#pink academic essays
Text
Jackie, Marilyn, and Elle: Comparing and Contrasting two ICONS to remind us that Warner was WRONG
Too BLONDE?? An Introuction
Elle Woods’ iconic journey in Legally Blonde is prompted by Warner Huntington III breaking up with her.The comments made are how Warner needs to be “serious,” and the deep blow of how if he’s to be a senator, he needs to marry “a Jackie, not a Marilyn.”
While in the musical, the scene adds an implication that Warner thinks Elle is “tacky,” Elle’s thought process leads her to summarise Warner’s viewpoint as being that Elle is “too blonde.”
Warner sees Marilyn Monroe and Jackie Kennedy as being two polar opposites- one the sultry actress knows for ‘bimbo’ film roles, and the other the respectable wife of the President of the United States.
But Elle can’t fathom differences between these women aside from their appearance.
Let us analyse what can be compared and contrasted between two iconic women.
In the climax of Legally Blonde, Elle discovers that Chutney Wyndham is the real perpetrator due to her knowledge of hair care. As Elle notes, “any Cosmo girl would’ve known.” It is Elle’s feminine knowledge that guides her to victory in her very first trial. With that in mind, let us examine the feminine knowledge of Marilyn and Jackie as our real-life role models to Elle Woods, and uncover just why she sees so little difference between these fascinating women.
A note before we begin: this is not a competition. But Warner sees it that way, and the purpose therefore is to remind him just how wrong he is.
Marilyn Monroe: Political Powerhouse
Firstly, Marilyn Monroe is known to most as either the glamorous actress of 1950s films- such as the notorious Gentlemen Prefer blondes, which certainly could have influenced Elle’s mindset, especially with the pink drama of the Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend sequence. Others may know her from regularly recreated images, such as her holding her blowing-up skirt from The Seven Year Itch, or the pop art portrait by Andy Warhol.
Either way, the most prominent images in the heads of many in regards to Marilyn Monroe are glamorous, sexy, feminine- and blonde and pink, of course.
Famously, like Elle, Marilyn’s femininity and sex appeal lead her to being boxed into roles of the comedic blonde bombshell, though the fought to be out of her typecasting.
After the success of “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” and “How to Marry a Millionaire,” Marilyn was offered what would have been a third ‘dumb blonde’ in “The Girl in Pink Tights,” she not only refused, but CNN’s article ‘How Marlyn took the male-led film industry and flipped it on its head” notes that she reportedly labelled it “Trash.”
In that same article, Mira Sorvino is quoted. “She was the main attraction,” the actress notes, saying “she was the reason people flocked to the theatre. So it was insane that she wasn’t in a more powerful position in terms of salary.” The reference here is to Marilyn’s discovery that Frank Sinatra, her would-be co-star in “The Girl in Pink Tights” was offered $5000, while Marilyn was offered $1,500- a third of Frank’s pay.
The article points out that Marilyn’s contract was changed after the snub, showing Marilyn to be valuing her feminine charm and wiles that made her studio so much money and garnered them so much attention. Is this why Warner does not wish for Elle to see Marilyn as aspirational, given she was something of an upstart?
Not to mention, Warner doesn’t seem like the biggest advocate for equal pay…
A lesser-known contribution that Marilyn made to her society was in the civil rights movement, drawing attention to Ella Fitzgerald.
The Biography article by Sara Kettler titled “Ella Fitzgerald and Marilyn Monroe: Inside Their Surprising Friendship” opens with a photo of the songstress and the starlet smiling together in conversation. Kettler notes how Marilyn helped Ella get a gig in Mocambo, the famous LA nightclub. Marilyn “promised to come every night” that Ella was booked, and to “bring along other celebrities.” With this promise of publicity, Ella was granted several weeks employment at the famous club.
Kettler also notes that, despite Ella’s success, some clubs would hire Ella, but still have her enter through the side door “due to the colour of her skin.” In order to combat such prejudice, Marilyn “refused to go inside unless both she and Fitzgerald were allowed through the front doors.
Marilyn may not have been dying on the front lines of the civil rights movement, but she was using her status to forward the career of someone directly affected by said movement.
Marilyn used a name built as a blonde bombshell in order to be an influential activist, just as Elle Woods being a Cosmo girl is what won her her first legal trial.
Have we emphasised enough that Warner doesn’t know his rear end from his elbow when it comes to powerful women? Perhaps Warner doesn’t want a Marilyn, not because she’s blonde, but because she was an upstart who knew her own mind and fought to make her own way in the world. Is that just too much for him to handle?
Jackie Kenney: First Lady of Fashion
On the side of Jackie Kennedy, later Jackie Onassis, she is of course best known due to her time as First Lady of the United States. She was from a respectable family, studied French literature in university, and is perceived largely as classy, elegant, and educated. To this day, she is cited as an image of grace, with This week in Libraries magazine writing “In the realms of elegance, poise, and grace, one name reigns supreme- Jackie Kennedy.”
While Jackie’s other accomplishments are not to be overlooked, let us focus on traditionally feminine aspects of life that she has embodied to remember the value of both aspects of her, and of Elle.
As Vogue writes, “Before Jackie graced the halls of the White House, she trod those of this very magazine,” referring to her job as junior editor of Vogue, immediately showing that, like Elle, Jackie not only had political potential, but fashion icon potential early on in her life.
It should be noted that Jackie “quit by mid-morning,” as the environment was not suited to her goals, however, she is still heavily associated with the magazine as she contributed to salvaging the Temple of Dendur, which has played host to the Met Gala, as noted by Vogue.
This Week in Libraries also notes Jackie as a “Style Icon,” praising her boucle suits, pearls, and, of course, her pillbox hats- the latter being described as “synonymous with her name.”
It’s also not just her connection with Vogue that cements Jackie’s name in the world of fashion, as countless articles have addressed her style as “timeless” or “iconic,” so why exactly does Warner have such an issue with committing to a woman with a degree in fashion merchandising?
Town and Country’s list “11 Brands Jackie Kennedy Loved” notes how Gucci named the Jackie bag after her, and I wish for that kind of influence for Elle Woods, which I thibk highlights just how much of an influence that Jackie would have potentially had on Elle.
Warner, your Jackie was in front of you all along.
And of course, while steeped in tragedy, it is nonetheless fair to say that one of the most iconic images of Jackie is of her pink suit on the day of her husband’s assassination. Loathe to overlook the horrors of such an event, but be that as it may, it emphasises that Jackie Kennedy is just as pink and pretty as Marilyn Monroe.
In the Legally Blonde sequel Red, White, and Blonde, Elle even sports a tribute to this suit, which really sends home how far Warner is from the mark.
On that note, let us now discuss beautiful pink outfits worn by Jackie to intensify how connected Jackie can be to Elle. Firstly, the aforementioned suit became an iconic moment of defiance as Jackie bore the bloodstains, cited as saying “let them see what they’ve done.”
She also had a similar sleeveless suit designed by Oleg Cassini, as well as a matching coat and hat worn in New Delhi.
One of her other beautiful pink moments was a floor length, strapless Dior gown worn with white opera gloves. Other pink outfits include a dress with a unique pink bow detail by Joan Morse, and a high-collared suit by Oleg Cassini. The point here is not to simply list pink outfits, but to remind us that a woman- such as Elle- can be fashionable, elegant, and bright pink, AND be a force of change.
Elle Woods knows that Marilyn and Jackie had it all: fashion girl status, and cultural and political know-how; and frankly, it’s lucky for her that Warner knew less about these iconic women than she did.
Always have Faith in Yourself
And to my masculine girls, you’re the real winners here, because Warner would probably be threatened by your vibes. Not only are you valid, but take comfort in not attracting Warner Huntington III.
Let us remember to value our own self worth, just as Elle did when she shows us all how valuable she could be- and she did it in a playboy costume.
WE DID IT!! To Conclude
In conclusion, my place is not to overlook one woman, or pit her against another; it is not to overlook one woman’s achievements and put them against the achievements of another woman; it is not even to claim traditional femininity as a pinnacle of achievement, or to explore what it means to be a feminist, or anything so grandiose.
My intention here is just to remind us all, whether we relate more to the story of a Marilyn or a Jackie, to always have faith in ourselves, and to always remember that the Warner Huntington III we have in our own lives is a bonehead.
#essay#pink academia#pinkacademic#pink academic essays#elle woods#legally blonde#marilyn monroe#jackie kennedy
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
“I’m Wicked Through and Through,” Wicked’s Elphaba and Internalised Racism
The musical Wicked has been a Broadway and West End hit for over fifteen years, telling the story of the Witches of Oz from before Dorothy fell out of the sky. It follows their school days, how they became involved in the political landscape of Oz, and most importantly, it tells of their friendship and love.
For Elphaba, who would go on to become the Wicked Witch of the West, it is also a story of how she became a scapegoat for the citizens of Oz despite her good intentions. Though there are many factors for her descent into wickedness, one that she can never get away from is how she feels about the emerald green colour of her skin.
Her skin colour causes other people that she encounters to stare, to laugh, and to fear, and it is an obstacle to acceptance that Elphaba tries desperately to overcome.
This is a story of flying monkeys and broomsticks, of witches and wizards and whirlwinds, but also of race and how it affects how a person is seen by others, and most importantly, by themselves.
She’s a Terror, She’s a Tartar
Wicked serves as a strong metaphor for external racism, as seen by how others interact with and view Elphaba, and it is no wonder that she might feel so negatively about her own colouration when she is faced so frequently with such attitudes. To begin with, her very birth is seen as “atrocious,” “obscene,” and “unnatural,” as stated in No One Mourns the Wicked, with her father crying “take it away, take it away,” and ingraining negative self-perception from the moment Elphaba was broght into the world.
It does not go away as she ages, and, as she arrives at Shiz, her fellow students call her “a terror,” “a tartar,” and the Ozian coinage of “disgusticified.” What is this Feeling continues to announce the entire student body’s “loathing, unadulterated loathing” of Elphaba with the only reason they have chosen to do so being the colour of Elphaba’s skin.
Finally, it is stated by Madam Morrible in an attempt to make a her an enemy of an Oz that “her green skin is but an outward manifestation of her twisted nature,” before at last calling her “the Wicked Witch.”
It is clear that Elphaba has every reason to feel thusly about herself when she faces a barrage of prejudice with the only exceptions being Glinda, Fiyero, and a rather complicated relationship with her sister Nessa-Rose
“Would it be alright by you If I de-greenify you?"
Elphaba spent her whole life internalising these thoughts and wishing to look like her sister and her peers. Upon meeting her Shiz classmates, she’s so used to years of silly questions that she introduces herself with pre-prepared answers that she was born this way and didn’t eat grass as a child. As Suzanne Lipsky describes internalised racism as “turning upon ourselves, upon our families, and upon our own people the distress patterns that result from the racism and oppression of the majority society.” Elphaba is exemplary of this definition, as she notes that she is used to he father ‘not being proud of her’ and her sister ‘acting ashamed’ as described in “The Wizard and I.” Except, even her own family are in her case part of her problem, as Elphaba is the only known green witch.
As The Wizard and I continues, Elphaba’s internalised racism comes truly to the forefront as she imagnes a scenario in which the wizard changes her skin colour to a non-green- or, more acurately, to “de-green-ify” her. She’s hoping that, because she is “so superior” in her magical abilities, that her appearance should match, showing how she feels inferior to her peers due to the colour of her skin, despite her impressive skills in magic. She equates it with ‘goodness’ also, foreshadowing the later association of the colour of her skin with wickedness as the musical.
The Milk Flowers
Elphaba’s internalised racism continues to be a prevalent issue in her life, even as she gains more acceptance through Glinda. Though Glinda resigns herself to being Elphaba’s “pal, sister, advisor” in Popular, it is after Elphaba has confessed that she believes it to be “[her] fault” that her sister Nessa Rose is “they way she is,” referring to her disability. As their father had his concerns that Nessa would “come out green” as Elphaba had, he encouraged the girls’ mother to eat milk flowers, which is believed to have caused Nessa’s premature birth and disabilty, and the demise of their mother.
While surely it should be clear that, if anyone is to blame at all, it is Elphaba’s father and not Elphaba herself, it was Elphaba who shouldered, and internalised the guilt for her whole life. Elphaba’s father, the governor of Munchkinland, expresses these views for all of Elphaba’s life, and, to take a brief pause for speculation: as an important political figure in Oz, the governor could have used his influence to spread or fuel existing prejudices- not to mention ableism against Nessa Rose which aids his discriminatory practises towards Elphaba. It should be noted that there is little basis for the accusation, other than the language used around Nessa’s disability being unfavourable, Elphaba’s treatment from her father, and his position in society according to the musical.
That said, the point remains that Elphabas home life was influential in her self-loathing and internalised racism.
One Short Day
In her lifetime of overwhelming loathing for herself and the colour of her skin, Elphaba has placed all of her hope in the Wizard of Oz, in the hopes that he won’t be “dumb” or “small-minded” like the Munchkins of Munchkinland, or the students of Shiz. By association, Elphaba falls in love with the Emerald City, a place where everything is a bright, glittering green. The musical makes the crucial visual addition of giving green sunglasses to all of the dancers in the Emerald City scenes. They would never even notice that Elphaba is green if they are seeing everything through carnation-tinted glasses. Instead of discrimination, Elphaba is greeted only by the hoi polloi of the Emerald City, where “it’s all grand” and “it’s all green” as she exclaims with joy.
One Short Day is the heartbreaking turning point in Elphaba’s life as it represents both her highest high and the pivitol descent to Elphaba’s supposed Wickedness. Elphaba gets to walk through the Emerald City, surrounded by green buildings, green dresses, and green-tinted sunglasses. The citizens welcome her and guide her to Wiz-o-mania, and she and her best freind Glinda sing together: “I think we've found the place where we belong!”
But it after that song concludes and Elphaba meets the Wizard as she’s been dreaming of “since birth,” that her world comes crashing down around her and she is set off on the journey that exposes the truth of the oft-quoted statement “one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.”
Let all Oz be agreed, I’m WICKED Through and Through!
Elphaba’s internalised racism, blended together with the outward racism of her peers in Act Two, which opens in Act Two when we learn of the propaganda that has been spread since Elphaba’s last defiant stand in Defying Gravity. Citizens of Oz sing that Elphaba is “ev'ry day, more wicked,” and that ev'ry day, the terror grows.” It is made clear that all of Oz has upped their racism ten-fold, claiming that she is “spreading fear where e'er she goes.” And actually, the Wizard recognises the nature and danger of spin in Wonderful, noting “a man’s called a traitor- or a liberator […] it’s all in what label is able to persist.”
Unfortunately for Elphaba, the racism of others has lead the label of Wicked to be the persisting one, and it is only at this point, the point of no return, that she uses it for herself.
In her desperation to save Fiyero from harm in No Good Deed, she transforms him, likely irreperably into the scarecrow as he is known from the Wizard of Oz. This is also after having turned Boq into the Tinman, and allowing Nessa to walk with enchanted silver slippers which will go on to be the last image that exists of her after her untimely demise. She feels at this point that she must be truly Wicked, as even when she tries to do good, she causes bad things to happen, saying:
“Sure, I meant well -well, look at what well-meant did,” and resigning herself to never do good again.
Although just one song previously, Elphaba makes an attempt to claim the word as having a positive connotation when she’s with Fiyero, the chance is gone.
The article 6 Signs of Internalized Racism (and How To Heal) from disorient.co quotes Steve Biko saying “the most potent weapon of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed.”
To me, this perfectly reflects Elphaba’s attitudes towards her own failings. She breaks the flow of her own spell in No Good Deed to shriek about how she feels it is futile, which, by my speculation, could have caused Fiyero to turn to straw, rather than her own inabilities. But because she has had such a negative view of herself her whole life, she does not consider herself able to save him.
Defying Gravity
But is there a happy ending for Elphaba? Can there be a way to overcome internalised racism for someone who has become a terrorist in her home country? Everything admittedly seems bleak when Elphaba makes Glinda promise not to clear her name, and leaves Oz, intending never to return.
Perhaps I am overly optimistic, but I wish to explore the routes through which Elphaba could find happiness again.
The previously mentioned article, 6 Signs of Internalized Racism (and How To Heal), lists six ways to heal from the trauma of one’s internalised racism. Of those, one that may have some applications for Elphaba’s life after the events of Wicked is number three: “Seek counseling and healing on our memories of internalized racism […]
As previously mentioned, Elphaba does have a brief moment of trying to reclaim her Wickedness in a positive light, which fits well with one of the example prompts as written by Suzanne Lipsky, “What has been good about being Black?”
Elphaba’s being called wicked stemmed only from her attempts to help animals who were being harmed by the Wizard’s schemes, and everyone who worked with him, such as Madame Morrible. Elphaba’s “road of good intentions” really was a road of good intentions. She was just a scapegoat because she threatened to undo the balance in society that had been following the Wizard’s lead since he blew in “on the winds of chance.”
If Elphaba could remember that, and learn to appreciate the good that she did, and realise that she did have “wickedness thrust upon her” as suggested by Glinda in the opening moment of the musical, then hopefully, she can heal.
I like to believe also, by pure speculation, that Elphaba and Fiyero, though having to live low as they are both well-known political figures in Oz… and one of them is rather uniquely green, they still managed to live a simple, happy life, away from Oz.
I also like to belive in the hope that Glinda rebuilt a more tolerant Oz, as the only other person who knew the truth that Elphaba was not wicked, but good. Perhaps they will reunite someday as two best friends should, and maybe they’ll even have more days in the Emerald City together as they deserved.
Conclusion
Wicked is as much about Elphaba’s internal struggles with the colour of her own skin and the stigmas that she’s had to face in relation to that trauma as it is about Elphaba as a witch of Oz. Internalised racism creates such a barrier in her own mind to what she’s capable of, and external racism is what sent her onto the path of so-called Wickedness in the first place. Elphaba is a perfect case study for internalised racism, as maybe the true Wickedness stems from racism.
Ultimately, Wicked is a highly political musical, dealing with propaganda and the complicated nature of what is wicked and what is good, and Elphaba’s struggles are a huge part of that.
It is up to everyone to fight their own prejudices, and build a space where wickedness can be reclaimed for good.
#pink academia#pink#academia#pink academic#pink academic essays#wicked#wicked musical#elphaba#elphaba thropp#it looks weird that the titles aren't pink but i couldn't not do green#btw im not an expert#ive never experienced internalised racism#im just trying to learn
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
that movie was the nail in the coffin of feminism
#barbie#that video essay saying that by making barbie into a human character Mattel effectively managed to make it apolitical#and by making people feel bad about her they absolved themselves of their own crimes ....#its crazy how well it work like people truly reacted like barbie is a human being that represents all the beautiful thin women#that those UGLY MEAN FEMINISTS HATE#its NUTS#a company that had been FINALLY being held accountable for its role in the creation of beauty standards and sexualization of girls#cleaned itself off from all of it. with a stupid pink movie#DECADES of academic work#completely erased#its almost scary
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
slow mode — lee know
pairing: lee minho x fem!reader
tags: established relationship, smut!!!🔞
warnings: swearing, cockwarming, a lil masturbation, stressed reader, use of “bunny”, “baby,”, minho being ambidextrous in a hot way. this was supposed to be dirty but it’s mushy as fuck and not even that sexy. if you let an ace write smut don’t be surprised when that happens.
inspo: minho’s bubble messages and recent academic overwhelm
notes: can this be classed as my valentine’s day fic? here it is anyway. the title is a reference to sunshine which is my go to destress song. to anyone who relates to reader’s situation, may all your stresses be lighter from today my lovies 🩵
{ wc: 2003 }
you arrived home after another long day, one of many—maybe too many—and as soon as you put your things down and got rid of your shoes you walked over to the sofa, pouting at your boyfriend.
“oh, come here,” he said, putting his laptop away and opening his arms wide.
you crashed down on the soft sofa, head rolling onto minho’s thick thighs.
“how was it?” he asked, sympathetically. you rolled out of bed early, so early even minho wasn’t awake yet, and the sun had set hours before you’ve arrived back home.
he knew how hard things have been lately.
between all your work and deadlines and commitments, minho could see the stress was getting to you. minho could always tell.
“so many things to do,” you mumbled into his lap.
“i know. here,” he said, grabbing your arms and moving you to where he wanted you to be. he manoeuvred your thighs, placing them on either side of his lap and tucked your head into his warm chest. you sighed.
“bunny,” he cooed, his hand sinking into your hair. he slowly scratched at your scalp and quickly a warmth settled into your bones. you leaned further into it, further into him, and nuzzled your head against his chest.
minho wanted to ask you what else you had to do, what he could do to help, but the way your body fell pliant against his made him think maybe now all you needed was his fingers in your hair and his arm secured safely around your waist. he was right.
the soft glide of his blunt nails against the root of your hair, and the warmth radiating from his body—all of it enough to slowly melt away your stress. it was there, you knew the deadlines were coming, but for now all you could feel was the floaty feeling from minho playing with your hair and knowing you were there, in his arms, where it was safe.
maybe you accidentally deleted a three page essay you needed to hand in the next day or maybe your boss had a go at you or maybe your phone stopped working in the middle of your presentation and your notes were gone. but all of that didn’t matter now that it was over, now that you forgotten it completely, and now that your present was filled with lee minho.
“min?” you asked softly, after however many minutes passed.
he hummed underneath you, the vibrations soft against your cheek.
“why are you hard?”
minho chuckled awkwardly, slightly shifting underneath you.
“i was reading something before you got here,” he mumbled into your hair before planting a soft kiss on the locks.
“oh?” you lift your head up, eyes peering up at him. “what was it?”
“best positions to surprise your partner with this valentine’s day,” he recites the article headline. his ears change into a soft pink—it’s one of your favourite colours.
you giggle softly, straighting up to be eye levelled with him.
“and what did you find?”
“it wasn’t anything new,” he says, hand softly rubbing up and down your back, “but i was thinking of you doing them and…” he spares a small glance at his crotch.
at that you laugh loudly before tucking your head into his neck.
you breathe in softly, slowly, following the rise and fall of minho’s chest while his warm scent takes over you. you kiss his neck with a small peck.
“maybe i can help you?”
“bunny,” he rubs against your scalp, “you should be resting after a long day. another long day.”
“but min, i—“
“—did you even eat today?”
“of course! i ate the lunch you prepared yesterday and a few of us grabbed some food before the meeting. don’t worry,”
“good job,” he nods, resuming his soft scratching. you lean into it instantly. “i don’t want you straining your body too much. it needs rest.”
“i am resting,” you mumbled stubbornly. “it’s just i also want you inside me.”
the last part was quiet, defeated almost, and minho smiled against your forehead before peppering a few small kisses on your skin.
his other hand left your back and you felt him fiddling around near your thighs, before he softly told you to lean up. you silently followed his orders, looking down to find he pushed his sweats and boxers down to his knees.
you slowly sat back down on his bare thighs—but didn’t reach out to him. perhaps he was right, you were too tired to even move forward.
minho kept your head pressed into his neck, his ability to control both his hand and his dancer coordination proved exceptionally useful. he kept scratching your head, moving up and down and occasionally pressing softly into the back of your neck where most of your stress lived.
with his other hand, he stroked himself. once you realised what he was doing, you started leaving a few open mouthed kisses on his skin, kissing his pulse point and beneath his jaw.
“you need to prep too, bunny,” he said softly, voice breathy as it vibrated against your lips. “if you still want to.”
“i want,” you said quickly, tucking your hand into your pants and rubbing slowly. you were surprised to find just how wet you were, but then again, minho was right next to you stroking himself.
you needed him inside you.
you knew the prep you gave yourself probably wasn’t enough, but you needed him—you needed his warmth and his closeness and so you quickly lifted yourself up and rid yourself of your pants and underwear.
minho didn’t waste any more time, lining himself up to your entrance and guiding you down with a hand on your hip.
the pair of you sighed softly and you slowly and carefully sunk all the way down.
the stretch was more prominent than usual, but it was nice. so nice, and you let your eyes softly close at the fullness of having him inside you.
“there, baby,” he smiled at you, running his hands up and down your arms. he squeezed them softly before moving his hands to your back, rubbing up and down.
you didn’t realise how sore your whole body felt from the stress of everything the past few days had brought you, and you instantly relaxed.
“you’ve been working hard,” he said softly, nodding slightly as you lean your head back onto his chest. “you’ve done well, baby. so well.”
you melt at the praise, body weight pressed entirely into minho’s strong body as your mind slowly starts clearing up.
you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself even closer to minho as his arms both wrap around your back.
normally, you would be begging minho to start moving, to fuck you fast like he does when you’re stressed and need to forget the world around you. sometimes, he goes slow, when you need to be reminded of just how important you are to him. but now, he isn’t moving at all. and now, you think that’s exactly what you need. minho always knows.
you close your eyes, listening to the steady and reliable thumping of minho’s heart.
all other thoughts fade away. it’s nothing but minho, his smell and his warmth and his arms solid and strong around you. just minho.
———
your eyes are heavy, you must’ve fallen asleep as your brain feels empty and vague about the last few minutes. you slowly move your head to peer up at your boyfriend—a comforting smile on his face.
“did i fall asleep?” you grumble. you can still feel the fullness inside you, the pleasing pressure on your stomach so you know neither one of you has moved. you try slightly stretching out your thighs that have fallen asleep too, a soft tingling running through your feet at the numbness from the prolonged position.
you don’t move too much, but your pussy does instinctively squeeze around minho, and he lets out a delighted sigh as he leans his head back. still, he doesn’t move.
he runs his hands up and down your thighs, his smile still firmly in place as he looks up at you. he softly kneads your muscles, still working on helping you relax. your eyes lock together and the brown in front of you is swimming with adoration and a hint of pride you don’t know if you can even accept.
you feel yourself blush at the thought, know minho would scold you if you voiced it, and decide you’ll have to work harder on accepting the praise he gives you.
sometimes you think minho is the only person you’d ever let yourself be loved by.
most times you think that isn’t such a bad idea.
he licks his lips, swallowing in the way he does before he readies himself to say something important.
you tell yourself to accept his love, to let yourself be loved by him.
“you didn’t get me chocolate,” is what he says, “give me chocolate.”
you blink at him for a second, a habit you picked up from spending too much time around minho, trying to process what he’s even talking about.
it clicks a moment later.
“you never even asked me to be your valentine’s, so why should i?” you smirk at him.
he’s appalled by such an answer, eyes wide and mouth gaped enough for his bunny teeth to peek out slightly. you think you’d never love anyone as much as you love lee minho.
“you’re mine,” he says, simple. “why would i need to ask when you’re very clearly mine.”
you can’t help the way your body reacts when minho talks that way, and your pussy clenches tightly at his words.
minho doesn’t tease you, as you’d expect him to, but instead his eyes turn serious.
he runs his hands up to your hips, pushing you forward as your clit rubs against his pelvis.
“min,” your voice comes out high pitched and airy.
“i’m here,” he nods, “i’ll take care of you, okay?”
you nod.
he leans forward, kissing you firmly before bringing a hand back into your hair—softly scratching.
“my bunny,” he says, and it sounds like a promise. “and always my valentine’s. always mine.”
“always yours, min,” you echo firmly, and it sounds like acceptance.
minho brings a hand between your bodies, softly rubbing slow circles against your clit.
“and when things get stressful i’m here,” he reminds you, “and whatever it is you need.”
“m-me too, min, i’ll give you anything,” you moan softly.
“not chocolate, evidently,” he grins at you, his evil smirk out on full display.
you try and protest at his unfair accusation—you literally texted him earlier to ask if he wanted chocolate and he said no due to his personal trainer’s demands—but minho stops you with a fleeting kiss on your lips.
“i don’t need it anyway,” he decides, “you’re better than chocolate.”
at that minho grabs that back of your head and pulls your forward, kissing you urgently as his tongue softly moves against yours. he swallows down your moans as his hand moves faster against you, building and building and building.
you let the feeling take over you as you’re consumed by it, by minho and his familiar taste. the stubble on his chin and the softness of his lips and the way his soft hair feels between your fingers.
you let yourself forget everything else. the dates circled on your calendar and your unanswered emails and your appointments.
it doesn’t matter much when minho starts giggling into your mouth because you’ve knocked your teeth against his.
it doesn’t matter much when minho is all around you, inside you, kissing you. telling you, “mine, baby, mine,” as he starts lazily thrusting into you.
your thoughts, your anxieties, your responsibilities. for a moment they can all fade away—for just now. for as long as you and minho are together, connected.
for now, it doesn’t matter much. all you can think about is minho. just minho.
#all.works#lee know x reader#lee know x you#lee know x y/n#minho x reader#minho x you#minho x y/n#lee minho x reader#lee minho x you#lee minho x y/n#skz x reader#skz x you#skz x y/n#skz smut#lee know smut#kpop x reader#kpop smut
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Flowers Upon Your Head
Draco x Fem!Reader
Summary: Reader officially crowns the Slytherin Prince of Hogwarts, but what she doesn’t expect is to be crowned his princess. (Not real crowns, but made of flowers.)
Warnings: Talk about praising someone, like hailing them, self doubts in academic work, nothing else I know of.
Sorry if it’s too short; but it’s gotta be one of my favorites besides “Dear Draco”.
Dear Draco
Masterlist
Request Requirements (they’ve been updated!)
The sky was bright blue, sun rays shining bright across all the land of Hogwarts, showcasing the wondrous school that held many intelligent students; now either learning more knowledge or taking their assigned time off.
Two green robes were taking the second option to their best advantage: staying outside in the fresh air and catching up on work.
The both lay on the grass by the Black Lake, the boy leaning against the tree trunk and the girl sitting criss cross next to him.
The boy, platinum blonde hair and known as the bully of the school, had his Potions homework in front of him on his lap. His quill scribbled left and right as he wrote an essay.
The girl, known as the most innocent person in the world who wouldn’t hurt a fly, was previously done with her homework and is now fiddling (or, at least, that’s the word Draco would use to describe what she was doing) with flowers in her hand, tying the stems together to make something the boy didn’t know.
She was well concentrated until she heard a groan escape the boy, her eyes moving from the flower stems to him, raising an eyebrow questionably.
He didn’t look up as did she, instead he was having a glare contest with the paper as he tapped his quill quite frustratingly.
“What’s another word for fragile?”
She thought for a moment, going back to the plants in her hand once she discovered his groan was the reason of nothing serious.
“Delicate? Brittle?” She asked once figuring it out, fingers slightly burning from now finishing the tie of the stems, the nectar from the flowers getting on her fingertips as the stems were tightly wrapped around her hands.
He hummed. “Brittle is good.”
She smiled soft, glad she could help in some way. “Is the essay coming along nicely?”
He chuckled. “With the amount of skill I have in the writing spectrum and your vocabulary, I think it’s going quite well.”
She rolled her eyes this time, knowing he was being sarcastic with the statement he said about himself.
“Dray, don’t worry; I read it during lunch and it looked fine so far. That is if you didn’t ruin it with what you call last minute edits.”
Her teasing tone grabbed a smirk from him that she didn’t see.
She wasn’t mindful of the next occurrence because she was in fact focused on the finishing touches of her crown, but his ears turned from pale to a soft pink color at the nickname.
He scoffed instead to cover it up even though she didn’t see it. “Doubt it.”
She sighed, knowing there was no use in trying to convince him the work was good grade worthy.
He suddenly slapped the paper down in front of her on the grass. “How does this look?”
Despite the aggression he showed in his actions she could hear a little anxiousness in his voice. He was nervous for her reaction.
She still had the flowers in her hands so she didn’t touch the paper in fear of getting things on it, so instead of holding them in front of her she moved them so they were by her shoulder and she looked down at the paper.
Draco’s handwriting covered the paper, perfect cursive with soft swoops in the letters forming great work.
Her eyes scanned it as she read, taking in the information he provided.
She hummed in satisfaction. “Very nice, Dray. Very nice.”
She smiled at him as he took the paper back, this time noticing the pink tint on the tip of his ears.
“You okay?” She asked, oblivious to the reason for his flush.
He nodded, swallowing thickly.
She hummed again, turning her body fully to him. “Don’t worry! Snape will love it. I see it now,” she started, pretending to look of into the distance like she was dreaming. “An ‘Outstanding’!”
Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Wouldn’t go that far with it but whatever.”
She scoffed at his negative mindset and, wiping her hands on the grassy ground to get rid of the nectar, and grabbed the crown she just previously made. She then turned the scoff on her face to a soft reassuring smile.
“Well, whatever you may think, I think it was wonderful and the good grade I know you’ll get is well deserved.”
She ended her sentence with softly placing the crown on his platinum head, the soft white petals perfectly matching the mob of hair he held.
Draco’s eyes moved upward as if he would be able to see the flowers on his head. The girl laughed, then she smiled once again.
“All hail the Slytherin Prince.” She joked. She expected another eye roll but instead received a soft smirk coming from the corner of his lips, a small chuckle escaping him.
She then moved to sit next to him, their shoulders brushing and cheeks flushing.
His soft looking hands reached out and using his long fingers pulled flower after flower out of the tall grass, each stem producing a satisfying snap when they broke.
Although she kinda felt bad for the flowers, she knew that the roots were still planted into the ground, so that gave her reassurance knowing they’d grow back again.
Still she watched as his own hands messily tied the stems together almost just like she did. When he was finished, his arm reached up as he placed it on her head, the weight of it slightly flattening the top of her hair.
He then leaned in, brushing his nose on her cheek; her face turning a soft tone of red. His head turned so his lips touched her ear lightly. The touch was barely felt, but it was there.
“All hail the Slytherin Princess.”
He whispered it, making the meaning much more meaningful. A soft chill went through her, a warm sense of comfort and nervousness at the same time racing down her spine.
“How’d you know how to tie it?” She asked curiously to hide the nervous warmth flooding through her. She felt his cheeks spread into a smile.
“I watch you, loves; much more than you think.”
Her face flushed as his finger gently booped her nose.
He chuckled low right in her ear. “Aww, don’t get flustered loves; just giving my princess the praise and recognition she deserves.”
Wait.
‘My Princess’?
Thank you for reading! 📖
#draco lucius malfoy#draco malfoy#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy x reader#draco x reader#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#imagines#stories#tom felton x reader#x reader#flowers#garden vibes#I love this story so much!#I think I did well- what do you think?
241 notes
·
View notes
Text
utterly, unbelieveably in love pt. 1 ░ scara x reader modern!au ★ mini series
summary ➜ he has six months to win you over. the famed scaramouche of tevyat unviersity wants the honor of owning a place in your heart. you want to see how far his feelings hold true.
genres/tags ➜ fluff, scara is genuinely head over heels for you, fem!reader, scara is your brother's best friend, courting, new writing style.
Your brother bringing home friends from university wasn't a surprising occurence. He'd do it all the time. The only thing surprising was how a real human being could bear to even form a friendship to someone akin to a persistent little fly that buzzes in the shell of your ear.
This time, the person who welcomed himself through the entrance of your home was none other than the flamboyant Scaramouche. Academic by nature, with ladies and gentlemen swooning over him at every stride of his feet. Sure, a little too confident over the scale but still charming nonetheless. Your brother was on the popular side of the school tier, perhaps it was a matchmade in heaven.
"I'm home." He would say, after the lock clicks free. You were hunched over a laptop on the couch, with a screen that displayed two tabs as you accomplished your essay due in about... seven hours? A hum of acknowledgement slips past your lips, eyes still trained on the bright screen in front of you, too busy to even notice the fact that he brought a new friend today but it was a sight of familiar indigo streaks of hair.
For the next few times, Scaramouche would become a frequent visitor at your apartment and you had grown accustomed to the routine. You would be studying by the time the both of them get to the apartment, you'd acknowledge them, and Scaramouche would leave an hour and thirty minutes later. But today was a different case.
Your brother, being the trustful guy that he is, apparently gave Scara his key to the apartment telling him to go ahead and use it as he did some short errands.
Now here you were sitting in silence with the ever-charming boy from uni, with his eyes shooting glances he thought was subtle enough for you not to notice.
"You've been staring." You begin, your focus shifting from your laptop to his direction, although not directly into his eyes.
He hums, "I'd say the same about you."
Well, shit. Cover blown, does a life in the countryside tickle your fancy in any way?
Heat brushes your features but you are quick to school them.
"I'm curious as to how my brother thought this whole thing through."
Scara tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing in question. "Thought what through?"
"You. Giving you the actual key to our apartment. He's never done that so there's something different about you." Your eyes squint at him suspiciously, hands reaching for the top of your laptop and it shuts it closed. "Why are you here?"
"You're pretty cocky if you think I'm here for you." Scara blurts out in response. You raise an eyebrow at him.
"I never said that though?"
His face flushes a shade of pink and he takes a big interest in the crown moldings of your ceiling.
"You're weird." You mutter.
"Right back at you."
You scoff at his reply, albeit a small tug on your lips curls them upward. Just then the knob of the front door turns clockwise. You send Scara a 'you didn't lock the door?' type of look and he merely shrugs as your brother comes inside.
"I'm home— oh, you really did use the key." Your brother says, settling his belongings down on the marble counter. You swear you caught a small smirk playing on his lips but he was far too quick at concealing it.
From now onwards, Scaramouche would become a reoccuring character in your life. How long will it take for you to fall into the wraps of his charms?
#bamdelune#genshin impact#genshin#genshin x reader#bamdelune's bookstore#genshin smau#genshin impact x reader#wanderer x reader#wanderer#wanderer x y/n#wanderer x female reader#scara x reader#scaramouche x y/n#scaramouche x you#scaramouche x reader#wanderer x you#kunikuzushi x reader#kunikuzushi#scaramouche
388 notes
·
View notes
Text
not quite learned | professor!miguel o’hara x reader
2k+ word count. small content warning that it is a student/teacher relationship fic, so feel free to skip this one if that’s not your thing. 18+ afab!m/c.
haven’t written, or been insanely active in the fandom, in a good two months maybe? trying to get out of that, hope this is enjoyable to someone <3
Only one thing is for certain, Miguel didn’t intend for things to go this far. But during a brief moment of reflection, he supposes none of the men like him ever really do.
The opportunity arises, and because he’s weak, fundamentally weak to your doe-like eyes, sweet voice and gentle affection— he gives into his impulses, willingly falls victim to his circumstances.
He hadn’t known that you would be so addictive, that once he gave in, there wouldn’t be another point at which he could regain his sane and working mind.
—
You were in his last class of the day, and as was your purely studious custom, you stayed after to ask whatever burning academic questions were plaguing you that day.
In the dark recesses of his thoughts, as he looked you over with a purposefully disinterested dark stare, he privately referred to your choice of presentation as obscenely feminine.
Especially with how you were dressed now— in a thin and lacey, thigh-length dress. Your ears and collarbones decorated with delicate silver jewelry and the tiniest, fucking light pink ribbons wrapped at the ends of two, neat plaits of hair.
He was close to rolling his eyes at that last detail. Finding himself desperately wanting to hate you for making his days significantly more difficult, with just the addition of your presence alone. And if not for the fact that you were always so sweet to him— never failing to brighten his day with your way always approached with an enthusiastically cheerful, “Hey, Miguel!”, he would have successfully manifested, and actively nurtured a deep hatred for you.
Instead, as you ask for pointers on how to proceed with your essay, he sighs deeply and gives an acquiescent nod. “Let me see what you’ve written so far.” He answers in a bored huff, ignoring the way you smile appreciatively at him, before promptly turning on your heel to retrieve your laptop.
You’d set your bag down in one of the front seats of the classroom, and as you bend over the small desk surface to pull open the zipper, Miguel’s eyes are fixed on the way your dress hikes up. And for just a brief moment, the backs of your creamy thighs are exposed to him. He can’t help but take the time to stare, catching a rare glimpse of a part of you he wouldn’t otherwise get to see.
Tearing his eyes away just as you free your computer, he swallows thickly as he watches you approach.
Setting the device in front of him, you choose to stand beside where he currently sat at his desk, leaning forward as you scrolled through the draft of your written assignment.
His mouth and brain were operating separately, delivering level headed advice on one end while focusing on all things concerning you on the other.
He couldn’t care less about the assignment. The older man quickly found that he was more than willing to give you full marks and be done with it, if it meant he could center in on how smooth your skin looked, or how pink your lips were and whether you smelled more like vanilla, or lotus and warmed honey.
During the fifteen minutes he’d spent giving you small pointers on how to push your essay in the right direction, he remained on his best behavior, not once straying off topic or letting his desires get the best of him.
You’d thanked him softly, beginning to put away your laptop and he’d almost patted himself on the back for making it through the interaction when you suddenly pulled a small glass container from your bag.
It held cookies— vanilla something or another, that you had made especially for him, as thanks for his patience with you so far. A supply of patience that seemed to evaporate the second you displayed the baked treats in front of him.
He doesn’t really know what happened next, how A got to B is still a mystery to him, but before he knew it the container of cookies and your bag lay strewn and long forgotten on the floor.
You were so tiny compared to him, his left hand capable of not only cupping your chin but the entire lower half of your face, easily squeezing your cheeks and lips together in the snug hold he has on you.
Miguel didn’t think this far ahead— doesn’t know what possessed him to clear the distance in three or less steps and have you locked in his grasp. But the way you look up at him, not in fear, but quiet anticipation has him considering that perhaps it’d be okay to test the waters further.
“Mr. O’Hara?” Your voice comes out small as you blink up at him, as though there wasn't a doubt in your mind that you were entirely innocent. And in that moment, he couldn't help it, he had to laugh right in your face.
It’s the first time you’ve ever heard or seen him appear anywhere remotely near amused, that it would’ve left you unsettled even if the notes didn’t fall flat. The sound of his ‘laughter’ coming across as sardonic and wholly mocking, the ‘mirth’ he apparently felt not quite reaching his eyes.
“Mr. O’Hara?” He repeats quietly, a dark smirk twinging his lips. As the seconds ticked by, you were starting to feel more and more like a butterfly caught in his web. “What happened to Miguel?”
You merely look up at him, a bit lost for words as he greedily eyes your form.
“You know- just while we’re on the subject, I never gave you explicit permission to call me by my first name. You started that on your own.” He hums, voice even and quiet. “It’s the same way I never explicitly told you that I was free after class… Do you know why that is? Do you have a guess?”
“No?” He asks rhetorically, shaking your head for you when you don’t immediately answer, Miguel leaning down to allow his lips to ghost your ear. “It’s because these aren’t my office hours, mi reinita. That’s what you are, you know. A little queen. That’s exactly how you act, calling me by my first name… taking up my time when you want it. When it suits you.”
“I’m sorry, M-“ You begin apologizing before his hand cupping your face suddenly tightens, not enough to hurt, but just enough to stop you from speaking.
“No quiero disculpas.” He says dismissively, waving you off with his free hand. His speech was quiet, each sentence perfectly enunciated, teasing almost. “Words don’t mean much, actions are everything. Like the cookies you made for me, that’s cute but… I don’t want cookies either.”
His free hand comes to rest on your hip, large and warm as it traces the outline of your waist.
“What do you think?” He asks, his voice soft but his tone coming across as a touch condescending. “Think you can make up for your bad behavior some other way?”
You nod feebly in reply, though the gesture doesn’t seem enough for him as he loosens his grip on your face. “Say it.” He orders evenly.
Your lips part, sucking in a shaky breath as you struggle to maintain eye contact. He was intimidating like this, towering over you, fully caging you in. “I wanna make up for my bad behavior, Mr. O’Hara.”
And it appears to do the trick, because his eyes darken and his jaw ticked as he looked down at you like he was seconds away from devouring a meal whole.
“Dicho como una niña buena.” He replies quietly, lids low. His face was so close to yours, air fanned your cheeks as he spoke. “Is that what you’re gonna be for me, mi reinita? Are you going to be a good girl?”
“Yes, sir.” You answer, voice barely above a whisper.
“Typically, I’d want to keep my eyes on your face but—“ He trails off, turning you in the opposite direction before you feel him place a hand at your back, wordlessly instructing you to lean forward until your torso is lying flush against the front row desk. “It’s not everyday that I get to see this end of you.”
Face hovering over the table with your hands laid flat against its surface, you attempt to focus on your breathing, trying your best not to fidget in place as he lifts the hem of your dress until your ass is on full display.
Miguel lets out a low whistle as he registers the lace cream thong you’re fitted in, his eyes drifting up the length of your body. “You’re a little naughty underneath too, aren’t you?”
“Maybe just… a bit prepared.” You answer quietly, cheek pressing into the desk as you look back at him over your left shoulder. And Miguel is finding that it’s harder and harder to think as more and more blood is redirected from his brain to somewhere more easily excitable.
“Walking around campus ready to be bent over, hm?” He asks, not expecting an answer as he runs his finger underneath the strap of the waistband. “All the pink ribbons and lace is just a distraction, isn’t it? Otherwise people would know what you really want.”
“What is it that I want, Professor?” You ask innocently, playing the part of being just a touch naive, your bottom wiggling the smallest amount as you attempt to discreetly ease the slowly growing ache between your thighs.
If Miguel catches the movement, he doesn’t comment on it.
Brushing the pads of his fingers against your chubby folds, he prods at your entrance through the small area of fabric, not covering much of anything, experimentally. Pressing inside and allowing the pitiful excuse for underwear to go along with his digits.
“The same thing I want.” He answers simply, his poker face unreadable as you whimper at the odd but gratifying sensation he briefly grants you.
You watch in awe as he pulls the fabric aside, licking a wide strip along his middle and ring fingers, rubbing his slick digits at your cunt before dipping them inside of you.
Your mouth parts as he stretches you open, unceremoniously making room for himself in that warm and welcoming place between your legs.
“Mhm, that’s it…” He hums appraisingly as the slip and slide of his fingers gradually becomes increasingly easier as he massages your spongy walls.
Hooking his fingers inside of you, his wrist jostles about, causing your voice to slip out despite yourself as his pace increases. Your feet begin to lift off the floor from how spirited his ministrations become. Miguel’s hand glistening with your arousal, small droplets dripping from his skin and onto the dark carpeted flooring.
It becomes clear that you’re fighting a losing battle in the way the more you try to contain your voice, the harder he seems to work at getting you to audibly cry out despite the space the two of you are occupying.
“What are you holding back for?” He asks, as though he doesn’t know.
“B- because…” You protest in a high pitched shriek, clasping one of your hands to your mouth, the other gripping the edge of the desk to anchor yourself from how hard he’s fucking his fingers into you.
Leaning forward, Miguel playfully nips at your ear, the older man chuckling mischievously at how affected you are by him before he whispers, “Let me hear you.”
You frantically shake your head no, tears brimming in your eyes as your climax approaches.
Sure, you’d had fantasies about something like this occurring between the two of you— but never in a million years had you thought that you’d be pressed into the same desk you stressed about studying for your midterm at, minutes away from cumming on his fingers.
“Can’t, can’t.” You whine, your cries muffled against your palm as he shushes you.
“None of that,” He replies calmly, increasing his speed. “No more whining, niña preciosa. Just let go for me. You said you’d make it up to me, didn’t you?”
You nod weakly, lost in the way he’s making you feel. Lost in how lulling his voice is when he wants it to be.
“Then make it up to me.” He coos soothingly against your neck. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
592 notes
·
View notes
Text
SECRET SECRET
K. SEUNGMIN
chapter 1
cw: swearing, fem reader, academic rivals, angst if you squint, both like each other but wont admit it
wc: 1.2k
a.n - welcome to my first full fic !! im super excited to share this and im actually really proud of it. happy reading <3
✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧
You’re sitting at your usual spot in the library on your college campus when a book is slammed down on your table, ripping a yelp from your chest as you practically jump out of your skin. You look up to see a smug grin splayed on full, pale pink lips.
Brown eyes sparkle back at you mischievously and before he even opens his mouth, you just know he’s going to say something to purposely aggravate you.
“I don’t want to know, nor do I care.” you grumble before turning back to your book.
“Where the Crawdads Sing.” Seungmin hums, “Didn’t know you had taste,” You ignore him and turn the page.
He huffs and plops down in the seat next to you, his knee brushing against yours as he does.
You snap your head up and admit defeat, placing a bookmark where you left off.
“Since you so rudely interrupted me,”
He rolls his eyes in response to your complaint, “Here we go again,”
“Don’t give me that.” you snap, “You came over here unannounced while I was clearly doing something. So tell me, what is it that you want to brag about now? Hm? Perfect score on the English essay? No wait- I know, you’ve finally succeeded in ass kissing every professor in the building.”
The entire time you were ranting, Seungmin sat with his chin in his palm, face angled towards you. His grin never faltered, which in turn only pissed you off more.
You snap your book shut and move to stand before you feel a hand tug on your sleeve, forcing you to sit.
“I didn’t come over here to brag,” Seungmin readjusts in his chair so his knees are poking the side of your bare thigh, the sudden contact sending warmth throughout you.
“I was hoping we could- I don’t know. Maybe we could be at least civil with each other?.”
Your eyebrows shoot up and your eyes widen.
“C-Civil?” you sputter while searching his face for any trace of ulterior motives.
He nods and fidgets a little. That’s when you realize that he’s nervous.
Seungmin is anything but nervous when it comes to talking to you. He’s always confident while spewing whatever insults he can think of on the spot.
“I uhm- I think I owe you an apology.”
“Excuse me?” That’s not what you meant to say.
Though, you’re fairly certain that whatever you were going to say would’ve come out ten times worse.
“Yeah.” he winces, “Fuck- you know I’m bad at this kind of stuff,” Seungmin huffs and runs a hand through his blonde hair.
“I’m sorry for being a dick,” his broad shoulders deflate and he looks like a weight was literally lifted off of him.
“You’re sorry?”
“Will you stop repeating me?” he scowls.
You can’t help but giggle a little, he couldn’t last two minutes into an apology without looking or sounding annoyed.
“‘M sorry. I just,” you bite your lip to stifle another laugh, “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day that Kim Seungmin apologized for- well, anything.”
He grumbles something incoherently and pushes his knee farther into your thigh. You swallow hard and look behind him at the now very interesting bookshelf.
Seungmin sighs and gets up without another word and leaves. You watch as he rounds the corner and slips through the door.
“What the hell just happened,” you blink and whisper to yourself.
After his sudden apology, Seungmin has avoided you for an entire week now. He won’t even spare you a glance. You’re complaining about it to your best friend, Hyunjin, who also happens to be close with Seungmin.
Small world.
“Look, I don’t know exactly what happened but, like, could you maybe talk to him about it? He’s been killing the mood lately.” Hyunjin brings his iced americano to his lips while you form a bewildered expression.
“Me? You want me to talk to him?” you scoff and lean back in your chair, “Why should I have to? He apologized, I listened. End. Of. Story.”
“Why are you always so stubborn,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes, placing his coffee on the table.
“Ridiculous. Absolutely fucking ridiculous.” you huff and pinch the bridge of your nose. Hyunjin gives you an ‘are you serious’ look.
“If I let you put his number in my phone, will you shut up about it?” He grins and holds out his hand for you to give your phone to him. “And you’re buying me another coffee.”
[You] - cheer up
[Intellectual Demon] - who is this?
[You] - jinnie said that you’ve been a real downer since apologizing to me
[Intellectual Demon] - it’s not even that bad
[You] - i can feel the frown radiating off of you rn
[You] - it’s your aura.
Seungmin smiles to himself proudly. After all, it was his idea to get Hyunjin to give you his number.
Now all he has to do is convince you to meet with him. He’s got it all mapped out; you’ll meet with him at his place, he’ll confess, you’ll reciprocate his feelings and you live happily ever after.
The guy gets the girl, like he always does. It’s a simple, foolproof plan.
Right?
“Yeah, no thanks. I’m good.”
Wrong.
Seungmin was so wrong. Immediately after you pick up the phone he’s already hit with a groan and a ‘what do you want now?’ Nonetheless, he pushed through and asked you to go to his place. You declined, which shouldn’t have surprised him, but it does. Seungmin thought that if he apologized all would be forgiven and you would be more willing to speak to him.
Though, he can only blame himself. He fell-and crashed- first, hard. Instead of admitting his feelings to you, and himself, he tried his hardest to distance himself from you, making you find him unbearable to be around. It worked, of course.
Seungmin wishes it didn’t. He wishes he would’ve just grown a pair and told you. He wishes he didn’t feel so unlovable.
You, on the other hand, have attempted to make your attraction obvious. Someone can only take so much rejection, however. You stopped flirting, stopped even looking in his direction at one point. Seungmin made it crystal clear that he wanted nothing to do with you, and now that he’s apologized you can’t help but catch those feelings all over again.
“Please, just- what do I need to do for you to come here?” Seungmin’s voice echoes through your head, bouncing off the sides as you feel yourself slowly start to give in.
You seriously should stop being a pushover.
“Send me your address, I’ll be there soon.” There’s a pause at the end of the line when Seungmin mutes himself and screams into his pillow.
tags: @godslino @skzstarnet @anakin-sweetheart
dividers: @chaeneuu
#snowyquokka#skzstarnet#stray kids#skz#skz imagines#skz scenarios#skz x reader#skz reader insert#skz reactions#kim seungmin x reader#seungmin x reader#kim seungmin#seungmin fic#enimes to lovers#skz seungmin#straykids seungmin
129 notes
·
View notes
Text
validation {modern!aemond x academic rival!reader}
word count: 770
warnings: smut. 18+. fingering. oral (f recieving).
note: all grammar mistakes are my own fault
Aemond planned on starting his Fall semester hitting the ground running
Another A+ under his belt and another class he would set the curve in
You threw him for a loop when you walked in on the first day in your skirt and button up cardigan
Standing out amongst students in elegant bubble gum pink attire
Though he wasn’t sure how classy he considered the shortness of your skirt, especially as it would slightly ride up your thighs as you sat down, you must have taken notice yourself because you crossed your legs to maintain a bit of modesty and
oh my gosh
He was looking at your thighs
You hadn’t taken notice of him until he was first to raise his hand to answer a question the professor had prompted the class with
Quicker than you, you noted
You also noted his attire: a sort of corporate goth?
Black and polished
Not a logo in sight but obviously expensive pieces that only the rich of the rich knew about
You were quick to establish yourself as a threat
A competition he was first to be keenly aware of
During your discussion days, the class would convert to a seminar style
Each being assigned thesis points and then going back and forth to debate the topics from your readings
You noticed the way his fist would clench when you would one up him by picking apart his arguments
What you didn't notice was the way it made blood rush to his cock
For your first essay of the semester, you got 23/25 not what you hoped, but not bad seeing that the score rested far above the average
“And of course yours is perfect.” said your classmate who was peaking over Aemond’s shoulder and punching him teasingly
You did not like how much that bothered you
A grin spread across Aemond’s face and his eyes met yours
Was he taunting you?
Towards the middle of the semester your professor assigned you a group project that would be due the final week of the course
You didn’t mind group projects, you would end up doing most of the work anyways
Aemond hated group projects
He rolled his eyes at the thought
He thought they only slowed him down
Your professor placed the students into randomly assigned duos
He along with everyone else in class opened their emails to find who they were paired with
He scrolled down to find-
“Well aren’t you lucky.”
He turned to look at you who was now sat next to him with a grin on your face
“Hm” was his only response
You both set up a meeting time once a week
You agreed on Saturday
Of course: nobody else would want to do work on Saturday except the two of you
You agreed on the library as a meeting place
Mostly empty because again: who the hell else would voluntarily do school work over the weekend?
You assert your dominance by setting up the template for the slide show presentation and the notes document
He asserts his dominance by pinning you up against the bookshelf in the philosophy section and grazing his teeth over your neck
He leaves marks on your chests beneath your tweed jacket in places he knew would be easy to cover up
He tears a hole in your designer tights
“Hey!”
“I’ll buy you a new pair,” he responded before moving your underwear to the side and massaging your clit with the tips of his fingers
You yelp, but he covers your mouth with his other hand
“Don’t forget where we are.”
Though he knew that part of the library well, not a lot of visitors especially on a weekend
You could never be too sure though and to be honest the thought of someone catching the two of you made his cock throb
He dropped to his knees and latched his mouth to your center
You covered your own mouth with your hand replacing his as you knew you wouldn’t be able to stay quiet without it
He pulled your thigh over his shoulder for better stability
Aemond suckles on you and laps his tongue making buck your hips further into his face
He groans as you use your other hand to weave your fingers through his his white locks, tugging at them
If you were in a more stable headspace, you would relish in him being in this position all for you
He knew that even though it was him on his knees, that it was you at his will grinding your cunt into his face
This was his victory over you
#aemond targaryen#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen smut#aemond one eye#house of the dragon#hotd#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen headcanons#modern!aemond#academic rivals#smut
344 notes
·
View notes
Text
Twilight as a Spiritual Successor to Dracula
She's a problematic queen, but she didn't deserve the flack, and neither did the teenage girls having fun...
In the year 2005, Stephanie Meyer published what would become a teenage girl’s favourite fantasy novel, and a teenage boy’s favourite punching bag: Twilight, the first book in what would become a four-book, five-film saga, and then go on to add two more books to the series. Twilight, though much beloved by its target audience was criticised for many reasons, but the most pertinent being that it was a far-cry from the expectations held by fans of vampire fiction… but is it? Although certainly it has its differences to the vampiric standards set about in nineteenth century gothic horror, there are many aspects of it that can be seen as twenty-first century mirrors to the ancestral tradition epitomised by Polidori, Le Fanu, and, as discussed in greatest detail here, Stoker.
In analysing the first novel of the Twilight Saga, simply Twilight, there are a great deal of similarities to be seen in how the character Bella Swan interacts with the world of the supernatural, as well as the mutable parallels that can be drawn between Edward Cullen and various aspects of Dracula. The connections range from the oft-mocked as lacking vampiric qualities in Twilight, to the oft-overlooked romantic qualities of Dracula as percieved by the very audiences who suddenly became experts on the genre in order to antagonise Meyer and her work.
Now, though, it has become even more apt and timely to discuss the nature of both Dracula and Twilight and how they compare. Twilight had a resurgence in the last few years in the form of Twilightcore aesthetics on TikTok and Tumblr, and with Dracula Daily being two months into its second year, it is more than fitting to reexamine the connection between what is considered the quintessential vampire media and the mid-noughties laughing stock as herein lies the attempt to prove that maybe they’re not so diffrent after all.
Isabella Marie Swan Cullen
Let us begin with our gothic heroine Bella Swan, and her position as Twilight’s answer to Jonathan Harker.
Bella’s connection to Jonathan starts from the very opening of the book as she relays her personal thoughts in first person. Her narration reflects the epistolery style of Dracula, mimicking Jonathan’s personal journal as the internal and emotional conveyance of both characters’ experiences comes immediately to the forefront.
Even the way Bella and Jonathan narrate bare similarities in their styles.
Taking as an example one of the most iconic lines from Twilight, the lines that even made it to the blurb, Bella relays: “about three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him- and I didn’t know how dominant that part might be- that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.”
The above mirrors the following passage from Jonathan’s journal from th 16th May:
“Of one thing I am glad: (…)As I look round this room, although it has been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful women, who were—who are—waiting to suck my blood.”
Firstly, as Bella begins with “about three things I was certain” in her analysis of Edward, Jonathan, in his analysis of his encounter with Dracula’s brides begins with “of one thing I am glad” as the first similarity in their narative patterns. Next comes their assesment of fear, as Jonathan describes his room as a “sanctuary” from the vampiric, and Bella’s second thing of which she is certain is that Edward thirsts for her blood; that phrasing also mimics how Jonathan thinks of the brides as “dreadfcul” and “awful,” and as “waiting to suck [his] blood.” The verbs “thirst” and “suck” both conjure an animalistic and dangerous image that relays the power of the vampires over their victims, but also has a sensual implication- more on that later.
Similarly, the first chapter brings both characters to the start of the metaphorical journeys, of course, but also the literal journeys into the unknown, leading to the danger of the vampiric. Jonathan’s is across Europe to Romania, with his description of his journey further and further East featuring the descent into the chaos of the trainlines, beginning his journal entry for 3rd May with “Left Munich at 8:35 P. M., on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late.”
Jonathan’s necessity to comment relays how affected he is by his new environment, even already a few days into his trip, emphasizing how different his life gets before he has even encountered the Count. Conversely, Bella is leaving the chaos of her scatterbrained mother Renee and travelling with the semi-professional baseball player Phill, for the stability of her dad Charlie, the Chief of Police in the small town of Forks, Washington. Bella muses on the drizzle, stating that when she’d arrived in Washington, it had been raining, and noting that “[she] didn't see it as an omen — just unavoidable.” She also mentiones comedically that “she'd already said [her] goodbyes to the sun.”
Saying her goodbyes to the sun show the stark contrast of her home in Arizona to the drizzly small town for which she is bound.
Ultimately, both characters are approaching the new and diverse from their comfort zones, with Jonathan studying the cultures, albeit somewhat disparagingly, of Eastern Europe with fascination at their differences to England, and Bella’s incomprehension at the constant rain away from sunny Arizona.
Both Bella and Jonathan are alone in the world of the other, isolated from the world they know, and completely unaware of the darknss their respective new frontiers are hiding. This puts them in the perfect position to be victims of their respective vampires.
But they are not entirely alone.
On his journey to the castle, Jonathan is approached by many locals during his stay in Romania most notably including the old woman who ran the hotel in which he stayed the night of 3rd May, who knowing what could await Jonathan at Dracula’s Castle, wept for his safety and “taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to [him].” Although Jonathan would still face all the horrors at Castle Dracula’s disposal, the crucifix- and the kind act of bestowing it upon him by the old woman- kept him safe.
In much the same pattern, while Bella’s human friends in Forks never learn the truth of what lies just under all their noses, members of the Quilleute tribe are a great aid to Bella’s discovery that something is afoot with the warning that “The Cullens don’t come [to La Push beach].” It is from members of the tribe that she learns of the legend of “the Cold Ones,” and begins the research into what Edward is, leading to her uncovering the truth.
Finally, it is their positions in their respective stories that marks them as parallels, and shows that Bella is Jonathan’s spiritual succesor. Jonathan Harker and Bella Swan are both the gothic heroine of their stories, taken in the night by monsters into the world of the supernatural, and helpless to its allure, as well as caught up in the inescapable romance of the mysterious.
The blog halfmystic.com in positing what a gothic heroine was gave the following line: ”she will have simultaneously multiplied and withdrawn, a hundred women into one, a single woman fragmented in the shards of the memory and tragedy to come.”
Neither Jonathan nor Bella are the same after their adventures in the world of the vampires, with both of them having rushes with death before the last pages of their books are turned.
Jonathan starts his journey as a non-believer in the supernatural, a good, sensible, upstanding member of the Church of England, and of society. He states in the very first entry “I read that every known superstition in the world is gathered into the horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of some sort of imaginative whirlpool.” “Imaginitive” diminishes the notions that any of these “superstitions”are anything more than old wives’ tales, and though he seems to find them interesting, as noted by his memo to “ask the Count,” which is of course also a foreshadowing to his own fate, he does not initially believe in any of what he may have heard before the 3rd May. But by the 29th June, he is a quivvering mess, crying out onto the pages of his journal: “I came back to my room and threw myself on my knees.”
He has truly “fragmented,” his former self shattered, and he has become a manifestation of the “tragedy to come” in his dramatic linguistic tendencies.
Bella also can’t comprehend the mysteries of Edward Cullen, baffled that one being could be as fast and strong, comparing him to superheroes as she cannot fathom him. However, at the beach, when a member of the Quilleute tribe says “The Cullens don't come here,” Bella’s mind starts turning, and while she’s already found Edward to be beyond her comprehension, that line triggers her imagination truly, as Jacob Black tells her the stories of "the cold ones,” which pricks Bella’s ears. halfmystic.com also describes that “a gothic heroine moves slowly, then faster, lured away from any semblance of safety by that quiet promise of something new.”
Bella’s journey from intrigue to a full-blown deep-dive into the supernatural starts slow, but soon after her encounter with Jacob and his friends from his tribe, Bella ends up committing a great deal of time and energy into researching online, “lured way from any semblance of safety by that quiet promise of” knowledge, no matter how dangerous.
All in all, Bella is not only Jonathan’s spiritual successor as a gothic heroine, but as a character, a reimagined Jonathan Harker who explores a new world of mystery, with Bella walking in his footsteps, only to step even further by entering fully into the romance of vampirism… though that is not to say that Jonathan’s tale is not one of romantic daliances with the undead.
More on that later, as first, we must explore how Bella’s paramour Edward fits into the Draculaic parrallel.
Edward Anthony Masen Cullen
Edward Cullen is more mutable than his love interest. Where I immediately saw parallels between Bella and Jonathan, Edward’s position changes in relation to the characters of Dracula. He is the gothic hero to Bella’s heroine, but is also the most direct source of Bella’s danger. Therefore the key comparisons for Edward are of course his fellow vampire Count Dracula, and equally Mina Murray, who acts as Jonathan’s hero.
Beginning with the obvious, Dracula is a parallel for Edward, not merely as a member of the same species, but in their role in their respective stories in many aspects. To get the mentioned obvious out of the way first, the nature of their species as marked out by both Stoker and Meyer bare similarities to one another.
Firstly, key characteristics of Edward’s vampirism, and vampirism in general in Twilight, are laid out by Bella as she researches various myths from around the world, including the Romanian Varacolaci , a powerful undead being who could appear as a beautiful, pale-skinned human,” and “the Slovak Nelapsi , a creature so strong and fast it could massacre an entire village in the single hour after midnight,” all of which are traits that Edward has exhibited, though he may not be as inclined as Bella is to call himself “beautiful.”
Now how does this compare to the vampirism of Dracula?
Firstly, while, unless one has an interest in “long white moustache[s],” it is unlikely that Dracula himself is invisionable as “beautiful,” his oft-called brides, however, most certainly are. Two are described as having “piercing” eyes, and the third “as fair as fair can be,” much like Edward, and then Stoker’s language becomes so very romanticised as Jonathan describes her has having “great wavy masses of golden hair and eyes like pale sapphires.” Most beautiful indeed.
As a brief note, they are often described in terms relating to precious stones: “sapphire eyes,” “teeth that shone like pearls,” and “ruby lips.” Edward is often also associated with precious stones as, among the many shades of yellow used to describe his colour-changing eyes, “topaz” shows up with great frequency.
Next, Dracula’s strength is commented upon in the very scene in which the brides are also introduced, as Jonathan describes his “strong hand” with “giant’s power,” and the “fierce sweep of his arm.” Moreover, it is noted that Dracula carried Jonathan back to his room, just as Edward carries Bella to the nurse’s office, with Bella noting that it was “as easily as if [she] weighed ten pounds instead of a hundred and ten.”
And what of speed? Edward’s penchant for speed even translates to his desire to drive fast, stating “I hate driving slow,” even though Bella points out that they’re still going 80 miles per hour. Dracula similarly must travel at high speed to disguise that there are no servants in his castle, and even the other passengers on the 5th May entry reference Burger’s Lenore, “’Denn die Todten reiten schnell’— ("For the dead travel fast.")”
Edward is not exactly the same breed of vampire as plagues the Carpathians, and also makes a point of debunking certain myths that reference Dracula. Bella asks about “sleeping in coffins,” and why she’s seen him in the day, and he simply responds with a monosylabic “myth,” though eventually expands after some probing. Nonetheless, there aren’t as many differences as naysayers would believe.
Moving onto Dracula as a guide into the world of the supernatural, and Edward as his successor in this role. Dracula picked the wrong victim, as it is Jonathan who eventually becomes Dracula’s demise, and had he not exposed Jonathan to the world of the supernatural, he may have succeeded in his evil schemes. Jonathan knows truly what Dracula is, and knows that he is a being of destruction that he wants to stop. In his 30th June entry, Jonathan refers to Dracula as a “being,” implying his monstruousness, and has inferred that Dracula’s plan is to “for centuries to come […] satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless.”
Jonathan states that “[t]he very thought drove [him] mad,” and that desperate insanity in Jonathan’s tone expresses truly the determination he has to move against the “vile” Dracula.
Meanwhile, Edward is equally catalystic, inviting Bella to meet his coven, which gives her powerful friends and enemies alike, but does not cause the demise of either party, instead leading to both parties gaining greater allyship beyond the story of the first book. Her interactions with the Cullens are friendly, with Alice “kiss[ing] [her] cheek” as an introductory greeting, and Jasper’s gift for empathetic manipulation rendering Bella with a “feeling of ease.” It is clear that these two especially will be friends of Bella’s as time passes,a contrast to Jonathan’s interactions with the vampiric, and yet a comparison to how he engages with the rest of what Tumblr affectionately calls “the Drac Pack.” Jonathan interacts with Dracula with rightful loathing one might have for a captor, but with Mina and everyone else as friend.
Moreover, both Dracula and Edward represent another realm to which Jonathan and Bella have little connection: Aristocracy.
Jonathan seems not to be poor by any means, and as a newly-qualified solicitor, he is likely in a reasonably secure financial position, but he is not an aristocrat. And it is Dracula’s introducing Jonathan to the world of aristocracy that emphasises the imbalance of power between Jonathan and his host, aiding his fall to victimhood. Actually, in one of the earliest interactions that Jonathan has with the count on the 7th May, Dracula speaks of how is status will not be percieved in London as it is in Transylvania, but he emphasises that “[he is] boyar; the common people know [him], and [he is] master.” He then almost immediately asks Jonathan about the house he shall be moving into in London, pulling Jonathan into the role of servant, as a reminder that, at least while they are here, the Count is Jonathan’s superior. The Count is in control.
Bella also is not particularly liable to have had financial struggles in her seventeen years of life, but she too is contrasted to Edward and the Cullens and their flash cars, the least flash of which is Edward’s own Volvo. But Carlisle Cullen spent some time among the vampires known as the Volturi, as described to Bella by Edward in Chapter Sixteen. While little is detailed about them in the first book, Edward notes that Carlisle“greatly admired their civility, their refinement,” giving a ghosting of an implication of the Volturi’s status that becomes imposing and dangerous as the Twilight Saga continues. While Bella is not the victim of the Cullens, or, indeed, the Voluturi, by this point in her journey into the supernaturl, she is in the position of an outsider in another way, which puts Edward in such a powerful position by contrast to her, and comparison to the Count.
It goes without saying that the Volturi read as a direct nod to the regal Dracula in his mysterious European castle. Of the three leaders, Bella’s narration describes them as “two black-haired, one snowy-white.” The dynamic of their coloration is a parallel to the brides also, as well as alluding to Dracula himself with their having the title of "Nighttime patrons of the arts.” Dracula’s love of the “sweet music” of nocturnal creatures is similar in tone.
It is through this wealth and power that the idea of Jonathan and Bella as victims of the vampiric, as it is with this wealth and power that Dracula and Edward can exert a control over their respective victims. The powerful and dangerous Dracula in his isolated castle where anyone else would fear to tread but the unknowing Jonathan, alone in the country in which he is a stranger; the rich and aristocratically-connected Edward who drives fast cars, and his only undoing being Bella herself, the one person whose mind he cannot read.
And it is on that note that the connection to characters other than the villain exists deeply within Edward’s parallels to Dracula.
Edward is as mentioned, a parallel also to Mina Murray, as both are the gothic hero to their respective heroine. Beginning with Mina, Tumblr user incorrectsmashbrosquotes, in frustration at adaptations of Dracula percieved not to do Mina justice vented “Gimme an adaptation where Mina loathes this pestilential demon with every fiber of her being.” I agree with this sentiment, as this is the Mina that I too see, and also the Mina that Edward reflects so brilliantly when Bella is in danger at the climax of the novel. Before the chase from the hunters has truly begun, Edward is described with animalistic rage, as Meyer’s language associates him with a non-human wilderness as he “roar[s] in frustration,” and “hiss[es],” exhibiting the traits of a Mina Murray “driven to stamp out this stain upon the world [that Dracula is] as her husband [Jonathan] is,” just as incorrectsmashbrosquotes desires. As Edward saves Bella from James’ venom, Bella notices “[his]doubt was suddenly replaced with a blazing determination,” reminding me instantly of incorrectsmashbrosquotes’ final assessment: Gimme a Mina with all the fury of Hell behind her.
Edward is not just the spiritual successor to Mina, but has moments of being the adaptation across centuries that Mina deserves.
A Comparison of Relationships
Moving onto how these characters interact, we see that there certainly are parallels to Bella and Edward’s romantic dynamic with how Jonathan interacts, of course with his fiancée and later wife Mina, but also how he interacts with the vampires.
Bella and Edward’s relationship builds through mystery to romance, and touches on a ghosting os sexual desire. The earlier stages of their knowing each other emphasize a forbidden allure that Edward associates with Bella, creating a romantic allure from the inherent temptation of forbiddance. When simply inviting Bella to sit with hi at lunch, Edward says"I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.” Engaging with Bella is seen as sinfully tempting to him, as though it is she who is the supernatural temptress, and not he who is the dangerous creature. Yet, after only a few more sentences are exchanged in that same interaction, he says “But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you.”
Even early on, this is a forbidden relationship, tempting like the devil to Adam and Eve, as referenced with the bright red apple in Edward’s hands on the classic cover of the novel.
Jonathan is fed temptation as quickly by the count when he asks on the 7th May entry if he may enter the library as he wishes, and he is told in response:
“You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go. There is reason that all things are as they are, and did you see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better understand.”
There is extensive detail which is inherently intrigueing, telling Jonathan that he may go anywhere but where he will not wish to go… it is an intrigue, a tantalising temptation that, like is discussed earlier, moves in on him slowly and then quickly, all at once. On th 15th May, Jonathan’s intrigue has been amused so that, as soon as the count leaves the castlehe relays that he “thought to use the opportunity to explore more than [he] had dared to do as yet.”
Despite Edward’s warnings, Bella is still interested in pursuing at first friendship with Edward and then romantic relationship, just as Jonathan is only tempted to explore once he knows he is not to.
Finally, contact is breeched, entering into a sensual engagement between the parties. Dracula finds his emotions overwhelming, and as Jonathan cuts himself shaving, he describes the Count’s eyes “[blazing] with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly made a grab at [his] throat.” Though through rage, Dracula is overwhelmed by one form of passion or another, marking the beginning of a short-lived pattern of behaviour wherein rage compels contact. Edward, however, has his movements constrained by fear- not of Bella, but of what he might do to her, afraid he might cause trauma as his literary ancestor caused to his own mortal counterpart- as he tentatively takes Bella’s hand, saying to her: "That's amazingly pleasant, the warmth." He is unused to this sensation after almost one hundred years without it, astounded by it. Edward and Bella are so aware of their own differences to one another that touch between them is a remarkable thing, reinforced with their first kiss as Bella’s narration notes: “And then his cold, marble lips pressed very softly against mine.”
While Jonathan never overtly kisses Dracula, the next instance of Dracula’s rage fuelling physical contact between them to address has a significant twist of implied lust underscored. After Jonathan’s encounter with the brides, Dracula rescues him from them, announcing:
"How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you'll have to deal with me.”
Firstly, the repetition of “dare” highlights his rage beyond his own comprehension. Secondly, he is possesive over Jonathan as he cries “this man belongs to me,” marking him not just as Dracula’s personal victim and prey, but implying a sexual element to the relationship given the nature of Jonathan’s interaction with the brides. It brings to mind one of Twilight’s most famous quotes: “you are my life now,” which Edward says to Bella as they negotiate the terms of their own intimacy. Dracula and Edward’s possesiveness over Jonathan and Bella respectively has an inherit implied sexuality through their possesiveness, and through the conflicting emotions that charge their tactile encounters. From Jonathan’s perspective also, the touch is repulsive yet enticing, as he says “[he] shuddered as [he] bent over to touch [Dracula], and every sense in [Jonathan] revolted at the contact,” which is overflowing with negativity and revulsion, and yet this is the moment where he has to touch Dracula in order to gain his freedom from him. Conversely, Bella yet again refers to Edward’s touch as cold as “his cold lips pressed against [her] skin” as he saves her from the venom of her attacker James. Yet again, this is a moment in which the touch is described with the negative connotations of the cold, but Edward is saving Bella- moreover Bella describes the pain of the venom as like “fire” and the cold is welcome.
The touches between both dynamics are undesirable and yet tantilising, like a forbidden love. It is a lust that no involved party dares at first to admit. And as Bella and Edward confess their attraction to each other from as early as Bella’s admittance in the prologue, Dracula also reminds the brides that “[y]es, [he] too can love; [the brides] [them]selves can tell it from the past,” dragging involuntarily the notion of romantic love back into the conversation even between him and his latest victim Jonathan. In much the same vein, pun most definitely intended, Edward calls out desperately for Bella after finding her attacked, repeating her name ten times before he can help her, emphasising the desperate emotion.
And what of Jonathan and Mina?
With the comparison of Edward to Mina, we see the other side of his relationship with Bella. While the Dracula connection represents the physical and dangerous aspects of Edward navigating his feelings for Bella, his parallel to Mina shows the insity with which he cares deeply and tenderly for his delicate, too-human mate.
Mina’s heroism comes largely from her initiative, organisation, and intelligence as she rallies the group together, but a significant ammount of what makes her admirable is the way in which she cares so compassionately and selflessly for the sickly Jonathan in Transylvania.
On the 19th August when Mina finally receives news from Jonathan, she immidiately makes her plans to rush to him, even when Sister Agatha has warned she may needed away from home for some time as Jonathan is deathly ill. Mina watches over him and tends to him with the aid of the nuns which brings to mind how Edward watches over Bella.
We see that he watches her sleep, as Bella narrates that she “(…) drifted to sleep in [Edward’s]cold arms,” and the next morning she discovers that he has stayed with her and receives the realisation with great joy. Later, when Bella is in the hospital and the following interaction occurs:
"Bella."He stroked my face anxiously. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here as long as you need me."
Like Mina is to Jonathan, Edward is a comforting presence to Bella and is dedicted to her care. Mina is there as quickly as she can be, setting off straightaway to be at the side of the man she loves. Edward is not only Bella’s saviour from James, but he also provides the comfort she needs by being there for her as she recovers from the ordeal.
With both of these relationship dynamics, what is seen is kindness, gentle care and comfort, and one party being willing to look after the other, embodying the tradtional vow of “in sickness and in health,” and showing one of the key aspects of both how Jonathan views Mina and how Bella views Edward: heroic, angelic, and comforting.
By comparing Mina to Edward, we see another interpretation of what the highest form of intimacy is between Mina and Edward, and their respective lovers. For the comparison between Edward and Dracula, touch- particularly sexual touch- is the apex of the illicit engagement between Dracula and Jonathan, and between Edward and Bella. But by seeking comparative aspects between Edward and Bella’s relationship to Jonathan and Mina’s another aspect of a relationship dynamic such as these is brought to the fore: not base, carnal desire and the intimacy of knowing another’s body, but the emotional and intelligent desire and deep intimacy of knowing the other’s mind.
Edward is established to be able to read minds in Port Angeles after saving Bella from unsavoury characters when she is separated from her friends. When he takes her to dinner, he says that he “heard what [the attackers] were thinking,” and Bella narrates her description of how his face contorts when he remembers their vile thoughts, relaying “he growled, his upper lip curling slightly back over his teeth.” Edward uses this ability to protect Bella, saving her from them in the nick of time.
Similarly, Mina, as she approaches the full throws of vampirism can be used as a sort of pendulum to hunt Dracula as she has developed a kind of psychic connection to him. On the 29th October, Dr Seward’s journal notes of how Mina, under hypnosis, has revealed that Dracula is being brought upsteam. On the 2nd November, Van Helsing uses hypnosis again to establish Dracula’s current position via Mina yet again.
Both Edward and Mina can use their vampiric telepathy for the good of others, especially for the protection of those they love, yet both of them share the same blockage to their gifts as neither can read the mind of their significant other. Edward has “one exception” to his gift, as implied to Bella in Port Angeles, and Mina’s connection to Dracula under hypnosis seems to be limited to that specific connection and under those specific conditions.
In order to discover the untimacies of their significant others’ minds, Edward and Mina both have to investigate beyond the use of their supernatural gifts. Edward and Bella talk and try to figure each other out, Bella as a mortal who cannot read minds, but Edward as a vampire who has only one mind he cannot read- the one he wants to read most- which places the knowledge of the mind on almost a higher level than the carnal knowledge of a body.
Edward and Bella make a habit of taking it in turns to ask each other questions to work the other out like a puzzle, and Mina uses her talents as a stenographer to piece together the journals and newspaper clippings and doctors’ logs that have been gathered over the months since Jonathan went to Transylvania, giving special importants to the diary of Jonathan himself.
Jonathan does not trust himself with the journal anymore, as revealed when Mina arrives in Budapest to take care of him. However, he trust her with the deepest intimacies of his most horrified mind. As if to emphasise the high pedestal on which intellectual intimacy is put in their relationship, Mina seals the journal with wax, promising not to read them unless she has to for Jonathan’s sake.
Mina and Jonathan’s relationship is one of trust, represented by the gift of Jonathan’s innermost thoughts, and Mina choosing not to read them unless she has to. Similarly, Edward has no choice but to respect Bella’s boundaries, and so Bella slowly opens up to him as they get closer.
It is the intimacy of knowledge of the mind, and the trust that comes with that.
Conclusion
For over a decade, Twilight has received flack, as have the girls who read it and watched the films, especcially from those who believed the vampires were neutered and that Twilight was too far-removed from the classics of the vampire genre. But by comparing it to the quintessential vampire novel Dracula, we see that Twilight has direct comparisons to the classics, as well as deep connections to one of the most revered contributions to the genre from over a hundred years before its publication.
Twilight acts as a far truer spiritual successor to Dracula than was believed by many, and contributes greatly to the vampire genre, earning its place rightfully.
#essay#pink academia#pinkacademic#pink academic essays#twilight#twilight saga#twilightcore#count dracula#dracula#dracula daily#jonathan harker#mina murray#bella swan#edward cullen
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hafta make it a quick post today girlies, because I’m travelling! Going to meet friends and see Barbie twice more! But on that note…
As I’ve mentioned, my essay turned into a lecture so uh…
#pink academia#pink#academia#pink academic#think pink#barbie 2023#barbie movies#pink academic essays
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
The art of love
Kaveh x gn!reader (highschool au)
Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort
Tags: artistic/academic reader, bickering, academic rivals to lovers (but art class), Kaveh can't write essays, sumeru classes = honour classes, mild swearing
"Her nose is a little off-centre," you said absentmindedly.
"I know!" Kaveh said, "I'm fixing it."
"Just saying," you said in a sing-song voice.
"Shut up and focus on your own painting."
You let out a laugh and continued painting the hair of your character. Art class would be a peaceful class with the lo-fi music the teacher plays and quiet chattering as ambient noise, if it wasn't for the two of you's constant bickering.
"Thats not how you paint hair," Kaveh said, side-eyeing your piece.
"I'm literally blocking in the shadows. It's nowhere near done," you replied, agitation seeping into your voice.
"Weeeeeeeell, if you ever need help, I'm always here," Kaveh said. The light and cheery tone was clearly mocking you and made you want to pluck his hair out. "After all, I am the only one here who truly likes art," he added, swiping baby pink paint on your right cheek and leaning in so close, you'd kiss if you moved even a millimetre in the wrong direction.
Suddenly, he fell back, off his chair and many eyes gazed at the two of you. You still had your arm extended from when you shoved him away from you and Kaveh was on the ground, a little stunned.
"Aww are you blushing?" Kaveh mocked, referring to the paint still on your cheeks. "You know it's quite rude to push someone, believe it or not, this elite academy's uniform is quite expensive. Though it probably isn't worth a dime in your eyes," he mumbled the last part.
You wiped the paint off your cheeks aggressively while Kaveh picked himself up from the floor.
"You too!" the teacher yelled,"I don't care what's going on between the two of you but it needs to stop, you're both sumeru students for archon's sake!"
"But-" Kaveh dropped his head and just nodded, stopping himself while you simply ignored the teacher and turned to face your painting.
The two of you were the only sumeru students in your art class. Your other "scholarly" classmates had left when they got chance, talking about how "art's a waste of time anyways" or "I have other more important things to do." They probably gave your head teacher so much of a headache that she just let them change. Poor Ms Nahida. Most of the students in your art class were from the mondstat and Inazuma stream with some from Fontaine as well.
"You know you can just quit like all of our other academic classmates, are you just doing art to prove you're better or more cultured than them?" Kaveh asked. "It's no point, they think it's useless and I hate people like you who do it even though they don't like it. Go back to them and receive praise for being top of the class like a dog again." ("Class" refers to the sumeru stream which has roughly 150 students—your grade alone—and is the top 14.29%)
"Who says I don't like art?" you replied coldly.
"Well-"
"If you payed attention in language arts, you'd know it's a rhetorical question," you cut him off. "Anyways, why would I want to go back to them? They're stupid anyways."
"After you finish your painting, please write an essay on it, it'll be 50% of you final grade," the teacher announced.
Kaveh groaned. Hearing the bell ring you packed up and left for lunch.
The cafeteria was bustling with noise. Everyone excitedly talking to their friends, exchanging gossip or complaining about the huge load of work they had. Most sumeru students came into the cafeteria and left, too busy perfecting their assignments or doing an extra research project either for fun or extra credit. It wasn't uncommon to see students score above 95% in the sumeru stream so to be the top of the class
"I'm gonna fail," Kaveh said, slumping across the table.
"I'm sure you won't, art is your best subject after all," Tighnari reassured, eating his lunch.
"We have to write and essay and last time we did that, I just passed!" Kaveh shouted. "It dragged my overall grade to a B!"
"Stop shouting, you're so loud," Alhaithem said, turning the next page if his textbook.
Kaveh's biggest weakness were essays, analytical essays. He could analyse just fine and find the meaning easily but his structure, poor vocab and ability to never know how to write and explain something, led to him only just passing because of his analysing skills. To anyone else in the elite academy, Teyvat high, his skills would actually be quite good but he was in the sumeru stream and to get into a special architecture degree in the university of teyvat, he'd have to suffer in the sumeru stream. Unfortunate.
"Just ask (name), they're in your art class and is top of our grade," Cyno said. "And-"
"If you say one more horrible joke, I'm going to throw you out of this cafeteria," Tighnari warned.
"Fine..." Cyno said.
"Like they'd ever want to help," Kaveh said, "plus, I hate them."
"Don't you have a crush on them?" Alhaithem said.
"Shut up!" Kaveh shouted, "as if!"
Cyno raised one of his eyebrows while Tighnari mumbled a "whatever you say."
"I don't like them like that, they're just..."
~
"Cute? I guess but," you pondered, trying to find the right words.
"Oh so you do like him," Dehya smirked.
"Omg! (Name) has a crush on Kaveh!" Nilou squealed, all giddy. "How cute!"
"As if," you said, rolling your eyes. "And you didn't even let me finish my sentence! I can't find the right words for it," you said, the memory of this morning flashing in your mind. "Annoying? Yes but no...Dumb? No not really...Ah! Obnoxious!"
Your friends' eyes slightly widened, their eyes fixated on whatever or whoever was behind you. Swiftly, you turned around, only to see kaveh.
"Well hello to you too," he huffed.
"What is it?" you asked.
"Could you help me with the art essay and in return I'll... I'll leave you alone?" His heart ached at the sight of the twinkle in your eyes when he mentioned the last part.
You thought back to art class. You had left in such a hurry when the bell rang, you forgot your pencil case. When you had went back to go get it, you heard voices coming from inside the classroom.
"Kaveh, you have to lift your grades," your teacher said. Kaveh merely nodded. "You have so much potential but your writing grade keeps dragging you down, please put an effort to improve it this time?" You saw Kaveh clench his fists as his whole body stiffened. You couldn't see his face but the look on your teacher's was a disappointed one.
You'd seen Kaveh poor his heart into every essay whether in art class or not and he'd always just pass. It was like nothing he did could get him over that C. Stepping back from the doorway, you watched Kaveh come out with hot, angry tear in his eyes. He hadn't even notice you and just stormed off to the cafeteria. As soon as he came out, you went in, greeting the teacher, took your pencil case and left.
The journey to the cafeteria wasn't long but it had you thinking. Should you ask if Kaveh wants help? Or would he see it as condescending? You two clearly weren't on the best terms.
Coming back to reality, you nodded and you saw a soft smile grace Kaveh's lips. "You have my number, does the library after school work for you?" you asked.
"Ah yes," Kaveh said, smiling like an idiot.
You had Kavehs's number since he was friends with your friends and you all exchanged numbers but the encounters after that weren't the most pleasent to say the least.
The day went by fast and with the final ring of the bell, you made your way to the library, shooting Kaveh a text when you reached there. The library was two stories and with endless categories and books from fantasy to ancient languages. You secured a small booth in the corner of the library. It has a whiteboard to the left, a decent table that had a comfortable booth seat on each side.
"Hi," Kaveh greeted.
"Hi, let's start?" you asked.
Kaveh nodded in response.
You two started to plan each of your essays, discussing the meaning behind both you and kaveh's painting. The atmosphere was tense and you held you tongue for the sake of a civil study session. Kaveh accepted each tip you gave him, begrudgingly.
The study break ended 20 minutes ago. Refining your plan, you scribbled notes down to the sound of kaveh's typing. You looked up, only to see Kaveh still texting away. He'd been text for half an hour now and each time you told him to stop, he'd just say "I'm almost done."
"What is so important that has you texting for the last half an hour?" you asked, rather impatiently.
"Nothing, just heard that Sam got her hair pulled out." Kaveh said, putting his phone down. (I'm sorry if your name is Sam)
"She got into ankther fight?"
"Yep."
"Serves her right, she's always been a bitch."
Kaveh laughed and you tilted your head to the side, a smile creeping onto your own face.
"Would you like to hear how it happened?" Kaveh asked.
"Yeah, that girl has been causing drama since her first day. Of course I want to know how karma caught up with her," you said.
"Ok, so..."
Time pasted fast as the two of you gossiped and chatted, work casted aside. Playful insults were thrown carelessly and eventually the librarian had to kick the two of you out because it was closing time.
The next day rolled around and both of you found yourself working on your essays, starting the first draft. Typing away, words flowed as you wrote about the composition, line quality and colours used in your piece. Finishing the first draft, you sighed as you saved it and glanced over to Kaveh who was dead asleep.
"I knew this would happend," you muttered. Your grey cotton blanket covered him while you snuck a small pillow under his head, careful not to wake him.
In return, you took his laptop and found he'd finish your first draft before you so you started editing it. Making little notes with the comments feature and giving feedback to pass the time.
"Hmm...how long have I been asleep for?" Kaveh asked, sturing from his slumber.
"Good morning sleeping beauty, you've been sleeping for just over an hour," you said, neatly placing your books and pencil case back into your bag. Kaveh watched you pack up intently. His eyes were still droopy with exhausten and his hair was fluffy and messed up. "I was going to wake you after I finished packing up but I guess there's no need."
You gave a sweet smile that made Kaveh melt into a puddle of water. He couldn't stand how adorable and innocent your smile was and how your eyes reflected it. The slight rosy tint to your cheeks was all it took for Kaveh to want to squish them and pepper them with kisses. He swore over and over again that he wouldn't fall in love with you no matter what he did yet here he was, completely whipped. Simp was an understatement.
"I also finished editing your essay and made notes on what I changed gave feedback so you can refer to it in the future," you said,"if you don't understand it, I can explain it tomorrow but I have to go now so bye." You saved and took your leave.
"Oh, oh ok, bye," Kaveh said, waving back with one hand while the other rubbed his sleepy eye.
Two weeks had gone by, the two of you either meeting everyday after school or the day after if it one couldn't make it. A week after your final meeting, all assignments and exams had been completed and handed in. Everyone let out a sigh of relief as the final week before summer holidays arrived. The final week was mostly preparation for next semester's topics, cleaning up and receiving marks back.
It'd been a week since Kaveh last spoke or argued with you. With the two of you sharing every class except one elective, it was easy to spot the two of you arguing with each other. Whether it was malicious or playful, no one really knew. The two of you didn't even know but an unsettling peace had made itself home in your classes. One that unsettled everyone because it must've meant something really bad happend, right?
You saw Kaveh receive his score on his essay, the look on his face showed he was estatic. In an instant he looked at you with a big heart-warming smile that made you smile even on your worst days but then he shut his mouth as if he remembered something and reluctantly turned away. It made your heart ache and all you wanted to do was scream at him that he didn't have to ignore you, despite the promise he made.
Kaveh: I got a full score!
Tighnari: Congrats!
Cyno: Nice, did you tell (name)?
Kaveh: Oh um...
Alhaithem: Did you forget Kaveh said he'd leave (name) alone if they helped them?
Alhaithem: Good job on your essay Kaveh.
Kaveh: Thanks
Cyno: Sorry, it slipped my mind.
Kaveh: Its fine.
Alhaithem: Well if that's all, stop texting in class, there's still ten minutes left.
Kaveh: Art teacher doesn't care and you're texting in class too!
(Read by Alhaithem, cyno and tighnari)
Kaveh: Don't leave me on read! Urgh!
Throughout the day, you caught Kaveh glance at you from across the class multiple times. Each time, his eyes would widened slightly and he'd whip his head back so fast you thought it might fall off one day. What you didn't notice was the small pout on his lips as he continued taking notes and the bright red that dusted his cheeks and ears.
Everytime you approached, he'd walk away. If you walked in the same room as him and he couldn't escape, he'd talk to someone, making small talk.
"What if he's seeing someone else and moved on already!" Nilou shouted from you left.
"Thats not helping nilou and I doubt that loverboy would move on so quickly," Dehya said from your right while you shrunk.
"Sorry," Nilou said.
"Its fine," you said, pressing the button underneath the traffic light. "This is where I part," you said with a smile,"Ill see you two tomorrow."
"Oh ok bye (name)!" Nilou said.
"See ya," Dehya called out, already walking the other direction.
"Hey wait Dehya! Wait for me!" Nilou shouted, chasing after her.
You looked to the ground and wondered for a moment. Kaveh had been ignoring you purposely and you even tried leaving a note one time on his desk saying you wanted to talk. Perhaps he really didn't like you and just said he'd leave you alone because he thought itd been a win-win for the both of you. Killing two birds with one stone. Getting a high score and also never having to talk to you ever again. Before you knew it, small tears escaped your eyes and you sniffed while furiously wiping the tears away. "No, no that can't be true. I-" words got caught in your throat. Words that wouldn't have been spoken to anyone in particular. The traffic lights beeping went off signalling for you to cross. You looked up staring at the green man start to flash red as you finished crossing.
"Whatever! Its fine!" a voice yelled. "Its not like I love them anyways!" a very familiar voice yelled.
You turned the corner, to see a blonde man standing next to his silver haired friend. Never would you have expected to fall in love University or that kaveh's words would hurt you so much but as you stood there and watched Kaveh's and alhaithem's retreating figure, as you watched Kaveh list all the things he hated about you, small cracks turned into big cracks as your heart started to fall apart and you couldn't be bothered to pick the pieces up.
Part 2 || Dont read part 2 if you don't want comfort and just want an angsty ending. || Requests: open
#kaveh fluff#kaveh angst#i love kaveh i promise#kaveh x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin fluff#genshin angst#genshin x reader#gn!reader#yuyan writes#fanfiction#genshin fanfiction#enemies to lovers#academic rivals to lovers#academic rivals Kaveh#Kaveh#sumeru#highschool au#genshin highschool au#genshin highschool
128 notes
·
View notes
Text
Part 1: An Academic
The Hobbit / Doctor Who : Multishot
The Company x Reader x Tenth Doctor
Word Count: 5315
Warnings:
Request: “Hi so know this is a bit of a weird one but could I request maybe a two part type thing or it can just be super long if that’s easier for you. But the reader is from earth but finds herself in middle earth and help’s reclaim Erebor but gets sent back and then around the 10 years later or something they meet the doctor (you pick on what doctor) and he takes her to middle earth but it’s set in the lotr time and they are just confused at how much has changed and that they get to meet the company and they are happy to know that they are alive and refuse to believe that they have grown up. If it’s too much then don’t worry about it and have a good day/night and drink some water :)” @tree0frog
A/N:
(Y/N) bit into an apple, crisp and sweet as she jogged up the steps of the apartment complex. She used her keycard to scan the lock, entering her humble student housing. It was by no means a luxury with it’s outdated appliances, shotty internet, and suspicious black spots growing on the shower walls.
But it was what she could afford considering the part time job, full time student schedule, and car payments. She was just thankful to have a private room.
She finished her apple and sought the computer to finish a few homework assignments. Having just started her first semester of college, she made it a goal to prioritize schoolwork.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with watching something while finishing an essay. She opened a streaming service and found the Hobbit trilogy, letting the droll of dwarves and the fire of dragons fill the background as she typed away.
The endearing antics of Bilbo making her smile while the stories of Bofur made her laugh. Her eyes whipped to spot the scenes containing the line of Durin: Thorin’s wavy hair or Kili’s beautiful face.
She began to hum the tune of Misty Mountains, standing to find herself a drink. She went for her bedroom door –
Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old.
We must away ‘ere break of day,
To find our long, forgotten gold.
(Y/N) walked through the door and screamed.
“Holy shit!” She danced on her bare feet, feeling soil and weeds tickle her toes. She was covering her face, suddenly blinded by a harsh orange light.
Her heart was beating so fast it was propelling itself into her throat. She began to blink rapidly, adjusting to her new surroundings.
She was outside on a rocky outcrop. A nearby ledge spoke of the base of mountains. Sparse pine trees and crumbling rock descended to a wide stretch of field land below. Birds could be heard near the pinecones and snapping twigs told of life all around her. The overwhelming orange glow that attacked her sight turned out to be the setting sun.
It blazoned the horizon with its ombre of colors, quickly fading into pink and violet. It flooded the surrounding land, not a house or building to be seen.
(Y/N) gapped, inaudible noises falling from her open lips. She whirled around, seeking the chipped bedroom door she had just walked through. But there was nothing but the steady incline of the rocky mountainside behind her.
“What in the…” she gasped, “What?” She raised a hand and touched her face, prodding at the soft skin there. It felt real. She reached out and touched the pine needles of a nearby tree. It poked her finger, acute and sharp. That felt real too.
“Did I fall asleep at my computer?” she whispered to herself. She pinched at her arm, “Am I dreaming?”
She suddenly slapped at her face, gasping at the sting. “There’s no way this is real.”
But the chill of the coming night air was prickling her bare legs and feet. She was wearing nothing but her pajamas, a sweatshirt with her college logo on it and a pair of black shorts.
“Am I just disassociating?” she questioned, “Have I just fallen into my imagination?”
A terrible growl reverberated between the jagged slopes of the mountainside. It was so low and menacing it grumbled in her abdomen. It made her jump.
“Oh, god.” She found her feet beginning to descend the rocky outcrop, arms flailing to keep her balance, “God tell me there isn’t something chasing me.”
She winced and groaned as little pebbles and sharp needles stuck in her feet. The large rock mounds were becoming smaller as more and more pine trees grew from the ground. (Y/N) ran towards the open field, at least getting away from whatever the terrible growl was.
“I’ve finally lost my mind,” she decided, “It’s been a week and college already broke me.”
Her feet slid against the loose soil, toes jabbing into rocks. Spiney branches of pine needles snagged at her hair and sweatshirt. Another spine tingling growl bounced through the air, making her squeal and stumble.
One of her feet dug into a tree root, throwing her into the ground. She rolled down a portion of the mountainside, nearing the bottom. Gasping and crying all the while, she landed in a heap near the beginnings of long field grass.
She could already feel the bruises forming along her joints, but her bare legs had the worst of it. Long jagged cuts and scrapes covered her skin.
The newfound pain combined with the rising paranoia sent crazed tears to her eyes. “Can someone please tell me what is happening?” The answering roar was not the response she was hoping for.
It sent her scrambling to her feet, “I magically appear on the Rocky Mountains and a grizzly bear decides to hunt me.” She began treading more carefully through the grass, “Definitely not how I pictured spending my Saturday night.”
She spent the next hour limping about the tall, sage green grasses. Bunches of lavender and daisies led her to a tree line much different to the pine of the mountain. Broad leafy branches provided cover as she followed the sound of trickling water.
Resting at a pebbled stream, she drank her fill and took the time to clean her wounds, scrubbing away the grimy feeling of dirt.
“I haven’t seen a single road or car or building,” she thought, “There’s got to be a city nearby.”
The sky was now a deep purple – soon it would be blue black with night. If she didn’t find refuge somewhere then she’d fall prey to wandering beasts and the bitter cold.
Using the last hour to collect her thoughts, (Y/N) found her shock wearing off. Replacing it was the instincts to survive no matter how unbelievable the transition from bedroom to the wilderness was.
She followed the stream until something other than the periodical growl caught her attention.
A deep round of laughter.
She limped towards the noise – where there was laughter there had to be people that could help her.
She was cautious as the sound of conversation accompanied the laughs. Loud, bellowing voices led her out from behind the trees. In the distance she could see a house, complete with a barn, wooden fences, and wandering cattle.
Near the entrance was a pile of logs, a trio of men collecting what appeared to be firewood. One was slumped to the ground trying to hold the many planks of wood. The other two were tossing an axe between them and laughing merrily.
“How do you fair folk get wood for your furnaces?” one said with mirth, a scottish accent to his words.
“You can hardly carry three logs,” the other added, swinging the axe. He tossed another cut piece at their third companion.
The shortest of the three attempted to catch the wood, but failed miserably as he was put off balance and crashed to the ground.
“Blasted dwarves,” he muttered, “And your ridiculous fondness of axe wielding.”
(Y/N) scrunched her brow, spying on them from the bushes. Dwarves?
“Come now, Mr. Baggins,” a braided dwarf said, “We’ve all got to pitch in to help our host.”
“Yeah, I don’t fancy being eaten,” the younger dwarf said.
(Y/N) was blinking hard. Did that dwarf just say Mr. Baggins?
“He’s not going to eat us,” said the dwarf with braids. They were sticking rather funnily out from under his hat. “Though I wouldn’t want to anger him by any means. Not out here at night.”
After a great deal of squinting, (Y/N) could now see who she believed to be a Mr. Bilbo Baggins readjusting planks of firewood in his arms.
He huffed, “Best get back inside. Shall we?”
The younger dwarf was still swinging the axe in a manner of showing off. In a swift throw he had the blade imbedded into the ground at Bilbo’s feet.
“Oi, watch it!” cried the hobbit.
The hat wearing dwarf burst into laughter despite the scolding of his words, “Now, Kili – what would we do without our burglar? I hear his feet are his best asset. He’ll be useless in a heist without them!”
Kili returned the laughter, clapping his friend on the shoulder and saying, “Apologies, Bilbo, but you should see the look on your face.”
(Y/N) was slowly revealing herself from behind the bushes, her mind whirring a million miles an hour. If the young, dark-haired dwarf was Kili, then the hat wearing dwarf had to be Bofur. She knew all of them.
All three of them were characters in the movie she was just watching.
That meant that those mountains behind her weren’t the Rocky Mountains… they were the Misty Mountains. And the wide expanse of land that didn’t have any bustling cities or busy roads… that was Middle Earth. And the house that hosted the company, that had to be the home of Beorn.
Beorn the skin changer. He was the terrible growl that she kept hearing in the woods.
This was the beginning of The Desolation of Smaug, and the company was taking refuge before venturing towards Mirkwood.
No, hang on a moment. This was absurd! How could she have walked through her bedroom door and have ended up on the slopes of the Misty Mountains? Sure she was watching the movie when she left, but how could that have…
She put a hand to her head, watching the trio of company members decide to return inside for the night. Her feet started moving against her will.
“Ex-Excuse me,” she whispered, clearing her throat to say it louder. “Excuse me!”
The three characters turned to her voice with quick precision, their previous laughter missing from their faces. Bofur was the first to speak – kind words with a hint of hesitance in them.
“Evening, lass,” he smiled though it didn’t reach his normally jovial eyes. “Who might you be?”
“I’m…” she swallowed hard, “My name is (Y/N). I’m not from around here. And I’m lost.”
Kili darted his eyes to her bare legs before trying to keep them resolutely on her face, “Pardon me, miss. But where are the rest of your skirts?”
(Y/N) tugged on her sweatshirt sleeves, letting them consume her hands, “I’m afraid I have nothing but shorts.”
“Shorts?” Bofur tested the word, “What are shorts?”
“Ah, they’re trousers, but cut at a short length.”
“Why in the name of Durin would you want that?” Bofur snorted. “It’s freezing outside.”
(Y/N) felt her cheek twitch in an almost smile, “Yes, I’ve figured that much out.” She gazed down at her legs, “I’ve been robbed of my supplies and have been wandering these woods for hours. I ask only for a place to stay the night, please.”
Bilbo began looking between his companions, expecting them to answer her instantly. But when they did nothing but contemplate her, he piped up, “Of course you can come in.” He scolded the dwarves, “Honestly, you two.”
“Now Bilbo,” Bofur said loudly, “We don’t know this lassie.”
“And she doesn’t know us,” Bilbo said firmly, “I’m not about to let this poor woman freeze to death.” He nodded towards (Y/N), “My dear, let’s go find you some proper clothes.”
“It’s not our house,” Kili said, still flustered by (Y/N)’s lack of pants. “We can’t accept new guests without consulting the host!”
Bilbo beckoned (Y/N) with his hands full of firewood, “He’s rather busy at the moment seeing as he’s currently a bear and all.”
That finally got a smile out of her even if the dwarves were still suspicious of her. She didn’t blame them – dwarves were a race full of pride and secrets, they don’t easily trust a newcomer.
“I’m very grateful,” she said to them, following Bilbo. “Really I am. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t come across you chopping wood.”
Bofur trailed behind, “Have you got a limp there, lass?”
“I took a tumble down the mountain,” she said quietly, “I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Kili snorted, then shook his head as if he weren’t supposed to find suspicious strangers funny.
“We can get you on the mend,” Bilbo said, almost like a mother hen. “There’s plenty here to share.”
“How we’ll explain it to the others, I don’t know,” Bofur sighed, “Thorin won’t be pleased.”
“He’s hardly ever pleased these days,” Kili muttered, helping to open the door.
Inside the great wooden front doors was an oversized house. Everything was a size too big, even for a human. But it had that rich oak atmosphere where everything was warm and alight with the glow of the fire.
There were large wolf hounds guarding the entrances and ginormous bumblebees buzzing about the rafters and open windows. She could see the heads of cows popping in for a visit and a dwarf or two was feeding them straw.
The hoard of dwarves congregated mostly by the roaring fireplace, attempting to sit at too large of chairs.
(Y/N) was finding her eyes darting from one face to the next, cataloguing the familiar characters. Dwalin was sharpening a battle axe apparently ignoring the fussing tone of Dori beside him. Oin was stoking the flames while his brother Gloin was eyeing the fine gold plated jewelry box atop the mantelpiece.
Nori was polishing a thing of silver, admiring its shine while his younger brother Ori was scribbling away in his journal. Bombur and Bifur were washing dishes at the sink, which was the size of a bathtub and required both dwarves to stand on stools to reach. This left Thorin, Fili, and Balin – all three of them conversing quietly at the table.
“Right then,” Bilbo huffed, dumping his armful of wood. “You’re taller than me,” he addressed (Y/N), “But I suppose one of my shirts might fit you better than a dwarf.”
Bofur and Kili were sharing looks as their companions sensed the shift in atmosphere. Dwalin stood, battle axe poised in his hands in his most threatening stance.
Ori’s charcoal pencil paused in its scribbling, catching the attention of those beside him at the fireplace.
“What is this?” Gloin grumbled behind his bushy beard.
The table of conversers lifted their heads from where they were bent together. (Y/N) swallowed hard, looking to each with very clear fear in her gaze.
Bilbo was completely unbothered, rummaging in his pack for some extra clothes, “Some suspenders will help, but we’ll have to hem a pair of pants to fit you.”
“What have you done?” came the low growl of Thorin Oakenshield.
(Y/N) tugged on her clothes, suddenly wishing to be as small as possible.
Balin put a hand on Thorin’s arm, “Who have you brought with you, cousin?”
“Someone lost in the woods,” Bofur said awkwardly, picking at his knitted gloves, “She was seeking shelter.”
Thorin stood, hulking in his furs, “Is that all?”
“Where do you come from, lassie?” Dwalin drawled, moving to stand beside his king. “You and your strange clothes.”
(Y/N) mumbled as she searched for her voice. “I was – was in the Misty Mountains. Attempting to scale them, more like.” She blessed her knowledge of Middle Earth. “I was ravaged by goblins and sent tumbling down the mountain.”
“Goblins don’t leave their tunnels,” Nori said lowly, “They’d burn in the sun.”
“I was caught resting in a cave,” (Y/N) said quickly. She had to stop herself from adding, ‘that’s what happened to you guys too, right?’
Balin seemed more content with that answer, “Sounds like goblins well enough.”
“But your attire,” Gloin grumbled, “It’s not of any style I’ve seen on this earth.”
“The stitching is immaculate,” Fili remarked, “The lettering is such a strange pattern.”
That’s because it was mass produced by a mechanical sewing machine, (Y/N) thought. “This is the lettering of my house,” she gestured to the college logo, “I come from a family of academics.” She prayed that was believable, “We have some rather eccentric ways of thinking. That includes the evolution of clothing.”
Some of the dwarves became lost in that statement, clearly not as versed in academics and sciences. But others like Ori and Balin were intrigued, Bilbo as well as he produced a linen shirt and suspenders.
“I’ve never heard of such a house,” Balin mused, stroking his mighty beard. “Not in all my years working with genealogies.”
(Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek, “We are but a few. We created our own sigil and broke away from others to form our house.”
“How do we know this isn’t some trick,” Dwalin glowered, “I would like to know why this academic decided to venture over the mountains alone.”
She felt scrutinized under every eye in the house, it was making her quiver.
Bilbo was scolding everyone again, “For goodness sake,” he muttered, “Can’t you see she’s cold and injured. Honestly, don’t any of you have manners for the lady.” He offered the linen shirt and (Y/N) promptly held it to shield her legs from view.
Kili seemed torn between being a gentleman and respecting his uncle’s hesitance. In the end his conscious won, nudging (Y/N) to stand behind him.
“There’s no harm in providing her some supplies and a place to stay. We can consult our host in the morning.”
(Y/N) was feeling cornered. Did she tell them the truth? No, they’d never believe her. Does she reveal that she knows them all? That she knows their fate? She eyed the back of Kili’s head, envisioning what was to become of him during the Battle of the Five Armies.
“I don’t blame your suspicion,” she said quietly, “I know who you are and what you are trying to reclaim.”
Kili sidestepped to reveal her face. “What?”
Thorin growled, “Impossible.”
“She is an academic,” Ori muttered.
“What do you know?” Fili asked.
(Y/N) licked her lips, choosing her words carefully. “You are the company of Thorin Oakenshield. You’re on your way to reclaim Erebor beneath the Lonely Mountain. The throne of Thror, grandfather of your rightful king.”
Tension was building in the house, tangible in the way shoulders straightened and hands went for their weapons.
“I study tales and stories from all over Middle Earth. I know of all its secrets.”
“And I suppose you thought you could reclaim the treasure for yourself,” Dwalin said, “Seeing as you have such a wealth of knowledge to guide your path.”
“No,” she said loudly, “I only have an interest. I have no wish for glory. There is a dragon in that mountain, you know – how could I approach it all by myself.”
Oin said gruffly, “There is word that the dragon might’ve moved on. Birds have been…”
“… seen flocking to the mountain,” she finished, “That’s doesn’t mean anything. Believe me there’s still a dragon there asleep.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Dori asked.
“I told you, I come from a house of academics. We have eyes everywhere and they send us knowledge from all over the world.”
Balin harumphed, “Spies. The lot of you are spies.”
“In a way,” she muttered, “I grew tired of reading things secondhand. I wanted to experience it for myself. That is why I left my home.”
Bofur chuckled, “For someone so knowledgeable, you seem to have fallen short in your survival.”
She smiled warily, “It’s apparent I don’t have skill as a traveler. But I am still valuable.” She eyed Thorin, “I know the path your taking and the perils you’ll meet on the way. I know all the people you’ll converse with and the kingdoms you’ll pass through. I could help.”
“What is your name, lass?” Balin asked.
“(Y/N),” she said.
The old dwarf considered her before speaking, “Well, Kili – let’s get a pair of your pants and hem them for (Y/N).”
“Um…” Kili whipped his head around, eyeing his uncle as he said, “Yeah, of course.”
Bilbo held his head up, exasperated that it took that long to assist her. “Her legs will need tending as well.”
Thorin kept his piercing gaze on (Y/N) as she was led to the fireplace where Oin could mend her injuries. Balin and Fili kept his head level as they discussed the possible benefits of this new traveler.
(Y/N) spent the rest of the night conversing with the dwarves and Bilbo. They shared bread and honey with her as she wove an imaginative tale of where she came from and where she was going.
All she could think was how grateful she was for making the night.
~~~
They had made it to the woodland kingdom of Mirkwood, full of the arrogant, secretive elves under Thranduil’s reign. (Y/N) knew how they’d lock the dwarves up just for being of the opposing race.
She also knew that Bilbo had found the One Ring and was currently using it to remain invisible.
“Listen to me, Bilbo,” she had said to him the morning before being ambushed by the Mirkwood spiders. “In the Woodland Realm there is a river you can access through the wine cellar. Should we ever find the need for escape from that place, the barrels can be used to float down the river.”
Bilbo had looked at her with such clear confusion, still being affected by the poisonous air of Mirkwood, “How do you know that?”
She smiled at him, eyeing his pocket that concealed the ring, “We all have our secrets.”
He scrunched his face in thought as she led the company back through the forest.
Now slumped against the wall of the prison cell, (Y/N) hummed to herself, thinking of all the things she yearned from her past life. A hot bath with that lovely soap she got from the mall. Clothes warm from the dryer as she sang to her favorite playlist. Fast food she picked up on her way home.
“We’re never getting out of here,” Ori moaned in the cell across from her.
“I refuse to die by the hands of those prissy long eared fiends,” Dwalin grumbled. “We’ll find a way through these walls.”
“Yes, you will,” (Y/N) whispered to herself, banging her head against the cave wall.
She didn’t think anyone heard her until Balin muttered through the connecting window between their cells.
“What was that, lass?” he shifted closer, “How can you be sure?”
She choked on her words, “I have faith.”
“Hm…” Balin hummed, “You seem to have many predictions that have come to pass. Gandalf leaving us before Mirkwood…”
(Y/N) started rubbing at her temples, “I overheard him saying something.”
“The fact we would get lost in those woods.”
“Everyone gets lost in those woods.”
Balin chuckled, “How we would be captured by the elf king’s son. That Bilbo would somehow not be with us.”
She sighed, “Are you trying to make a point, master dwarf?”
The old dwarf paused, “I feel as though your circumstances arriving to this place are not what they seem.”
“What do you believe them to be?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything, lassie. But I do wish you would be honest with me.”
She continued to bang her head against the cave wall, trying to will some inspired lie to grace her tongue. But her crafted mask was so layered it was exhausting to keep it on. She wanted to tell someone the truth.
“I come from a place very far from here.”
Balin remained silent for a minute, “We may be locked in here a while longer – I’m settled for a good story.”
“Yes, Bilbo will be here shortly.”
“How can you know that?” Balin chuckled again.
(Y/N) shrugged, unable to see any of her companions past her cell. “I just do. The elf guards are going to overindulge on wine as Bilbo makes his way down here to rescue us. He’ll take us to the cellars to escape.”
There was silence as the information was processed.
“Where I come from,” (Y/N) said quietly, “It’s a different universe. I’m not sure if you have a concept of what universes are.” She laughed to herself, “I’ve only ever seen them in movies.”
“Movies?” Balin questioned, “Never heard of such a thing.”
“It’s a form of storytelling, like a play. Everyone has scripts and costumes and characters to portray. They tell stories for others to watch.” She didn’t dare touch the subject of cameras and technology. “One day I was watching one of these movies. One of my favorites.”
She stared up at the ceiling, “And when I walked through my bedroom door, I ended up inside the movie.”
Balin cleared his throat, “Inside the story?”
“Yes,” she said, “I somehow got sucked into one of my favorite stories, in the middle of the act. And I know everything that’s going to happen because I’ve seen the story so many times. I know all the characters and their path forward and what happens to them all.”
Balin kept his voice steady, “Such as how they get captured and how they escape?”
She laughed sadly, “Exactly.”
“Seems like witchcraft to me,” Balin muttered, “Something fit for the wizard to explain.”
“It’s hard to believe, I know.”
She couldn’t possibly know that just about every dwarf in those cells were listening in on their conversation.
“So far, lassie, your knowledge has kept us safe. It’s kept us hopeful while trapped in these cells.”
“You don��t think I’m insane.”
“Perhaps a little,” Balin smiled, “But I do know there are things you say that are unexplainable.”
And the dwarves all kept to themselves until the fateful moment that Bilbo reappeared with a dramatic flourish, keys in hand. He saved the day, unlocking all the cells until he reached (Y/N)’s.
He thrust the door open, “(Y/N)! You were right. The elves are drunken on wine down below. We can sneak into the cellar and ride the barrels out of here.”
(Y/N) shared a look with Balin, oblivious to how many of the other dwarves had similar interactions.
“Lead the way,” Balin said, “We trust you.”
And their journey forward was marked with orcs and elves alike. (Y/N) made a great effort to save Kili from getting an arrow stuck in his leg. They tumbled and rolled through the rapids, bobbing in their barrels.
(Y/N), considerably less stable then the dwarves, fell into the water, her head slamming into the surrounding rocks. She hissed, inhaling a mouthful of water, burning a path down to her lungs.
A sturdy hand reached into the river and pulled her up from the depths. It was Fili, dragging her onto the slippery shoreline.
Spluttering water from her lungs, she groped Fili’s arm for support, “Is Kili okay?”
“What do you mean?” the blonde brother questioned, “Where is he?”
Kili came sliding to his knees, beside her, “I’m perfectly alright,” he said, “But I don’t believe you are.”
(Y/N) sighed in relief, ending in a fit of coughs. She went to hug the brothers, “Then I did it.” She muttered into their soaking wet linens, “I can change the future.”
“What are you going on about?” Kili wheezed, trying to yank (Y/N)’s fingers from his back.
Thorin came tromping towards them, “Precisely.” He towered over them, “Explain yourself.”
(Y/N) stared up at him, a torrent of fear washing away the relief on her face. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Enough,” the king said, “We all heard you in the dungeons, girl. We know there is something mysterious about you. We know you seem to believe to come from a strange different world. That you are able to predict things with unnerving accuracy.”
She was now surrounded by fourteen dripping companions, many torn between their growing fondness of her and their superstitions.
“How did you save Kili?” Thorin growled, “As you were just so relieved about.”
(Y/N) calmed her breath, a pounding in the back of her head. “The way the story goes – Kili was meant to be impaled by one of those orcish arrows, in the leg. It would be poisoned and would slowly begin to kill him.”
Fili grabbed his brother’s shoulder, bending down to look at his legs.
“I’m fine,” Kili said quickly, spotting more family members wishing to inspect him themselves. “I would have felt an arrow sticking out of my leg.”
(Y/N) wringed her hands together, “By the time you got to Lake Town he would’ve been incapacitated. It would require healing from one of the Mirkwood elves to save him. You would leave him in the town with some of your companions while the rest of you continued towards the mountain.”
“We would do no such thing,” Dori said, “We’d never leave our brothers behind.”
“You would if he was ill enough to hinder the journey. And with your belief that the dragon is gone, you wouldn’t need your full numbers to investigate Erebor. But you will be sorely mistaken. You’ll awaken the dragon and reign death and destruction across the people of Lake Town.”
Thorin took a few menacing steps towards her, eyeing her down with a piercing blue gaze. He sought any trace of deception in her face. He called upon all the times they were together, her stories by the fire, the care she showed towards the company, the motives for every kind act.
“Your head,” he said quietly, finally backing down, “You’re bleeding.”
She gulped, moving a few fingers to the pounding of her head. They came back red with blood. “That explains the growing headache.”
Thorin chuckled. He actually chuckled. “Tend to your wounds. We’ll need to move in an hours’ time.”
She nodded, “Thank you.” Fili and Kili remained by her side, lowering her to the ground. Bofur came around kneeling beside her as Oin gave orders for herbs that could be found along the tree line.
“You alright, lass?” Bofur asked, hand on hers, “I thought perhaps your journey with us was over.”
“I will be fine,” she said, feeling Kili grasp her shoulder.
“How can you know that?” the younger brother said, “Have you ever been a part of this story before?”
(Y/N) felt a trickled of fear, “No, I’ve only ever watched it. I don’t know what becomes of me.”
“But you know what becomes of us,” Fili said quietly, “Would you be able to tell us how the story ends?”
Her eyes flew to Fili’s face, young and full of promise. To Kili’s roguish eyes and lopsided smile. To Thorin a few feet away, standing firm with orders to his company.
She tried to keep the tremble from her voice, “I could. But I don’t know if I should.”
~~~
(Y/N) was stuck in Middle Earth for the coming weeks and months. She traveled with the company of Thorin Oakenshield all the way to the Lonely Mountain. She bonded with Bard and his children, she discovered the secret door into Erebor, she helped Bilbo sneak around Smaug, and she concealed the Arkenstone when Thorin fell prey to the dragon sickness.
In the coming days leading up to the Battle of the Five Armies, she gave sound advice to Fili and Kili, begging them to remain in certain areas. She tried to tell them with her eyes rather than her words that she was trying to save their lives.
But she never got to see the actual battle.
In a strange turn of events, she fell asleep against the makeshift barrier of Erebor’s gate. Fell asleep against the gate but woke up someplace else.
Her face was stuck to a keyboard, “Oh god,” she groaned. Her neck was stiff as she peeled her cheek away from the keys, “What the hell?”
She was facing the computer in her bedroom, one side of her screen rolling the credits of the last Hobbit movie.
“Did I…?” she blinked, “Was I asleep the whole time?”
Had she really dreamed months of her life in one sitting?
~~~
Masterlist
Tag List:
@caswinchester2000 @aria253264 @bippity-boppity-boopa @kaqua @cameleonfrenzy @shyposttree @ineedtogetoutofhere @the-narnian-sea
Remember to check out my tag list so you’re updated when a fic you like is posted on my blog! Tag List
#the hobbit x reader#the hobbit#the hobbit kili#the hobbit bilbo#the hobbit bilbo baggins#the company x reader#the company of thorin oakenshield#the company#kili x reader#kili#fili x reader#fili#bofur x reader#bofur#thorin oakenshield x reader#thorin x reader#Thorin Oakenshield#bilbo baggins
175 notes
·
View notes
Text
I think what makes us all so hype for the Barbie movie is because we are all FULLY aware it's not going to be some revolutionary "Great film". We all know it's not going to even be on par with the best Disney's Marvel film. It's not going to be the greatest film even released this YEAR.
But we all KNOW this. And we KNOW it's going to be dumb, pink, and most importantly FUN.
So it doesn't matter how ridiculous and mid and lacking in brains it is because NONE OF US is expecting to be anything more than that.
We are all excited because we are all tired and we are all ready for a film that has no interest in having academic essay videos made about it and we're all just ready to sit down and watch the ridiculously pink Barbie movie and be entertained.
And this is so great because it means the chance of being disappointed by the film is basically 0. Because all we expect is fun. Nothing more. And it's just really a BIG stress relief to be hyped for a movie you have no expectations of "great cinema" for.
Relax. It's the Barbie movie. We're gonna have a good time.
89 notes
·
View notes
Note
imagining matty i’m every universe having at least 1 framed photo of girlie in his office. (home office and dirty hit.) esp birthday party girlie, like a print out of a magazine she was on (vogue if she’s super fancy, or a smaller more academic one where she talks about her work.)
this is so fucking cute that i had to yell about it to @abiiors when i saw it!! vee came up with the genius idea that the flatmate pic is of you in your elle woods getup graduating with your law degree(s), which also made us think that you and matty would both be obsessed with different shades of pink at the same time during iliwys writing/conceptualising lmao - you with hot pink (like elle, mother of all law girlies), matty with baby/millennial pink (and given that you have two daughters later, the pink never really leaves the house lol)!! d word pic is one of you that jordan took at the side of the stage, where you're smiling so beautifully at matty and the lights are reflecting in your eyes; he had never seen it until the dh insta account posted it on your birthday and he was, like, ridiculously simpy in the comments lol, very "i've never seen this pic oh my god look at her i love her so much" vibes, and then he literally begged jordan to send him it so he could frame it lmao. and i actually would like to elaborate on bday party girly doing a vogue shoot in a separate blurb (if you guys would want this?), but i think it's one of the candids from that that ends up being framed by matty - you're being all glam and accomplished, but you're not posed as such, you're just... you, the person he loves most in the world. he definitely also keeps a copy of everything you've been published or featured in at home, too, bless him, and even pre-dating i think he takes pics of your articles and essays and posts them to his insta stories like "one of my favourite writers and people ever" and shit like that lol. he's so cute! <3
p.s. in every au, when the babies arrive, he adds another picture to his offices of you holding them and being all cute. obv! <3
25 notes
·
View notes
Note
I think it's a slightly amusing coincidence that the guy with a Nazi fetish was collaborating with a man named Herr Gott.
At this point I'm not ruling out Herrgott being a pseudonym or him writing all the 'vibes-based' junk since James was the one doing 'research' (to his credit he was somewhat good at collecting smart people's work).
But I'm hijacking your ask to clear up two misconceptions that have been bothering me:
(big mess of sources and further reading under the readmore)
1- The nazis and fitness essay (one I actually watched and disagreed with) cites multiple sources and is an attempt to retrofit current "masc for masc" grindr culture onto AIDS era fitness "healthy" gay culture (see Gaston as a stereotype) onto multiple a-historical "gay nazis" revisionisms including The Pink Swastika book and a columnist
I think they got the nazi and fitness nonsense from a scholarly sounding source who's just an oxbridge columnist who's into reclaiming nazis. They're famously good at making nonsense sound like a thesis - see Boris Johnson's upcoming book about Shakespeare and his time as a columnist, see the entire Telegraph and various Terf Observer columns: fully trash but written in academic lingo, even queer academic lingo!
and... here's the source: https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20150324-hitlers-idea-of-the-perfect-body it's the BBC oh look, what's this "Alastair Sooke is art critic of The Daily Telegraph". 🤔🤔🤔
There's a case that the "no fat no fems no chocolate no rice" gay dating culture could possibly be tied to the healthy vs unhealthy infighting during the beginning of the AIDS era but that's a nuanced take that gets smashed to smithereens by lumping it in with gay nazi myths. It also needs to be examined with the attitude to dating apps in general and dating by physical preferences instead of letting chemistry happen by finding people whose goals and outlook match your own.
Terrible essay, terrible premise, some pull quotes from interesting places. Here's an essay about desirability in men, googling "masc 4 masc culture" will get you plenty of articles, you definitely want to look for asian and black writers here because woof they face a lot of racist nastiness under the guise of 'just preferences'.
youtube
and here's
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_of_Finland (he's a very important gay artist, he also did some gay erotica with nazi uniforms whether you think that's an act of defiance, reclamation, tasteless or evil is up to you. art is not always as straightforward as it might look, we'd have to ask him what his intent was.)
-----------------------------
2- The second is "the exciting gays died of aids" concept, good vs naughty gays concept. Again, we're dealing with a mishmash of both modern rewritings, quotes by survivors taken out of context, and gay infighting at the time, which included some spicy takes about dangerous sex by gay men fighting to save gay men.
The lack of research and public education led to chaos, the grief led to anger. Beautiful people said some vicious things. There are several older gay men alive right now who don't have sex not because they're asexual but because there's trauma. It's worth unpacking quote by quote because expanding on it without original context was terrible reading comprehension and reckless rewriting of history, and to be honest, a little defamatory. I can't find a bibliography of the video(s) yet so not sure what to debunk).
There are plenty of tumblr posts railing against out of context quotes which is taking James + Nick's bad reading at face value instead of seeking out the source. Outrage at a thing James and Nick made up which was never a real take.
to paraphrase "My well-known exciting boundary-breaking gay friends are dead and the art world hasn't bothered to seek out more undiscovered talent to replace them, choosing the safe classic establishment folks who may also be gay given the field. I'm pissed you didn't care about saving them, I'm pissed you didn't care about finding a new crop of people who push the envelope." that was the sentiment behind this sort of quote even if folks became more conservative (or got into legal messes later)
I'm going to track down the various quotes and give you the full context because this matters. Again: beautiful minds saying horrible things, fighting between gay activists on how to survive or how to live under the gun. This is something that cannot be flattened to "boring gays survived" and it's an insult to the people who said things in grief and fear. I have not watched this essay (or maybe it's two that use this boring vs danger gays concept) but I have a good idea of what out of context quotes might have led to it, this is my wheelhouse. but TL;DR would be my faves are problematic because activists are passionate messy people. They outed people, they said outrageous things for the press, they screamed murderer and got restraining orders against them, they made taboo art, they mingled with nasty people.
OKAY, incoming link dump:
here's a 6 minute short on act up
youtube
here's a full doc: United in Anger:
youtube
Larry Kramer, Shulman, Fran Leibowitz and many others deserve to have their views examined with full context, not turned into crappy tweet sized quotes.
basic sources from wikipedia:
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/05/19/nyregion/larry-kramer-and-the-birth-of-aids-activism.html
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2002/05/13/public-nuisance
https://www.interviewmagazine.com/culture/fran-lebowitz
https://www.nytimes.com/1987/09/13/arts/the-impact-of-aids-on-the-artistic-community.html
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Wojnarowicz?useskin=vector
youtube
https://archive.org/details/losswithinlossar0000unse
https://archive.org/details/isbn_9781849352857
http://didierlestrade.blogspot.com/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Tatchell
https://archive.org/details/womenaidsactivis00banz
------------------------------
Thankyou to
DHLawrence_sGhost's thread https://www.reddit.com/r/hbomberguy/comments/18biiof/comment/kc9qa6p/
and TerraJRiley's transcript archive https://github.com/TerraJRiley/James_Somerton_Transcripts
--------------------------------------------
I'm going to allow reblogs on this again with the disclaimer that I don't have the full works stolen for these particular essays but the perfect body in gay culture and the good vs bad gays concepts have precedent that got flattened in those video essays and deserve quite a bit more exploration and that includes controversial sources. You will have to do some dialectical reading (agreeing and disagreeing with an author and figuring out how to weigh up the pros and cons of their individual arguments even though they get some things horribly wrong, deciding what was 'of a time' or reading the work of people who became reactionaries later in life).
11 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
we-re-always-alright
a million plastic stars.
late-nxghts
✨existing✨
aph-suice
WHY IS MY OTP SO UNLOVED?
of-fairys-and-tails
Hyper Fixating Idiot
cheath2013
LilBitOfEverything