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skzdreamz · 2 years ago

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if requests are still open ... wealthy man BC with a not-so-secret breeding/preg kink, a little obsessive/possessive personality, raising his eyebrow in ire, slightly clenching his jaw because (female character) lost a little bit of weight -- she thought he'd find her more attractive if she were skinnier -- and now has less of a belly pouch (i.e., that very womanly tell-tale of having a uterus lols). His grip around her hips tighten, stares down hard at her, "this body isn't your's to tweak with. it's mine." his hand hovers over where her little pouch used to be, "it's mine to fill."

Sorry it took so long, I tried to include every element of your request, but I also wanted to keep my own style of writing so I hope this was what you expected and I hope it was worth the wait! <3

Feedback is always more than welcome!

Check out my other stories here!

All mine

pairing: dom!Chan x fem!reader warnings: pet names, cussing, possessive Chan, choking, breeding kink, mentions of weight loss word count: 1.8K+

Chan is a hardworking man. having his own company means a lot of business trips and a lot of nights spending in your shared bed alone. you admire the passion he has for his work, but you still miss him every time he has to go out of the country for his work.

he just got back from a bsuiness trip. you haven't seen each other for a couple of weeks and you really missed him. so when he finally came back from his trip, you jumped into his arms. he drops his bags as soon as he sees you and greets you with open arms and a wide smile.

"I missed you so much baby girl" he places his hands on your ass for support. you can't help but giggle as he gives your ass a soft squeeze. you rest you chin on his shoulder and hum "I missed you too, these past few weeks have been very hard". you give him a passionate kiss. "I know baby, I know. but I'm here now and I won't be leaving for a couple of months for now" he says as he breaks the kiss.

as he unpacks his stuff and washes up you prepared dinner. you made his favourite dish to celebrate him having a good trip and coming home safely. you plate your food and wait for him to return so you can talk about the past few weeks and what you’ve been up to. you can’t help but notice how good he looks. even though he had a tiring trip, he just looks so good and every inch of your body is craving him more and more.

after dinner he insists on washing the dishes and guides you upstairs so you can finally wash up. you step under the shower and as soon as the warm water hits your back you whimper. you didn’t realize your body craved him as much as it did, but feeling the warmth of the fog around you makes you think about how much you’ve actually missed being in Chan’s arms.

you step out of the shower and put on some lingerie you bought for him as a little present. you put on a robe and look at yourself in the mirror, content with the way you look. you see him scrolling on his phone when you walk into the living room. his eyes immediately start scanning your whole body. he’s too curious to know what’s hiding under that robe, even though he has seen your body over a hundred times. he puts his phone down and walks over to you, kissing you passionately. you break the kiss and intertwine your hands in his, leading him to your shared bedroom.

you haven't really been intimate before he left for his trip, because he was so busy preparing for everything. seeing him again makes you crave him even more than before, but something inside you made you anxious. you were afraid he didn't love you as much as he did before. you began to overthink every single thing about your body during his time away and came to the conclusion that you had to lose some weight in order to keep up with his standards. so you did.

you push him onto the bed and as soon as you drop your robe, his smile fades. you mistook his expression for lust, but as soon as you try to kiss him he stops you. your heart drops to your stomach as you feel the insecurities washing over you again. did he really not love me anymore? does he think I look ugly like this? was I supposed to lose more weight? all these questions are popping up in your head and you try to scan his face for more answers.

"what is this?" he clenches his jaw looking annoyed. his voice is deeper than you've ever heard and you don't know if you should be turned on or scared. "I asked you a question didn't it?" he grabs your face and brings it closer to his. "who told you to do this?" he lets go of your face harshly and stands up. his breath fanning over your face making you shiver.

"I- I don't know what you mean Chan" you whimper. he lets out a sarcastic chuckle, he grabs your hips and stares at you. "now tell me why you thought it was a good idea to lose this" he says as he rubs his fingers over your now smaller belly pouch. you let out a shaky breath you didn't even realize you were holding and you close your eyes. his fingers are dancing around your belly and his free hand cups your face. "look at me and tell me baby girl.. what was the reason?"

you feel your voice giving up on you, but you still manage to say something. although it comes out more as a whisper. "I thought you'd like me better this way" you look down at your feet and fumble with your fingers. you feel Chan grabbing your chin. he still has that angry look on his face. "what made you think that was a good idea?"

you feel tears forming in your eyes. you couldn't help the tear running down your cheek and you immediately see his eyes soften at the sight. "no no baby don't cry, it's okay" he wraps his strong arms around you and rubs your back in order for you to calm down. "I just thought you would think of me as beautiful. we haven't been intimate for god knows how long and I figured it was because you didn't find me attractive anymore" you sniffle.

he pushes your body off of him and you see he has that stern look on his face again. "I will always find you attractive. you're the most beautiful person I've ever laid my eyes on. I know we haven't been intimate for a long time. I was busy and didn't realise I was neglecting you, but I'll make it up to you" he cups your face with both hands and kisses you passionately. the passionate kiss soon turns into a heavy make out session. he backs you up and pushes you down onto the bed. lust evident in his eyes again. the soft Chan he was 2 minutes ago, disappeared completely.

"I guess I'll have to remind you that this body is not yours to tweak with. it's mine" he growls as he starts leaving love bites all over your neck and cleavage. you moan at the intense biting and you can't help but squirm under his touch. his mouth travels down your body and he stops right at your belly pouch. "this.." he says as he grabs the flesh "this is mine and you can't just take anything that's mine".

he hooks his fingers in your panties and slides them down your legs. he unclasps your bra and throws it on the floor with your panties. he blows some air on your wet cunt and you gasp at the sudden cold air hitting your heat. he grins before licking a thick stripe in between your folds, tasting all of you. you try to close your legs around his head but he stops you just in time and holds your legs open with his strong arms. he gives a harsh suck on your clit to warn you.

pleasure is overtaking you and you can't help but try to close your legs. he slaps your thigh, warning you again to not play these games with him. you know you shouldn’t test his limits. especially not when you made him mad about thinking you were not good enough for him. but his tongue is working magic on your clit and you can’t control your body anymore.

before you know it your thighs are on both sides of his head. you only notice once you don't feel his tongue on your cunt anymore, making you whine at the loss of contact. "wasn't one warning enough?" he flips you on your stomach. "ass up baby girl, you're in for a ride" he quickly takes off his clothes and rubs his tip through your folds to collect some of your wetness. he then shoves his shaft in you completely without a warning. he doesn't let you adjust and picks up his pace immediately.

his cock is stretching you out deliciously and he's hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. his hips are snapping into yours at a delicious angle making you a moaning mess. his cock is making you see stars and you feel a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. you know that you won’t last any longer if he keeps thrusting into you like that.

he seems to notice by the way you’re clenching around his cock. he pulls out just before you could reach your climax and you felt like crying for losing your orgasm. he turns you around again so you’re now laying on your back. “I want to see that pretty face of yours while I fuck some sense into you”

he inserts his cock again, this time taking it slower than before. his cock sliding between your walls and the wet sound of your mixed juices could make you cum right away. he softly strokes your face with the back of his hand before sliding down and wrapping his hand around your neck. he applies a bit of pressure on the sides of your neck making you feel lightheaded. the lack of oxygen makes the pleasure unbearable and you’re practically screaming by now.

“I love those pretty sounds you’re making for me baby girl” he groans. he feels you clenching around his cock even harder. “you like that? keep clenching like that and I’ll spill my seed into you” his moans becoming more high pitched as your cunts clenches at every filthy sentence he breaths into your ear. “yeah? want me to breed you? fuck I want to breed you” the only response you can give are moans and whimpers.

he sits up, now leaning on his heels as he keeps fucking you. “Ch-Chan.. I’m close” you whimper. he keeps up a steady pace as you fall apart beneath him. he fucks you through your orgasm and you feel his thrusts getting sloppier. “Fuck y/n I’m close” he rubs his hands over your belly. “I want to breed you so badly” he falls forward breathing into your ear. “gonna.. fuck.. gonna give you my babies” he says as he sucks your sweet spot beneath your ear. “yes Chan, give it to me, I want all of you” you whisper back.

he pushes his hand between your bodies and on your stomach before spilling his seed deep inside of you. he comes with a low grunt and lets his body fall onto yours completely. after finally getting his breathing back to normal he pushes himself off of your body and places his hand on your belly while still having his cock inside.

“this is mine to fill. you are mine”

taglist: @softyoogi @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @sillyrabbit76

#bang chan smut #stray kids #stray kids smut #skz #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #skz fanfic #skz smut #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #skz angst #christopher bang #bangchan smut

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aritsukemo · 4 months ago

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So, I started watching Hell's Paradise..

IT'S. SO. FREAKING. GOOD!!! ( Ramble under the cut! Spoilers and possible grammar mistakes ahead!!! )

I'm only on, like, episode seven, but I'm really enjoying myself!!!

Starting off with my boy, my man, my loverboy nonchalant Gabimaru!! His design immediately drew me in the first episode and I find his writing very good so far. A man, who was grown and groomed into being this emotionless killing machine only to dream of going completely against that all because of his love for his wife? SIGN ME UP!! I love how conflicted he is and how much those conflictions are weighing on him. How, because of how he was raised and what has happened to him, he's been treading this line and constantly tipping over the edge of "I'm a heartless, empty killer who's only purpose is to kill" and "I want to live a peaceful, normal life with the one I love/I don't want to kill anymore". The symbolism, how his character's portrayed, those small moments of vulnerability that shows how he differs from your typical cold killer and is actually just this morally broken guy who was raised/influenced by an actual monster; the head chief. ( Who, by the way, is literal nightmare fuel. I don't usually get creeped out easily by stuff in anime's, but the way Mappa went about drawing him is just..terrifying.. )

OH, AND HIS FIGHTING IS MMMM SO ADDICTING TO WATCH!! >.<

Next up is Yamada Asaemon Sagiri, or Sagiri for short. I want to first off get it out of the way by say that she's drop dead gorgeous. Imean, look at her!! No seriously, look-

As someone who absolutely adores strong female characters, it was no surprise that I fell in love with her! She reminds me a lot of Yona as she goes against what the norm was at the time and decided to become a swordsman despite everyone telling her she's better suited as a wife and mother simply because of the fact that she's a woman. ( Which irked me every. single. time. it was brought up btw ) I love how the author is going about her and how she struggles because she feels guilt for even the most evil of people simply because she's an empath--something that is often considered a womanly trait in the eyes of the people, especially men, of that time--but doesn't go too far with it and make her seem weak and useless because of those struggles. I like that, even though she hesitates and sometimes gets help from others ( mostly from Gabi from what I've seen so far ), she gets the job done and doesn't sit there and call for help like some damsel in distress and actually uses her strength!!

My love for her was explained pretty simply in episode six when Genji pointed out how she has the talent to be able to flip flop between being dominant and powerful like a man, but still holds the sense of gentleness and care one would only find in the heart of a woman. I love that quality about her in the same sense I love Mitsuri Kanroji's quality of being able to be cheery, feminine, and delicate despite being involved in such a 'manly' and grizzly job that being a demon slayer is.. AHHH IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT ANY FURTHER, I JUST HOPE YOU GET WHAT I MEAN!!

Next up is the vixen, Yuzuriha of Keishu. I haven't seen much of her yet, but I love her design and overall appeal. Although, she puts up this front of being this carefree, seductive airhead, you can tell there's just so much more to her and can't wait to see it. ( Although I feel like when she does show her true colors, it'll be when she finally betrays Gabimaru and Sagiri like she implied she would.. )

( Also this little stunt she pulled in this clip had me in a chokehold for a hot minute. Like MMMMM LOVE IT WHEN HOT WOMEN DO HOT WOMEN THINGS!! )

Toma and Chōbei are next up! When I first saw Chōbei, of course my mind immediately went to, "Oh shit, it's bakugo!" lmao- His fighting style is cool and his backstory is heartbreaking. Past that though, I'm undecided whether I like him or not..

Like, his backstory was tragic and had me feeling bad as a sad backstory would. It was also amazing in the sense that it gave me more understanding on why he became the way he did and how his mentality was shaped because of it. I find it cool that he has a knack of adapting to any situation too! ..And that's also why I'm so conflicted when it comes to him..

That leads me to bring up Toma, who I immediately fell in love with as soon as I saw his character design. ( I have a thing for men/boys with long hair, mkay? Don't judge me.. ) I haven't really wrapped my head around his character yet ( like his brother ) but it's obviously that he sorta idolizes Chōbei, so much to the point that he didn't hold any gripes towards him when he thought he was going to leave him for dead--which is my main dislike about Chōbei right now.

But yeah, if I had the chance, I'd still date them no questions asked- *smack*

I find Gantetsusai and Fuchi funny and cute together and overall find a good so far. I especially like Fuchi. He's a quirky little guy 😚

( And this height difference kills me. Like LOOK AT HOW LITTLE FUCHI ISSS )

And finally, we have Nurugai and Tenza, who is ranking up to be my 2nd favorite pair in this entire show! Putting aside that Nurugai literally evokes my gender envy, I love her and Tenza both individually and together! I love Tenza's kind soul, how he scouted out Nurugai because he wanted to help her after finding out why she was sentenced to death row! I find it such a highlight of his character and it makes me love the contrast between his brighter self when compared to Nurugai, who's more gloomy and has been traumatized into adapting this matured mindset.

Bonus points for being the only two to not immediately get into it with each other when on the island as well! It really was a breath of fresh air! Oh, an extra points for making me smile like an idiot- 🥰

So far I'm in love with this show! Idk yet where it falls on my anime rankings, but it's definitely high enough up there to spur me to write a drabble or five about this show! Can't wait to watch more in my spar time!!

#ari talks #ari rambles #hell's paradise #hells paradise #jigokuraku #gabimaru #yamada asaemon sagiri #yuzuriha of keishu #aza chobei #aza toma #tamiya gantetsusai #yamada asaemon fuchi #yamada asaemon tenza #nurugai

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luminouslywriting · 8 months ago

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Hiya babe! I've been meaning to send in a request but wasn't quite sure what I wanted until now. 😅

I struggle with confidence sometimes because I'm thin and I get a lot of flak from people about it, backhanded compliments and mean jokes, that sort of thing. I often feel like I don't look "womanly" because I don't have curves to speak of and everything I wear looks bulky on me, and I wondered how Bucky would approach the self-conscious aspect of this with his girl, or how he might defend her in the wake of jokes/comments.

Obviously this can be a touchy subject for people so you don't have to write this if you don't want to. I'm still thoroughly enjoying all of your work! 🖤

Hi Steph 🥹🤍 I just want to tell you how much I adore you before I jump into this request! Both my mom, my sister, and my best friend have the exact same thing and while I don’t have this, it is something I’ve seen really hurt and affect them and the way they view their bodies. I think it’s absolutely important for me to touch on this topic and express that beauty is not a single size or look or body type or skin tone or style. Beauty just exists and by existing you are beautiful 🤍🤍

More below the cut, cut for length!

-Remember how I said that Bucky is the best hype man? This absolutely applies here

-This sweet man takes the time to come up with compliments that are not generic in any way. He thinks of the things he genuinely loves the most about you physically and hypes you up in every way he can think of.

-He truly just loves you and that means adoring your body as well

-I think when it comes to his lover or girlfriend being self-conscious, he's going to do whatever he can to convince you otherwise

-Positive self-talk? He's a pro at initiating that and trying to get you to reframe your thinking about the way you look at your own body

-Spending several hours and sessions of love-making on certain portions of your body that you're particularly insecure about is a favorite past-time of his

-And yes, that means he's praising you and big on body-worship

-And yes, that might mean that he's not giving you exactly what you want or need until you verbally agree with him about how beautiful you are

-Worships you in public as much as he does in private

-This is a man who is not afraid to let everyone know that he's madly in love with you and thinks that you are the embodiment of Venus or Aphrodite herself

-COMPLIMENTS ALL OF THE TIME

-And the minute that someone is shit-talking or pointing out flaws? Oh be prepared—because hands will be thrown and there will not be a single force on earth that can stop him from doing so

-No one gets to talk about you that way, and that includes yourself

-If he catches you saying something bad about yourself, he's genuinely upset and hurt—as though you were saying it about him and not yourself. He's not going to be okay until you apologize to yourself and work on being more kind to yourself.

-He's constantly on the prowl for ensuring that you feel loved, confident, and that you are aware of how much he simply adores you

-Absolutely cheesy as hell with his compliments and the way that pillow-talk might turn into him just ranting about you stunning you are and how perfectly made for him that you are and how much you're beautiful.

-Best man for the job, honestly 🥰

#mota #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #masters of the air x reader #bucky egan headcanons #bucky egan x reader #john egan x reader #masters of the air headcanons

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angsty-twihardxx · 2 years ago

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I’ve seen a lot of dbf!joel and was wondering if you’d write a dbf!tommy as there aren’t any and I absolutely adore your writing style x

RIGHT WHERE I WANT YOU | T. Miller

dbf! Tommy Miller x fem!reader

A/N: THANK YOU I LOVE YOU AND THIS IDEA. I have been tinkering with this idea for a while because there are no dbf! fics for this man and he deserves it, let’s be real he’s a horn bag and a tease i just uh-😩 also I would love to do multiple of these or even a series, plz let me know what y’all think and send ideas.

Feel free to gander at my masterlist if you like x

Warnings: 18+ (minors go away), PnV, age gap (reader is 21) basically porn with little plot. This is NOT edited I very much rushed it no apologies.

You remembered the first night that you met Tommy, he was leaning against the bar with your Dad who beckoned you over. The dining hall was cramped which wasn’t new on a Saturday night, you had mainly come because your dad mentioned a new member that he found on patrol. Usually you dreaded it, but when you saw him across the room you had a change of heart.

His black curls sat on his shoulders when he turned to face you, his lips curving up to give you a wide smile— which you returned quickly. His smile suited him, making his honey brown eyes squint. “Nice t’meet you, m’Tommy.” He spoke lowly, his Texan drawl catching you by surprise as he extended his hand out for you to shake.

You didn’t expect the accent, at first. It made sense though, the more you thought about it he did seem like the cowboy type. You tried your best not to over think how his hands felt enveloping yours, how much bigger his hands were compared to yours.

But that night was a long time ago. When it was merely just a crush on an older man that was friends with your Dad, which developed the more and more you saw him— which ended up being a lot.

Early in the morning’s were now filled with his presence, always standing with a mug full of coffee as he leaned against the kitchen island talking to your parents. The muscles under his button up sleeves flexed as he moved the mug up to meet his lips.

How was he actually so perfect? It wasn’t fair.

But now your feelings had developed, becoming more filled with desire and need. You were a women now, with womanly needs that weren’t being met with the boys your age. It’s not their fault though, newly developed minds bodies that was being pumped with hormones made them awkward and well— quick.

Its not like there were any classes going around for this kind of stuff in Jackson, but you just knew that you needed more.

Maybe it was some undiagnosed daddy issues that had you interested in the younger Miller brother. You could just tell that Tommy knew what to do when it came to sex, after ‘accidentally’ overhearing him drunkenly spew his past life to your father as the two got into a bottle of whiskey, he seemed to be quite the man-whore back in the day. You imagined what he’d be like fucking you, whether he’d be gentle or if he’d pound into you relentlessly till you were screaming his name.

And he knew it too, the smug bastard.

It made the blood in his body rush to his cock seeing you look so flustered from something as simple as a ‘mornin’ darlin’ when he’d see you first thing in your kitchen. When you’d descend down the stairs in your tiny pyjamas, he had to force his gaze off of you when he realised he was staring. He imagined what the soft flesh of your ass would feel like in between his fingers.

Everything about this was wrong, SO WRONG— but yet, neither of you could stop.

. . .

A cool breeze crept in through the ajar open that you sat beside in your living room, book in your lap. Taking the liberties of enjoying the large empty house on your own, which seemed to be happening more and more often lately. You had finished patrol only a few hours ago, thankfully it had been quiet and you were partnered with Eugene. The older man was well liked by you and your friends, mainly for his secret underground weed bunker.

Which is what led you to this point, leaning against your window as you blew out the smoke from your joint.

“Should you really be doin’ that n’here?” Tommy’s voice ripped your attention from your book, he was leaning against the entrance. His denim coat was covered in a thin layer of sawdust, you remembered him mentioning building a new set of homes over breakfast yesterday. “Well, last I checked the smoke detectors don’t work so—“

Your shoulders fell, a huff of air falling from Tommy’s nostrils in amusement. Dragging his palm along his hand he moved to sit beside you on the sofa, just enough space between you. It wasn’t unusual for Tommy to come check on you when your parents were away, whether it was because he wanted to or because he was asked to by your parents was another thing.

You felt butterflies as you thought about the domesticity of your situation right now, the thought of being the first thing he saw every night after work. Being able to ask him how his day was while the two of you ate dinner together.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Tommy sighed, rubbing his fingers through his sweat damp curls. Even after working all day in the heat he still looked fucken amazing—it wasn’t fair. You extended out your arm, holding out the lit joint in front of him to take. An unspoken invitation, which he declined. Muttering something to you about working in the morning.

“C’mon it’s not like you have to worry about a drug test in the morning.” Tommy’s brows burrowed in confusion, before deciding to just take the joint from you. Your breathing hitched as his calloused fingers tangled in yours, taking ahold of the still lit joint in your fingers. “How the hell you even know about that?”

“Eugene was telling me about it today.” You smiled proudly, watching as his lips pursed around the hand rolled paper.

Everything about him just made you want him more, the way his dark curls sat on top of his broad shoulders as he leaned his head back. You wondered what they would feel like with your fingers brushing them back, would it really be so wrong for you to test the waters? You were an adult, and a mature one at that.

. . .

Maybe it was the weed that blurred Tommy’s judgement, the longer the two of you sat together engrossed in casual conversation. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of your exposed thighs, the shorts doing very little to cover you. Giving him the perfect view to admire your soft supple skin.

Stretching his arm out Tommy let it fall down to the back of the chair, his hand now grazing the soft exposed skin on your arm. Goosebumps form on your skin, burning from his grazing fingers.

He loved how you shuddered from his touch, he could only imagine what how wet you were from just one touch. Tommy doubted that anyone your age could please you the way he would. He always noticed how they watched you, none of them new the first thing when it came to pleasing a woman.

“So have you uh-been seein any boys around here?”

“Not at the moment, but I uh— have an eye on someone at the moment.” Your sultry voice only made Tommy’s blood rush to his cock, you had no idea the affect you had on him. “Oh really?”

“Yeah he’s a little bit older than me, but I don’t mind.” You teased, exhaling a breath of smoke that danced in the so between you both. A cheeky smirk plastered on your face, you knew exactly what you were doing. “That right sweetheart?”

Without another second of teasing glances and lingering hands, cupping his stubbled cheeks in your hands you pushed your lips together. A small whine left your mouth as he pressed back, with even more of a fever.

“Tommy—“ You whined against his kiss swollen lips, savouring how his tongue darted to dance with yours. It was everything that you thought it would be, the way soft lips kissed into you roughly it only got you hornier. His facial hair scratched the underside of your palm, his curls were soft as you dragged your hands to the back of his neck. The wetness pooling in your underwear was only growing.

“God, this is wrong.” Tommy groaned in between kisses, he shouldn’t be doing this, with one of his closest friends daughter. Friends were hard to come by these days, especially good ones like your dad. He took him in and gave him a purpose again in Jackson. Yet here he was, his tongue down his daughters throat.

“If it’s so wrong— then stop.”

This emitted a playful growl from Tommy as he moved to nip the soft skin of neck with his teeth. He was already to deep into this, no backing out now. “S’that what you want sweetheart?” Tommy dared to ask, maybe you had changed your mind about the whole thing, but was pleasantly surprised when you shook your head, your lips never leaving his.

“Absolutely not.”

Tommy’s strong hands lifted you up as he held you up around his middle, his fingers kneaded the doughy skin of your ass. Your legs instinctively wrapped wrapped around his waist as he lifted you off the sofa. It felt so surreal to you, Tommy’s hands felt exactly how you imagined them. All those years of working as a contractor meant his palms were rough and calloused, you needed this hands to explore all over your body.

Tommy made quick work of taking long strides to get to your bedroom as quickly as possible, the same bedroom that he would pass every morning to join your family for breakfast.

Never did he think he’d be on the other side of the door, regardless of the many times he thought about it. Fucking you relentlessly in your room, your faced pushed into your pillow while your parents were completely clueless downstairs.

You let out a shocked gasp as your back made contact with the bed, Tommy quickly climbed up on the bed to hover above you. His elbows propped by your head as he leaned down to pant his lips onto you again, all you could think about was his erection pocking against you thigh through his jeans. “Tommy-“ You whined as your hips bucked into him,

“Need you Tommy.”

“Don’t worry baby, ‘gonna take care of you.” Tommy trailed his fingers down till they dug themselves under the waistband of your underwear. Your skin felt like it was on fire, you needed him now. In one swift motion your pants were pulled off of you, Tommy let out a sharp breath of admiration.

You watch as he fumbles with his belt, before once again pulling off his jeans without hesitation. His cock springing to life before you, and fuck was he big.

“Y’alright?” He looked back up at you with all seriousness, to which you nodded quickly.

“Oh fuck!” You gasped out as your eyes squeezed shut, feeling him fill you up was almost overwhelming. You always imagined him having a huge dick, when he would sit with his legs wide open. Now it was actually happening you felt like he was going to tear you in two.

The blissful sting was quickly quickly replaced with pleasure as he slowly eased himself into you, his hips rolling into yours.

“That’s it baby girl, takin’ me so well.” He muttered softly into your ear, his hot breath had the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. His praises had your hips bucking against his, driving his cock into you deeper.

He already had you in a puddle of gasps and moans, your mouth failing you anytime that you tried to speak. Your stomach was in knots, feeling your orgasm beginning to approach you wrapped your arms around Tommy’s neck. Pushing his face down to meet your lips once again. His herbal soap mixed with the salty sweat forming on his back, all your senses were taken up by Tommy.

“S’fucken amazing baby.” He groaned against your lips, his own pace beginning to falter. Your head fell back as the pleasure grew more intense, feeling your stomach tightening as his pace quickened. “Fuck Tommy, I’m gonna come!”

“Come f’me darlin, that’s it.” He whispered softly moving his lips to kiss along the soft skin of your neck, which was enough to send you over the edge. Your body shuddered as your orgasm rolled through you, feeling the jolt of electricity course through you as your vision went white.

“That’s it baby, good girl.”

A animalistic groan erupted from deep inside Tommy’s throat, right before he was about to come he pulled out. His sweat-covered forehead fell to rest on your still heaving chest, the two of you merely laid silent for a moment. You couldn’t form any thoughts besides the fact that Tommy just fucked you—in your bed!

After a few moments Tommy lifted himself off of you, the mattress dipping as he fell beside you. “Y’alright? That wasn’t too much f’you?”

“Are you kidding me? It was amazing.” You exasperated as you rolled onto your side to face him, your flushed cheeks pinched into a smile. “Y’know Tommy, it’s just going to be me on my own in this house.” Your head tilted to fall onto his chest, a playful smirk plastered on your face as you waited for his reaction. “Oh is that right?” Tommy feigned ignorance, a wide smile on his face. “Might need some company, s’that what you mean?”

“Thats exactly what I mean.”

#dbf!tommy #dbf!tommy miller #tommy miller #tommy miller tlou #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #gabriel luna #tommy miller fanfic #tommy miller x y/n #tommy miller fic #tommy miller fanfiction #tommy miller smut #tlou smut fic #tlou fanfic smut #Tommy miller x reader smut #Tommy miller x you smut #dbf!smut

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irandrura · 1 year ago

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Addendum to BioWare post!

Warning: more politics, I'm bad at judging how spicy my takes are

demonwrestler: Wow I missed this when you posted it. I wholly agree. I think part of the trouble of BioWare being unable to properly represent race relations in DA no matter what they do is based in… white privilege blinders and a love of Game of Thrones style bleakness dominating the worldbuilding. Nothing good is allowed to remain, radical change is not possible or doesn’t last, and all you can see game to game is further enforcement of the status quo. Mostly so the game can remain in medieval stasis. The white privilege I mention because an overwhelming majority of BW’s prior writing team was white people from Edmonton, which… Alberta is notorious for poor historical treatment and modern discrimination of native people. I’m shocked we don’t have more commentary on how the Dalish are a huge indigenous peoples expy in the world of Thedas, and how very much there seems to be some… white experience differences. Justice, who represents THE CONCEPT OF JUSTICE, in Awakening tells Velanna she has to forgive her oppressors to stop the cycle of violence. She has to be the one to change, despite the evil done to her clan, her people as a whole, etc. and she has to be the model minority. I would have exorcised that spirit in her shoes. It is wildly difficult for me to continue to love Dragon Age as a setting when it actively takes those big self-unaware dumps on itself.

So that isn’t quite where I was going with the post…

I would argue there’s a tendency in some self-consciously progressive politics to go so far in rejecting or opposing a particular bias as to reinvent that bias itself, sometimes in a more virulent way than the original bias was.

Dragon Age on race is one example of this. Dragon Age, textually, thinks that racism is very, very bad. That much is obvious. However, it also thinks that racism is very, very powerful and that it can’t be easily escaped from. Everyone is shaped by these vast, unconscious forces and individual will isn’t enough to overcome them, resulting in tremendous pessimism. The standard liberal solution to racism is colourblindness – just treat everybody the same regardless of race and things will shake out. Dragon Age, and I’d guess BioWare, do not believe that. But the net result is that in Dragon Age’s world, racism is something that cannot be overcome and therefore the only way to avoid its effects is to just avoid having people of different races come into contact at all.

That’s how you end up with a game that’s ostensibly anti-racist presenting a world and a story that’s… almost pro-segregation. It all follows from the premises – racism is awful, racism is structural and omnipresent, it’s insufficient to just try to not be racist – but it amounts to a conclusion that’s kind of... reinventing racism.

Let me give another, perhaps more controversial example. When I read Terra Ignota, I was particularly fascinated by what it had to say about sex and gender, and in particular the way that Mycroft (it’s unclear what his society itself thinks; unfortunately the entire series is narrated by a fruit loop) ends up reinventing and depending on the most grotesque sexist caricatures. Mycroft very determinedly believes in the importance of sex, but he doesn’t believe that it’s determined by one’s biology. So far, so progressive. But the result is that Mycroft sexes people based on whether he thinks their personalities are ‘male’ or ‘female’, and the result is, if anything, more constraining and disturbing than what a traditional sexist might think. A traditional sexist might say “you’re a woman, so you’re caring and nurturing”. Mycroft says “you’re caring and nurturing, so you’re a woman”, as with Carlyle, who ends up violently forced into a dress and made to perform some demure caricature of womanliness. We’ve seen this sort of logic outside of weird science fiction novels. A traditional sexist might say “you’re a woman, so you can’t be a warrior”. But the inverse of that – “you’re a warrior, so you can’t be a woman” – seems to exist as well, as in that horrible play.

My previous post was mostly about, if not fascism, then at least authoritarianism. I was criticising BioWare for, while ostensibly being progressive democrats, repeatedly using a story structure that seems to endorse the need for some sort of ubermensch strongman to seize power from feckless civilian leaders. The strongman will do what is necessary; the civil elites are at best weak and lack both will and vision, and at worst are actively corrupt and evil. That, uh… seems more like the worldview of the far-right in today’s politics.

I’m skeptical that all of this can be attributed to white privilege, though you are surely correct about the demographics of BioWare. Rather, I think at least some of this is a real tension that exists in liberatory movements or in marginal communities. Famously the civil rights movement in America was divided between assimilationists, who felt that it was possible to integrate on an even basis with the wider population, and separatists or revolutionaries, who felt that was impossible and advocated for black withdrawal and self-determination. In Dragon Age, this might be a valid question for elves – do you want to be treated exactly the same as humans, living in human-majority society alongside them? (I suppose this is the Sera position.) Or do you want to withdraw, to build your own majority-elven society, different and distinct from that of the humans? I believe there are still debates among Jewish people along similar lines. How do we walk the tightrope? We don’t want to be assimilated so that we lose all our distinctive identity, but neither do we want to cordon ourselves off and form our own impermeable bubble. These are interesting and valid questions.

Where I think privilege might be a useful frame is where we talk about forgiveness. I didn’t put this in my previous post, but I have written before about the way that forgiveness is portrayed in games, especially in World of Warcraft, where it seems like there’s a repetitive story beat about forgiving your oppressor. I talked about this once on a web forum. I certainly don’t mean to imply that vengeance is morally superior to forgiveness – I do believe in forgiveness – but that it’s possible to frame forgiveness as something that is very flattering to the oppressors. Is it possible to forgive while at the same time continuing to hold out a demand for justice? (Incidentally, the relationship between mercy and justice like this is at the heart of a lot of Christian theology.) It is very easy for people from a powerful group to speak of the importance of forgiveness, healing, and moving on. They already have what they want, after all.

On the Dalish specifically – I generally like to advise against reading groups like the Dalish as expies for any one specific group. The Dalish are clearly written to have resonances with a lot of different groups. Native Americans are one of them. Jews are another. Irish are a third. Romani people are a fourth. You can read the Dalish in a way that resonates with those different groups and experiences without excluding others. Arguably it’s because the Dalish don’t map one-to-one on to any real group that they’re interesting. Rather, their fictional nature allows them to explore issues related to all those groups and their experiences, but without being limited to any one of them. So I wouldn’t want to close the Dalish off to being only an allegory for insert-group-here.

Anyway, to try to come to some sort of conclusion – I think this is the sort of mess you get when you’ve absorbed a bunch of contradictory superficial convictions, but haven’t really thought about them at any length. BioWare end up implicitly endorsing positions that seem like they would horrify them. I don’t think they did it maliciously at any point, but they went step by step and eventually reached absurd places. Thus for instance, David Gaider famously wrote the Sith Code based on Mein Kampf. Then fans played the game and thought it was cool and embraced it. Then somehow we ended up in a place with TOR where we have heroic Sith who use the dark side and whole story arcs that portray the Sith as morally equivalent to or even sometimes superior to the flawed but still democratic Republic. No one had to be explicitly evil at any point in the process, but it’s still weird how they end up implicitly endorsing the opposite of what they probably believe.

Baldur’s Gate starts with that famous Nietzsche quote about “he who fights with monsters”. Maybe it was more relevant than we thought?

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jacquelinemerritt · 2 years ago

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Another Confessional Essay

Originally posted June 21st, 2017

If you’ve ever read my writing before, you can probably tell that I’m not that not a fan of the “confessional essay” style that’s become immensely popular on the internet in the last few years. To be perfectly honest, except for a few rare instances where this style of essay is brilliantly crafted and fits the subject matter incredibly well, I tend to find these essays boring and lacking any real substance.

The exceptions that I love are generally essays that relate deeply personal experiences and tie them back effectively to a main point, as in people of color writing about their personal experience with racism, trans people describing their experiences growing up and how they discovered the truth about who they are, or abuse victims describing their experience with abuse and its effects on their lives.

The topic I need to write about fits the second of those three, and so despite not being a fan of the format, and despite preferring to keep my essays and my journaling eternally separate, I need to use the format. Because right now, I am stuck with a burning realization that I don’t know any other way to process: I don’t know how to be a woman.

Now, I’m going to follow that statement by making clear everything that I’m not saying by that. I am not saying that I’m not a woman, I am one and have always been one. I also do on a certain level know “how” to be a person who is accepted as a woman, and I know of many models for womanhood that I could embrace and follow if I desired.

But I don’t want to be any of those women.

The problem here isn’t that I don’t know of ways to be a woman, the problem is that I genuinely don’t know how I am supposed to be both myself and a woman, both in the sense of feeling that my own self is fully womanly and being able to be accepted as a woman without changing who I fundamentally am.

What’s ironic about this is that I have no such confusion about what kind of girl that I am. I know exactly who 6-year-old Jacqueline is, who 13-year-old Jacqueline is, who 16-year-old Jacqueline is. I can envision who I would’ve been growing up a girl at each of those ages, and when I need to feel more feminine, regressing my mind into one of those younger ages and embracing my girlish immaturity makes me feel more secure in my gender identity than anything else possibly can.

But I have no such retreat within my present. I genuinely don’t have a feminine adult headspace that I can turn to when I need to both feel like my adult self and a woman at the same time. Perhaps this is the dysphoric effect of living in a house for over half a year where no one will openly acknowledge your gender identity, and I’ve even arguably come close to creating such a headspace through the persona I’ve crafted for my work as an online tech support advisor, but that persona, as convincingly feminine as it usually is, breaks down whenever I need to analyze something critically, take charge of a situation, or even just feel any emotion that isn’t overwhelmingly positive.

More than that though, even in the space where I feel the most creatively free, writing criticism, I don’t feel like I’m able to convincingly write in my own voice and simultaneously write in a voice that makes me clearly appear to be a woman. Now, I’m not saying that all women writers sound a specific way, nor should they, all I am saying is that there are certain styles of writing that project femininity significantly better than others, and that those styles clash inherently with my own style of writing.

Take this essay, for instance. I’m attempting to write in as close to the style of the confessional essay as I can muster, but even with a topic as personal as this my tone has been rigid and commanding, and it only shows the frustration that I’m feeling, not the sadness, insecurity, or hopelessness that I’m feeling in genuinely not having a clue what I should do about it. A good confessional essay would’ve shown all those emotions through with its writing style, but my default writing style is taking over my ability to write here, and I sound nothing like the confessional essay I’m drawing inspiration from.

It’d be one thing if I just couldn’t adapt my writing style to another format though. I know my writing style is rigid, but in general I like the way it makes me come across. What upsets me though is that me not being able to adapt my style to function as a confessional essay means that I cannot adapt my writing style to a more “feminine” style of writing, even as I try to do so now.

If you don’t believe that, just ask yourself, each time I’ve mentioned confessional essays, who have you pictures as the authors?

I know that I’ve only been picturing women, or people close to women on the spectrum of gender.

Now think about everything I’ve written here, the writing style I’ve used, and the way I’ve presented my information.

What voice have you been hearing in your head as you’ve read through it?

You don’t need to answer that.

It’s been a man’s voice.

And I don’t know how to change that.

Critical Eye Criticism is the work of Jacqueline Merritt, a trans woman, filmmaker, and critic. You can support her continued film criticism addiction on Patreon.

#transgender #gender dysphoria #trans woman #trans issues #writing dysphoria #okay first off let's pause and all give baby me from 5 years ago a hug #because goddess that is what she needed #i think a huge part of this was just the dysphoria that came from not having my gender acknowledged by my family #which in turn led to me feeling like i had to rigidly adhere to the expectations of womanhood i was aware of #but i've spent the last five years living with a loving partner who accepts me #i've realized that i'm a enby girl and don't need to adhere to rigid binary #hell maybe there are parts of me that are butch #and i am not scared of those parts any more #you wanna know the thing i like most about re-reading this essay though?#i was completely wrong #i read this entire piece in my voice #a woman's voice #and i can almost guarantee you did too

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asin201hons · 2 years ago

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Running alongside my practice is a sense of identity that walks alongside nature, as a sense of non-gendered femininity. Even though above the mystical feminine qualities are marked with female pronoun’s (she/her), a patriarchal stereotypical notion of ‘womanly attributes’ [docile, weak, soft spoken] - one can have these qualities but it’s not in direct reference to my term above and it’s not relevant to gender orientation, they are not the focus of this sense of identity.

The focus is a sense of walking back towards child-like wonder and understanding aesthetic principles that seek to speak on a potential for emotional and spiritual richness that come from a sense of mystery and wonder and perhaps stand aside from the idea of the ‘known’ world. The concept of the known and the strange is very important to my practice as well because it offers an ability for familiarity and encountering a ‘new to me’ form to be reactions existing in the encounter. By creating works that study and attune to home spaces (and homely objects and natural species) there is a sense of familiar markers. Yet, the unusual, warped and re-imagined/translated nature of these things in work often also leads to reading of strange elements or something ‘off’ from how a signifier traditionally functions. For example: my weaving practice. I have talked earlier about how I mis-use traditional mediums like nails and knitting needles as well as re-interpret that support and processes of traditionally weaving conventions. I take the familiar modes like (knitting with a needle, using a nail as a tool, creating using a fishnet stitch) and un-familiarise the traditional function through process. The same process exists in the drawing and writing strands of my practice. With objects and naturals elements as subjects in my writing and drawing, these too expirence a meteramorohis from a familiar subject matter existing in reality to a less secure depiction as art.

So what’s the point of doing all that? What’s the reason behind it all and what makes that special to the works aura and formal qualities.

Well,

This ideas can be linked directly to this piece of writing by “”””

(see below)

loose threads —-> turn into this unusual yet vaguely familiar weaving style

collected studio pottery by Barry Brickell gets turned into the memory of the form

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kitchenalia · 3 years ago

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Why arent trans women or transfems considered sex class traitors by radfems? Genuinely wondering! if they choose to "give up" male privilege and in some cases live "stealth"/"pass," ergo get treated like women, are they not "betraying" men as a class? I know they aren't oppressed in the way women are but aren't they at least on the level of male allies?

i'll preface this by saying that i can't speak for anybody as a monolith, and i can only speak for what i personally feel on this topic. i'm not saying that this is how everybody in a certain space feels, so no need to take this as an "official radfem answer" or anything (same goes for all of my posts really, or anybody else's for that matter). i also hope this doesn't come off as too aggressive, because i really want to answer your question and i hope that i'm addressing what you're asking!

you're asking me if i think that it's important if a subclass of men are "betraying" men, not if a subclass of men are actually working to benefit women. they're not the same thing. should i rejoice that some men are "giving up male privilege" (i would argue that in many ways they're not, they're often just enacting it in a different way in different spaces) per se, if they're not actually working to further the material circumstances of women in any way? are women's lives being bettered because some men are abandoning visual or social markers of maleness? seriously, i fail to see how men making individual choices about how to style themselves or which pronouns to use is liberating women, and in fact can see many ways in which it holds us back.

something that i have to make clear is that it is a fiction that male trans people are class traitors who give up all vestiges of male privilege and behavior. if you ask many detransitioned or desisted women, a common experience is that male people in these spaces used that privilege to their benefit. male trans people supposedly give up their male privilege when they give up their male identification, but where is this reflected? there is a trans woman author who writes graphic, violent sexual fantasies about 'TERFs' and advocates for more rape in writing. this is a published author. i would say that one of the greatest expressions of male privilege is to make itself unspeakable, and this is what is done particularly by male trans people towards women (including trans-identifying female people). male violence makes itself unspeakable when naming it is "violent misgendering." i would recommend reading Male Violence and Misgendering in the Modern Age for more about the unspeakable nature of male violence in trans spaces. there's more that i could write here, but to be honest, i'm struggling to articulate this part because i'm years removed from the "trans women give up all male privilege" fiction from this point.

finally, i believe that it is ultimately a betrayal of women to further ideologies that state that our experiences amount to an identity that anybody can try on, and that being female isn't a necessary and vital part of our experiences and oppression. you can never be a true 'sex class traitor' if you, a member of the oppressor sex class (male), pretend to understand the experiences of the oppressed sex class (female) so deeply that you actually are a member of that class. not only are you a member of it, but you're actually even more oppressed than they are, because they had the benefit of growing up in the oppressed class and are therefore better at it. it is deeply offensive to me to state that there is anything that makes us women other than our shared experience of being female, because the alternative is something along the lines of...a feminine soul. a womanly essence. a desire to be oppressed. a natural inclination toward being subjugated (or, as one author suggested, sexually dominated).

basically...no, being a 'traitor' doesn't matter if you're not actually furthering the interests of the oppressed class. men cannot become women and in general, it implies very offensive things about women to say that they can. and the realities of women/transmascs/female non-binary people in general reflect the same old male-female sex dynamics, they've just been obfuscated by new politics and new paradigms. i hope that this has helped answer your question a bit.

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animews · 2 years ago

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“wolfwalkers (2020) is a beautiful piece of queer cinema that delicately reflects on the coming out of queer youth in this essay i will- except that i actually write the essay”

sorry in advance for the weird way this is structured i wrote it as a literature assignment to copy the writing style of virginia woolf. which. made the writing a little weird and overly formal so!!! just ignore that lmao

also to anyone who says “wolfwalkers isnt an anime why ru writing about it on an anime blog” HUSH. maybe it’s a cartoon to you, but it is like an anime to ME.

-o-

Wolfwalkers (2020) should, all things considered, be a typical coming-of-age story. But I think it’s not about coming-of-age, but instead coming out. A girl emerging from the closet, rather than from childhood. Wolfwalkers’ queer themes kept me up for a while, joining my late-night musings about stem cell ethics and the Lovecraftian horror of the Bee Movie. So here’s my thoughts. Make of them what you will.

First, let’s talk about werewolves. Werewolves are known to be general personification of “other”, so they’re a common metaphor for queerness. The separation of “wolf” and “man”, the monstrous coming to light and destroying the normal. They’re savage beasts that spend some time in human form, outcasts from society feared by the surrounding population. Whether they’re mindless and beastly or intelligent and misunderstood is up to interpretation, as Wolfwalker illustrates.

With that out of the way, let’s get started. Here’s our protagonist, Robyn Goodfellowe. Her father, Bill, has been summoned by the Lord Protector to hunt wolves. Said wolves are preventing the destruction of their forest home, which, as I am sure you agree, is truly baffling and without reason. For safety reasons, Robyn remains confined to her new home, as Bill informs her that it is “for her own good”. This will come up again later.

Of course, we would not have a story if Robyn stayed indoors, so we follow her as she sneaks into the woods. Her innocence is clearly shown here: she displays no signs of fear of death, confident that the world revolves around her. Therefore, the Robyn who accidentally shoots her precious bird is one at the beginning of her journey: a flower not yet bloomed, eyes closed to the harsh truths of the world. As she watches her bird fall from the sky, a mysterious, wild-looking girl scoops it up and runs off.

Here we take a break from Robyn’s dilemma to meet our antagonist, the religious leader of the town. It must be said that the title of Lord Protector fits him better than a simple name, unyielding and high-minded as he is. Here we see another staple of the queer narrative: religion. The Lord Protector is single-minded in his hatred of wolves: he wants them gone, and believes firmly that such action is God’s will. I don’t believe I must describe the long-held hatred of the Homosexuals by the Christian Church, but if that is something with which you are unfamiliar, feel free to visit your nearby conservative old-timey church and ask. Inherent in many religious folk is the “righteous anger”, the certainty that there is a holy mantel placed upon them to rid the world of the vermin gays, and this is certainly what the Lord Protector represents in this story.

The Lord Protector, angered at the presence of A Female, assigns Robyn to scullery duty, an appropriately womanly task. Robyn gets no support from her father, who believes it will do her good to act more like a woman should. If she conforms to the standards given to her, she won’t have any need to worry. Robyn, unswayed, escapes yet again into the forest to find her bird.

Robyn, not a particularly nimble individual, quickly gets herself caught in one of her own father’s traps after finding her bird (in the distance, a voice yells something about symbolism). Along comes a young wolf, and a scuffle ensues. After a stray bite on the arm, Robyn is set free from the trap, and follows the wolf into its secret cave, wherein it reveals its true form: the wild girl from before, named Mebh.

Mebh is a wolfwalker: she turns into a wolf when asleep. She quickly heals Robyn’s bite, and after a few mishaps, the two quickly make friends. Robyn’s preconceived notions of wolves go out the window: the wolves mean no harm. They’ve been planning to leave the forest to find safer lands, and are waiting for Mebh’s mother to return: she’s been asleep, her wolf-form missing.

There’s a particular scene here, in the middle of the movie, that really got to me. Robyn takes a brush and combs out Mebh’s hair, gently removing the forest debris; she then tucks a saved flower behind her ear. The vulnerability of letting someone touch your hair is not one to be taken lightly. Such a gesture is intimate, offered between close friends, family (or pack, rather). And to slip a flower behind one’s ear? What other indicator of blooming love might there be? This marks Robyn’s progression, as she begins the next step of her journey. As children, Mebh and Robyn believably reach this place in their relationship quickly, beginning their childhood friends to lovers (slowburn, 200k, last updated 2020) love story. They say goodbye, and Robyn runs off into the sunset, eager to tell her father her discoveries.

Predictably, Bill is furious at her breaking the rules, as well as disobeying the Lord Protector. He refuses to listen to Robyn’s pleas, dismissing her claims as “childish stories”. Such language is incredibly similar to those that a queer child’s parents would say under a situation where they are questioning their identity. They’re punished for breaking society’s rules, occasionally for fear of mistreatment by society, or because they disobey the religious conventions. Their exploration of their identity is dismissed as stories, false and made-up. Queer people don’t exist, and if they do, they’re evil and you’re not one of them, they say. You’re just tired, or hallucinating, they swear.

The next morning, Robyn goes to the scullery, as previously instructed. Bill yet again informs his daughter that this is for her own good, before leaving her to slave the day away. Exhausted and hearing mysterious voices, she escapes yet again to see Mebh in the forest (paralleling classic love story format), and ends up promising her to help find Moll, her mother.

You may observe yet another deviation from the typical girl’s coming-of-age path that Robyn has declined to follow: the absence of a male lead. Men instead appear as antagonists, through the Lord Protector, and to an extent, Bill. Thus, the movie further establishes itself as a less male-focused story, focusing instead on the girls (one might refer to the Korean word for girl: 어린애- female child: not a teenager but a child, innocent in their understanding and exploration of gender, as Robyn is here, on the cusp of discovery, still androgynous in the conduction of herself, unaware of who she is). As a fellow wolf (or is it Woolfe?) once mentioned, a problem in fiction is the absence of women and their inter-relationships: in this work, we are exposed to girls at their core, wild and genderless, before society attempts to corral them into their proper gender roles.

Robyn returns home to sleep and is shocked to awaken in wolf form. At this moment her father discovers her: a wolf perched atop the sleeping body of his daughter. Another aspect of queer adolescence emerges: fear of discovery. When one has watched their family openly condemn their kind, can they trust their promised unconditional love? If one’s family recognized them as “the enemy”, would they be accepted? Robyn wrestles with this as she stares her father in the eyes and runs into the streets for fear that he will kill her, runs haunted by the fear that he would raise his sword even if he knew it was her. With this, she finds Mebh in the forest and demands answers.

Mebh, confused, insists that she healed the transforming bite, but is distracted by the prospect of teaching Robyn the joys of wolfing (as children do), and so I shoulder the burden of explanation in her place. While the reason for Robyn’s wolfification could be the failure of Mebh to properly heal the bite, I would urge you to consider that Robyn, unconsciously recognizing the bond that she held with Mebh, created the wolf within her even after healing. Rather than getting “infected” by Mebh (as so many believe queer people do), the wolfwalker was within her all along, merely brought to the light.

While trying to sneak back through the gates, wolf-Robyn is discovered and a hunt ensues. To hide, she sneaks into a secret passage in the castle, and stumbles upon Mebh’s missing mother, Moll (alliteration abounds), trapped in a cage. Moll begs her to tell Mebh to flee the forest and stay safe, unknowingly paralleling Robyn’s father. Robyn, out of time, fails to free Moll, and rushes home to ‘wake up’ and turn back from wolf to human, refusing to sleep for the rest of the night.

After another day of grueling work in the scullery, Robyn has lost hope. Her safety hinges even more on her compliance, as her father has been demoted for failing to kill the wolves. Mebh, worried that Robyn hasn’t yet returned, sneaks into town to check on her. Appalled, Robyn begs her to return to the forest and leave without her mother, breaking her promise to help free Moll. Robyn, broken, has forced herself to grow into the role that the world assigned her, becoming exactly what her father and the Lord Protector wanted her to be. In this, she reflects the queer youth forced to stifle their identity to reflect their family’s and society’s expectations, simply to maintain a normal life.

Just then, the Lord Protector holds an announcement. He reveals a chained Moll, restraining her with the help of several soldiers. Seeing her, Mebh is enraged, and after an emotional scuffle with Robyn, who desperately tries to stop her, she jumps onstage. Moll bites Robyn’s father to stop him from catching Mebh, Mebh runs to gather her wolf pack, swearing revenge, and an enraged Lord Protector shouts for all troops to set the forest on fire and drive out the wolves (much like homophobic religious folk attempt to invade the safe spaces of queer people in an attempt to “eradicate” them). Robyn, stunned, can do nothing but watch her friend fight against her father.

Finally, Robyn chooses to side with the wolves (embracing her inner girlboss, etc.), standing against her father and freeing Moll. After a tearful reunion with Mebh and her now moll-ified pack (do you get it? do you????), tragedy strikes: Bill shoots Moll, who collapses. This is not dissimilar to the actions of many parents of queer children, who hurt people not only because of preconcieved notions of danger, but because they fear their children’s “corruption”. Robyn, heartbroken, shifts into wolf-form and runs off, in a twisted coming-out of sorts. Finally, Bill chooses to accept Robyn as both his daughter and a wolfwalker, at which point his own bite takes effect, helping him defeat the raging Lord Protector.

Moll is healed, the pack moves, and the story ends with Robyn and Mebh falling asleep, then running ahead in wolf form. The ending expresses Robyn’s final transformation and acceptance of her wolf-self not as an alter ego but merely as another part of herself, just as queer youth learn to accept their queerness as a intrinsic, unchangeable quality.

The movie isn’t groundbreaking in the way that most people crave queer films to be. The queerness isn’t explicit, and there could be arguments made for a “friendship movie”. But this movie isn’t about that, to me. For someone who has seen so few movies where queerness as an exploration isn’t punished, where the “bury your gays” trope isn’t implemented, where the main characters are children without themes of inherent corruption… I won’t lie, it made me cry.

It’s just. Isn’t it beautiful to see such a simple movie about love between girls? Isn’t it lovely to know that cinema is allowed to be like this? Wolfwalkers (2020) is many things, a stepping stone and a soft touch, a children’s movie and a mature film, a work of art and a labor of love. all that, and most of all, it is deeply, intrinsically, queer.

#wolfwalkers #movies #cartoons #queer love #animated movies #wolfwalkers meta #meta #long post #honeyspeak

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stiltonbasket · 4 years ago

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Prompt for a’su!wwx: wwx tries to use the longstanding art of “““womanly wiles””” to get something. Bystanders who know him look on in horror, but somehow it works.

“How are we going to find out if that courtesan lives here?” Jin Zixuan wheezes, trying to peer over the wall around the inner courtyard of the Moling safehouse. “I can’t see a thing.”

He huffs and drops back to the ground, casting one last dismayed glance at the top of the wall--because Mo Xuanyu was by no means short, but he was half a finger shorter than Jin Zixuan’s old body, and Wei Wuxian is even shorter at two full fingers below his original height. As it is, neither of them have any hope of spotting the mysterious courtesan who was present during Jin Guangshan’s murder until Lan Zhan gets back with Wei Wuxian’s sword, so Jin Zixuan settles down to wait while Wei Wuxian pulls out a hand-mirror and scrutinizes his reflection.

“What are you doing?” his brother-in-law grumbles, as Wei Wuxian slips on a pair of Yunmeng-style earrings and ornaments his hair (now worn fully down in the style common to unmarried women, rather than the chignon used by matrons) with the pale red roses Lan Zhan bought him earlier that morning. “You don’t need to fix your hair, Wei Wuxian. You look fine.”

“I’m going to talk to the guards,” Wei Wuxian told him, darkening his eyebrows with a smudge of black powder and reddening his lips with a hint of rouge: vermilion, appropriate for a bride or a prostitute, instead of the pink that Qin Su usually wore before her death. “They might be from Lanling, so I have to make sure they won’t recognize me.”

“They’ll definitely recognize your voice,” Jin Zixuan says doubtfully. “Are you sure?”

Wei Wuxian nods. “Jin Guangyao kept me away from his inner circle, except for Su She. And he didn’t really have a choice about that, since Su She’s a junior sect leader.”

Jin Zixuan gives him a worried look. “I’ll be right here if you need help...or not,” he mutters, as Wei Wuxian darts out of sight and pretends to have walked up around a bend in the road, right in front of the main gates.

Wei Wuxian eyes the four guards with his face half-hidden behind his pearl veil before rushing up to greet them, brushing the hanging pearl strands aside as the guards’ hands fly to their swords.

“At ease, it’s just a girl,” the one at the left scolds, before bowing low in respect. “Are you lost, guniang? The main street is not far away from here, and one of us can direct you back.”

He favors the guard with a dimpling smile and steps forward to make his silver earrings tinkle like a pair of tiny bells. “Oh, no! I’m here to meet with your mistress.”

The guards exchange bewildered glances. “That isn’t possible, xiaojie. Our mistress has not taken visitors or left the estate in many years, and as far as we know she does not write any letters, either.”

“But I saw my sworn sister just last year,” Wei Wuxian protests, letting the wind flutter through his filmy shawl and carry forth some of the fragrance from his perfume bag. “And I have this letter she wrote to me--here, see, written from the estate on Anhua road on--”

The leftmost guard laughs. “That’s it, xiaojie! Anhua is two roads over. Your friend must live there. This street is called Yehua.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian gasps, pretending to be bewildered when the guardsman points at the signpost bearing the name of the street. “How foolish of me!”

“And our mistress couldn’t be your sworn sister, anyway. She didn’t send that letter,” one of the younger guards pipes up. “Mistress can’t read, so she always tends her gardens and cooks to keep herself busy.”

“She must be an excellent cook,” Wei Wuxian praises, with another beaming smile. “And so industrious, too! Doesn’t she ever go out to see plays in town, or go shopping?”

“She has us for that,” another guard says quickly. “She doesn’t need to trouble herself with shopping, and she doesn’t like watching performers.”

Wei Wuxian gives their mysterious mistress another off-handed compliment and beats a hasty retreat, walking down the road just until the house fades out of sight before doubling back and jogging down a side path to the spot where he left Jin Zixuan behind.

When he gets there, he finds Jin Zixuan sitting on a bench with his mouth open, and Lan Zhan staring mutinously at the ground as if it had somehow offended him. “What’s wrong with you two?” he demands, spitting on a handkerchief before applying it to his face in an effort to wipe his makeup off. “Lan Zhan, you look like someone tried to snatch your forehead ribbon again. Cheer up a little, ah?”

“What were you doing with those guards?” Lan Zhan asks, with a plaintive note in his voice. “Those men are in Jin Guangyao’s service, Wei Ying. What if they had recognized you?”

“Qin Su would never have let her skin get this tanned, or worn her hair down in public,” he dismisses. “I just flirted with them a little so I could find out who lives here. And I did find out, Er-gege, so take that!”

Lan Zhan’s pale face goes even whiter than usual. “Flirted?”

“Well, what did you think this was for?” Wei Wuxian sighs, gesturing to his lip rouge and eyebrow powder. “I had to coax them into telling me a little about their mistress, didn’t I?”

His friend’s mouth quivers almost imperceptibly, and he turns away with a soft tch sound and marches off in the opposite direction. Jin Zixuan stares after him, looking even more lost than he usually does, and then he glares up at Wei Wuxian with an oddly sullen pout on his lips.

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks, kicking Jin Zixuan’s toe. “What’s wrong with you both? And why are you staring at me like that?”

“Don’t make me watch that again,” Jin Zixuan snaps, hurrying after Lan Zhan. “And don’t be so cruel to Hanguang-jun! Don’t you have any pity for him?”

Wei Wuxian frowns. “What do you mean?”

But for whatever reason, neither Lan Zhan nor Zixuan will tell him, and Wei Wuxian spends the rest of the day in a state of abject confusion before focusing on eating his dinner instead.

#wangxian #qin su!wwx #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #jin zixuan #wei wuxian #lan wangji #my fic #wwx: *flirts for info*#lwj: this is the worst thing that has happened in the history of ever and i would like it to stop #jin zixuan: :| why do i have to witness this #somebody help me

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gunterfan1992 · 4 years ago

Text

Season One of “Adventure Time”: Short Episode Reviews

At the start of 2021, I had this idea to write up a book wherein I reviewed every episode of Adventure Time, condensing my thoughts down into a few paragraphs. It seemed easy enough at the time —I could knock a season out in a week, no prob, I thought — but it turns out it was quite the challenge. Part of this was the difficulty of boiling everything down into a few coherent paragraphs that didn’t just repeat the ideas that “This episode is wacky. This episode is bad.” (I was also dealing with untreated ADHD, so that probably didn’t help.) Even though it was a hurdle, I still got through seasons 1-4, and I thought I’d post my reviews here. Maybe one day I’ll do something with ‘em, but for now, enjoy!

Season 1, Episode 1. “Slumber Party Panic” (692-009)

Airdate: April 5, 2010

Production Information: Elizabeth Ito and Adam Muto (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Synopsis: Princess Bubblegum accidentally resurrects a violent mob of candy zombies, which leads to Finn doing the unthinkable: He breaks a royal promise to Bubblegum.

Commentary: It is always a delight to remind people that Adventure Time—a show that would go on to win a slew of prestigious awards and be lauded by critics as one of the smartest kids show that has ever been made—begins with Princess Bubblegum “add[ing] three more drops of explosive diarrhea” to a scientific mixture with which she hopes to bring the dead back to life. This elision of a macabre topic like the resurrection of the dead with a poop joke is in many ways emblematic of the sort of humor upon which Adventure Time was built, and while “Slumber Party Panic” might not be the season’s best episode, it does a solid job introducing the odd, madcap energy that would allow the show to flourish in its youth.

The plot to “Slumber Party Panic”—storyboarded by future series director Elizabeth Ito as well as eventual showrunner Adam Muto—was hammered out well before the show’s mythology was set in stone, and so some of the more hyperbolic plot points from this episode (e.g., the dramatic revelation that candy citizens explode when scared, or the fact that the Gumball Guardians are also the nigh-omnipotent Guardians of the Royal Promise, who can stop and reverse time itself) had to be ignored in later seasons. Nevertheless, the main characters’ personalities are all firmly established, allowing them to play off one another in a way that does not feel forced or misguided; Jeremy Shada and John DiMaggio, in particular, have excellent chemistry, breathing whimsical life into Finn and Jake right off the bat. All things considered, “Slumber Party Panic” is a fun entry and a solid preview of the silliness that was to come. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 2. “Trouble in Lumpy Space” (692-015)

Airdate: April 5, 2010

Commentary: “Trouble in Lumpy Space” is a Ito-Muto production that introduces us to Lumpy Space Princess, the loquacious and dramatic drama queen who was destined to become one of the show’s breakout stars. A sentient blob of “irradiated stardust,” Lumpy Space Princess is an alien valley girl parody voiced by none other than series creator Pendleton Ward himself, and this episode does a commendable job illustrating the character’s immaturity and her ridiculously inflated sense of self-importance. This makes for good entertainment in and of it itself, but what really bumps this episode up a peg is the vocal delivery of the cast. Adventure Time always excelled when it came to its voice acting, but in this episode it is obvious that in this episode Jeremy Shada, John DiMaggio, and Pendleton Ward had extra fun playing around with their ridiculous “lumpy space” accents.

Aesthetically, this episode is quite the sensory experience. Lumpy Space itself is a hauntingly beautiful alien dimension of dark magenta skies and purple, pillowy clouds; it is a right shame that the show very rarely made use of this unique environment, considering how pleasant it is to look at. The episode’s soundtrack is also deserving of recognition, with much of the background music—especially the vapid pop tune that plays while Finn, Jake, and Lumpy Space Princess hitch a ride in Melissa’s car—recalling the elastic hyperpop that electro-wizzes from PC Music produce. The tunes add an extra dimension to the whole experience, helping to sell the idea that Lumpy Space is a silly but alien otherworld. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 3. “Prisoners of Love” (692-005)

Airdate: April 12, 2010

Production Information: Adam Muto and Pendleton Ward (storyboard artists); Craig Lewis and Adam Muto (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: Ladies and gentlemen, meet the Ice King! Beginning the series as a cartoonishly incompetent antagonist, Ice King would grow into one of the show’s most well-developed characters. While “Prisoners of Love,” being the character’s debut episode, sees the Ice King still in his one-dimensional “wicked wizard” stage, there are hints even at this early juncture—like the character’s dramatic insistence to pluck out a yogurt chip from his trail mix, or his spasmodic attempts to play the drums—that the Ice King is more than just a textbook baddie. Is he evil? Judging by his actions, it often looks that way, but there is also a deep sadness to him that makes even his worst behavior somewhat pitiful.

But as pathetic as he may be, Ice King’s lecherous habit of kidnapping princesses is completely unacceptable (Princesses, Adventure Time would like to remind us, should never be married against their will), and by episode’s end, Ice King receives his just desserts—a feminist-fueled kick to the face, courtesy of Finn the Human. The moral of the story is clear: Poor old Ice King might just be lonely, but that does not excuse him for acting like a frost-bitten incel. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 4. “Tree Trunks” (692-016)

Airdate: April 12, 2010

Production Information: Sean Jimenez and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Tree Trunks” introduces the audience to the eponymous character, voiced by Polly Lou Livingston, an eccentric octogenarian with a pronounced southern drawl whom Pendleton Ward knew growing up in Texas. Despite Tree Trunks appearing as a sweet old pachyderm, much of her dialog is riddled with double entendres and subtle sex jokes that go over the heads of children, and as such, she is something of a divisive character in the Adventure Time fandom: While some viewers find her hilarious, others find her decidedly off-putting. In this episode, however, storyboard artists Sean Jimenez and Bert Youn strike a decent balance between the character’s funny and creepy sides (case in point: The scene wherein Tree Trunks, in the gawdiest of makeup, tries to seduce an evil monster with her “womanly charms and elephant prowess”). The major exception to this overall balance is the episode’s decidedly morbid conclusion, which features Tree Trunks exploding after tasting the crystal apple. This was perhaps the show’s first non sequitur ending, and almost certainly left an indelible imprint on the minds of viewers young and old alike. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 5. “The Enchiridion!” (692-001)

Airdate: April 19, 2010

Production Information: Patrick McHale, Adam Muto, and Pendleton Ward (storyboard artists and story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: According to the annals of cartoon history, the initial storyboard for “The Enchiridion” was whipped up by Ward and his crew members to prove to Cartoon Network that Adventure Time could be developed into a full-fledged series. This was almost certainly a stressful task, which necessitated that Ward et al. dissect the pilot, determine what elements worked, and then infuse those elements into a new storyboard. As a result of this “open art transplant,” there are quite a few analogs between the pilot and “The Enchiridion!”—e.g., the wacky dancing, the dream sequences, the ridiculous language—but this episode does a solid job of emulating the style of the pilot without wholesale duplicating it.

In terms of plot, “The Enchiridion!” is a fairly predictable adventure story, but it is one with enough clever variations that prevent the whole affair from dragging or being too boring; standout scenes include Finn and Jake having to deal with granny-zapping gnomes, and the D&D-inspired reverie in which Finn is tempted to slay an “unaligned” ant. The episode is further buoyed by several fun guest stars (including Mark Hamill, Fred Tatasciore, and even Black Flag’s Henry Rollins) that sprinkle a little additional energy on top of the whole thing. Given the exuberant fun of the episode and the way it easily introduces us to supporting characters like Princess Bubblegum, it is intriguing why the producers did not choose “The Enchiridion!” as the series premiere. That question aside, “The Enchiridion!” is one of the season’s stronger episode and an excellent place to start if you want a crash course in what made early Adventure Time so unique. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 6. “The Jiggler” (692-011)

Airdate: April 19, 2010

Production Information: Luther McLaurin and Armen Mirzaian (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “The Jiggler” opens on a fun, hyperactive note, with Finn singing “Baby,” a catchy song coated in layer upon layer of sweet, crisp autotune. But soon after Finn and Jake discover and “adopt” the titular creature, the affair quickly devolves into a cartoonish snuff film of two dullards accidentally torturing a wild animal; the whole thing is made worse by the high volume of bodily fluids excreted by the Jiggler. Thankfully, Finn and Jake are able to return the Jiggler to its mother before it keels over, but this victory is undermined given that the whole situation was Finn and Jake’s fault to begin with. Perhaps it is best to view all of this as a cautionary tale: No matter how cute a wild animal may look, you probably should not take it home and make it dance for you. (2 stars)

Season 1, Episode 7. “Ricardio the Heart Guy” (692-007)

Airdate: April 26, 2010

Production Information: Sean Jimenez and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon, Adam Muto, and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Ricardio the Heart Guy” introduces the titular villain, the brainy-but-sleazy heart of the Ice King voiced to perfection by the sonorous George Takei. Given how arrogant the character acts even before his true intentions are revealed, it is not much of a shock that Ricardio is a rotten egg, and this lack of mystery drags the whole episode down to some degree. Nevertheless, Takei’s histronic performance injects into the episode a funny sort of melodrama, with is further reinforced by Casey James Basichis’s sparklingly dark score, which mixes in elements of opera alongside the usual chiptune blips and bloops to emphasize Ricardio’s pretentiousness. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 8. “Business Time” (692-014)

Airdate: April 26, 2010

Commentary: On the surface, “Business Time” is but a silly parody of corporate culture that sees Finn and Jake become the veritable CEOs of an adventuring firm. It is a silly little set up, and the show has good fun poking fun at business-speak and the deleterious effects of rampant corporatization. At the same time, by relegating Finn and Jake to the sidelines near the middle of the episode, “Business Time” does itself a disservice by focusing not on the wacky shenanigans of the business men, but rather on the mundanity of Finn and Jake’s “managerial life.” It all comes together in the end, when Finn and Jake are forced to jump into the fray and destroy the Business Men’s vacuum robot, but the noticeable lag there in the middle of everything throws the pacing of the episode off.

But while “Business Time” might not be the strongest first-season entry, it has gained respect in the fandom for being the first episode to underline that the Land of Ooo exists in the far future after some sort of nuclear holocaust. In an interview with USA Today, Ward explained that this was a natural development that he had never planned: “[When] we did [the] episode about businessmen rising up from an iceberg at the bottom of a lake … that made the world post-apocalyptic, and we just ran with it” (X). Considering how major the post-apocalyptic trappings would become to the show’s mythology, it is a bit startling to learn that it was added in on a whim. Regardless, it was an inspired choice that added a tinge of sadness to the story of Finn and Jake. They were not just frolicking in some fantasy world; they were frolicking in the ruins of our world, long after nuclear war had devasted the planet. Is it bleak? Absolutely! But this bleakness contrasts nicely with Adventure Time’s colorful surface, resulting in a deeply rich ambivalence. Not many shows—let alone children’s shows!—have managed to fuse such extremes into a workable whole. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 9. “My Two Favorite People” (692-004)

Airdate: May 3, 2010

Production Information: Kent Osborne and Pendleton Ward (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: Almost all the first-season episodes that we have considered so far have placed a heavy emphasis on comedy. The point of these episodes is to make you laugh, and anything beyond that is gravy. “My Two Favorite People,” in contrast, may be the first that is grounded on a solidly emotional foundation, and while the episode is very funny, it is primarily interested in telling the poignant story of two brothers and a gal they both like. If anyone has ever found themselves caught up in a love triangle—whether real or, as in the case of this episode, imagined—Jake’s actions, although immature, will likely feel relatable. It is a cheesy cliché, but the story’s strength is that it all feels so real (which I recognize is a funny thing to say about a cartoon dog and his unicorn-rainbow beau).

“My Two Favorite People” is the first episode that really features Lady Rainicorn as a mover of the plot rather than just a fun side character, and it is a wonderful showcase for her. While a handful of later installments—namely season four’s “Lady & Peebles” and season eighth’s “Lady Raincorn of the Crystal Dimension”—would try to highlight Lady, “My Two Favorite People” is arguably the character’s funniest episodes, thanks in large part to her use of a universal translator, which allows the other characters to understand her. To some, a device such as this may seem like a cop-out, but storyboard artists Kent Osborne and Pendleton Ward cleverly preempt this criticism by making the device’s only useable setting one that gives Lady the voice of a great-great grandfather. Lady’s “old-man voice” is an episode highlight, and it makes many of the character’s lines (e.g., “Come on my darling! Wrap your legs around me!”) both hilarious and unsettling. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 10. “Memories of Boom Boom Mountain” (692-010)

Airdate: May 3, 2010

Commentary: During the production of season one Ward exerted considerable effort trying to shepherd the show’s crew in a coherent direction, all the while responding to critiques levelled by dozens of Cartoon Network executives. Many of these critiques were contradictory, and in the process of creating something that he was proud of while also appeasing everyone around him, Ward very nearly went bananas. The experience provided the bedrock for “Memories of Boom Boom Mountain,” and to anyone who has been given the arduous task of pleasing a whole slew of prickly critics, the episode will be immediately relatable.

In terms of the show’s budding mythology, “Memories of Boom Boom Mountain” is notable because it firmly establishes that Finn was adopted as a baby by Jake’s canine parents, Joshua and Margaret. This plot point was likely guided less by worldbuilding and more by humor (perhaps playing on the whole “raised by wolves” idiom). Nevertheless, this decision would have major ramifications for the show’s overarching narrative. Finn’s nature as the only human in Ooo was no longer a silly afterthought—it was now a mystery. Just who is Finn the Human, and where did he come from? These questions would linger for seasons, finally culminating in season eight’s touching miniseries Islands. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 11. “Wizard” (692-020)

Airdate: May 10, 2010

Production Information: Pete Browngardt, Adam Muto, and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Wizard”—co-storyboarded by Pete Browngardt, an artist who storyboarded on Chowder and The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack before creating the divisive Uncle Grandpa for Cartoon Network—is an absolute bonkers installment that throws logic out the window by giving Finn and Jake magical powers. It is a plot setup almost guaranteed to be fun, and you can tell that the writers likely a good time coming up with increasingly asinine magical powers (e.g., “endless mayonnaise”).

But underneath all the distraught dust motes and captivating new hairstyles, “Wizard” also has a degree of depth, reading like a biting commentary on higher education-industrial complex in the United States. It does not seem coincidental that the strategies employ by Bufo’s scam wizard school are strikingly similar to those used by predatory colleges, which offer students a worthless degree alongside thousands of dollars of debt. The parallels are made stronger when it is revealed that all those whom Bufo has tricked are reluctant to upset the oppressive status quo, because they believe “newfangled thinking will get [everyone] killed”; this eerily mirrors those who downplay the student loan crisis, arguing that “that’s just the system works.” Finn will have none of this, however, and by episode’s end, he—channeling his myriad wizard powers and the vigor of “youth culture”—proves that if a system is broke, it has got to go. Maybe we could learn a thing or two from that. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 12. “Evicted!” (692-003)

Airdate: May 17, 2010

Production Information: Sean Jimenez and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Adam Muto (story writer); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Evicted!” is considered a classic by most Adventure Time fans for one simple reason: It introduces the audience to Marceline the Vampire Queen. This iconic undead rocker chick managed to steal the spotlight whenever she appeared in an episode, and eventually she became one of the show’s more well-regarded characters. Given all this, there is some irony to the fact that in her debut, Marceline is the antagonist who steals our heroic duo’s beloved Tree Fort. Marceline is therefore similar to other season one baddies in that she tests Finn and Jake’s patience before engaging them in direct combat. But Marceline is set apart from other foes in how Finn and Jake defeat her—namely, that they do not. In fact, she pounds them into the ground almost effortlessly! Besting Finn and Jake is no easy task, meaning that while “Evicted!” might showcase Marceline’s nastier side, it nevertheless does an excellent job emphasizing how much of a badass she is; this goes a long way in explaining the character’s huge popularity.

But Marceline alone cannot an episode make. Luckily, “Evicted!” is further bolstered by several excellent design choices, including a bevy of fun background critters whipped up by character designer Tom Herpich, a slew of colorful background designs courtesy of Ghostshrimp and Santino Lascano, and a killer soundtrack. Regarding the latter, the stand-out tune is inarguably “House Hunting Song,” a comically overblown ballad detailing Finn and Jake’s arduous quest to find a new place to live. The song, sung mostly by Ward with a few lines delivered by Olson, is an emotion-laden earworm guaranteed to wiggle its way into your brain. (I mean, how can you not love a song that blames the murderous tendencies of vampires on simply being “burnt out on dealing with mortals”?) It very much is the blood-red cherry on top of everything, which helps to make “Evicted!” one of the season’s strongest episodes. (5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 13. “City of Thieves” (692-012)

Airdate: May 24, 2010

Commentary: “City of Thieves” is a workable if somewhat forgettable mid-season entry. The episode’s main strength is its titular setting, a bizarro municipality where theft is the law of the land. Unfortunately, the city is nothing more than a silly plot device, and the episode itself never really rises above “fine.” (2.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 14. “The Witch’s Garden” (692-022)

Airdate: June 7, 2010

Production Information: Adam Muto, Kent Osborne, and Niki Yang (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: If you think the idea of Jake sassing Ooo’s cattiest witch is funny in and of itself, wait until you see this episode’s visuals. From Jake’s grotesque but silly “manbaby body” to the abject horror of Gary the Mermaid Queen, “The Witch’s Garden” is replete with several memorable character designs that make it a satisfying entry. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 15. “What Is Life?” (692-017)

Airdate: June 14, 2010

Commentary: Giving Finn and Ice King a son is not a move that I thought Adventure Time would ever make, let alone in the first season, but here we are. The bouncing baby boy in question is actually a clunky robot named NEPTR, voiced to sadsack perfection by comedian and musician Andy Milonakis. If you had told me prior to this episode that Milonakis could give a sentient microwave a sense of pathos, I would have never believed you, but in “What Is Life?” he does a commendable job conveying NEPTR’s pitiful nature. As for the episode itself, “What Is Life?” is a solid entry that introduces viewers to several recurring characters (one of whom being Gunter the penguin) while offering us a peek into the Ice King’s sad, lonely mind. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 16. “Ocean of Fear” (692-025)

Airdate: June 21, 2010

Production Information: J. G. Quintel and Cole Sanchez (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Oceans of Fear”—storyboarded by Cole Sanchez and J. G. Quintel, the latter of whom would go on to create Regular Show for Cartoon Network—is in an interesting installment that establishes Finn’s fear of the ocean, reminding the viewer that even great heroes will be forced to deal with irrational phobias at some point in their life. The character designs in this episode are quite amusing (with the standout being Finn’s grotesque “fear of the Ocean” face), and Mark Hamill, as always, does a wonderful job, using his trademark “Joker voice” to give the Fear Feaster a delightful air of villainy. But as with “Business Time,” many of these elements are upstaged by the episodes’ post-apocalyptic trappings. In fact, when I watched the episode for the first time, I paused it in several places, asking to myself, “Is that a wrecked battleship? Is that a bombed-out tank? Why are there ruins of a city underwater?” It is an understatement to say that this episode is positively littered with rusted debris and centuries-old detritus that testifies to Ooo’s traumatic history. For eagle-eyed fans hoping to piece together Adventure Time’s mysterious mythology, this episode is an absolute hoot. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 17. “When Wedding Bells Thaw” (692-013)

Airdate: June 28, 2010

Production Information: Kent Osborne and Niki Yang (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: One of the first episodes to team Ice King up with Finn and Jake, “When Wedding Bells Thaw” is a goofy lampooning of bachelor parties and the institution of marriage in general. Although the episode ends on a fairly predictive note (spoiler alert: Ice King tricked his fiancée into marriage), seeing Ice King get along with our heroes is charming, and in many ways it presages the Ice King’s future character growth. The episode’s strongest part is the short dialogue-free montage near the middle depicting Finn, Jake, and Ice King getting into all sorts of “manlorette party” shenanigans; this sequence is made all the stronger by Tim Kiefer’s chiptune score, which enlivens the party with a burst of synthesizers and electro-drums. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 18. “Dungeon” (692-013)

Airdate: June 28, 2010

Commentary: If there is one episode that feels like the entirety of Adventure Time’s first season distilled down into 11 minutes, then it would be “Dungeon.” An episode replete with outrageous monsters and wacky action, “Dungeon” is a high-energy installment that pays homage to the sprawling world of table-top gaming; indeed, it is not hard to imagine storyboard artists Elizabeth Ito and Adam Muto reaching for a D20 or a well-worn copy of the Monster Manual whenever it came time to block out a new scene. Stand-out moments from this episode include Finn’s encounter with the Demon Cat (famous for having “approximate knowledge of many things”), his visitation by a “guardian angel,” and the deus ex machina ending that see Princess Bubblegum swoop in to save the day. (“Get on my swan!”) And amidst all the silliness, “Dungeon” even manages to sneak in a sweet little message tucked snuggly in between all the wacky monsters about the importance of recognizing your weaknesses. (4.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 19. “The Duke” (692-023)

Airdate: July 12, 2010

Commentary: For most of season one, the audience is presented a version of Princess Bubblegum that is bright, effervescent, and totally nonthreatening; the monarch, it seems, is as aggressive as a marshmallow. But in “The Duke,” this all changes, and we finally get to see the princess’s darker, authoritarian side. Unhinged Princess Bubblegum is quite a sight to behold (as is the sight of green-and-bald Bubblegum), but it adds another layer of to the saccharine sovereign, setting her up for substantial character development a few seasons down the road. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 20. “Freak City” (692-008)

Airdate: July 26, 2010

Production Information: Tom Herpich and Pendleton Ward (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Freak City” introduces the audience to Magic Man, a deranged and flamboyant Martian wizard known for meaninglessly harassing the citizens of Ooo. Although the character’s backstory would be fleshed out in later seasons and eventually come to play a major part in the mythology of the series, this episode was storyboarded well before these developments were dreamed up, meaning that here, Magic Man functions as a simple (albeit funny) villain-of-the-week whose nihilistic tendencies clash wonderfully with Finn’s optimistic worldview. Finn is so used to dividing the world up into “good guys” and “evil guys,” but his run-in with Magic Man is proof that morality is far more confusing than he would like to believe. The main problem is that Magic Man is not really evil: He is clinically insane—a violent psychopath—who does not care about his actions impacting others. No climactic fight or eleventh-hour pep talk is enough to fix him.

On top of this rather weighty consideration of morality and mental instability, “Freak City” contains another, more straightforward message about the power of teamwork and how people should work as one to overcome common problems. Storyboard artists Pendleton Ward and Tom Herpich have quite a bit of fun taking the idiom literally by forcing Finn and the other denizens of Freak City pile on top of one another to function as a single, grotesque being that is capable of fighting Magic Man. While “Freak City” loses some points for espousing rhetoric that folks who are depressed can simply will themselves out of their funk, it makes up for these deficits elsewhere with its character designs—ranging from the inside-out bird to the two-headed monster that Finn groin-strikes—which are all bizarre in the best, most creative way possible. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 21. “Donny” (692-018)

Airdate: August 9, 2010

Commentary: A rather forgettable protagonist and only a smattering of memorable lines make “Donny” the season’s weakest link. The episode does get points for introducing us to “whywolves” (“Creatures possessed by the spirit of inquiry—and bloodlust!”), but they are not enough to completely save it from mediocrity. (2 stars)

Season 1, Episode 22. “Henchman” (692-021)

Airdate: August 23, 2010

Production Information: Luther McLaurin and Cole Sanchez (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: While “Evicted!” depicted Marceline as an apathetic asshole, “Henchman” starts to soften the vampire queen by showing that her evil exterior is an elaborate facade, and that deep down she is really just a prank-loving trickster—or, as Finn puts it, “a radical dame who likes to play games.” This might seem nothing more than a subtle tweak, but it does wonders for Marceline’s characterization; by episode’s end, as Finn and his vampiric “master” chat quite cheerfully in a field of strawberries, it is clear that the writers are setting up Marceline to become a legitimate pal to Finn and Jake, rather than just an avatar of chaos who drops in every once in awhile to shake things up. This was a wise decision, as it provided Marceline with the chance to grow into a hero in her own right with whom the audience can happily cheer along.

Since “Henchman” is predicated on Marceline pranking Finn, storyboard artists Luther McLaurin and Cole Sanchez have a great deal of fun mocking up outrageous scenarios that seem evil at first glance, but are revealed to be quite benign. Perhaps the funniest of these situations is Marceline raising an army of undead skeletons only to throw them a concert, and the vampire queen’s demand that Finn kill a little dimple-plant, which looks like a cutie before it turns into an Audrey II-esque abomination from John Carpenter’s darkest nightmares. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 23. “Rainy Day Daydream” (692-002)

Airdate: September 6, 2010

Production Information: Pendleton Ward (storyboard artist); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Rainy Day Daydream” is a beautiful representation of creativity in its purest form. Channeling his love of multilevel video games and Dungeons and Dragons, solo storyboard artist and series creator Pendleton Ward uses the pretext of Jake’s imagination affecting reality as an opportunity to bounce from one ridiculous plot point to another to great effect. The whole thing feels like an exercise in jovial spontaneity, and while “writing the story as you go” can sometime result in disjointed or sloppy final products, here Ward makes it work, using the approach to illustrate the almost limitless potential of imagination. Another strength of the episode is the way it throws dozens of ridiculous obstacles at Finn and Jake without the aid of equally ridiculous visuals; in fact, almost every hindrance in the episode is invisible to both Finn and the audience, and we only learn what is going on thanks to Jake’s narration. The fact that this approach works and is not boring is a testament to Ward’s skills as a storyteller and dialogue writer. (4.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 24. “What Have You Done?” (692-027)

Airdate: September 13, 2010

Commentary: In addition to providing us with another glimpse of Bubblegum’s dark side, “What Have You Done?” also serves as an interesting meditation on morality and preemptive punishment. As earlier episodes have confirmed, the Ice King is a creepy little deviant, but is it right for Finn and Jake to imprison him without a cause? This is a real legal question, and the show handles it in a surprisingly sophisticated way, concluding more or less that the writ of habeas corpus must be preserved. Of course, this is all undermined to some degree when we learn that the Ice King actually is to blame, but thanks to some quick thinking on the part of Finn, our heroes are able to save the day without having to turn to the carceral powers of the state. (And people say Adventure Time is not sophisticated...) (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 25. “His Hero” (692-026)

Airdate: September 20, 2010

Commentary: Who is the greatest hero ever? If you answered, “Finn!” it is obvious that you have yet to see “His Hero,” for the correct answer is Billy, of course! Lou Ferrigno guest stars in this episode as the aforementioned defender of Ooo, enlivening the character with his distinctive voice. As for the episode itself, storyboard artists Kent Osborne and Niki Yang—with an assist from the ever-dependable Adam Muto—produce some of their best work this season, filling each scene with witty dialogue and zany shenanigans. Arguably, the episode’s pièce de resistance is the short montage of Billy’s past achievements, which plays alongside a song, sung by Muto, extolling the hero’s greatness; energetic and wacky, the song in many ways typifies the “chaotic heroism” that defined the show’s first season.

Like many other first-season episodes, “His Hero” ends with a counterintuitive “anti-moral,” stressing that while a commitment to non-violence might seem subversive on the surface, it is actually an ineffective way to make the world a better place; instead, the episode argues that direct physical action—i.e., beating the snot out of monsters and bad guys—is necessary if heroes want to save people from oppression. This may all come across as contrarian silliness, but I would argue that it is profoundly radical, rejecting “common sense” ideals about peace that really only help those in positions of power. (Side note, if the kids who grew up watching Adventure Time turn into a bunch of revolutionaries, I think we will know the cause.) (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 26. “Gut Grinder” (692-024)

Airdate: September 27, 2010

Production Information: Ako Castuera and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: Much like “Ricardio the Heart Guy,” this episode suffers due to a lack of a solid mystery; from the start, it seems obvious that Jake is not the one responsible for the robberies. Furthermore, the reveal that Sharon is the one behind the robberies comes with almost no dramatical weight, since we have no idea who she is. The whole thing is forgettable, which is a shame given that this is the season finale. (2 stars)

(Huge shout out to @sometipsygnostalgic for reading over these a few months ago and offering feedback. Also, I want to thank @j4gm for posting his “Slumber Party Panic” review, which made me remember these write-ups!)

#adventure time #atimers #season 1 #season one #reviews #finn #jake #finn the human #jake the dog #marceline #pb #bubblegum #princess bubblegum #marceline the vampire queen #ice king #pen ward #pendleton ward

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something-fanfiction-ie · 5 years ago

Text

Out of the Lion’s Den

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of rape (not against the reader), attempted rape and assault (against the reader) angst, cursing, insults, the usual super dramatic shit you see in the taken down of an unsub

A/N: Wowie wow wow wow, so this is kinda long. And I know I said I was gonna post it like two days ago, HOWEVER! In my defense, I started writing it and then about halfway through I accidentally closed tumblr so it deleted everything I had. So I went to bed defeated. But it’s here now, that’s the important thing, right? Remember to like, comment, reblog, send me asks, and just be your usual amazing selves and give me the attention that my parents never gave me as the oldest of eight. As always, THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING ME AND I APPRECIATE YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!

___

[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four ]

December 1998

It felt good to be back home in Georgia. The wind whipped at the trees outside of the diner you and you best friend were currently catching up at. The waitress, Flora, knows you by name and sets your usual in front of you with a ruffle of your hair and a couple of southern endearments.

“Tell me everything.” Madalyn says, reaching across the table for the ketchup that was placed on your side of the booth. You swat at her hand when she makes a grab for one of your fries. Her laugh is loud and feels like home, making you smile into your drink in a way you haven’t smiled all semester.

“I’d like to preface this conversation by saying that I feel like this would be a much cooler experience if I were the same age as everyone else.” You point out, brushing your growing bangs away from your eyes with an annoyed swat. Her eyes soften with sympathy, swirling a fry into the ketchup tucked into a safe space on her plate. She doesn’t say anything though, knowing that you have more to say.

“The classes are awesome. The campus is beautiful. I learn something new all the time, which was never happening when I was going to school here,” you pause long enough to glance around the room. It’s packed with all kinds of people, from old men clustered at the counter sipping on coffees to construction workers munching on hamburgers during their break, even big families squished into booths and tables for a nice Sunday family lunch.

“But?” You shrug in response, knowing that Madalyn will be able to read you like an open book if you meet her eyes. Across the table, the amateur profiler squints her dark eyes at you with suspicion.

“Everyone just kinda avoids me. The guys are cute, but they’re all nineteen and twenty. Most of the things to do on campus, you have to be eighteen for, so I mostly just spend my time at the library or at Aunt May’s doing homework.” At this, Madalyn stops eating, raising her eyebrows with a cheeky grin.

“I bet your grades are super rad,” You resist the urge to throw a French fry in her face after what she says next. “And besides, I’m the only friend you need in your life.”

“Actually, I have made a kind of friend?” Flora is over before you can finish the drink in your cup, filling the glass with a dark, blue pitcher. When you thank her, she reaches out to pat your cheek, mumbling something about missing you while you were gone.

“Should I be jealous? Is she pretty? She may be a big sister type, but I’m your soulmate.” You laugh into your sandwich having to cover your mouth when you take a bite and the laughter doesn’t go away.

Madalyn has been your best friend for four years, although time seems to have no meaning in your relationship because nobody would doubt it if you told them you’d known her since birth. While most kids in your age group had grown up thinking you were odd, Madalyn had decided that you were just interesting. That interest had turned into a friendship that would span years and miles more than many friendships do.

While the things you both enjoyed, like Leonardo DiCaprio and Ben Affleck, certainly brought you together, it was your differences that made you click like the pieces of a puzzle. Only true friends can debate on opposite sides of an argument and then end the night eating popcorn while watching Space Jam in the living room.

“His name is Harvey.” When Madalyn’s eyebrows go up this time, it is from surprise. You’ve never been one to socialize with anyone of the opposite gender, much less become ‘kinda friends’ with them. Plus, as a young lady of very womanly curves, she’s quite aware of the way some guys cross the line on a regular basis.

“(Y/N)-” You wave your hand in the air, once again pushing at the bangs that keep falling in your face. You should have never cut them in the first place, and you never would have if you realized what a hassle they would be when you started growing them out.

“I don’t like him like that. He’s just a really nice guy, helps me with homework and walks me to a class or two. We’ve never even met up outside of school.” Her eyes are still narrowed, a stray dark wave falling from the hair comb that pins the top half of her hair away from her face.

Eventually, she changes the subject. Trusting that you are smart enough to know when things have gotten out of hand and how to take care of it.

“So why are you growing your bangs out? I thought you liked them. Didn’t you say they make you look more grown up?” You unstick your thighs from the leather booth seat, pinning her with a look that she knows all too well.

“Now that’s a crazy story.” She also makes herself comfortable in her seat, preparing herself for a story. It’s probably a good thing you’re a phenomenal story teller, or else she would have gotten tired of all the stories you tell really quickly.

“So last month a girl comes forward and reports that she was cornered by a man she didn’t know on her way from the library back to her dorm. He held her at gun point and rapes her. It got kinda big, because she was rallying a group of men and women to escort girls around campus. And, I mean, I understand the unease she must feel, and I was sympathetic, but I was kind of confused why there was so much uproar over one rape.”

Having finished your own fries, you reach across the table and steal one from your outraged best friend. Before she can grab it back, you’ve shoved it into your mouth.

“Until a second girl comes forward and says that she reported the same thing happening to her a month ago. The campus, meanwhile, is doing nothing about it. No increased security, no curfew, not even acknowledged them.”

“For two girls?”

“For five,” The pause you take is natural, scooting the bottom of your cup across the tabletop so you could sip from the straw without picking the cup up, but it reads as dramatic effect. “And that’s not even the craziest part.”

One dark eyebrow raised into her hairline, waiting for you to continue the story and also answer the question.

“Every victim was a freshman, so they’re a little on the younger side, they all had the same hair color and style, all had the same body type, all were the same height, all had the same eye color.” This time you do pause for dramatic effect, using the silence to build the tension.

“And all of them look exactly like me. Bangs and all.”

Madalyn leans forward a little, suddenly very worried about you going back next month. As she hurriedly tries to make sure you are taking the necessary precautions during a scary time like this, Flora floats around the diner, stopping to fill up the cup of a single man just behind your booth. All he has is black coffee, a textbook of some kind is splayed open across the table but he doesn’t seem to be too interested in it. Instead, he leans back in his seat, his ears listening to your every word.

“So in summary, I’m growing out my bangs because that’s obviously apart of this dude’s type.” Madalyn doesn’t protest anymore when you reach for another fry on her plate.

“Stop looking at me like that. I’m going to be fine. I’ll even color my hair if you’re so worried.” And the conversation continues, your best friend overly worried about you and your life as a fifteen year old college student, and you masking your fear for appearances sake. Harvey, however, finishes his coffee and asks for the bill.

He thought you were smarter than that. He thought you were smart enough to connect the dots and at least notice that he’d done all of it for you. That you were his everything. Apparently that was wrong. One day you’ll figure it out, of that he is certain.

For now though, you don’t even notices when he passes your table to get to the door.

Present Day

Spencer steps away from the car door, the cool wind hitting his cheeks and tousling his hair. It helps the dizziness in his head, and the nausea in his stomach, but it doesn’t help the sharp pain in his heart. His brain is swimming in all of the information, putting the pieces of the crime scene together like it was a puzzle.

“He left her in the driver’s seat after stabbing her from the backseat, walking around the front before knocking her out and carrying her to his own vehicle.” JJ looks back at the car, peering around crime scene analysts as they hurry about collecting evidence.

“She tried to leave, but her tires spun in the mud.” Rossi notes, nodding to the mud splatter along the sides of your car and the tiny graves each tire has dug into the ground for itself.

“There’s blood in the back.” Spencer finally speaks, looking away from the backseat window and back to his two partners. All eyes flick to the back seat where there is indeed two drops of blood on the floor and a smear of it on the headrest of the passenger seat.

“If he’s in any system then we’ll catch him.” Rossi said, nodding for the techs to collect what they could from the back. Spencer turns back to the car, well aware that there wasn’t anything else here for them the find that would lend them any information as to your whereabouts.

“In a system or not, I will hunt him to the ends of the earth before I let him get away with this.”

Back at the BAU, Prentiss makes calls to your mother and your best friend, Madalyn. Both answer on the first ring, and both are all the more willing to answer any questions that may assist the team in finding the man who had taken you.

“Is there anyone you remember (Y/N) mentioning that maybe stood out to you or her as creepy and stalkerish?” Your mother doesn’t recall anyone, having been focused on so many different cases during your childhood and having been so distant from you since you decided to not become a detective.

Madalyn, however, is quick to answer with a name Prentiss recalls crossing off the list of persons of interest.

“Harvey Morgenstein. They were friends in college, and although it weirded me out because he was a lot older than her at the time, he seemed harmless and I trusted (Y/N). But then he became her agent’s personal assistant all coincidentally and it just seemed too fishy to me.” Prentiss writes the name down, sliding it across the table with a pointed look at Garcia.

As quick as lightning, Harvey’s life history is pulled up between computer screens for both women to delve into.

Harvey is a short man with a wide build that, in earlier pictures, shows him to be more soft than muscly. His hair is dirty blonde but his eyes are two dark circles of coal that seem to pierce through the screen and into the souls of both Penelope and Emily.

“He’s totally not creepy looking.” Garcia remarks sarcastically, eyes sweeping across the information given to her the way Reid’s eyes might fly up and down the pages of a book or a case file.

“Tell me about it.” Emily replies, leaning into the seat designated for those on the team who so wished to give Penelope a visit while remaining off their feet.

“Harvey is a pretty normal guy for the most part. Single child of a Harvey and Lucille Morgenstein. Graduated from Georgetown in 2000 with a major in computer technology, minor in criminology.”

“The same graduating class as (Y/N).” Prentiss notes, her eyes just behind Garcia’s as articles and documents fly around the computer. Where some people talked with their hands, Garcia talked with her screens. The constant tap-tap-tapping of rings and fingers against the keyboard was like the audible churnining of cogs in her brain.

“Yeah, he spent some time as an IT guy at Georgetown before he got a job as a personal assistant. The only spot on his squeaky clean record that I can find is that he was a person of interest in a few rape cases involving some girls on campus back in the late 90’s, but he had alibis for every single one so they let him walk.” The pictures of every victim pop up across the screen in the form of a newspaper article talking about the serial rappings.

Gasps come from both their mouths as the dots connect.

“Call Reid and the others, and then call the agent. I think I may know what is going on.”

A couple of hours later and the pieces are all starting to come together.

Harvey had been the serial rapist from the 90s, attacking women who looked like you out of anger over not having you for himself, and pure obsession. After graduation, he tried to move on by distancing himself from you, but when his mother was diagnosed with cancer he fell back into his old stalkerish ways.

He followed your every move through your agent, who was the only person you spoke to the most outside of your mom and Madalyn.

After a little digging into unsolved rape cases in the area, it was obvious from the victimology and an oddly specific M.O. where he bit each of his victims on the neck, that he had also fallen back into his perverted rapist ways.

Harvey might have been content to stay like that, an obvious self esteem issue keeping him from ever approaching you directly for a date, until a month ago. Not even two days after the death of his sick mother, you and Spencer went on your first date outside of the bookstore. A double trigger.

In a sick and twisted display of love, Harvey started killing people the way you’d written deaths in your books. But with every death you continued to ignore him and see Spencer.

“Eventually it all became too much for him to handle and he snapped, kidnapping (Y/N) and calling to taunt Reid over his victory.” Hotch passed a hand over his face. The sirens blared loudly as they raced for Harvey’s house just outside of Quantico.

“This guy has been stalking her for a ridiculous amount of time.” Morgan commented with a shudder, sympathy and guilt from the earlier interrogation eating at him as the black SUV careens around a corner.

When they bust through his door, clearing each room and finding a creepy amount of pictures and papers about you, they realize that he has taken you somewhere else. And who do you call when you’re at a dead end and you need information?

“You’ve reached Penelope Garcia in the FBI’s Office of Supreme Genius.”

___

Breaking a chair that is nailed to the floor is a lot harder than it sounds, and it already sounds kinda hard.

There was a lot of kicking and hitting and some bruises were definitely starting to form, but the amount of blood coming from your leg was scary. The chances that the knife had nicked your femoral artery were relatively slim, especially given how long you’ve been bleeding, but you couldn’t help but waver on the side of caution.

After several failed attempts of throwing your body into the wood and kicking and hitting and pulling and crying and then repeating the cycle, you managed to pop a leg off. While the base of the leg stayed nailed to the floor, you spent the rest of your time trying to tear the chair from the rest of the legs, when you did you threw the top half against the concrete wall.

Taking two spindles from the back, you quickly scurry back to the mattress and wait for him to return. It’s only a matter of time before he decides to come back down here to taunt you or try something.

In your short time in what Harvey has so lovingly deemed ‘your room,’ you have come to a couple conclusions in an attempt to distract yourself from the excruciating pain in your thigh.

One being that this is not Harvey’s home. Of that you’re one hundred percent certain. Upstairs, you can hear the sound of two sets of feet thudding around. You can only assume this is his childhood home. You remember that his mother had died about a month ago, causing him to resign from his position as your agent’s personal assistant. She had mentioned to you that he planned to help his father as much as he could before he too passed away.

The second being that you were probably going to loose your leg. Any move this way or that sends a thousand knives through every nerve in your body. Your throat is scratchy and sore from how long you’ve been yelling, both in trying to get someone’s attention and in pain.

The light coming from the small window next to the ceiling hasn’t even begun to wane with the falling sun when the door opens again. The chain around your uninjured leg clatters when you pull your knee up to your chest. You don’t even attempt to move the other leg.

Harvey appears in the opening, a tray of food balances in his hands as he shuts the door behind him.

“Find some weapons?” He asks casually, setting the tray beside the lamp as he sinks to his knees on the mattress. Your knuckles are white around each spindle, the inside of your mouth is sensitive to the touch from how much nervous chewing you’ve been doing.

“Get away from me, or I’ll kill you.” You seethe, fighting through the swimming in your head that hasn’t gone away since you woke up here. He gives you a look like you’re a misbehaving child, but it’s soon replaced with anger when you slap him across the face with one of your weapons.

You were hoping the attack would break skin, but all it does is turns the skin over his cheekbone dark red.

Faster than you can blink, he pins both your wrists with one of his hands above your head on the mattress, using the other hand to deftly pluck each spindle from your grip.

“I’ve done so much for you. I’ve given you a room, and a career, and so much more, and yet you attack me.” The wooden spindles hit the wall next to the door, his body lowers to yours in a way you know means more trouble.

“You’re a creep and a perv and I don’t want you to touch me! You’ve done nothing for me. Only for yourself.” In a way that would make any young boy proud to know you, you collect all the spit and bile in your mouth before shooting it into his face. Part of it hits him in the eye, causing him to roar in outrage.

He lets you go, giving you a brief moment of relief, but he only wipes away the loogey before rocking his hand back hard enough to crack against the side of your face. In your moment of disorientation, he flips you to your stomach and undoes the cuff from around your leg. The chain rings against the ground when he tosses it to the side.

His knee went to your back, his hands went to your waist, and the moment you manage to come back to yourself, your fingers clawed at whatever flesh you could find near you. You screamed and flailed as much as you could, the shooting pain of your leg barely noticeable when your body was in panic mode.

All you can think as that this is the kind of thing you read about. People don’t actually get kidnapped and rapped by people they knew in college. But you know that isn’t true either. You are the daughter of a detective, things like this were apart of your everyday life growing up. Just never as personal as you or a friend being the victim. For some reason that makes you fight harder, a sickly feelings creeping into your throat when you felt his fingers brush under the hem of your underwear.

Then a sound pulled you from your hysteria, the door fell to the ground and a swarm of FBI Agents descended upon the concrete basement you still refused to call ‘your room.’ Spencer was the last of them to enter, but the unadulterated fury in his eyes was enough to tell you that was not a decision on his part.

To you, and maybe even everyone else in the room who managed to look at him for longer than a millisecond, he looked like an avenging angel. Every chocolate caramel curl perfectly framed his face, which looked like it was carved out of stone. His jaw was so tense you could slice your finger if your ran it along the edge. The revolver in his hands was unwavering, only growing in steadiness when he caught compromising position you were in.

The sob that came out of your throat was one of relief. Harvey lifted you from the mattress, reaching into his pocket to pull out that damned pocket knife. He held you so close to his chest that it made your skin crawl.

“Harvey Morgensten, drop the weapon.” Morgan’s voice boomed around the room. Harvey held you with one arm tensed around the front of your shoulders and the other holding a knife to your neck.

“She’s mine! You weren’t supposed to be able to find us!” He screamed, you winced away from the shrilling pitch that scraped against the inside of your ear. It caused him to push the knife into the skin over your exposed collarbone, blood beading around the the metal tip. Your heart was hammering beneath your ribs, your hands flexing at your sides, your mind racing for a way to get out of this situation.

Spencer’s lip went up in a snarl, you half expected him to let a growl tear through his chest as if he was a lion standing against an enemy. The hairs on the back of your neck stood to attention when he took a hesitant step forward, his eyes softening for just a fraction of a second when he looks down at you.

In that fraction of a second all of his defenses fall and you can see all the grief and panic in the bags under his eyes and the raw skin of his bottom lip.

“She was never yours, Harvey.” Spencer says, wincing when Harvey responds by yanking you even closer than before. His breath is hot on your neck, his lips so close that they brush against the skin on the back of your shoulder when he speaks.

“She was never yours, Dr. Reid. She is mine, she always will be.” You cry out in surprise, your fingers coming up to scratch at the arm around your shoulders when a pair of teeth sink into the crook of your neck as if you were the victim of a vampire or something equally supernatural and territorial.

The action has the desired effect on every agent watching, especially Reid, who stumbles forward before Hotch grabs him by the back of his arm. They don’t have a shot, not without hurting you. That much you can tell just from the look they share. It doesn’t take a genius to look around and see that the end of every gun in the room is pierced right through you.

It makes you angry. You grind the back of your teeth together when a dark chuckles echoes from behind you. In your mind’s eye, you see it all happening the way you see a scene from a book playing before you like a movie.

Reaching up with one hand, you grab the onto the arm holding the knife. With the pad of your thumb, you shove every bit of strength you have into the soft skin at the inside of his wrist. At the same time, you pull your head forward before sending it reeling back onto his already broken nose. This time, you can feel the crunch of bones as your skull makes contact with his face.

Simultaneously, he drops the knife to the floor with a cry and drops his arms to reach for his gushing nose. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you manage the couple of steps forward into Spencer’s arms. In a quick and graceful display of surprising strength, he carries you back into his embrace and spins around to shield you from the monster staggering back toward you.

Prentiss is quick to catch him in his blind pursuit for you, twisting both of his arms back without an ounce of sympathy for his pain. The jingle of handcuffs precede the finality of each click around his wrists.

“Everything I did, I did for you! I made your book come to life, I ruined the reputation of those girls, I did it all for you.” Harvey struggles against the restraints, twisting his body any way that he can to get a glimpse of you curled into Spencer’s chest.

You brain is caught between reality and a distant world, everything around you feels like make believe. Only the feeling of Spencer’s sweater curled into your fingers and his hand on the back of your head feels real. Harvey’s voice is like a recording being played three blocks away, still loud enough to hear but not close enough to focus on. He’s hissing threats and insults at Spencer’s back, that psycho-something in him finally snapping under the circumstances.

Somebody is yelling for a medic and there, just underneath it all, is the sound of someone wailing in such a way that words could never accurately describe the intense pain and grief being carried on every screaming sob. As the events from the last twelve hours come rushing back to you, reality takes the reins of your mind.

It’s you that’s crying like that. That desperate, broken sound is coming from your heaving chest. When your leg finally gives out from under you, the pain too much for your body to bare, he was already there holding you.

The screams fade into small shattered sobs just in time for medics to descend the stairs. Their hands are voices are everywhere, medical jargon flying over your head as they pry your hands from Spencer’s sweater. You pull back from every touch, the thoughts in your brain flying too fast for you to keep up.

It takes them a while to get you to the ambulance, but when they do you start to panic.

“Spencer?!” You cry out, unable to move your head too much due to the neck brace and head strap holding you down. It takes only a second for him to come into view, his eyes glassy and his smile watery. His hand slips into yours before they raise you up to the ambulance, your hand is icy to the touch.

The paramedics had mentioned a possible concussion, excessive blood loss, and signs of acute compartment syndrome. The fact that you had remained conscious and walking this long was a testament to your strong will and fighting spirit.

“Don’t leave me.” You whispered, the black around the edges of your vision creeping in despite how hard you fought it. Spencer almost winced from how hard you tightened the grip on his fingers. His mouth moved, but you never heard the response, your mind fading quickly with every second.

“Don’t leave.”

The sound of a heart monitor steadily beeping was what woke you up. Groaning from all the aches and pains that surged up with consciousness, your eyes fluttered open before squinting into the bright hospital lights.

Your mother was the first thing that popped into your field of vision. The last time she had looked at you with such worry, you’d been in the ER after flipping your car into a ditch. In your defense, it was dark and, as a young driver, you over corrected when you hit a patch of standing water.

“Mama?” You pushed up on the bed, the pillow behind your head falling to the space between your lower back and the mattress. Your mom was quick to pick it up and fluff it back behind your head. She must really be concerned. Had they found cancer while you were out or something?

“Oh my goodness, (Y/N), you had me so worried.” Gingerly, you pressed the heel of your hand to the bandage that stuck to your hair and the corner of your head. Brushing the butterfly stitches that went across the cut on your cheek, you barely had time to react before she pulled you into a breath-stealing hug.

The wound on your neck smarted with the movement and you hissed in pain. Your mom pulled back, squishing your cheeks between her hands as tears began to collect on her lower lash line. Your mother was not the type to cry, about really anything, as far as you knew of. So to see her tearing up like this only added to the confusion and shock you were already feeling.

“Never join law enforcement. I thought I wanted you to, but I can’t deal with this kidnapping and near-death nonsense. I’m getting too old for it.” She teased tenderly, releasing your face from the death grip of love to wipe away the tears before they fell down her cheeks.

“When did you get here?” You asked, taking note of all the wires and tubes that connected to your body via IVs and sticky pads. A glance down at your leg eased the fear that you might have sustained a leg wound that would take your leg from you. You didn’t move it for fear of the pain you could already feel throbbing to the beat of your heart.

The bed dipped under your mother’s weight as she sat beside you, gathering one of your hands into both of hers. Scars littered the knuckles that had wiped away your tears and taught you to throw punches.

“I only got here about an hour ago, but you’ve had round the clock protection from the FBI so no need to get panicky. I can see that look creeping into your eyes.” Her own eyes squint a little, those highly observant detective skills kicking in. She’s always been able to read you like an open book, making you wonder if she would have been good at profiling.

Of course she would have, your mother was good at everything she set her mind to.

“FBI?” You’re full of so many questions, but they all fall away when you mom shifts out of your line of sight to reveal the sleeping agent tucked away into the corner of the room.

Spencer is curled onto a hospital chair that is placed into a corner beside the window looking out over the parking lot. His back is leaned against the wall, one shoulder leaned against the back of the chair. One long leg is curled into the seat and the other is stretched out next to the chair. From across the room, you can see the shadows his eyelashes cast across his cheekbones in slumber. Oddly enough, your first thought is of Sleeping Beauty.

The sight is enough to make your heart feel like it’s squeezing around a ball of broken glass. Before your mother can read too much into the mixture of emotions that, surely, skew your features, you look away.

“He’s been here since they brought you in. I met his team, they’re a fine group of agents. You didn’t tell me you were friends with anyone in the FBI.” Before she can say anything else, you clear your throat. Putting one hand, a little dramatically, to your chest you give your mother a look you haven’t used since you were a kid trying to stay home from school.

“Mama, I’m a little hungry. Can you get me something to eat?” It works like a charm. You’ve never seen your mother jump so quickly before, she races out the door like a woman on a mission. It warms your aching heart.

“Maybe you should have tried acting.” Spencer’s voice is groggy with sleep as he sits up and stretches into awareness.

“How long have you been awake?” He meets your gaze, his expression soft and earth-shaking. When you imagined seeing Spencer wake up first thing in the morning, it was never in a hospital room while feelings of betrayal and confusion stabbed into your chest.

“Just long enough to hear your mom talk about my team. She’s a nice lady.” He doesn’t move from the chair, sensing the tension in the room the way only a profiler can. He’s afraid that if he gets up, you’ll make him leave. He doesn’t need to know that he’s right.

“How long have I been out?” You’re asking every question except the one you’ve been dying to ask.

“A day. You had a pretty bad concussion and acute compartment syndrome in your leg. They weren’t sure you were going to be able to retain control of the muscle given how long you were kept hostage with it untreated, but I know you’re too stubborn to let that happen.” The silence that follows is stifling, your eyes interlocked in a battle of wills.

Was this the same man that had accused you of being a serial killer?

You’re the first to look away, fidgeting with a fray string from the blanket thrown over your legs.

“I think we need some time apart.”

“I’m so incredibly sorry.” You both speak at the same time, but your words drain the blood from Spencer’s face when they finally register. He had hoped that, by some miracle, you would forgive him of the unforgivable sin he had committed against you in the name of justice. He understood why you didn’t.

“I just,” The threads of the blanket you recognize from your childhood bedroom bump underneath your fingers when you smooth your hand over it, “I want to forgive you. But all I keep thinking is that none of this would have happened to me if you had used all those brains in your head instead of all the insecurities in you heart.”

It’s like a slap across the face, and yet Spencer can’t help but feel like he deserves it. Even still, none of it hurts as much as the crack in your voice and the tears that you try so desperately to blink away before he can see them.

It isn’t often that Spencer Reid is rendered speechless, but the guilt and heartache have stolen all the words of every language and all the breath from the air right out of his mouth.

“It’s still so fresh in my mind, I think if we distance ourselves then we’ll be able to come back to something rather than trying to scramble to bridge together the chasm that has formed between us.”

He wants to argue, everything in him screams that he needs to fight for you, but the look in your eyes stops him. If you need space, then space is what he will give you. Spencer would do anything to make this right. He wishes he had the intelligence and technology to build a time machine and go back to two mornings ago.

“I understand,” he says solemnly, trying to talk around the hurt in his chest that is growing like a tumor. “But I promised I wouldn’t leave you. I’ll give you space, but I’m only giving you the space of the wall between this room and the hallway.”

And then he’s gone, staying true to his word and sinking to the floor outside your room. When you mother comes back, holding a collection of jellos and cookies and granola bars from the hospital cafeteria, her steps falter at the sight of the young doctor outside your door.

Inside you’re curled into yourself, taking very deliberate breaths into the cotton stuffed pillow you have buried into your chest. You half expect your heart monitor to be screaming for the nurses, but despite a small quickening in the constant beeps, it gives away none of your heartbreak.

“(Y/N)?” You look up, meeting your mothers eyes with tear stained cheeks. Your head is going to be throbbing later, but for now you’re only focused on the sharp pains shooting through your ribs and clouding every other pain in your body.

Between one gasp of air and the next, your mother drops all the foods to the chair vacated by Spencer before rushing to pull you into her arms.

“Can you die from a broken heart?” You whimper, feeling like a small child as you bury your head into her chest. She smells like home, running her hand over the back of your head with gentle shushing sounds.

Outside, Spencer wipes at his own tears, a silent statue of sadness protecting you from everything but himself.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #dr spence reid #spence reid #criminal minds self insert #criminal mind imagine #criminal minds

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stainandscribble · 4 years ago

Text

Moulin Rouge Sous le Ciel Bleu

Red Mill under the Blue Sky

Pairing: Byun Baekhyun/Reader (female)

Genre: Moulin Rouge; rich!Baekhyun; 1920′s!Baekhyun; angst; fluff

Warning: mention of mature situations ;)

Summary: Baekhyun never thought he would find love through the infamous Moulin Rouge, or that it would be the one place he could love you freely without the judging eyes of the upper classes. Love is not easy in 1920s Paris, but is love easy anywhere? There is only one thing you know, you love Baekhyun hopelessly and irrevocably, and he loves you just the same.

A/N: requested by the lovely, sweetest @bbyunz, based on moulin rouge and Baekhyun’s solo Bungee. I hope I fulfilled your expectations.

Word Count: 4154

In the Jardin de Paris, at the bottom of the hill at Montmartre neighbourhood, a bright red mill stood out in between the other buildings, demanding attention with its vibrant colour and eccentric exterior. Above the entrance to the garish establishment, large metal letters spelt out its name, Moulin Rouge. The Red Mill, for it was exactly what the building looked like. It certainly drew attention to itself, and Monsieur Byun didn’t doubt that was the intention of its owners. Moulin Rouge had become infamous in Paris, and Baekhyun didn’t doubt that was also the case for the rest of France too. The bright scarlet façade clashed with the crisp blue of the sky above it, making the building stand out even more during clear days like today. Looking at the red mill, Baekhyun would not have guessed that this was the building the city of love called The Bastion of Pleasures. It didn’t look pleasing to the eye, but it was a novelty, and it was the mill at the entrance that was one of the reasons for the establishment’s notoriety. That, and the women employed in the cabaret.

Young Monsieur Byun, that was what people called Byun Baekhyun, heir to an orient trading business and an expert in oriental imports. He had been sent to France by his father a year short of attending university to learn the French language and now, years later he was attending the prestigious Sorbonne, studying for a degree in Orientalism. He had become an expert to the Parisian socialites, helping them choose authentic China and silk fabrics, among many other goods, all from his family's import business of course.

But behind the posh and rich heir, he had become fascinated by the revolution, a movement started in the middle of the last century, a step towards freedoms and liberties that he had never known in his own home of Joseon.

That was how he ended up at the cabaret Moulin Rouge. And Baekhyun loved it. The thrill of doing something that in his own country would be uncalled for was exhilarating. Some days, he wished he was an artist or a poet. It was not that he could do neither, of course, he was excellent at both thanks to his extensive education. Yet, he wished sometimes that he could live off of the fortune he had and do as he wished, writing poetry, painting watercolours on rice paper and attending the cabaret.

Most importantly, in those senseless daydreams, he could love you freely.

You had met when he had come to consult you about some of the costumes you were making for a Moulin Rouge play. The settings were meant to be inspired by the Orient, it was meant to be exciting, exotic and beautiful all at the same time, and you needed help with the designs. As an orientalist, Young Monsieur Byun had visited you in your seamstress room. He was in awe of the detail you had put into the costumes and was glad to help you perfect the designs. Weeks later, he was back in your workrooms, inspecting the finished product, as well as the set of the music hall stage. Your rooms were not far from the Moulin Rouge, and so on his way back he visited you and your fellow seamstresses. He had liked your costumes and had given a good word on your behalf to the owners.

That was how you met and then proceeded to keep on meeting, each one ending with you smiling a bit brighter, his smile cheekier and cheekier.

-----

Monsieur Byun often thought that it would have been easy; falling in love with one of the dancers. However, Monsieur Byun was not a man who took the easy way. He had remained unmoved by the dancers’ charm, flirtatious nature and womanly shape. He was an orientalist, coming to Paris from Joseon, and he had no desire for the boisterous women of the cabaret, notorious for their cancan.

Instead, he had taken the hard way. He fell in love with you.

It was a hopeless love. Hopeless in more than one way; because not only had he fallen for you head over heels, irrevocably and explicitly, but also because there was no future in which he could continue to do so. Your love was fleeting, not because the feelings disappeared, but because in this world, neither in France nor Joseon, could you love each other freely. It was a secret romance. Something forbidden.

A hopeless love.

You had always known it would not last, but nothing lasts and so you loved him the same way he loved you.

A mere seamstress could never marry him. He was classes above you, not to mention that he had no doubts his father had already chosen a merchant's daughter for him, one that was from Joseon, just like him, just like his father wanted.

Tonight though, he could spend in your arms, naked and wrapped in the soft sheets of his bed with you listening to his heartbeat while his long fingers combed through your hair.

It was a peaceful night. He had sneaked you into one of his smaller residences, where no servants could spy on the two of you. You had drunk dry red wine and enjoyed a baguette along with some camembert and red grapes. It had been a simple meal by his standards, but it was everything the two of you could have wanted tonight.

In the middle of balmy summer, with the sun shining down in all its glory, warming you up and making all proper ladies sweat under their clothes, you had been kept busy by the constant repairs of Moulin Rouge costumes, as well as other work sent to you by the upper and middle-class women. You didn’t complain. it was good work, and it was always extra money- something you could never have too much of.

Baekhyun did all the complaining for you, about how you didn’t have time for him, about how he was feeling neglected; about how you were too pretty to spend the days in a workroom rather than in the garden outside, basking in the sun and undoubtedly keeping him company.

Finally, your work was done, and you had decided to take the day off and now, at the end of the day spent in Baekhyun’s arms, you were falling asleep in his arms, his light breathing felt like a summer breeze in your hair, and his golden skin was warm against yours. The body heat and the warm night had made it impossible to sleep under a duvet, and so you had opted for sleeping under a thin linen sheet.

“Mon plus cher amour,” He had whispered into the air, my dearest love, he called you. and through the thin veil of sleep, you had responded to his calling, turning in his arms so that you could face him, your lips brushing against his as he spoke, the soft touch sending shivers down Baekhyun’s spine.

“Mon cherie?” You had asked, planting a cheeky kiss on his pouty lips.

“I do not wish to live without you.” He spoke, eyes gazing into yours with such tenderness you were unsure a mortal man could be filled with this much love. Surely, such deep feeling was reserved for a thing more holy than you; for women whose beauty lived on as legend, a kind of beauty captured by poems and songs and prayers. Not you; mortal, fragile, ordinary.

“Don’t say such things.” You spoke, the softness in your voice mimicking the tenderness in Baekhyun’s eyes. His breath hitched, and you could feel the rattling of his heart against your chest, its steady beat matching the rhythm of your own heart.

“They make me love you more.” You whispered, and your lover smiled at your words, his long fingers moving to grab your hand gently, before he brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles tenderly, his lips silky like rosebuds, flushed a deep pink as blood flowed through him, red and robust. His deep brown eyes didn’t leave yours for a second.

Hopelessly, you loved him.

------

The days without him came and went, and finally, after all work was complete, Baekhyun had decided to take you to the premiere of the new cabaret show, the one you had spent months sowing costumes for, and now he would allow you the pleasure of seeing the fruit of your labours, and you had a feeling it would be sweet.

Tonight, he had taken you to the cabaret. The moulin rouge was packed with patrons, their cacophonous chatter before the show was like the beginning of a birdsong, somewhere deep in the rainforest, their words, not always French, sounded around the room like a flock of tropical songbirds, unorganised but joyous. You sat at a table for two, he dressed in a fine black suit, you in your best dress, your hair pinned up in a fashionable style you have seen many of your clients wear. When you looked in the mirror before you left the house, you could barely believe the woman in the reflection staring back at you was yourself. You wondered if Baekhyun had always though you this beautiful.

“You are exquisite. Never forget that, mon amour.” He leaned in to whisper into your ears, the dim light glowing golden against his skin, making the curve of his nose and the plushness of his lips even more refined, even more tempting. Your heart skipped a beat against your will. Soon after, the flock went silent, and you were left only with the melody of the orchestra, as the dancers entered the stage. Baekhyun sat in his chair, completely at ease as he sipped on champagne.

The show was exquisite, but no one expected anything less from the great Moulin Rouge. The dancers moved about on the stage in practised harmony. even their more chaotic routines were executed with utter grace and precision. Some dresses were shorter than others, some more scandalous. you had spared no skill stitching in feathers and sequins. Each costume was tailored, each thread perfectly in place, ever colour carefully selected.

“Something like this would never be allowed where I’m from.” Baekhyun whispered into your ear. Even without looking at him, you could feel that his eyes fell on the dancers and his lips turned into a smirk against your ears. You knew he was not speaking just about the cabaret.

“I’m glad it is allowed here.” He whispered when you didn’t respond, and a pleasant shiver went down your spine.

“They look pretty.” You said instead, eyes never leaving the stage. The dancers' span, their skirts twirling with them, exposing more of their legs, and the audience could not stop their noises of awe as they span.

“The dancers?” Baekhyun asked, taking another sip from his flute.

“Pretty women look good in pretty clothing.” You answered him with a nod, a smile playing on your lips when another round of cacophonous delight rippled through the audience.

“Are those your dresses?” Baekhyun smiled, eyes shining playfully as he carefully took in the colourful costumes, the plumes of feathers, the embroidery on the bodices and down the skirts.

“Oui.” You sipped your drink, allowing the buzz of alcohol to make the night even more enjoyable.

“Why are you staring at me?” You asked after a while, the feeling of Baekhyun’s deep brown eyes staring at you had become unnerving as the night went on, your second flute of champagne now standing empty in front of you.

“I can’t help it. You are like the moon.” He smiled, head tilting to look at you from a different angle.

“Drawing me to you.” He spoke, and his hand moved across the table to hold your one, his long fingers threading through yours.

You remained like that until the end of the show.

When the night was over, and he had draped your coat over your shoulders like a gentleman, a playful smile graced his lips, his eyes light with mischief.

“We went to the bastion of pleasures, and yet my biggest pleasure was watching you.” He told you, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, enjoying the blush that flushed your cheeks, both because of the champagne and because of him.

----

Another week passed, and you were once again in his chambers, lying among the soft sheets with a book in your hands as Baekhyun dressed. He was wearing a similar suit to the one he wore to Moulin Rouge; he had changed the jacket to one more appropriate to dinner. His hair was combed back away from his face, and you admired his straight eyebrows and dark lashes.

“How do I look?” He asked, tying a black bowtie in front of the mirror hanging above his dresser.

“Handsome as always.” You told him glancing at his slim silhouette over your book.

“You will be fine, Monsieur Byun.” You said when he turned around and sent him a wink.

“Whatever you say, Mademoiselle.” He smiled, walking over to the bed to bend down. In a flash, his plush lips were on yours, and you melted into the kiss.

Once he broke away to slip into his jacket, he glanced back at you, eyes filled with worry. You could tell there was tension in his shoulders and in the clench of his jaw.

“Enjoy yourself.” You smiled at him, trying to encourage him. Whatever was on his mind was weighing on him a lot. Enough to make him hesitant to tell you about it. It was an unusual occurrence.

“It’s just another business get together. I’m advising teapot purchases today.” He spoke, seemingly talking to himself, and you go up from the bed, wrapping your arms around his torso as you proceeded to stare into his eyes. Their warm brown reminded you of fresh morning coffee and chocolate.

“Joseon ceramics have become popular among those rich enough to import them.” He spoke, his arms coming to wrap around your shoulders. Baekhyun buried his face in your hair, and you allowed him the silent moment of peace. He held you tightly against him, and you listened to his heart, sure and steady; just like him.

“Sell a lot of teapots then, mon cherie.” You told him, and he released you, giving you one last farewell kiss.

“Don’t miss me too much, mon plus cher amour.” He called out, making his way out of the room, and you could not help but smile at his retreating figure.

-----

The dinner was a dull affair. The hosts were rich, as they always were, and loved to gossip, as they always did. Usually, Baekhyun had stayed clear of the ladies gossip, preferring to sit and drink whiskey with the gentlemen, but tonight he had found himself in the middle of the gossip. Not because he was particularly interested, but because he was the subject of it.

Standing around the room, numerous gentlemen conversed, some women also preferred to stay clear of the host’s wife, considering she was a ruthless gossip and could run her mouth like no other. Unfortunately, Baekhyun was making his way to his business partner, Monsieur Park, when he heard the conversation.

The group sat on plush sofas, a small hardwood mahogany coffee table sat in the middle, home to a fine tea set, white porcelain with delicate lotus flowers painted in red for decoration. It was one of the models they carried last summer. Ironically, it was not a higher-end set.

“I heard he took his mistress to the cabaret last week. I wonder who she is.” One of the ladies spoke, her shrill voice piercing his eardrums. From her dress, Baekhyun could tell she was one of your clients. A similar dress, although green, rather than the acrid salmon colour this woman was wearing, was displayed in your shop window. He could recognise your handiwork anywhere now.

“Cannot be high standing that is certain.” Another woman butted in, and Baekhyun wanted to stop listening. Yet, somewhere deep inside, morbid curiosity kept him still, listening to those women insult you, his blood boiling under his skin.

“A Frenchwoman and a man from Joseon. In public!” The woman in salmon had screeched, and Baekhyun had to stop himself from cursing.

“How are you, ladies?” He put on a smile instead, walking straight into the women’s conversation, halting their gossip.

“I heard you ordered two tea sets, Madame.” He turned to look at an older woman, sitting between the two who were talking about you.

“Yes. My daughter is marrying into an upstanding family, I must make sure she brings only the best to her new home.” She had spoken, her nose turned almost comically upward, as she did her best to look at him with disdain.

“I hope you will be satisfied with the quality of our goods.” He had bowed lightly, a sickly-sweet smile still present on his lips, as he had no doubt anger peaked through his eyes. You always said you could tell he was angry when you looked into his eyes. He would have said something more, but Chanyeol had come to his aid, his jovial spirit lighting the mood surrounding the women.

“Ah, Monsieur Byun, I was looking for you.” He spoke, his deep voice filled with happiness as he did his best to steer Baekhyun away.

He took him off to the side, passing the shorter man a glass of scotch. Chanyeol’s large frame towered over him, shielding him from the view of the gossips. His large hand came to clasp Baekhyun’s shoulder, squeezing him in reassurance.

“Young men are young men no matter where they come from. Do not listen to old gossips.” Chanyeol’s deep voice became a murmur, and Baekhyun had though his friend sounded more as if he was growling rather than speaking

“Thank you Chanyeol.” He muttered, drinking the scotch in gulps, too frustrated to sip the liquid. He found the burn of alcohol a good distraction.

“Better to love one woman than hate one woman.” His friend spoke, his equally brown eyes soft when they looked down on him.

“Any news from my father?” Baekhyun asked, changing the topic from one unpleasant thing to another.

“None yet. I’m not sure he even knows about her.” Chanyeol reassured him, a small smile playing on his lips. He sipped on his scotch.

“If he knew,” Baekhyun spoke, his heart beating frantically against his chest, making him dizzy before Chanyeol interrupted.

“You would be on a ship back by now, and that merchant’s daughter would be waiting for you at the docks.” He finished for him, drinking the rest of his scotch in one gulp, before going to refill their glasses.

As the evening progressed, Baekhyun received more and more requests for imported ceramics. The requests ranged from tea sets to plates and bowls. By the time the dinner finished, his notebook was filled with names and catalogue numbers.

When Baekhyun returned to his home, he had discarded his coat and untied his bowtie. A few buttons of his white shirt were now undone, revealing his golden collarbone. He sat on the sofa of his living room sipping on more scotch from a crystal glass. You had discarded the book when he arrived and chose to sit beside him on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder. The fabric beneath you was velvet, more luxurious than you would ever be able to afford. You knew he had it custom made.

Apart from a greeting and a few quick kisses, Baekhyun had stayed silent. Despite the alcohol he consumed, the stress you have seen on his frame had not lessened. You watched from the corner of your eye as his jaw clenched and relaxed.

“Are you ready to tell me now?” You asked him, turning his chin towards you. His eyes immediately fell to your lips, before looking up into your eyes. He had always thought they looked like sapphires. Not because they were blue, but because they reminded him of the sea, deep and unexplored. They hid your heart, and so they shone like precious stones, reflected light like the stormy waters of the sea. Deep, so deep he lost himself in them and found himself in them too.

“I’m worried about my father.” He murmured, his angelic voice broke, heavy with uncertainty.

“We had known about your father from the beginning. We knew how this would end before it begun.” You told him, pressing your palm against his cheek, allowing Baekhyun to lean into your touch, basking at how warm he felt against you.

“What if I don’t want this to end?” He asked, and this time, you were the one to lose yourself in the depths of his irises.

You pressed your other palm to his cheek, and you kissed him. Passionately and without inhibition. Whether the ending was coming, or if it was already here didn’t matter. You loved him. You loved him hopelessly.

Baekhyun turned violet under your touch. He felt it seep into him when he pressed his lips with bruising force to yours, and when you grabbed at him in his bed, and again when you left purple marks over his collar bones, each one a visible stain on his body; something that reminded him he was yours, something to remind you that you were his.

-----

Days passed in colourful monotone. You woke up in his bed, went to work and attended Moulin Rouge in the evening. Each evening was spectacular; each evening was the same. Moulin Rouge had become a place you had grown fond of. There, Baekhyun could sit beside you in public, show you off as a lover. Not many people paid attention in Montmartre, too focused on the idea of freedom and liberty. You shared their desires, shared the hope that one day the world would be easier to live in. You and Baekhyun fit in. The Bastion of Pleasures was an easy place to be in.

After one of the shows, when you had finally gone back home to rest, an unexpected guest made his appearance.

Chanyeol had come in one evening, just as Baekhyun rested in your lap, your voice soothing him to sleep. Chanyeol had come in with a letter. You could tell it was from Baekhyun’s father. The characters were unfamiliar, rendering you illiterate and blissfully unaware of the contents.

“Not good.” Baekhyun had risen from your lap, and as he read over the letter, he paced. Chanyeol had sat down beside you, his figure looming over you. You were not uncomfortable, resting in his shadow was a familiar feeling by now, but the expression on both of the men’s faces was making you uneasy.

“By the end of the following year, he wants you to return.” Chanyeol told them. His deep voice rumbled through the room, and his warm brown eyes looked down at you, and them at Baekhyun with such sorrow, you couldn’t make out who was more upset at the news.

“I understand.” Baekhyun stopped pacing and called out for one of his help to bring them some cognac.

“To one more year.” He toasted once the alcohol was poured into crystal glasses and handed to the three of them.

With a cheeky smile, you raised your glass, toasting with him. Reluctantly, and with a withered smile, Chanyeol raised his glass, the amber liquid glistening in the dim light, before taking a swig.

------

That night, you lay wrapped in Baekhyun’s arms, a cool breeze wafted through the open window, drifting over your naked shoulders as you gazed up at your lover.

“Let us leave. Run away.” Baekhyun muttered, his eyes shining in the darkness of his room, more serious than you ever saw him.

“And go where?” You asked, entertaining the idea.

“Anywhere my father doesn’t find us.” He told you, and you pressed closer to him, further into the security if his arms.

“Italy?” You asked, thinking of places too far away for the Byun business to chase you down to.

“Britain?”

“French Indochina?” You kissed him, a small smile playing on your lips.

“I don’t care where we go, I’ll love you anywhere.” He spoke, his voice soft, and now more than any other night, you knew he loved you.

Baekhyun had been ready to leave everything to be with you where his father could not interfere, and you were ready to leave with him.

“Let's go anywhere then.” You conceded, pressing a kiss to his lips, whispering words of love into his ears as he held you. He whispered them back, breathed love into you with his kisses, steady and reassuring beside you, and despite the chill of the air, you were warm.

Love was hopeless sometimes, but maybe this time, just this time, there was hope.

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