.
Ours was the kind of family born into isolated luxury. Gated mansion and servants at beck and call. Cars and chauffeurs, stables and horses, gardens and parties that took weeks to plan. I am the product of private academies and tutors and piano lessons. I can speak French and Italian and Spanish and write or compose in them just as well as in English. It rather makes the irony of surviving based solely on my ability to sate an engorged cock somewhat more embittering, don’t you think?
Among the upper class, being beautiful is a way of life. It is the norm. People wonder why the spectacularly wealthy always possess the glow of good health and look younger than they are. There is a reason for things being that way. It’s called money. Doctors, nutritionists, dentists, plastic surgeons, personal coaches and an endless array of professionals who can help you change anything you don’t like about yourself. All it takes is money.
Only when one is poor or of the lowest class is being beautiful a crime or a curse. You become vulnerable to those who hate you for being what they can never be. Even if all you have to call your own is the image of beauty and success…the fantasy of what it must be like to be as fabulous as the rock stars or famous actors, there are a hundred bitter souls who would take pleasure from stripping even that from you…just because they can. Those kind of people tend to wind up here.
This is where beauty is a curse. It damns you to servitude or suffering, slavery or death. If you aren’t strong enough to take, you become the taken. This is where I fit in. There shouldn’t be any shame in being beautiful, but here, in this forsaken place, I wish I’d been born disfigured, or obscenely hairy, or morbidly obese. Anything but willow slender and smooth as a girl. Here, the way I look makes me a commodity. The only virtue in it is that, being exceptionally pretty, it was inevitable that whoever was strongest would claim me as their own, jealously guarding what they took to be their property.