#big hair bookish type

[solitaryfrog]

senlinyu has apparently read my mind and written hermione as far more relatable than she has any right to be

[ingravinoveritas]

Lovely new article about Michael in Paste magazine. Article is behind a paywall, so here is a transcription (with thanks to the person on FB who transcribed it, and the parts in bold are my own emphasis).

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

I love this so much. The thoroughly well-deserved praise for Michael's incredible performance as Aziraphale, but also that Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is specifically described as a "romance." And of course, the first sentence of the last paragraph that acknowledges how much Michael and David are indeed a "matched set" that cannot (and should not) be separated...

[hanahanumana]

From AnaMaria Abramovic on Fb

Paste magazine has done an article about Michael and how underrated he is in Good Omens and I found a transcript since it's behind a paywall. Here's the link if anyone wants to subscribe. 💙

https://www.pastemagazine.com/tv/amazon-prime-video/good-omens-michael-sheen-underrated-performance-explained-streaming

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

[axeeglitter]

Melorius's shop: Fitting in

Felix adjusted his glasses and brushed a stray lock of hair from his face as he stepped into the costume shop, his slender frame almost swallowed by the oversized hoodie he always wore. Standing just a bit shorter than average, his narrow shoulders and slight build made him easy to overlook, especially with his soft, bookish features and perpetually messy hair. His hands were long and fine, fingers ink-stained from hours of note-taking, and his skin was pale from too many nights spent studying instead of seeing the sun. With his hunched posture and timid gait, Felix looked every bit the shy, kind-hearted geek who’d rather be reading about heroes than pretending to be one.

Felix opened the door of the old looking Costume’s shop; a bell rang as the door opened and its sound echoed between the dusty racks of costumes. Costumes crowded every corner, piled high in stacks and hung on hooks from the ceiling, casting odd, twisting shadows. He adjusted his glasses, blinking in the dusty light as he took it all in. The place seemed nearly forgotten, like it had been waiting for decades just for him.

"Excuse me?" he called out softly, his voice echoing a bit. "I'm looking for…um…a Spiderman costume, or really any superhero costume."

From behind a counter lined with old-fashioned masks, an elderly man emerged, smiling a bit too widely. His eyes glinted, as if he found Felix’s presence amusing. "Ah, superheroes. Everyone wants to be one," he mused, studying Felix with a strange intensity. "But I’m afraid you're a bit late, young man. All the superheroes are gone."

“Oh.” Felix sighed, glancing around as he tugged at his collar, feeling the cool, almost expectant air of the shop pressing in on him. "Do you have anything else? Something…kind of low-key? Anything cool will be perfect to be honest."

The man tilted his head thoughtfully, then reached under the counter. After a moment, he pulled out a different outfit, holding it up. It was a football quarterback uniform, complete with shoulder pads, a helmet, and a jersey bearing the number 11 in bold, almost intimidating font.

Felix felt his heart sink. "Uh… I’m not really the football type," he began, unsure how to say no.

But the man only smiled. "Halloween is a night for trying new things, isn’t it? You might find this… transformative." With a small wink, he pressed the costume into Felix’s hands, gesturing toward the dressing room in the back.

Reluctantly, Felix took it. The fabric felt strange under his fingers, thicker and heavier than he’d expected. With a last look at the old man, who was watching him with that same enigmatic smile, Felix ducked into the dressing room, closing the door behind him. He really didn’t want to try it on, specially because at college, he was bullied by the football team, especially Josh, one of the biggest douchebag earths has ever worn. He was everything Felix hated. Big, muscled piled on muscles, obnoxious, fucking everything he could find and worst of all, forcing his best friend Nathan to do his homework and terrifying the shit out of him.

Felix hesitated, looking at himself in the mirror. His slight frame, glasses, and messy hair were the epitome of what people at his college would call "nerdy." This costume was everything he wasn’t and everything he despised. But not wanting to appear rude, he slipped the jersey over his head, adjusting it as it clung uncomfortably close to his skin. Oddly, it felt warm, almost like it was… alive.

As he finsihed putting on the quaterback equipment and tugged the fabric of the jersey over his torso, a sharp, sudden pain blossomed across his chest. He gasped, clutching at his sides as a strange pressure spread through him. His chest muscles contracted and expanded, stretching outward with a force he couldn't control. The flat, narrow lines of his torso swelled as new muscle filled every inch, his chest pushing outward in thick slabs of pecs that strained against the jersey. With each breath, his pecs grew denser, pressing forward until they filled the front of the jersey, hard and defined.

“What…what is happening?” he whispered, trying to pull the jersey off, but his arms wouldn’t obey. He was frozen, forced to watch as the transformation moved to his shoulders and arms.

Pain surged through his shoulders as they broadened, the pads pressing down on him, molding his frame into something bigger, stronger. His deltoids pushed outward, rounding out, followed by his biceps, which bulged, straining the fabric with their new mass. Thick veins appeared along his forearms, pulsing with a warmth that was both exhilarating and terrifying. His hands changed too, the fingers thickening, becoming rough and calloused, palms broadening until they looked like they belonged to someone who’d spent years gripping footballs rather than comic books.

Each new jolt of growth felt like a small explosion, his nerves alive with the prickling of muscle fiber expanding and hardening beneath his skin. His legs cramped next, a powerful spasm that had him doubling over as his thighs and calves swelled. Muscles he’d never known he had bulged out, pressing against the fabric until the pants were stretched taut over thick quads and hamstrings that filled out with each second. He staggered, watching his thighs widen, hard and massive, his calves now like solid trunks that seemed rooted to the floor.

Felix started to feel an odd sensation creeping under his soles. Suddenly, he felt like they began to burn as they expanded within the cleats he had just put on. His toes thickened, his arches lifted, his entire foot stretching and swelling until they filled the once-loose cleats perfectly, now large and sturdy, every step grounding him with an unfamiliar weight.

The changes weren’t just physical. A strange heat built up within him, simmering in his core, moving down to his groin with an intensity he couldn’t ignore. He tried to fight it, his mind screaming for control, but his body surged ahead. His hips rolled slightly as his groin responded, thickening, growing, his manhood pressing uncomfortably against the waistband of his pants. He felt his shaft pulse and throb as it swelled, growing heavier, bigger, until it strained against the fabric, every inch filling him with an unsettling mix of power and shame. It was relentless, each throb amplifying the sensation, his groin now packed with a weight and presence that was almost dizzying. Even his balls grew, swelling until they hung heavily between his legs, pressing against his thighs, a constant reminder of the physicality that had taken over him.

As he looked down, horrified, he saw that his pubic area was now covered in a thick, wiry thatch of dark hair. Felix couldn’t even the skin under the hair anymore. Pure dark thick hair. It itched slightly, but there was no escaping the primal, raw feeling it gave him. His hands, now large and rough, instinctively went to adjust his groin, but he couldn’t control the action, it was like his body was reveling in its own size, flexing, posing.

His reflection sneered back at him, a cocky grin that made his skin crawl. His face had sharpened, his jawline strong and angular, his cheekbones high and defined. His eyes, once soft and shy, had become piercing, almost predatory. His hair had changed too, dark and thick, styled perfectly as though he’d just stepped out of a salon.

“Oh no… no, no, no…” he whispered, his voice deeper, resonant, filled with a confidence he didn’t feel. He tried to speak again, but it was like his voice had been absorbed, lost within the powerful timbre that echoed back at him.

Inside his mind, a voice spoke, smooth and arrogant, brimming with strength. “Looks like you’re ready to play, bro.”

“No! I’m not…I’m not…” he tried to say, but his own body laughed, a rich, self-assured chuckle that came from deep in his chest. It was like he was locked in a cage, forced to watch as his new form flexed and stretched, testing the limits of his newly thickened muscles. His hands slid over his chest, his abs, tracing the hard ridges of his pecs and torso in a way that horrified him. Every touch was a betrayal, each inch of him celebrating its own strength and virility.

And then, with a horrible clarity, he realized his surroundings had changed. The dusty walls of the dressing room had faded, replaced by the familiar, well-worn space of a college bedroom. Posters lined the walls, a football on the desk, the scent of cologne mingling with the faint smell of beer, feet and cum. His heart pounded as he saw the reflection of the street in the mirror in front of the bed. He knew this street, but from where? His body kept on flexing his biceps and posing while adjusting his python in his jeans. Suddenly Felix recognizes it, it was Josh’s Fraternity house. “God please, NOOOOOO…” he screamed internally as his body groped once again his thick semi hard dick pressed against his thighs.

The door burst open, and Josh strode in, grinning widely as he clapped him on the back. “Yo, Mike! You ready to tear it up tonight? Halloween bash is going to be insane! Get ready and come downstairs bro’ ”

Inside, Felix’s true self screamed, but his new body only laughed, a confident sound that filled the room. He could feel everything, trapped as a spectator within his own body, unable to stop the deep, casual flex of his muscles, the cocky grin that spread across his face.

Felix swaggered out of the bedroom, every muscle loose and relaxed as he automatically headed downstairs. He barely noticed the lingering shift in his walk, the easy confidence that had replaced his usual awkward, careful steps. He knew, in some distant part of himself, that this wasn’t him. But the name "Mike" echoed back each time he tried to remember his real name.

The first person he saw downstairs was Josh, grinning as he slammed a hand down on Felix’s shoulder with a rough camaraderie that would have once made Felix cringe. Josh, the biggest, brashest jock on campus, was someone he’d always tried to avoid. Now, though, he found himself smiling back, his thoughts warming with a strange fondness he couldn’t quite understand. Josh chuckled, punching him lightly in the arm. “Ready to get this party started, bro?”

The response came instinctively. "Always, man!" His voice sounded rich and easy, filled with that same underlying confidence, and Felix felt a surge of warmth in his chest. It felt… right, somehow, and as they worked together with the others, hanging lights and arranging tables, he was overwhelmed by the feeling of fitting in, of belonging here in a way he never had before.

Then the doorbell rang, and Mike headed to answer it, his steps naturally assured, shoulders relaxed. When he opened the door, he froze for a second. Standing there was Nathan, his best friend, the same familiar face and shy smile he’d grown up with. His friend’s arms were full of papers, Josh’s homework, he realized with a strange clarity.

“Hey, uh, I’ve got the assignments Josh asked for,” Nathan said, looking slightly uncomfortable as he handed the papers over. Mike reached out to take them, a small pang of something strange flickering in his mind as he looked at his friend’s familiar, nervous expression. Felix woke up from his mental fog and remembered who he truly was. He was not Mike; he was Felix and Nathan was his best friend. How long did he forget, how is that possible to forget who you are? Inside his head, Felix was panicking and trying to scream and beg for help to Nathan, but on the outside, Mike just grabbed the paper and put on a cocky grin as he realizes how thick Nathan’s ass was.

“Thanks, man,” Mike replied automatically, the words feeling strange in his deeper, confident voice. Josh took the papers with barely a nod, heading back toward the party, and Mike found himself lingering, watching Nathan’s body with a hungry look. Out of nowhere, Mike started to talk kindly to Nathan and to Felix’s surprise, Nathan answered back, worst he recognized in his best friend a feeling of joy as they kept talking together about every and anything.

They chatted for a few minutes, the small talk flowing in a way that felt oddly natural. Felix was screaming for this to stop. Maybe if he screamed loud enough, he will be able to grab dominance over this new Mike’s mind and be able to ask for help. But it didn’t work. Worst, he screamed in panic as he heard himself asking Nathan to come outside to grab a drink. They both went to his bedroom upstairs and just before closing the door, Mike threw a knowing look and a cocky grin to Josh, both of them smiling as they knew Mike was getting lucky.  

Once they were there, Mike listened to his friend talk, nodding as they laughed over stories that seemed almost familiar, yet distant. He felt himself leaning in without even realizing it, his heart pounding a bit harder, his thoughts becoming hazy. There was a moment, a single spark that made everything feel suddenly real, and then just as Nathan was saying that he should go back home to get ready for his Halloween Dungeon and Dragons party, Felix felt his body plunging on Nathan’s lips. He felt the surprise of Nathan fading into acceptance as he gave back his kiss. After some minutes of kissing and touching each other, Mike jumped back up and threw his clothes away, standing erect with his 11 inches dick in front of Nathan. He then started to walk slowly back to Nathan while grinning and talking again. “So tell me Bae’, Trick or treat?” Felix was disgusted by what was happening, how could this happen. He wasn’t even gay, and Nathan was his best friend. No that couldn’t be, it must be a nightmare. But out of nowhere, Felix felt wet lips around his thick cock. The sensation sent shivers down his spine and Mike grabbed Nathan’s head under his calloused palms as he forced it all the way down to his pubes. Felix was torn apart between the pleasure was feeling and the pain of knowing his best friend was giving him a blowjob. Then he felt a rush coming down on him. He felt as his toes started to grip the carpeted floor, his muscles started to tense and his breath became chaotic. “No please, I can’t…” Felix tried to say in a last moment of consciousness as Mike started to spasm and cum straight inside Nathan’s throat, making sure he swallowed every drop of his precious cum. His mind went blank, a flood of warmth washing over him, leaving nothing behind. For a split second, he reached for something he couldn’t name, something lost in a flood of heat and release. Then everything was clear. He was Mike. When he opened his eyes after a couple of pleasurable seconds, Felix was gone. Only Mike stood there. With a satisfied sigh, Mike got his dick out, feeling the lingering warmth radiate through his body, calming his heartbeat. He pulled back on his gym shorts, adjusting his jockstrap, and shot a quick glance in the mirror. As Mike opened the door, he took a look down at Nathan still baked in the pleasure they both just had. “So, do you want to go for a drink tomorrow?” Nathan asked with kindness in his eyes. Mike turned back and laughed before answering “Yo bro’ get the fuck out before I call the broskis to finish you up. You really thought this could be a we? You are a whole for me to fuck and nothing else. Now get the fuck out looser!”

Mike turned back to the mirror and adjusted his cap backward. Perfect, as always. Heading downstairs without another thought, he was ready to enjoy the party, the memory of whatever he’d been worrying about entirely gone.

______________________________________________________________

Hey everybody! Here is the new chapter inspired by this prompt from @yuighjvbn123 "Well, I hope you continue the melorious shop, especially making the sequel for the First Customer story. I really want to see the other perspective, now this time for a shy clumsy nerd who got transformed into a muscular handsome sexy jock. Bit then his demeanor also changed, into more cocky self-obsessed narcissist diva and the usual horny lol. I know it's a basic standard tf plot, but I know you'll find a way to spice things up and make it even hotter"

Hope you guys enjoyed it and see you soon for another adventure ;)

[tenpintsofsundrop]

Decided To Break It

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

All the broken hearts that hang around here. All the sick things that make you pull out your hair. All the bad dreams, all the nightmares.

A thousand promises that never seemed to help me before...

With nothing left to think I'll probably sit around and ignore. The apathy that always leads me... And always finds a way to break me down. And that's when I Decided To Break It.

Summary:

Abby confronts your abuser, and you both come out better on the other side because of it.

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader. Childhood Friends to Lovers. Hurt and Comfort. Can be read with or without considering the canon events.

Word Count: 5,000

The Last of Us Masterlist | AO3 Link | Ellie Version

If you want to be notified whenever I post a new fic, make sure to go to my library blog @sundropslibrary and turn on notifications there.

List of detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: reader uses she/her pronouns, themes of abuse and abusive relationships, domestic abuse, childhood friends to lovers, hurt and comfort, mentions of canon deaths and incidents of canon violence, Abby has a self deprecating inner monologue, Abby experiencing some transphobic comments (even though she is not trans in this - angry cis men are just like that), the reader’s abusive partner is a man, the reader is described as having injuries from a physically abusive incident, the reader experiencing physical and emotional abuse from a romantic partner, the reader is saved from her abusive partner by Abby (and Manny), the reader is mentioned to be wearing Abby’s clothes - but Abby is a big muscled girl so I think plus sized girls could fit her clothes (especially if they were clothes that were big on Abby), Abby calls the reader ‘baby’, some romantic involvement between Abby and the reader (but the bulk of the focus is on Abby rescuing the reader form the abuse), technically cheating - because the reader kisses Abby while she is still involved with her abusive boyfriend, Abby murdering someone with her bare fists (technically with her fists and then smothering him with a pillow), somewhat graphic descriptions of Abby beating up the abuser, happy/hopeful ending. 

A/N: Title comes from a Marianas Trench song of the same name. I have always thought of it as a very Abby song (and it's on my Abby playlist) - I think it definitely represents her following the Fireflies and then the Wolves with them feeding her blind promises that don't work out for her, and when she 'decides to break it' is when she decides to break free from the mould in order to help Lev and Yara. And in this case, the broken promises and lies are two fold - her pushing down her feelings for y/n and her seeing y/n be 'happy' with the abusive boyfriend, and when she finally snaps is when she 'decides to break it'. I like how it fits. It could also be fitting of how someone in an abusive relationship is fed lies and empty promises and it's difficult to break away from that.

...

Abby had always liked you - she always loved you, even if she claimed over and over again, wasted her breath telling people that it was strictly the type of love reserved for a friend. 

But she refused to admit the true nature of those feelings to herself. She refused to call it love, or romance, or affection. Maybe because she didn’t even realize that’s what it was in her own mind. But she definitely had a childhood crush on you that blossomed into something else along the way. 

You were someone that Abby’s dad was always fond of when you lived with the Fireflies at Saint Mary’s hospital. And though you weren’t studying to become a medic, Jerry always pushed Abby to hang around you more because you were sweet, good natured, and bookish, and he always thought you were a very good influence on her. 

It was something that led the two of you to become fast friends. When the two of you were still so young and the world was still so small, you were each other’s biggest priority in it. 

Abby often mourned for those days like winter days mourn for summer. But she could never imagine how the two of you might get back that kind of closeness. 

Living at the WLF, you unintentionally drifted away from Abby. 

The Salt Lake Crew was always close, especially after making the treacherous journey from Salt Lake to Seattle with nothing more than a tiny glimmer of hope for their safety after the bloody massacre at Saint Mary’s. 

Abby protected you the whole way, made sure you never had to carry a gun, would have thrown down her life to save yours at any moment during the journey - especially when she was stuck in such deep depression after her father’s death. In a lot of ways, you kept her alive during those days. You kept her spirit alive, made sure she held onto the good memories of her father instead of throwing herself headfirst into the darkness. 

But when everyone integrated into the WLF, things changed. It was a very rapid shift from the group spending 24/7 together, watching each other’s backs, to everyone having different jobs based on their skills and having colliding schedules that caused them to part and spend less and less time around each other. 

Manny and Abby were the ones who ended up staying the closest - ironically, even closer than the romantic couples of Mel and Owen, and Leah and Jordan. Mostly likely because they roomed together, and they often patrolled together. 

Abby was always regretful of the fact that she didn’t get to see you more often. 

Whenever Abby saw you around, in the cafeteria or during the rare occasions when the old crew could work their schedules to get together (usually using someone’s birthday or another celebration as an excuse) she mourned the fact that the two of you were drifting apart. It seemed like the two of you were becoming more like strangers as the days went on. 

You had taken a job as a dog trainer, wrangling the many pups that the WLF raised and kept on hand, so Abby saw you most often in passing if she was checking out one of the dogs for patrol. 

She often found herself with a pang of yearning in her chest if she saw you cooing sweetly at the pups, petting them, knowing that they could tear out the throats of enemies with their teeth but cuddling with them and calling them ‘baby’ in the same breath. 

(Deep down, she was reminded of herself - how she felt rough and horrible and she often felt unlovable, but she thought someone as soft and sweet as you could still love her. She hoped that you would.)

Very often during their conversations, Manny insisted that Abby had a crush on you. He said that she always had and that he had seen it for years, and Abby was being dumb not to pursue her feelings for you. These conversations usually ended with Abby rolling her eyes and pointing the finger back to his love life, asking why he didn’t just settle down with one of the many nice girls who frequented his bed. 

The topic came up so often between them, but it was something that Abby tried not to think about. The two of you dating. The two of you being anything more than friends. It felt so fictional. Often when Manny spoke about it, it felt like a joke in her ears. 

It was something that was latent in her mind until she saw you with him.

He was some random scumbag - some new trainee who had come in from a settlement outside the city that Isaac had broken up. He had allowed some of their people in (“strength in numbers” he always said). But seeing you with him, Abby gave less of a shit about where the guy came from, and started thinking about where he was heading to and how quickly she could get him away from you. 

Seeing the way you looked at him, with stars in your eyes, entirely lovestruck, while he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear - it just made Abby nauseous.

Abby had been working with some of the new recruits. Fucking morons. Isaac had asked her to whip them into shape, her experience and skill vs their idiocy. 

It was the only reason she knew the guy. It was the only reason she could pick out his stupid face among the seemingly endless sea of people at the WLF. 

She remembered this idiot specifically. He had made sure of that. He was too cocky, but didn’t know his way around a gun. When he had gotten his hands on one of the semi-automatics, he got trigger happy and put several bullet holes in one of the concrete walls. He would have blown away half the squad if his dumbass had been two inches in the other direction. 

When Abby had snatched the weapon out of his hand and began reprimanding him about gun safety, he had gotten in her face and called her a ‘meathead’ and made some rude comments about her possibly having a dick. Clearly, he was intimidated by her size. She let him be. 

(And yeah, she did have a dick. In a box under her bed. One that the girls she and Manny shared around often joked was better than the real thing.)

It was immediately clear to Abby that you didn’t have a clue what the guy was really like. You wouldn’t have any interest in him if you knew what he was like in the field, if you knew how he had spoken to some of your friends. 

You kissed him sweetly on the mouth before you parted ways. Clearly completely unaware that Abby was watching with rage boiling inside of her veins. It was only when Abby looked at the crushed water bottle in her hand that she realized why her shoes were wet - unconsciously, she had been imagining that it was his head.

Manny chalked up her hatred of your new boyfriend to jealousy. And maybe it was. She had no other reasons to hate the guy. No good ones, anyway. Incompetency aside, he learned fast and got over his major flaws, and he quickly learned to only trash talk Abby behind her back so that she couldn’t take any real complaints about him to Isaac. 

When you brought him to Jordan’s birthday party and introduced him to the rest of the group as your boyfriend, they all seemed happy for you.

They didn’t suspect anything when he glared at you with absolute fire in his eyes as you joked around with Owen - someone you thought of as a brother. The cause of a very funny story (that the group still brought up often) when you ate literal dirt rather than kissing him during a game of truth or dare when you were all teenagers. 

Unfortunately, Abby didn’t have any evidence to back up her horrible gut feeling when you and your ‘new boo’ disappeared from the party so suddenly. When she had asked Nora, apparently you left because you were complaining about being tired.

Over the next few weeks, Abby watched you fade away from a distance. 

Your glowing smile became a dull, fake one. Whenever she saw you, you avoided her gaze. And the rare times when you would look her in the eye, she could see you crying out for help from within.

She thought she was being paranoid. She thought it was her pure spite of the man you were dating - some jealousy, a childhood crush bubbling over, the fact that she hadn’t gotten to you first. The fact that she hadn’t been brave enough to confess her feelings to you that she hadn’t even admitted to herself. 

She wanted to believe that you were fine, that you were thriving and happy in your new relationship, before she let herself think that you were actually being hurt by someone who claimed to love you.

Until one night when she was alerted by a knock on her door. 

She and Manny had just come back from a thirty hour patrol shift, and he was already dead asleep. Abby had just gotten out of the shower, combing through her long, wet tendrils as a characteristic Seattle storm thundered outside.

She rushed to put on a tee shirt along with her form fitting boxer briefs to look decent. Even though the only light in the small apartment was currently the flashes of lightning from outside as she walked across to the door. She thought perhaps she had imagined it, the sound of knuckles, the sound of someone trying to grab her attention. It would have been easy to mistake. The thunder rumbling and the rain pounding on the windows was certainly distracting. 

Nonetheless, she opened the door to check if her mind was really that far gone after such a long shift. 

She gave a small smile when she saw you standing there. Usually you didn’t take time out of your busy schedule to come and see her. 

But when the next flash of lighting came, and fully illuminated you where you stood in the hallway, it made Abby’s gut curl with a unique sickness. The look of pure fear in your eyes, the swelling of purple around one of them, the distinct marking around your neck that looked like fucking handprints, marks of thumbs attempting to press into your windpipe.

Abby felt the rage of god and intense pity, mourning and regret, her love for you swell up inside of her all at once.

“Y/N.” 

She said your name in a voice so gently, a timid kindness that you hadn’t been treated with in weeks - it instantly broke you.

You broke down in sobs, muttering out ‘I’m sorry to bother you’ - but Abby didn’t let you get out a moment of apologetic self pity before she swept you up into her arms, pressing the uninjured side of your face against her chest as she ushered you into the apartment and closed the door behind you.

You clutched onto her like a lifeline when stranded at sea, balling your knuckles into the fabric of her shirt as she put her strong arms around your quivering body, cradling you. She had a heavy suspicion as to what had happened to you, but she was going to wait for you to point at the suspect before she went spinning out of control.

The commotion - the echo of your cries - easily woke up Manny, and you began to profusely apologize before he trampled over this with his worry for you. He instantly reminded you of the big brother figure who used to slide you his pudding cups before he went to arms training while living at Saint Mary’s. 

He made you a cup of tea while Abby sat you down on the edge of her bed, cradling you against her chest and waiting for you to calm down. 

When Manny saw the marks on you, he exchanged a look with Abby. He knew that whoever had harmed you would soon be experiencing infinitely more wrath than they ever thought to bring upon you.

Eventually, your sobs calmed enough for you to explain the situation to them. 

Just as Abby suspected, you ended up telling her a long tale about how this once dreamy boyfriend had turned into a monster; he had shed his skin and shown another face, and he had been abusing you for a few weeks now, hurting you in the worst ways, right under everyone’s noses. 

Abby felt a stinging type of guilt splash up into her throat, and she had a feeling that she was never going to forgive herself for letting you be around that man. 

It had started at Jordan’s birthday party. That night, he had accused you of sleeping with Owen behind his back, and you had nearly scorched your throat trying to explain to him that Owen was your long-time friend, more like a brother to you. But that had only ended with you having a busted lip for ‘lying’ to him. 

And things had only gone downhill from there. 

The most recent incident being him coming home from a patrol to find that the dishes in your now shared apartment weren’t done, and he had called you a sloppy, lazy pig. The ensuing fight had ended with him nearly strangling you to death until you broke one of those dirty plates over his head.

Abby pulsed with anger, and when she went for the door, Manny stopped her. 

He nodded toward where you were still sitting on her bed, your body still visibly shaking as you stared at the floor with a completely blank look. Thunder rolled outside and the loud sound caused your entire body to jolt, and more tears rolled down your cheeks. 

Abby’s insides ached for you. She felt guilty for not following her gut feelings sooner, for not trying to help you sooner. 

“Abs, she needs you right now.” Manny told her. “I want that pendejo dead as much as you do.” He grunted these words with intense furocity, anger, passion. He needed to protect you as badly as she did. 

Abby almost tempted him. She wanted to encourage the bad side that she knew he had. She wanted that fucking prick’s throat under her hands, struggling for breath right now. 

“But tonight…” Manny continued, putting a hand on Abby’s shoulder, pulling her from the murderous revere that he knew she was disappearing into. “She needs a safe place to fall. Tomorrow, we can go to his place with a body bag and a shovel.” 

Unfortunately, he was right. 

So, as much as she wanted to charge out the door and bring the wrath of god to the man who had hurt you - instead, she got you to drink the rest of the tea, and then she got you something oversized and comfortable to wear. 

She put you on the inside of the bed, closer to the wall to help you feel safe. 

Abby stared up at the bottom of the bunk, cursing herself for not trusting her instincts, listening to your sniffling cries. She was entirely surprised when you spoke. 

“I’m sorry.” You said, once again attempting to apologize for ‘imposing’ yourself on Abby and Manny in your time of need. As if you weren’t supposed to lean on good friends. As if these friendships weren’t founded on needing each other. “I shouldn’t be bothering you like this, I-” 

You moved to climb around Abby, moved to get out of the bed, and Abby stopped you with a gentle hand on your waist. You froze on the spot, your body half pressed against hers. She tried to ignore the tingles it sent through her, feeling you pressed up against her so close. You were vulnerable. You didn’t need her and her stupid feelings making things so messy. 

“Are you seriously going back to him?” Abby asked, her throat nearly stripped raw with rage. 

You let out a quiet whimper, and She wanted to kick herself. Of course you thought her anger was misdirected at you. 

“I’m sorry.” She doubled back, entirely quiet now. She reached up, gently cupping the back of your head, trying to soothe you. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant, I’m sorry-” 

“It’s all my fucking fault.” You sobbed, dissolving into more harsh cries. “I should just listen better. I can be better, I can be better, I know, I just-” 

“No.” Abby growled, now entirely insulted by the idea that you would ever think it was your fault. Even if you swung first, no one ever had permission to hit you. Not on an earth where Abby was breathing. If anybody ever laid their hands on you, no matter their stupid reasons, they deserved to have it come back on them twice as harsh. “It’s not your fucking fault. Not a chance, baby.” 

‘Baby’ - the word slipped from her lips before she could stop it, and at first she hoped that you wouldn’t hear it over your own chest shaking cries. 

But it seemed to soothe you. In a moment, your sobs quieted down, and you melted into her, your body going lax against hers, laying on top of her in a way that she had quite literally only dreamed of. 

“Abby-?” You croaked out, not daring to ask if your ears had been mistaken. 

“You deserve so much better than that.” Abby replied, her voice quaking with passion and the intense purity of her declaration. “So much better than whatever that fucking asshole has been giving you.” 

You lifted your head from where it had fallen on her shoulder then. Your eyes were glassy with tears, the one still swollen and bruised from where he had hit you, possibly worse now as the injury truly set in. Abby reached over and grazed a thumb oh-so-lightly over the ring of the bruise, cursing it for existing in her mind. You bored into her soul as you stared her down, looking for any trace in her eyes that what she was saying was a feigned comfort, rather than her undeniable truth. 

“Like you?” You posed, the words so quiet on your lips that the breath barely escaped. 

It was a fantasy. It was a far-off dream. 

But still - Abby put a hand on the back of your neck and pulled you into a gentle, entirely sweet kiss. It was a promise. She was never going to let anyone hurt you again. 

In those moments, laying in her bed in the dark, it felt more like a dream. She was too perfect. It couldn’t be real. 

When you pulled back from the kiss, your gentle breaths puffing across her now wet lips, the words got caught in her chest. 

‘I’m going to kill him.’ 

That’s truly what she wanted to say to you. In her mind it was a comforting promise, but she knew that to you, it would sound much more like a foreboding threat. 

She chose something else instead. 

“It’s okay.” She told you quietly. “Go to sleep now.” 

You nodded lightly, and relaxed against Abby once more, tucking your face into her neck. She felt comforted by feeling your gentle breathing against her skin. You fell asleep curled up tight to her body, clutching fistfuls of the blanket and her shirt as the anxiety crept back in while you slept. Abby continued to fitfully go over it all in her mind, wondering how she could have let this happen to you. 

Sometime that night, she did fall asleep (likely from the pure exhaustion of a thirty hour tour). When she woke up - you were gone. Somehow, you had sunk around her sleeping body and disappeared. 

The mind games of your abuser were in full effect; the things he had said to you dancing around inside your head. Even though Abby and Manny didn’t know it, you were on your way to apologize to him for supposedly starting the previous night’s argument. 

Both your friends were struck with worry, and they dressed quickly in order to search for you. 

They thought the best game plan would be to head to the cafeteria, to start asking around to find out if anyone had seen you. Abby was surprised when she got to the cafeteria and easily spotted you among the faces. 

She found that rage boiling in her stomach once again when she saw that you were talking to him. 

It was a feeling that quickly turned blinding when the word ‘whore’ was thrown at you. 

Apparently he believed that because you wearing one of Abby’s shirts (the clothing you had slept in and kept on) it meant you had fucked her, and you were cheating on him yet again. It was a grand conspiracy, because you had never cheated on him with anyone before. (Other than when you had kissed Abby, seeking comfort the night before.) 

But all of that was a mere blur at the back of Abby’s mind. 

She felt herself snap when you moved to walk away from him and he grabbed your wrist with an abrasive roughness, jerking you back toward him. 

Without hesitation - without even considering any earthly consequences, Abby charged toward him. When you saw her large, intimidating form appear behind him, your eyes lit up like a deer in headlights, but he didn’t seem to notice her coming. That would be his demise. He was too hellbent on torturing you to pick up on anything else. 

It gave Abby the perfect opportunity. 

She grabbed the back of his collar and lined up a punch. The impact to his nose caused him to drop the grip on your wrist, and you cupped your hands over your face to muffle a gasp as you watched the fountain of blood spatter out from the hit. He screamed out, starting on some kind of protest, but Abby landed another hit on his jaw with a curled fist. This sent him hurtling toward the floor, landing flat like a starfish on his back, only semi-conscious at this point. 

She had gathered the attention of everyone in the room by now; random strangers who stared with shock and awe as she stepped toward him and put a knee in the middle of his chest. Some people began to cheer at the very one-sided brawl as Abby continued to brutalize the man, pummeling his face with her fists, completely fuelled by her intense rage, intent on punishing him for even thinking about hurting you. 

You yelled a protest, and moved toward her, wanting to stop the violence. But immediately Manny thought better of anyone getting between Abby and her target, especially in this state of intense blinding rage, so he caught you by the shoulders and held you back. He simply let you collapse into his chest and cry as Abby continued to bruise her knuckles on the man’s stupid face. 

Owen was the only one brave enough to push through the crowd, grabbing Abby’s elbow and screaming her name. He dared to pull her off the unconscious, nearly dead man as she continued to pant like a raging bull. 

Abby didn’t even have time to bandage her knuckles before news of the incident got back to Isaac. And then you, her, Manny, and Owen got called up to his office at the FOB to explain why one of the newbies was in a coma after being beaten half to death in the middle of the cafeteria. On her way to the trucks, Abby caught Nora by the elbow and tried to convince the medic to smother your ‘boyfriend’ with a pillow. Nora said she would if she could get a moment alone in his room in the medbay. Naturally, she trusted Abby’s judgment enough to know the guy was a scumbag without having to ask why. 

Abby was the first one to be called into Isaac’s office while you sat in a chair in the hallway. You were still crying hysterically; upset that it had come to such intense violence, shocked that you had witnessed something so bloody, and terrified that Abby was now going to get in trouble with Isaac because of you. 

Manny and Owen waited with you; Owen trying to get the full story out of you and Manny sheltering you, trying to get Owen to lay off his questioning, seeing as you were still sensitive and shaken from almost being murdered the night before. 

When Abby sat in the chair across from Isaac, she crossed her arms and slouched, spreading her legs wide, her jaw still absolutely tight with anger. She made no effort to hide her bloodied knuckles. 

Isaac cleared his throat loudly before he spoke. 

“Now I know, if you tried to kill that man, you had a damn good reason to.” He said, giving Abby the benefit of the doubt. “What did he do?” 

“He knows what he did.” Abby huffed out, almost too angered to think about it without spiraling out into another rage fit. 

Isaac glared at her, obviously wanted a better explanation than that. 

“If he’s unfortunate enough to wake up, you can ask him about it.” She gritted through her teeth. 

Isaac sighed hard. “Now, that’s not very helpful, Abby.” 

Hatred churned in Abby’s chest. She hated having to speak it aloud, but she supposed it was necessary. She hated that Issac was putting you through this, rather than simply believing that Abby knew what justice was when she saw it.  

“He tried to kill Y/N.” Abby said, hot, rage-fuelled tears gripping at her throat. “He’s been abusing her.” 

Isaac did need to confirm the story with you, and you insisted that Abby sit in the room with you while you talked to him. Isaac was someone you found vastly intimidating because you rarely had to deal with him. 

Abby stood behind your chair with a comforting hand on your shoulder while you spelled out the entire thing, Isaac listening quietly - the bruises on you were more than enough proof for him, and he had Manny come to collect you and get you some water and some tissues while he told Abby how the whole thing should be taken care of. 

“When you get back, tell Nora to pull back the young man’s medical care. I don’t need him wasting resources.” Isaac instructed, firm and simple. 

He was a practical man, and Abby admired that. 

“If he somehow miraculously pulls through, we’ll... deal with him then.” Isaac continued. Abby nodded. “Next time something like this happens, deal with it more privately. Shooting a rabid dog in public frightens people. You know I trust your judgment on these matters, but… I don’t need others questioning you.” 

“Yes sir.” Abby quickly agreed. 

They took you back home and Manny took you back to their apartment to help you get settled, saying something about ‘right way to cook eggs’ as he took you down the hallway. Abby knew he would keep you distracted while she took care of business. She then visited the medbay to give Nora that note about ‘withdrawing’ the scumbag’s medical care. Which in reality, just meant that Nora guarded the door while Abby smothered the guy with a pillow, not to take any chances. 

Over the next few weeks, Abby made sure that you would be safe. She moved you into her and Manny’s apartment, ensuring you would be close by to start you on a road to better healing, and even though it was tough - things did go up from there. 

You found it easier to heal and get back to being your old self while being close by to your friends, and if you realized the feelings you’d had for Abby the whole time - that was just a bonus. 

It was something you reflected on one morning as you tossed a tennis ball to one of the dogs. You weren’t expecting Abby to come by - you didn’t think she would be collecting a dog, you didn’t think she had a patrol that day. 

“Are you checking someone out?” You asked, reaching down again to grab the tennis ball from Bear’s mouth when he brought it back to you. You took a moment to pet him, scrubbing behind his ears as he gratefully leaned into the touch. 

“It’s my day off.” She reminded you. “I just wanted to come check up on you.” 

You gave a grin at this. Even if you hated what that man had done to you, done your mind and your life - you did like how it was bringing you and Abby closer together again. 

“This is the easy part of my day.” You told her, looking down at Bear with fondness. “If you treat them right, they never bite you back.” 

Abby’s expression faltered from lightness, just for a moment. She knew it had a double meaning. You still believed that the whole thing had somehow been your fault. 

She gently reached out and took the tennis ball from your hand, tossing it far to the other end of the fenced in yard, causing Bear to run after it. It was a temporary distraction away from the dog so that you would have to face her. 

Abby knelt down beside you, where you had been crouching at Bear’s level, and cupped your face very timidly in her hand. You leaned into the touch, now locked in her precious gaze as she gathered the right words for you. 

“You are a good person, Y/N.” Abby told you firmly. “You deserve nothing but goodness in return. And anybody who treats you with anything less than kindness is someone who has evil in their heart. And they deserve to suffer because of it.” 

Tears clouded your eyes at the pure sincerity of her words. 

“Abby-” You croaked. 

Before you could get caught up in possibly arguing with her, Bear came barreling back, and dropping the ball in your lap once again. He then licked a large stripe up the side of your face, and you dissolved into laughter because of it. 

Abby wanted to get used to hearing that sound.

...

Final note: yes, I used to be @/pinkchubbiebunnie. Yes, this a post from my old blog (slightly cleaned up and edited). Please do not accusing me of plagiarising fics if you see this, because this is my own fic. This is my new blog. Feel free to follow me if you're interested in my fanfiction and thoughtful discussions of the media that I enjoy.

[dixonsgirl93]

What I think the Harry Potter men’s type of partner would be:

(I tried to be as realistic as I could with HCs that people might not like. But remember this is just for fun so if you don’t like it, just scroll. Thank you)

Draco Malfoy

- I think Hogwarts era Draco would be more likely to date a Slytherin girl mostly because he would be afraid of his father ridiculing him. I feel like his mother would just be happy to see Draco happy but he cares a lot about what his father thinks.

- I don’t think he would care about their hair colour, he wouldn’t have a preference but he would be hesitant to date someone with red hair. Partly because Lucius would make a big deal of the image of the Malfoys and mention their children being gingers and how much he’d despise that and also for the similarity of the “blood-traitor” Weasleys.

- I think his personal preference of body type would range from very slim to midsize. Whether because of his upbringing or what, I just don’t think he would date a plus-size or larger girl.

- Adult Draco wouldn’t care so much about their blood status but having been brought up with racist views, that kind of ingrained mentality would be hard to shift.

Sirius Black

- I don’t think he cares about their body type. Skinny, midi, larger, whatever. As long as you get on well and find each other attractive then he’s happy.

- He prefers more boisterous women, who can match his energy and put him in his place. The type who rather rebellious but also intelligent and kind.

- I’d say he’s also heteroflexible to a degree. He enjoys kissing men and doesn’t care if people think he’s gay but he definitely prefers to date only girls.

Lucius Malfoy

- His type? Basically Narcissa. Pureblood, slim, intelligent. Someone who can also put him in his place but respect him.

- For him, he wants someone equal to him, someone he can proudly show on his arm. This also means she has to be pretty and slim and well groomed.

- He’s grown up with the ideals and racism that Draco faced but leaned into it rather than away like Draco wanted/tried to do.

Severus Snape

- He’d perhaps want someone who matches his energy. I think he’d want someone happy-go-lucky to suit his more serious personality. Someone patient and kind. He hides it but he has a delicate heart.

- Looks-wise I’m not sure he could date someone with red hair, her reminding him too much of his first love. She would have to really wear down his walls before he would consider letting her in. Otherwise he wouldn’t have a preference.

- He wouldn’t care about their blood status if he felt a true connection with someone. At the end of the day he wants someone kind.

- He’s a sucker for brown eyes and freckles.

Remus Lupin

(I know he’s with Tonks but let’s say if she wasn’t in the series, what would be his type?)

- He’s a smart, bookish guy so I feel like he’d want his partner to be similar. He’d someone he could debate with about world topics and literature.

- He’d prefer if she was well dressed but if there was a genuine connection he wouldn’t care so much if she wore hoodies or something all the time.

- He goes more for personality than how pretty someone is, but he is a sucker for long, wavy hair (that was until Tonks came along and he realised he didn’t even care about hair).

- He would either want someone who was rather opposite to him in terms of out-going and more interested in movies than books or someone who’s more bookish.

- He would like someone he could settle down with though, who would be serious about him. Family is a big deal to him.

Alastor Moody

- As much as I adore Moody and want to just write that *I’m* his type, he’s actually pretty hard to write for. He’s a very stoic person, very serious and paranoid.

- I think he would just be surprised if someone desired to get close to him and didn’t care about his scars or missing body parts. He’d be paranoid at first, assuming the worst but presuming this…

- He wouldn’t really have a preference of how they look. More so that they take care of themselves and present themselves nicely etc. That sort of thing.

- Now, if I am to picture Moody with a partner. I imagine a woman in her mid-late 40’s (youngest), smartly dressed, maybe a secretary or manager, brunette, sophisticated.

- However, do I think he would date someone younger? Like half his age? (If we are to assume he’s in his 60’s). It’s possible. He’d be very hesitant though so you’d need to form a strong bond first which could take years. He’d be worth it though.

[aintgonnatakethis]

Find the word tag

Thanks for the tag, @winglesswriter! My words are music, noise, melody, tone, and voice.

Tagging: @bookish-karina @wolgerrswraith @lancedoncrimsonwings @diabolical-blue @moltenwrites to find the words cast, shadow, question, and month in your WIPs.

Music - Aliens made them do it (SGU)

He wouldn't, however, turn down a distraction by the way of conversation. He and Chloe still often met in the mess in the middle of the night to discuss anything and everything other than the reason they were awake. Her mathematical skills were flourishing. Things were going well with Lieutenant Scott, with the lad really putting in the effort to make her feel as normal as possible. Once Rush had even hummed the first piece of music Gloria had ever composed, his vocal chords decidedly out of practice at staying in tune.

Noise - Your Own Worst Enemy (SGU)

Young just makes an inconsolable noise and buries his face in Telford's neck. It will be alright in the end. Young feels things keenly in the moment and it can eat at him if left to his own devices, but Telford is here now. Young needs someone to confide in, an equal who can take some of the weight off his shoulders. He hasn't had that on Destiny, Scott too inexperienced and full of hero worship to be a suitable candidate, and Rush entirely out of the question - more likely to use things against him than offer support. But it's okay now. Telford scratches lightly at the back of Young's neck. The man's hair will have to be cut, he decides. The first thing about convincing yourself you're fine is convincing everyone else, and the way to do that is to look the part.

Melody - Untitled Young POV, part of on your hands and your knees, do you feel in charge? series (SGU)

David doesn't say anything, just takes the earbud from his far ear and offers it to Young. Sure, Young thinks as he takes it, he could go for some companionable silence right now, with one of the few people in the universe he feels at ease enough to do that with. Classical music washes over him, pianos and violins winding together to create a sorrowful melody. It surprises Young. David's favourite type of music is country, and has been since they met. Young prefers jazz but not by much, so he'd always been happy for their road trips to be backed by southern drawling.

Tone - What Big Teeth You Have (SGU)

Rush bristled at the aggressive tone. "I have an important update." He brandished his notebook. Young glowered at him. "I am commander of this base." Rush couldn't help but scoff, which admittedly he knew would do him no favours. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you haven't exactly made yourself available, have you?" "I don't have to 'make myself available' for you!" Rush couldn't believe the audacity. "That's your job description!"

Voice - Flu O'clock, part of on your hands and your knees, do you feel in charge? series (SGU)

Rush's voice was extremely amused. "Yes, David, somehow I'm aware you're not sleeping with Colonel Young. Without resorting to insults..." His eyes flicked towards Young's unconscious form. "He is possibly the straightest person I've ever had the misfortune of meeting."

[historyhermann]

"Against the hair of your professions": Fictional librarians and hair buns [Part 1]

12 librarians with hair buns in Western animation (Top row, from left to right: unnamed librarian in Futurama, unnamed librarian in DC Super Hero Girls, Ms. Hatchet in Kim Possible, Rita Book in Timon & Pumbaa, unnamed librarian in Rugrats. Bottom row, from left to right: Mrs. L in Dexter's Laboratory, unnamed librarian in Totally Spies!, unnamed librarian in We Bare Bears, Eztli in Victor and Valentino, Francis Clara Censordoll in Moral Orel, unnamed librarian in Big City Greens, Arlene in Phineas and Ferb, and Censordoll again) The last one is Censordoll again because she is a prominent bun-wearing librarian

Often librarians are portrayed as quiet, bookish people, who shush those who are noisy, and act in a stereotypical manner. However, librarians come in many types and kinds, either with an MLIS/MLS or not, and those stereotypes can be disrupted when a librarian changes professions as it changes audience expectations. Even so, librarians aren't united on what the image of librarians should be changed into in order to counter the stereotypes. Through all of this, many librarians are portrayed with hair buns, part of the oft-stereotype. [1] Today, I'll explore that, determining why this is the case, its significance in librarian portrayals, and what it means overall. As Swallow said in Act I of William Shakespeare's classic comedy play, The Mary Wives of Windsor, "if you should fight, you go against the hair of your professions," meaning that you are going against the grain.

Originally posted on Pop Culture Library Review on March 21, 2023.

Fictional librarians are often shown with so-called "traditional" outfits, looks, and hairstyles, including hair buns, which are symbolic in research around stereotypes themselves. This has even cropped up in webcomics. This is in part because styling one's hair can be "highly politicized" and complicated, especially for people of color, who experience microaggressions when people want to "touch" their hair or question it entirely. Some have even argued that different hair styles can be empowering and resist stereotypes, even as a library can be a "very conservative" place to work, although this may not be as strict in university library environments. Hair can also be an opportunity to communicate change, while serving as an intricate part of the identity and responsibility of the profession itself, with different hair styles having the potential to dispel stereotypes. [2]

In Western animation, this is clear as librarians of color, like Clara Rhone in Welcome to the Wayne, and Mira in Mira, Royal Detective episode ("The Case of the Missing Library Book") don't wear hair buns. Neither does Ms. Herrera in a Archie's Weird Mysteries episode ("The Haunting of Riverdale"). However, the unnamed librarian in a We Bare Bears episode ("The Library") prominently wears a hair bun, and serves as the only librarian of color that I know of, in Western animation, that does so. This could be a function of her role in the library and set rules which may establish that she dresses to "impress" in a semi-formal outfit. So, it could be a consequence of that, as other librarians I've mentioned may work in environments which are more open with their rules around self-expression or care little about how people look.

When it comes to White female librarians in animation, it is a different story. Apart from Kaisa in Hilda, the unnamed librarian in a Steven Universe episode ("Buddy's Book"), the librarian in the first Zevo-3 episode, Mrs. Higgins in a Sofia the First episode ("The Princess Test"), and Amity Blight in The Owl House, who briefly wears her hair in a pony trail, which became a sensation among fans of the series, to give a few examples, many of the other librarians wear hair buns. [3] This includes the librarian characters, who are effectively one-episode-wonders or only appear very briefly, in episodes of Futurama, DC Super Hero Girls, Rugrats, Kim Possible, Timon & Pumbaa, Dexter's Laboratory, Totally Spies, Phineas & Ferb, and The Simpsons, to name a few shows.

Also, Francis Clara Censorsdoll in Moral Orel wears a hair bun. Even, the blue-glasses wearing librarian in The Flintstones episode "The Hit Songwriter" wears a hair bun. At times, it appears that librarians with hair buns are meant to symbolize social conservative and prudish people, like the librarian in an episode of Beavis and Butt-Head ("Cyber-Butt"), who faints when she sees a nude image on a computer screen. Although she doesn't wear a hair bun, what she symbolizes is similar to how some librarians are portrayed in Western animation.

Others have declared that the perception of librarians with hair buns or lace collars should be discarded, as librarians are highly active and high tech now. While someone can easily agree with this, it is harder to push away the image of a spinster librarian with a hair bun, with some wearing buns and braids while working in the library. There is the further point that many librarians may not have enough hair to put into a bun in the first place. At one point, librarians adopted the hair bun style at one time, giving life to what became the stereotype and cliche. However, nowadays many younger librarians have different hair styles, and some might even have better eyesight than anyone else as they don't need glasses! [4] Still, tropes like the"Prim and Proper Bun" remain, with those with this hairstyle said to be in charge or be respected. This is somewhat countered with the "Loony Librarian" trope, which is said to describe a librarian who's let "their profession mess with their mind a little."

Continued in part 2!

© 2023 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.

------------------

Notes

[1] Matthew Wood. "10 Most Awesome Librarians in Pop Culture," Comic Book Resources, Aug. 22, 2019; Stephen Walker, V. Lonnie Lawson. "The Librarian Stereotype and the Movies," MC Journal: The Journal of Academic Media Librarianship, 1, no. 1 (1993): 16-28; Dana Vinke. "Unconventional Librarians," Image of Libraries in Popular Culture, Fall 2001, accessed May 27, 2022; Sadie Trombetta. "11 Of The Coolest Librarians From Pop Culture," Bustle, Mar. 2, 2015. For additional resources, see Ashanti White's Not Your Ordinary Librarian: Debunking the Popular Perceptions of Librarians, Nicole Pagowsky's The Librarian Stereotype: Deconstructing Perceptions and Presentations of Information Work, to mention two books. There are librarians like Lani in Diner Dash and Myrna Bookbottom in Freaky Flyers who both embody librarian stereotypes, but there are others that buck these stereotypes.

[2] Raymond Pun and Jesus Lau, "Hair and Hairstyles as Metaphors for Librarians," IFLA WLIC 2018, pp. 1-5.

[3] Amity is beloved by fans since she is a somewhat prominent recurring character and she is a lesbian who is in a romantic relationship with the show's protagonist, Luz Noceda.

[4] Christine Sharbrough, "What Does a Librarian Do All Day?," BellaOnline, 2013; DarLynn Nemitz, "Male Librarians: Stereotypes and Role Models," Image of Librarians in Popular Culture, Fall 2001; Amy P., "Librarian Who Hadn't Updated Her Look In 8 Years Underwent An Extreme Head-To-Toe Makeover," LittleThings, May 12, 2022; "So, what does a librarian do all day?," Iowa State University University Library, Apr. 11, 2007; UNH Library, "The Top 10 Misconceptions about Libraries and Librarians," The Charger Bulletin, Nov. 14, 2012; David Levy, "Reel Librarians: Images and Stereotypes of Librarians and Libraries in film and literature," Proceedings of the 53rd Annual Conference of the Association of Jewish Libraries (Boston, MA – June 18-20, 2018), pp, 1-3; "How to Style Your Hair Into an Upside Down Bun," StepByStep, accessed May 27, 2022; "More Librarian Misconceptions," Bound: A Blog About Books & Libraries, Apr. 1, 2014; Glenn A. Hascall, "Larry & The Librarian," accessed May 27, 2022; Megan Halsband, "Let’s Talk Comics: Librarians," Headlines & Heroes, Library of Congress, Jul. 3, 2019; Jodi McFarland, "Saginaw Valley librarians ride Internet age forward," mlive, Jul. 7, 2008; Michelle Reilly, "Librarians," It's a Dog's Life, Jul. 10, 2008.

[the-soul-of-a-morningstar]

hello! i'm here to request a matchup ✨if you'd like, i can write one for you in exchange at my sideblog -> @frostfall-matches

[name: raven / age: early 20s / sexuality: possibly aro/ace but i'm also not against the idea of being in a relationship w someone (gender/sex is irrelevant) / gender: nonbinary or agender (any pronouns ok)]

- personality: rough around the edges but overall fairly amiable, introverted but not shy (distant, disinterested in getting close to most, takes a long time to open up), willing to trust others and give people the benefit of the doubt, extremely independent (often refuses to rely on others, hates when people step in to help without me asking), confident and self-secure (sometimes prideful to the point of arrogance), straightforward (blunt, sometimes tactless/insensitive but i try not to be), even-tempered (not prone to anger, but annoyance is relatively common; anger is cold when it happens), somewhat apathetic (flat affect, rarely has strong emotional reactions, but a majority of the time mood baseline is pleasant), very rarely cries, tends to brush off the severity of a situation, not very ambitious (but if i have a goal i WILL get it done), mildly competitive, good sense of humor, playful around friends, teasing, mischievous, realist that leans optimistic, curious (nosey, loves gossip/drama), a troublemaker/rulebreaker, also often unintentionally gets into trouble (then laughs it off), does not shy away from conflict (a bit combative with authority and people who irritate me), logical, intelligent (but not necessarily the "bookish/academic" type who could spend hours researching), not sentimental, does not hold onto regrets, good at self-reflection.

- love languages: physical touch, gifts.

- hobbies: video games (tactics, RPGs, anything w/ good world-building & characters), watching anime, drawing (digital), painting (watercolor & acrylic), baking (but not cooking), cosplay, writing, reading (fantasy, occasionally books on history), taking care of plants, home/decor DIY projects, thrill-seeking activities (a bit of an adrenaline junkie).

- likes: cats, sweets, most fruits, good food, cheese, lattes (either coffee or tea, a favorite of mine is chai), aromatic candles (can't burn them for very long bc i get headaches), piercings, tattoos, puns, cool weather, winter, forests, mountains, traveling, new experiences, learning languages (currently knows/studied: english, french, korean, latin), medieval history, having ample amount of alone time/space, the occasional lazy day, the occasional philosophical discussion.

- dislikes: dogs, bitter foods, strong scents, hot weather, summer, spiders, long car rides, feeling restricted, conformity and blind obedience, having to be responsible for others, being vulnerable, when others are condescending towards me (makes my pride flare up, lmao).

- misc.: quite clumsy and prone to getting injured ; accidentally (+purposefully) misuses slang/common phrases ; enjoys skin care and hair care but rarely wears makeup, loves changing up hair often ; used to do gymnastics ; able to play alto saxophone, wants to learn cello ; a weird mix between a night owl and a morning person (but afternoons are rough) ; able to pick up new skills relatively quickly, not afraid of messing up and looking stupid ; majors in international studies and french in uni w/ minors in psychology and medieval history ; studied abroad in korea for 5 months ; prone to bad luck but tries to find the humor in most situations.

- appearance/style: 155 cm / 5’1” ; very pale (burns easily) ; round, youthful face ; single dimple on right cheek when smiling ; big green eyes, long eyelashes ; hair is naturally wavy and light ash brown, often styled w/ front bangs - currently mid-back length toned silver ; 5 piercings in one ear, 4 +an industrial in the other, and a navel piercing ; clothing style is more on the masculine side (rarely wears dresses/skirts, but i do love short shorts), color scheme is black/gray/muted green ; loves fishnets, flannels, leather jackets, combat boots, hightop sneakers ; socks are either black or very colorful/patterned ; enjoys sweatpants and hoodies when lounging at home.

a/n: Hey! I saw my matchup from you this morning! It was great, tysm for doing it!

Lucifer

Despite the fact that you have a somewhat more cold and monotone personality, Lucifer is probably the person you enjoy spending your time with

Lucifer enjoys making you ducks, he aims to make them based upon your interests, like from one of your favorite RPG games or animes

He understands your not an easy one to open up, so he really tries hard not to push you farther than your comfortable, but that doesn’t mean Lucifer’s okay with being shut out - he wants to know your okay (and probably needs to be reassured that regularly)

As much as Lucifer is short, he’s taller than you (just by a few inches), so he really gets a kick out of it. And he’ll realistically tease you for it a fair bit (It may get a bit annoying, but he’s sorta in the moment, but if you ever told him to stop he would)

Runner-Ups: Alastor, Husk

@the-soul-of-a-morningstar : please do not copy, repost or translate onto any other platform.

[regardstosoulandromance]

review: once upon a broken heart by stephanie garber

As someone who is a little too online in the bookish community,  I've been hearing people sing the praises of Stephanie Garber’s Once Upon a Broken Heart since its publication in 2021. Although the spin off to the Caraval series, general conscientious is that it’s not required to read Caraval before Once Upon a Broken Heart. It was an easy read I tore through one afternoon while sick on the couch, this highly popularized novel was not worth the hype it gets. 

For as long as she can remember, Evangeline Fox has believed in true love and happy endings... until she learns that the love of her life will marry another.

Desperate to stop the wedding and to heal her wounded heart, Evangeline strikes a deal with the charismatic but wicked Prince of Hearts. In exchange for his help, he asks for three kisses, to be given at the time and place of his choosing.

But after Evangeline’s first promised kiss, she learns that bargaining with an immortal is a dangerous game—and that the Prince of Hearts wants far more from her than she’d pledged. He has plans for Evangeline, plans that will either end in the greatest happily ever after or the most exquisite tragedy… (summary via Goodreads)

Once Upon a Broken Heart would be an amazing fantasy novel, if you’ve never read a fantasy novel before. Unfortunately, the world building is messy and nonsensical, prioritizing aesthetics over substance of any kind, character, plot or otherwise. Instead of a narrative that makes sense, Evangeline Fox is a heroine with pink hair and pretty dresses, Jacks is a cocky magic boy who always seems to have an apple at hand and a detailed description of his mouth. 

Evangeline’s motivations are clear, because she tells us constantly, but there’s no emotional depth. She originally visits Jacks because she believes her boyfriend Luc has been bewitched into marrying her step sister Marisol. What’s so great about Luc, you may wonder? I’m not sure, Evangeline likes him, but we don’t meet her beloved Luc until nearly two thirds through the book, and he’s only one the page in a single chapter. 

None of the character relationships are fleshed out, instead relying on fairy tale tropes to fill in the blanks the lack of development leaves. Evangeline’s step mother is cartoonishly villainous, Marisol is predictable the villain, and after Evangeline’s original visit to Jacks she lets the story take her along instead of controlling her own narrative. 

Jacks is a Fate, a trickster demigod also known as the Prince of Hearts. He’s cocky and crafty and as in folklore, making a deal with him often comes with unintended consequences. He likes apples and if he kisses anyone but his One True Love, they’ll die. He’s the annoying bad boy character to a tee complete with a tragic backstory as to why he’s heartbroken and I just didn’t care for him. I don’t care for his kind of over confident character type and I will admit that’s more of personal preference than anything else.  

Then, inexplicably, they introduce vampires two thirds of the way through. Fates are immortal yet can be killed, adding some stakes to Jacks existence, but they can also be turned into vampires? So in this world, vampires rate higher than the god-like characters. The inclusion of vampires was just too random and strange, kind of a pointless addition for the drama and creepy aesthetics of it all. 

A big draw of this trilogy is the slow burn romance between Evangeline and Jacks. In this first book, the pair are barely friends, more like reluctant allies. This is fine, totally in line with a slow burn narrative, but neither character was interesting on their own let alone together. 

The concept of the novel was an interesting one; a fairy tale land, the pink haired heroine, making a deal with a magical prince of hearts are good ingredients of a story. But where Once Upon a Broken Heart falls flat is in the execution. It’s equal parts confusing and unnecessarily convoluted while being boring and mediocre. My biggest complaint about the book is that the writing style is utterly insipid. It’s basic and lifeless, without anything interesting about the narration, sounding far too young for a young adult novel. It truly feels like baby’s first fantasy novel with all flash and no substance. 

[absensia-archived]

charlotte has good visual memory & not withstanding the warping of her perception and memories as a result of the presence of dark matter, is usually able to replicate actions and mannerisms after seeing someone else do the same. in a similar vein, she's also good figuring out the working parts or necessary steps needed to get to an observed end - result; a simple example is if she saw someone wearing a particularly fancy up - do, she'd likely be able to replicate it either on herself or someone else within a couple tries.

charlotte's knowledge of pop culture and media continues to be woeful. the one area of media culture she knows anything about all is music. otherwise, if you ask her about television or make references to even the most famous of movies, there's a very small chance she'll know what you're talking about. she'll still get that you're making a reference to something, she just doesn't know the specifics of it at all. char simply isn't into sitting down and just idly.... passively.... watching tv or movies for the sake of entertainment. if there happens to be something on, she'll probably get caught up in doing at least two other tasks and not pay attention to the screen at all.

it follows that if charlotte is going to watch anything, it's going to be something she finds worthwhile such as documentaries, movies based on true stories, or something which she has an ulterior motive to actually sit down, watch, and study. otherwise, she's just going to read about, go ask people about it, or go find about it for herself first - hand.

the only time she ever watches other types of movies is when she's with someone else. in that case, you should know that charlotte does very badly with horror films. she's that person who's watching through one slit between their fingers, looking away and plugging their ears when they're anticipating a jump scare, and screaming when the jump scare inevitably gets her anyways.

charlotte enjoys wearing denim, corduroy, and cotton. this preference, like many of the other few actual preferences she has, has roots in practicality. she likes denim for its durability, but also for the way that it makes it easy to blend in with the crowd, as there's nothing ever too exciting about jeans and not too much keen - eyed people might deduce about her from the jeans alone. corduroy is also durable but also warm.

of all the ways charlotte has developed into a clearer picture of an individual, one of the aspects of her own identity that even she has come to appreciate as a way for her to express herself is her style. whereas in the beginning when she would've worn pretty much anything that was still wearable just to have something to wear, and also wearing whatever style was necessary to fit in wherever she was, she now is more insistent on sticking to her own individual style even when does have to switch it up a bit for whatever reason. her style? a very specific combination of practical, semi - casual, sporty yet bookish california - girl moves to the east coast.

although dresses don't comprise a big or even decent fraction of char's wardrobe, she does like to wear dresses and skirts, especially during the summer. that being said, she tends to be particular when choosing dresses and skirts to wear casually to semi - casually: short skirts, slitted if longer --- all so she can still move easily, no big details like ruffles or decorative sleeves, it can be fitted but not tight to the point where, again, she can't move easily.

despite being able to replicate most hairstyles she sees on other people with a few tries, char rarely does anything fancy with her own hair. it's either down, in a ponytail, or half - up half - down. the ponytail, in particular, is the usual look for when she's in the middle of working. if you see char and her hair is up in a ponytail she's either coming from a crime, in the middle of a crime, or on her way to a crime. that o r it's a hot day or she thinks it goes with her outfit. good luck figuring out which ;)

last one: when she has the time, charlotte likes to go to batting cages. char without a baseball bat is like having apple pie without ice cream -- it's good, but it could be better ( and worse for your health )

[madtomedgar]

Why do so many JGY stans see him as “female-coded”? I get that he’s associated with his mother Meng Shi a lot in the narrative but to me it’s more like he embodies what she could’ve been if she had male privilege.

It's complicated and due to a lot of reasons and, I think, depends on what you mean.

Part of it is generic fandom nonsense that has been around since forever where the smaller/younger guy in any ship is the bottom/girl, and his actual personality gets overwritten to fit into fandom tropes. The narrative makes a big deal out of jgy being smaller and less physically powerful than the other members of his triad, people latch onto this with yaoi goggles, and it gets stupid fast.

Part of it is racism. There's been a trend lately, which i think started with kpop people and has breached containment, of (white, western) tumblr users seeing slim East Asian men with pop star makeup or long hair or purple lighting and deciding they must be feminine, gender non conforming, trans, non binary, ~gender~ or whatever. It's even worse if the guy is shorter and/or has a cute face. Zhu Zanjin has a cute face, his character is small, you see where this is going. And seeing East Asian men as feminine has a long history in anti-asian racism.

Part of it is ignorance/racism. Chinese masculine archetypes are not the same as western ones, and Chinese masculinity doesn't look like western masculinity. The scholar-official is a Chinese masculine archetype (I believe. I may be wrong about this, as I am not Chinese, so please take what Chinese bloggers have to say about this more seriously than what I am saying) and Jin Guangyao seems, to me, to be very much a scholar-official. His hat is extremely masculine/professional (like a necktie) but western audiences just think it's silly or related to his mom. His elegance, delicacy, lack of physical prowess compared to the others around him, read as effeminate to a western audience, but are absolutely masculine in his own context. This happens with nie huaisang a lot too, where because of his flightiness and artyness and specifically his fan, he gets read as effeminate. Fans, however, were a masculine accessory, specifically for the scholar or the artist, which, again, are masculine types. Feels very similar to how bookish Jewish men get read as effeminate by white gentiles, meanwhile The Pinacle of Manhood in Ashkenazi culture has, historically, been the Rabbi or the scholar. But yeah, a lot of it is people not thinking about him in context.

Part of it is that the way he is overlooked, forced to be So Polite to people who are approaching him with violence in order to survive, the people-pleasing, the deference, and, specifically, the way other characters read malicious sexuality into everything he does, when he is doing everything he can to not suggest that and how uncomfortable he is with that, the hypercompetence being taken for granted and overlooked, the working his ass off and getting no credit and then getting chastised when he points that out, the way he's subject to violence by people larger and stronger than him and told "well just don't make them mad," the way he has to be so careful about any hint of sex surrounding his public persona because that is all it will take for people to tear him apart, while not being an experience exclusive to women by any means, is extremely familiar to a lot of women, and so a lot of women and people who caucus with women relate to him in a very particular "oh same hat" kind of way. It's worth noting that none of the other male characters in the story really have this kind of thing going on. It's only him. Some have pieces of this but not the whole thing, so it starts to look specific to something inherent in the character, so.

Part of it is that his character gets a certain shitty treatment from a lot of fandom that you usually only see applied to female characters. Like. People really love to make him a Vamp, a Seductress, a Femme Fatale, a Manipulative Gone Girl Type, a Bitchy Sassy type, and read everything he does in this way. So many """"fix-its""" for him are some variation on "just keep him barefoot pregnant and in the kitchen," but it's "this time he is too busy getting dicked down to scheme," and like... it's weird? This is where you get people talking about the "jin guangyao specific misogyny." because like. He's not a woman, but fandom treats him like a Despised Female Character and it's very weird.

Hope that answers your question.

[featherymalignancy]

How About a Hug, Hm? REMIX

So a few days ago I got this ask about my Elriel one-shot “How About A Hug?” because I messed up the formatting and I you basically have to to read it as a reblog. I also was really unsatisfied with the end result.

So, I did the most Feathery™️ thing every and REWROTE THE WHOLE GODDAMN THING.

Please enjoy, and know that I will go back and tag people/clean up formatting tomorrow. Right now I just need to post and 😴

——————————————————

Elain Archeron was running late.

Granted, it was only by seven minutes, which—in many social circles—was still considered well within the accepted boundaries of punctuality.

The problem was that a) being late made Elain anxious, and b) there was absolutely nothing polite about Nesta Archeron when she was made to wait, even by her own kin.

Yet another reason it had been critical that Elain arrive on time: Nesta was already likely to be somewhat hacked off when she saw what Elain was wearing tonight, and Elain had hoped to avoid any further dramatics on her elder sister’s part.

She spent half the cab ride downtown trying to convince herself that it was fine that she’d borrowed something out of Nesta’s closet (even if it had been without permission) and that she hadn’t had a choice; she simply didn’t own anything appropriate for dinner at a four-star restaurant. However, by the time the cab slithered under Trump Tower’s unsavory shadow and into Hell’s Kitchen, she’d given up pretending.

The truth was she had half a dozen cocktail dresses that would have been perfectly suitable for dinner in the West Village, even if the place they were going was one of the nicest sushi restaurants in the city. No, Elain had raided Nesta’s closet for a far more embarrassing reason: she’d been in search of a dress she hoped might finally win her Azriel’s attention.

She wasn’t proud of the absurd crush she had on the guy, but it really couldn’t be helped. He was gorgeous, and smart, and darkly funny when he wanted to be, and she’d been secretly mooning over him since they’d met through Feyre’s fiancée three years ago. God, what she wouldn’t give to have him return even a fraction of her feelings.

Apparently not her dignity, Elain thought with a glance down at her neckline.

The worst part was that Azriel seemed oblivious to her interest in him. He was always polite to her, always made a point to talk to her when he caught her hiding out on the balcony during one of Feyre and Rhys’s crazy parties or sit next to her at their big family dinners, but he’d never once given her any indication that he was in any way that he reciprocated her feelings, which should have been reason enough for Elain to pack it in and stop harassing him.

And that was to say nothing of Mor.

Mor was the friend who’d first introduced Feyre and Rhys, and from what Elain could gather, she and Azriel had a long and complicated history. It didn’t seem to matter that Mor had been dating the same girl for over a year now. When she was in the room, Az’s eyes were always on her. Not that Elain blamed him—Mor was gorgeous in a way girls like her could only dream of being. Still, there was no denying the sting of watching the guy you were interested in pine over someone else.

Given all this, Elain wasn’t really sure why she’d gone to such lengths to dress up for this dinner. Mor would surely be there wearing something incredible and couture, thereby rendering everyone else invisible to Azriel. Still, Elain was a hopeless optimist, and she’d stubbornly sold herself on the idea that if she found the perfect dress, she could finally convince Azriel that she was a woman worthy of affection, rather than Nesta’s bookish, boring little sister.

She had to admit, there was nothing bookish about her tonight. The dress was tighter on her that it was her waifish sister, and dear god it deserved a Medal of Honor for the way it managed to keep her boobs looking so perky even without a bra. She didn’t suppose Nesta would be too happy about that bit, either, so she could only hope her sister was in a good mood by the time Elain arrived.

Just then Elain’s phone buzzed, and she looked down at it and groaned. It was from Nesta.

Where the 🤬 are you?

Running late, Elain quickly typed back. Is everyone waiting?

She watched the gray ellipsis pulse at Nesta responded.

Feyre and Rhys aren’t even fucking here yet. But hurry up, Cash is already driving me insane.

Elain rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure who Nesta thought she was fooling when she and Elain shared a bedroom wall. Nesta and Cassian, Rhys’s other best friend, ended up banging almost every time they saw each other, which—since Rhys and Feyre had gotten engaged four months ago—was fairly frequently. In fact, Cash was at their apartment making Nesta scream so often that Elain had been forced to invest in earplugs and a sound machine. From Elain’s perspective, it seemed rather pointless of Nesta to pretend she wasn’t completely hot of a guy she called “Daddy” in bed.

Elain shuddered at the thought, hoping that Nesta would end up going to Cash and Az’s loft in Williamsburg tonight instead. Though, she realized glumly, they only ever seemed to go there when Azriel was out, and the only person who seemed able to keep Azriel out later than Cash was Mor. That meant Elain’s options were either to pop an Ambien and hope for the best, or stay out and watch Az make moon eyes at Mor all night. Neither one was particularly appearing.

Elain ignored Nesta’s text as the car pulled up outside the restaurant and she wiggled out, smoothing the back of her tight dress before giving her curls what she hoped was an artful tousle before slipping inside.

Elain’s heart felt into her stomach as she took in the elegant but understated interior of the famed Sushi Nakazawa. Given the prices, she’d assumed the place would be all black granite and swanky chandeliers—the kind of place cleavage like hers wouldn’t seem out of place. Instead the place was elegantly spare and distressingly well-lit. God, she was such a prize idiot.

Unfortunately, she was also out of time, because a quick survey of the interior found that her group was already gathered at the bar, Mor, Feyre, and Rhys having showed up in the interim between Nesta’s text and Elain’s arrival.

Elain’s eyes went to Mor first, who stunned in a cardinal red lace and net sheath. It clung to her frame like it had been made for her, and despite a latent jealous she couldn’t quite contain, she was relieved to find that she at least wouldn’t look overdressed.

Elain’s stomach only wended in a tighter knot when Mor’s eyes fell on her and lit up, a reminder that not only was Mor prettier, she was also an infinitely better person than Elain.

“There she is!” Mor beamed, coming forward and hugging Elain. “I love that dress, Ellie!”

Elain braced herself for Nesta’s inevitably remark, but it was actually Cash who reacted first.

He’d opened his mouth to comment seemingly before he’d actually looked at Elain, because the second he realized what exactly she was wearing, his eyes they snapped the ceiling, as if looking at her chest directly might turn him to stone.

“Whoa, El, all dressed up tonight!”

Nesta, wholly unmoved by his attempted chivalry, elbowed him in the ribs.

“Don’t be vulgar Cassian!” She snarled before narrowing her eyes. “And that’s mine!”

Cash smirked, seeming more at ease now that Nesta was his target.

“I knew I’d seen that bef—ow! Goddamnit woman, what was that for?”

He scowled down at the dangerous stiletto Nesta had just jammed into his toe box.

“Sorry,” she cast over her shoulder, not deigning to look at him. “Did I accidentally step on your foot?”

“I’m an adult,” Elain interjected, cheeks burning as she faced her sister down. “Stop acting like I’ve fourteen and stuffing my bra.”

“They’re just boobs, Nes,” Rhys added, arm slung over Feyre’s shoulder. “Relax.”

“Watch it,” Nesta warned him, but Feyre only laughed.

“I agree!” She said, turning to smile at Elain. “And I think they look amazing.”

“If I’d have known they were going to be such a topic of conversation,” Elain mumbled, grateful Azriel wasn’t here to witness this circus. “I would have worn something else.”

“No, I’m with Feyre,” Mor said, wicked grin forming. “Breasts that nice deserve to be shown off.”

Elain wasn’t so humble that she didn’t feel herself preening a bit at that comment, even if she was still flustered by the prolonged attention. Either way, she was grateful when Cash interrupted with a somewhat sheepish laugh.

“Teenage me would be furious if he heard me say this, but can we please stop talking about boobs?”

“Elain’s boobs or just any boobs?” Feyre said with a smirk.

However, before Elain could admonish her for it, Feyre was crushing her into a hug.

“Hey you,” she said, wrapping her arms and Elain’s neck and whispering in her ear, “let me and Rhys know if you wanna stay at our place tonight; Cash already grabbed Nesta’s ass twice when she thought we weren’t looking.”

Feyre indicated the mirror behind the bar with her eyes as they pulled away, and sure enough, Elain watched Cash’s hand as it drew lazy, dangerous circles just above the swell of Nesta’s well-formed behind.

Elain groaned, hugging Rhys now as well. God , her sister was such a hypocrite sometimes.

Ignoring a lingering twinge of annoyance, Elain forced herself to glance in false realization before casually asking, “So where’s the Birthday Boy?”

“He was on his phone out back,” Rhys said, before raising a hand in greeting to someone over Elain’s shoulder. “There he is.”

Elain tried not to look to eager as she turned and drank in all six feet four inches of perfection that was Azriel Macar. He was dressed all in black, from his prada boots to the soft, expensive t-shirt fitted enough to show off his toned physique. Elain honestly had to fight not to swoon as he ran an effortless hand through his glossy sable hair, the longer pomaded pieces on top stand up for a second before falling into an artful tousle.

“Hey Ellie,” he said, gaze on her and gone so quickly that he never even had time to notice her much-discussed cleavage. Instead, his eyes flicked to Mor and held for a long, meaningful beat before he turned back to Elain and added politely, “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure,” she chirped, trying to ignore the fact that he was coming closer, and that in another second she’d be able to smell that divine Givenchy cologne he always wore. “Of course!“

She bent her head, pretending to be fixing the clasp on her bracelet as his scent hit her and she had to bite back a groan. Sweet Jesus, he smelled good. When she looked up again, everyone else was shuffling to their table and Azriel was lingering, a soft smile threatening to the reveal the absolutely devastating dimples in both his cheeks.

“Do I get a hug?” He asked. “It is my birthday after all.”

He extended his arms, and she gave a nervous laugh, accepting the gesture by stringing her arms around his neck.

“Of course,” she repeated stupidly, trying to ignore the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he embraced her. “Happy Birthday.”

At this he squeezed her a little tighter and she fought off genuine giddiness.

It was a friendly gesture, she warned herself, and it ended the minute Mor called, “Az, come sit by me.”

Elain cleared her throat as he pulled away, turning to where Mor was still beckoning. However, before Elain could get too flustered, he turned back to her.

“Shall we?” he said, indicating Elain go ahead of him. To her delight, they reached the table to find that the only two seats left were next to each other. She tried not to give her eagerness too much leash as he pulled out her chair for her before sinking into the one between she and Mor. Mor leaned over to give him a soft peck on the cheek, and he flushed.

“Where’s Emmy tonight?” Feyre asked as Mor tried to wipe the lipstick from Az’s copper skin and he battered her away, like child trying to fend off an over-bearing mother.

“She’s sick, poor little thing,” Mor said, giving a tiny pout. “She hasn’t been able to get out of bed in days.”

Elain didn’t bother to her disappointment. Emerie had been one of Nesta’s best since they’d met in college almost ten years ago, and she not only was she like family to the Archerons, she also happened to be the only person in the group who knew about Elain’s crush. Elain had sworn her to secrecy at the time, and though it would have been reasonable to assume that once Emmy knew, Mor would know, Elain appreciated that she could trust Emerie to keep her secret.

Elain felt Emerie’s absence keenly and Nesta and Cash began bantering back and forth at lightning speed. Emerie was a master at slowing the tempo of Nesta’s quick wit, making it easier for Elain in particular to feel she could keep up.

More selfishly, Elain also missed Emerie’s ability to keep Mor distracted. When Emmy was around, she was all Mor could focus on. However, in her absence Mor’s attention had reverted almost completely to Az, a fact he didn’t seemed to mind a single bit, if his growing smiles were any indication.

Still, he seemed to be going out of his way to make sure Elain didn’t get lost in the chaos of conversation surging around them, even if he never looked at her for more than a moment or two before his eyes flicked back to Mor, studying her dark brown eyes and crimson lips.

After they placed their drink orders and the waiter came over to begin explaining the omakase menu, Elain wondered if she had time to dodge under the table to throw on some lipstick of her own. Assuring herself everyone was suitably distracted she bent down, hastily uncapping the tube before looking up just in time to see Nesta brush a very deliberate hand between Cassian’s splayed quads.

Elain jerked back, banging her head on the table.

“Fuck!” she swore quietly, straightening and rubbing her head.

Nesta shot her an alarmed look across the table and Elain flushed.

“All you alright?” Azriel asked, and she tried not to bleat in excited panic as his fingers brushed the back of her head. “What happened?”

“I—dropped something,” she fumbled, cursing her sister for being such a salacious wench.

Wasn’t it enough that she and Cash were already going to keep her up all night? Did she really have to make Elain look silly in front of Azriel, too?

“Does it hurt?” Azriel said, still studying her head before letting his eyes go to the server. “Do you need ice?”

“No, no,” Elain said hurriedly, trying to regain her composure. “I’m fine.”

“Did you at least find whatever you were looking for?” Mor asked, and Elain’s flush deepened.

“And then some,” she grumbled to herself, and Cassian gave a quiet but unmistakable laugh before letting out a surprised exhale. Elain had a fairly good idea what Nesta was squeezing to shut him up.

“Should we order, then?” Mor asked, hand falling onto Azriel’s arm. “Any particular requests, Birthday Boy?”

“He’s thirty now,” Rhys pointed out. “I think that makes him a Birthday Man .”

“Birthday Old Man,” Cassian amended. “Don’t worry champ, I’ve already put some viagra in your bathroom.”

“You’re not supposed to share your prescriptions, Cash,” Azriel said with mirth, eyes sparkling even as his face remained neutral. “And besides, I would feel dead back if you needed one tonight and couldn’t find them.”

“Checkmate,” Mor purred as Cash flipped her off.

Beside Azriel, Elain was fighting not to blush again. Cash’s comment, however sophomoric and lewd, had her imagining what Azriel was like in bed. She wondered for a moment if Mor knew before dismissing the thought and the twinge it induced.

“Let’s put this poor souls out of his misery and order,” Feyre said, smiling at the server where he still waited patiently. “Maybe if Cash’s mouth is full, he’ll stop talking.”

Cassian grinned, and, after placing their requests for the chef’s tasting menu, they all settled into an easy conversation. Cash and Rhys regaled them with stories of Azriel at various ages, from the gawky child he’d been when they’d first met him to the shy teenager who’d been terrified of girls.

“Let him be,” Mor said, touching her friend’s shoulder. “He was sweet in high school!”

Rhys laughed.

“It took him a year to pluck up the courage to say three words to you,” he pointed out.

“And they were ‘here’s a pen’ in response to you asking him the time. Nice work, Shakespeare,” Cash said, attempting to muss Azriel’s perfectly styled hair before being batted away.

“I can’t imagine Az ever being awkward,” Elain blurted. “I bet girls thought he was mysterious and cool.“

“See?” Azriel said, gesturing to Elain. “This is why I sat over here.”

“Oh please ,” Rhys said, bubbling his lips. “Ellie’s just being polite. If you two had known each other in high school, we all know how to would’ve gone: you’d have had an obscene crush on her and your dreams of true love would have been dashed after she politely signed your yearbook ‘have a good summer, Adrian’, leaving you heartbroken and alone.”

Azriel gave Elain a soft smile, and her heart burst open as thousands of butterflies flitted out of it.

“I hate to say it, but he’s probably right,” he told her. “I assume high school Elain was very popular.”

“She was,” Feyre said. “Eight different guys asked her to prom.”

“I’m not surprised,” Az said, and Elain made a great show out of drinking out of her masu to avoid having to answer.

She was relieved when the food began arriving to distract everyone, if only to save her the temptation of telling Azriel that there was no universe in which she wouldn’t have been into him, high schoolers or no.

Instead discussion turned to the Feyre and Rhys’s wedding as they ate, and as final plates were being cleared, Cash took the opportunity to once again mocked Azriel for the fact the latter had lost the rock-paper-scissors competition to be Rhys’s best man.

“I lost on purpose,” he told Elain quietly, taking a sip of the Yamasaki Single Malt he’d ordered after dinner.

“Why?” she laughed, following his gaze across the table to where Cash and Nesta were now bickering about whether Rhys’s stag night in Vegas would be better than Feyre’s hen do in Napa.

“Because Rhys told me that you’d convinced Feyre to pick Nesta as her maid of honor, and no offense, but your sister terrifies me. I’d much rather be with you.”

She laughed, biting her lip. It felt so terribly like they were flirting, but she couldn’t decide if it was her imagination or not.

“She terrifies everyone,” Elain said. “And I have a feeling this won’t our last trip down the aisle together.”

Azriel only quirked a bemused brow at this, which had Elain flushing scarlet.

“Not like that! She laughed, fumbling to pretend the idea of them being together was absurd rather than her heart’s desire. "I meant for Cash and Nesta’s wedding. Don’t tell me those two aren’t going to end up together.”

“We’ll have to work out a custody agreement when they finally get over themselves and start dating properly,” he agreed. “I’m spending a fortune on earplugs.”

She laughed, and he seemed warmed by the gesture, because he flashed a modest—albeit dimpled—smile being turning back to the larger conversation.

After dinner they’d gone a cocktail bar, then an Irish pub, and finally—much to Azriel’s chagrin—a karaoke bar. Rhys and Cash spend the majority of the evening trying to wrestle Azriel on stage while Mor and Feyre sang duets to Beyoncé and Spice Girls.

Elain was content enough to sit back and simply observe the scene as it unfolded around her. It was hard to contain her giddy, dreadful anticipation when Mor left around one to check on Emerie and Azriel—besides bidding her farewell with a soft kiss on the cheek—didn’t move a muscle.

Less than an hour later, Cash and Nesta both disappeared about an hour after without so much as a goodbye. Elain groaned, hoping they’d be asleep by the time she got home.

She’d have to rally if she wanted to manage it; they would be at it for hours yet.

By three the place was clearing out, and besides them, only a few tables of marathon drinkers and a girl on stage performing a beautiful rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” remained.

“We’re gonna go,” Rhys said, arm slung around a rather drunk, giggling Feyre. “Ellie, do you want to come with us?”

Elain glanced at Azriel, who’s glass still had two fingers of whiskey in it. If she wanted a chance to be alone with him, this was it.

“I think I’ve got one more in me,” she said, smiling.

“If you mean drink, I’m in,” Azriel said.

“Oh c’mon, brother,” Rhys goaded. “Just one song. I wouldn’t even film it….much.”

“Do Beyoncé!” Feyre chimed in, and Azriel shook his head.

“You know I’d play in traffic before I ever sang karaoke,” Azriel said mildly, making Feyre laugh. "Thanks for coming.”

He rose, embracing Rhys and pressing a kiss on Feyre’s head.

“C’mon, my little drunkard,” Rhys told her. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Let’s have sex when we get home,” Feyre said, her attempted whisper fully audible. Rhys pretended smack his forehead with his palm and a mimed, “ Oh brother ”, to Azriel and Elain before coax a still-singing Feyre outside.

Azriel chuckled before draining the last of his drink and rising. Elain pretended not to notice the way his well-tailored jeans fit his lean legs and…other parts of his anatomy as he adjusted his belt buckle and glanced down at her.

“Bud Light?” he asked, and she nodded, bobbing to her feet as well.

If she wanted a way to get closer to him that was more elegant than her increasing urge to crawl across the table and into his lap, this was certainly it.

“I’ll come with you.”

He flashed her a modest smile before indicating she lead the way. He ordered and waved off Elain’s attempt to pay before leaning on the bar to avoid towering over her. The gesture brought them nearly eye-to-eye, and Elain had to actively fight not to let hers roll back in pleasure at the bergamot and amyris wood notes in his sinful cologne. Up close Elain could see how much green he had in his hazel irises, and she wanted to tip into them and swim until she drowned.

“Did you have fun?” she said, desperate to get the conversation flowing again, and he smiled, making her stomach flop.

“I did, yeah,” he said, glancing around the bar in bemusement, as if still wondering how he’d ended up there. “Thank you for coming.”

Elain shrugged, grinning.

“You say that like you didn’t think I’d show,” she said, resting a cheek in her hand. She knew by now her expression was not her less than a swoon, though she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Hadn’t been this been her plan all along? Finally get Az’s attention long enough to tell him how she felt? Now was the best chance she’d probably ever get.

“No, I figured would,” Az said, interrupting her reverie. “Or hoped you would, whatever.”

Was that—

Did that mean what she thought it did?

Normally she would have chalked it up to wishful thinking, but the way he rubbed the back of his neck, dimples appearing as he huffed what almost sound like a sheepish laugh, had hope igniting in her chest.

“What does that mean?” she pressed, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

For the first time all night, he didn’t look away. Instead, his eyes skated back and forth across her face, as if she were a riddle he only had seconds to memorize. She watched, transfixed, as he wet his plush lower lip with his tongue before biting it almost self-consciously.

“It means I’m glad you came,” he admitted. “And that you didn’t go home with your sister and Rhys.”

It wasn’t the confirmation she’d been hoping for, and the ambiguity of the statement had her conviction waning. That could just as easily have been mean platonically, and if she pushed him and ruined things between them by making it awkward—

“Of course I’d be here for your birthday,” she said, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “That’s what friends are for.”

She couldn’t help the way her voice got stuck on the word, not when her throat suddenly began to clog with tears.

She had to get out of here, right now. Before she started crying and made things worse. She made to retract her hand but Azriel grabbed it, grip gentle but intent.

“El, don’t go,” he said, and she was surprised at the frank discontent in his normally-impassive expression.

She waited for him to explain himself before instead he let out another strained laugh, grip on her wrist easing. However, he didn’t let go entirely, choosing to intertwine their fingers instead.

Holding hands.

She and Az were holding hands.

And he—

She glanced back up to find he was studying her again, his face a mixture of terror and delight. When she gave his hand a soft squeeze, he let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Jesus, I am bad at this,” he said, reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear. She wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it, but she thought his gaze flicked down to her lips as he continued to study her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Bad at what?” She asked, though she’d begun to suspect she knew exactly what, even if it seemed too good to be true.

“At least my timeline is improving,” he breathed instead. “And I haven’t offered you a pen you didn’t ask for yet.”

Hoping she wasn’t misreading the situation, she let her finger trail down to trace the circular buckle of his Gucci before glancing back up at him and purring, “Do you have a pen?”

He smirked before raising his right wrist and glancing at his watch face over her shoulder.

“It’s….3:17 am,” he said, smile spreading as she gave a low sound of approval and flicked her gaze to his lips.

“Smooth,” she said, and tried not to lose her mind as he let his raised hand fall to the back of her neck and bent to kiss her.

He had almost girlishly full lips, and they opened for her as they settled into the kiss. Immediately his hand tangled in her hair so he could alter her head position slightly and get a proper taste of her. She groaned into his mouth he pulled at her lower lip with his teeth. He tasted like oranges and the expensive Japanese whiskey he’d been drinking all night, and pleasure tightened in her low belly as his tongue brushed hers. Her brought his free hand up to cradle her face, and in response she pushed closer to run her hands underneath of his shirt and down the silken skin of his back.

“Fuck,” he breathed with a heated half-laugh, nose brushing her cheek as he bowed into her touch. “You’re killing me, woman.”

She only smirked, feeling more confident now that she had before. She could hardly believe this was happening, but she was too excited about it to fully care.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, and he bit his lip, as if restraining himself from kissing her again.

“Like to another bar?” he asked, dazed as he continued to stare at her lips.

“Like to my bed,” she said boldly. “Or yours, depending on where Cassian and Nesta ended up.”

He didn’t speak immediately, just studied her, and she panicked.

“I mean, only if you—I’m sorry, should I not have—?“

He only kissed her again in response, more gently this time.

“Please stop apologizing,” he said, kissing her jaw now before seeming to realize something and pulling back, brows synced.

“I—Jesus, do you seriously not know?”

She felt a bit sheepish at his incredulous tone and fought not to stiffen.

“Know what?”

He laughed softly, though their was a edge of self-deprecation in it that kept the gesture from seeming conscending.

“I really am the worst at this.”

“At what?”

“El, I’ll crazy about you. I have been crazy about you since we met.”

“You have?” she blurted, horror fading into genuine—if elated—confusion.

He laughed.

“Did you think it was coincidence that you and I are always sitting next to each other at dinner? That I always find you at Rhys’s dumb parties?”

“I—“ she began, still trying to decide if this was a dream or not. “What about Mor, though?”

“Mor?” he repeated, confused now, too. “What about her?”

“I thought you and she—“

He leaned in to brush his nose against hers, and she blushed at the innocent affection in the gesture.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “I did have a thing for her in high school, but I got over it after she and Cash slept together at prom. We’re just friends, I swear.”

“But she’s always touching you, and every time I see you together you can’t stop looking at her.”

At this he laughed, his smile so genuine and open she almost didn’t recognize him.

“She’s always been touchy-feely,” he said. “She grew up in Madrid, and people are just more affectionate there, I guess. And I only watch her when you’re around because she called me out for having an absurd crush on you, and I was afraid she was going to get drunk and blow my cover by telling you.”

Elain shook her head, still not quite believing what she was hearing. Reading her expression, he bent to kiss her softly.

“What guy wouldn’t be crazy about you?” he breathed. “You’re incredible.”

This seemed to break the spell, and she twined her fingers in his hair and pulled him down for another steamy kiss.

“Text Cash,” she said a little breathlessly when they broke away. “I don’t want an audience.”

She couldn’t felt but feeling smug when he almost dropped his phone at those words. It felt good to know that she wasn’t the only one affected by all this.

“Cash and Nesta are at the lof—“ Az began after a minute, but Elain cut him off with a kiss.

H rose, pulling her against him as his tongue brushed the roof of her mouth.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he said as she kissed his neck and tugged on his earlobe with her teeth, earning a low groan. “You’ve been drinking.”

She grabbed his chin so he would look at her.

“Not that much,” she said, and it was true. “And besides, I wanted this way before tonight.“

“Good,” he breathed, pressing a hand to her low back to bring her close to him. “Because so have I.”

Though they spent the majority of the ride up town and the elevator up to her apartment making out, something seemed to shift as Elain’s door clicked shut behind him, as if the gravity of what they were about to do had finally caught up to them.

Reluctantly Az peeled his lips from where they’d been glued to her neck as he took a small step back, as if to give her space.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, feeling embarrassed for how much she still wanted him even now that he seemed to have come to his senses.

“Maybe we should—” he broke off, looking somewhat guilty. “Hold off.”

She nodded, trying to keep the tears at bay again.

“Are you worried this could mess things up in the group? Because I understand—“

“No,” he said hurriedly, coming forward again, as if he could no longer stand to be away. “Not at all. I just—you’re special, El. You deserve to be taken out and spoiled.”

“Az, you just took us to a $1,800 dinner! Or did you think I didn’t see you pulling our server aside?”

Azriel opened his mouth, and she covered it with a finger.

“You don’t need to earn my affection. It’s yours already, free of charge.”

“I’ve just been—I waited so long to make my move and I’m terrified of fucking it up,” he said with a soft laugh.

“Why, are you bad at sex?”

Azriel laughed, seemed to relax at her teasing.

“I’ve never had any complaints,” he breathed again her lips, kissing her deeply again.

She gently bit his lower lip in response.

“Then I’d say you’ve gotten nothing to worry about,” she said, kissing him a third time.

She moaned softly when drove his fingers into her hair, hips canting towards her as he pressed her more fully into the door.

She could feel his body’s reaction to her pressing between her thighs, and she moaned again.

“Fuck,” he breathed onto her skin. “You are so gorgeous.”

“So are you,” she said, running her hands up the back of his t-shirt and feeling the mosaic of muscles flexing underneath. “Take this off.”

He laughed and pulled the offending garment over his head, making her groan in delight.

“God, this body ,” she breathed, running a hand down his chest and enjoying his shiver at her delicate touch.

He responded by spinning her away from him and gently dragging down the zipper of her dress until he could slip a hand inside of it.

“I knew you couldn’t have a bra on underneath this thing,” he said, voice a touch smug as he cupped both bare breasts and her breath caught in her throat..

“I’m surprised you even noticed,” she said, voice somewhat. “I wore this dress for you, and you didn’t even look at it once the entire evening.”

She laughed, the sound into a soft moan as he twisted one nipple in experimentation. When she sighed and let her head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Of course I noticed the dress,” he corrected. “You have the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen. I just knew that if I let myself look, I might not be able to stop looking.”

“You shouldn’t say that until you’ve seen them without the sorcery of underwire,” she said.

With that he spun her to face him, catching her gaze to ensure he had her permission before tugging down the top of the dress so her breasts fell free.

“Gorgeous,” he said, easing to his knees so he could replace his fingers with his mouth. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“If I known this was going to be your reaction, I would have worn a bodycon dress in front of you ages ago,” she said, threading her hands through his hair as he dragged his teeth and tongue along her nipple.

“You don’t need some tight dress to be sexy,” he said, resting his chin her her sternum so he could gaze up at her. “I’d take you in your overalls and pigtail braids any day.”

“Is this some Pippy Longstocking fetish we should all know about?”

He grinned, rising to his feet and giving one of her curls a playful tug.

“Because as devastating as you are playing dress up in your sister’s clothes, I prefer you as you.”

“You can’t say that when I’m naked,” she said with a smile, touching his cheek.

“Why not?”

“Because I may start crying and ruin the mood.”

He cocked his head to the side, tracing her lips with a finger.

“I wouldn’t mind a few tears from you in bed. But only if it’s from you sobbing in pleasure.”

His words sent blood pooling south, the intensity cause a dull throbbing.

“Why do I feel like you could do it, too?” She asked, reaching down to free his belt as he heeled out of his boots.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, taking her hand and guiding it between his legs. “Forget this,” he said, squeezing gently so she could feel how hard he was. “I could go down on your all night and be the happiest guy on Earth.”

Emerie had said as much once, at a drunken girls’ night.

Azriel strikes me as the type of guy who loves eating girls out. It’s why gay women find him so easy to befriend; we recognize kindred spirit.

Elain vowed to never tell the others she’d been right.

“Will you let me?” He asked, gently nudging her dressing off her hips until it came free and pooled at her feet.

“Is this a trick question?” She said, voice going hoarse as he slipping a hand into her underwear.

“Some people don’t like it.”

“I’m not one of them,” she said, he smiled, coaxing her legs around his waist so he could carry her.

“Thank God,” he replayed. “That would break my heart. Which way?”

She pointed him in the right direction before giving into temptation and kissing him again, looking to way she could feel like body reacting to hers as he held her close. Only when they reached her room—which was decidedly messier than she’d have liked considering Azriel Macar was now in it—did he set her down.

He wasted no time into coaxing her onto the bed, taking only a moment to admire the silky black thong she wore before dragging into down her thighs and discarding it.

“Spread your legs for me, El,” he said, brushing kisses to her knee as she slowly did as he commanded.

The light from the nearby street lamp made the room a lot less dark than Elain was used to during sex, and for a moment she though to be embarrassed or postpone. Then she glanced down to admire the contrast of Azriel’s inky black hair framed against the pale skin of her thighs, and she forgot what it even meant to be self-conscious as he finally put him mouth on her.

She swore at the first brush of his tongue, which was both deliberate and extremely delicate. She threaded a hand through his hair at his second stroke, the touch more intentional this time.

“Azriel,” she breathed.

She watched the muscles in his beautiful back shift at this, as if hearing her moan his name had untethered something in him. When he put his mouth back on her, it was clear he was no longer attempted to tease her. Instead he felt right to where she needed him most, refusing to relent until she tipped over the edge.

Even then he didn’t seem satisfied, it and it was only after he made her come a second time did he pull back, licking his lips before bending to kiss her.

“Take your pants off,” she demanded. "Right now.”

She felt him grinning against her neck as he peeled off of her, slowly working the buttons of his pants before sliding them down his trim hips. He wore black boxer briefs underneath, and he honestly looked like an Armani model. She bit her lip, eying the sizable swell of him through the cotton.

“Those too,” she breathed, greedily drinking in his well-defined adonis belt and the bare trace of hair above the band.

He did as she commanded, and she nearly melted. Naked he was a God, all rippling muscles and smooth unblemished skin, save for the chest piece tattoo that extended onto his shoulders and halfway down his arms. She let her eyes sink lower. Even half-hard he was big, and her belly clenched.

Wasting no time, she urged him to take her place on the bed before kneeling at his feet and putting her mouth on it.

“Shit,” he hissed, driving a hand into his hand then down his face. “Ellie, you’re kiling me.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, and he growled in approval, seeming to decide something before breaking her grip on him and hauling her to her feet. He kissed her again, and she could feel his cock as it practically pulsed between them.

She still wasn’t sure she could believe it was for her, that somehow he wanted her as much as she did him, and had for almost as long.

“Condoms,” he breathed against her mouth. “I need to be inside of you.”

She froze.

“I don’t have any,” she said, dismayed.

How could she be so stupid? Why didn’t they stop on the way home? The closest bodega was six blocks, and she knew everyone who worked there. The last thing she needed was all of them knowing—

Azriel pressed a swift kiss to her lips before tangling from her.

“Where are you going?”

“To grab a condom.”

“Naked?

He flashed her a slight grimace, “Let’s agree you won’t ask where I get it from.”

“Oh Moses,” Elain said, face flushing scarlet as she listened to Nesta’s door creaking open.

Azriel was back in less than a minute, tossing an entire box onto the nightstand as he pulled open one of the foils with his teeth, using his free hand to push his damp hair, long enough to brush his cheekbones now that it wasn’t styled, out of his eyes.

“You found those distressingly fast,” Elain said, unsure if she was amused or mortified at the situation.

“Cash is predictable with his hiding spots,” Az said, eyes hooded as he stroked himself several times before rolling the condom onto his length.

“And why did you take the whole box?”

Azriel laughed softly.

“Because I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

Without another word Az sank to his knees again, one hand lazily stroking himself to maintain his erection as he went down on her again.

This time it only last three seconds or so before he pulled back, resting one knee beside her hip to steady himself before pulling her onto his shaft in a single wet stroke. Using her left bent leg as leverage, he adjusted his angle, smirking at her low, guttural moan of pleasure.

“Good to know your g-spot is as sensitive as the rest of you,” he breathed, and she laughed and tugged him into an ambitious rhythm.

Soon the only sound was their shared breathing, and the sliding on their bodies against one another. She came first, and he followed even before the dizzying waves of pleasure ceased. He pumped lazily in and out of her for another half dozen stroke before gently extracting from her and peeling off the condom.

She curled against him, cheek pressed to chest as her hands continued to explore. Her fingers caressed his swelling pectorals and each of his abdominal muscles before lazily venturing back between his legs. He gave a hiss of pleasure as she began to work his silken shaft in earnest, and in minutes he was fully ready again.

He groaned when she snatched one of the condoms and rolled it onto him before swinging a leg over and sinking astride him.

Her third orgasm hit her only a short time later, and she sighed when he bucked up into her before going languid under her ministrations.

She leaned down to kiss him as he ran a soothing hand down her back.

“Jesus,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to hers and swirling his hips, still inside her despite his orgasm. “That was incredible.”

She purred her contentment, feeling something even more alluring than desire swell in her chest as he discarded the second condom and tugged her into his arms, tangling their legs. He still smelled like cologne, but it had mixed with her perfume, and sweat, and the scent was intoxicating. She wanted to bath in it—in him—until she died from bliss. She listened to his breathing even out, and as she was drifting off to bed, he felt his breath ruffle her hair.

“Do you like pancakes?” he murmured. “I want to make you breakfast in the morning.”

“Really?” she said, looking at him over a shoulder and melting at the warmth in his smile, less guarded now than it had been even hours before.

“I want to make breakfast for you every morning,” he breathed. “I have since I met you.”

She smiled, nestling closer to him.

“I’d love that, but I should probably be the one making you breakfast. It is your birthday, after all. You have to let me give you something other than a bj and a few orgasms for your birthday, even if it is your dirty 30.”

Az choked on a laugh.

“Say you‘ll dinner with me, then. No family or nosy friends around, just us.”

“I think the word you’re looking for it ‘date’,” she said, laughing as his cheeks flushed before realizing something. “Or is the idea just too formal for the situation? I know we did things a bit backwards...”

“We did,” he agreed, stroking her cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I want to spoil you any less. So yes a date, if you’ll still have me.”

“I will,” she said, meeting his hazel eyes before gently kissing him. “With pleasure.”

He smiled against her mouth.

“Then that’s the only birthday gift I want or need from you.”

She smiled, feeling happy to the point of bursting when he kissed her ear and closed his eyes again.

"Happy Birthday, Az.”

His hum of contentment vibrated through her back.

“The happiest,” he breathed.

[grandhotelabyss]

—Lindsay Amaris Temple, “Swag vs. Class: The Writer and Her Image”

Good question—and read the rest of the post for elaboration. Some of the problem is inherent to the vocation and has long been true, as in Flaubert’s advice to live like a bourgeois and save the madness for the page, or Pound’s complaint that Joyce was not a painter, not a poet, not a bohemian, but just a family man. Writing, especially of prose, is closer to scholarship and academe, and is a sedentary occupation moreover. The performance aspect of the art is consummated on the page and in the act of reading, not on a public platform. 

Despite what you might predict of me—I actually have a Ph.D. in British Literature, a credential our author mocks on general principles!—I sympathize with the above post. In all my bitching and whining about Goodreads yesterday, I forgot to complain about how it fetishizes books and therefore a certain immature bookishness, as do #bookstagram and #booktube. While it may sound strange coming from someone in an apartment about to collapse under the weight of bookshelves, I don’t think of myself as someone who loves books at all. Art, yes; literature, yes; narrative, language, ideas; poetry in the broadest possible sense, poiesis—but books? Not as such, and certainly not if they signify a retreat from the world rather than its transfiguration.

The swallowing up of literature by the MFA can be blamed too. Every writer’s a teacher now, trying to set a good example for the youth. I even think this is the secret meaning of that avant-garde small press I mentioned months ago that didn’t want submissions from people with pronouns in the bio; whatever that gesture started out meaning, it now reeks of mere professionalism, round-the-clock on the clock, no longer cutting edge youth culture but a shibboleth that got taken up too late by overly earnest adults.

The Internet can in general take its share of the responsibility. I often use Neil Gaiman as an example of trends in popular fiction, and he serves here too. He was one of the first big writers to have a blog, and on it he often expressed a desire to demystify the act of writing. One of the annotated Sandman volumes—I don’t have it to hand; I quote from memory—cited a script where he complained to the artist that his fans thought he wrote “in mausoleums at midnight” when in fact, as he typed those very words, he kept having to get up to hold his young daughter’s hair back as she vomited from the stomach flu. I’d have stuck with the mausoleums! They symbolize the mystery of the imaginative act. Why would anyone want to demystify this strange phenomenon, all the stranger when it descends into the latrine of the everyday? 

Writers try to scare away dilettantes by stressing how much consistent labor it takes to produce anything of any length, and rightly enough, but without the supposedly inexistent inspiration, the vaunted perspiration’s not worth much. I’ve put in the work, but I’ve also never known where the really good stuff came from. Marx and Freud don’t help. Aesthetics and spirituality are autonomous drives; they don’t reduce to any other, certainly not money or sex. We need older thinkers to explain this in language we feel we can no longer use:

But he who, having no touch of the Muses’ madness in his soul, comes to the door and thinks that he will get into the temple by the help of art—he, I say, and his poetry are not admitted; the sane man disappears and is nowhere when he enters into rivalry with the madman.

All the same, calling for writers to be magnetically visible personalities in the manner of popular musicians or art-world enfants terribles or even podcast provocateurs probably isn’t going to work. 

I would suggest less visibility altogether from writers. We don’t want to hear about your vomiting daughter or how smart and admirable your students are or whether you’re endorsing the moderate or the progressive Democrat in the primary or why you think Delta should refund you for the flight delay or whether you’d take a Snickers or a Kit-Kat to the desert island or whatever other vapid bullshit mainstream writers are always blathering about with their “colleagues” on Twitter and Instagram. 

My second recommendation would be for writers to make the scholarly connection work in their favor. Esoteric knowledge can be its own mystique; that’s why people thought James Joyce was cool, even though he wasn’t, and more recent novelists like Pynchon and Wallace have wittingly or unwittingly cultivated this air of the ascended master. But you never hear about contemporary novels being outrageous inventions or repositories of hidden wisdom anymore, just that they “tackle our times” or “movingly explore [social problem]” or something similarly discouraging. Surely this desire for strange wisdom accounts for the fact that readers of my own generation and after venerate philosophers and theorists over novelists and poets. “Theory is the new novel,” someone once said of the 1980s and ‘90s period. What’s the novel now?

[fific7]

There May Be Trouble Ahead - Part 1

John Whittaker x Reader

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s all lemon zest 🍋 because the world deserves more of the over-eager puppy that is the handsome Johnny Whittaker. And puppies need discipline.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral between consenting adults*. Some drinking.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(Not my GIF, credit to owner)

The tennis ball whizzed past your ear, missing it by a whisper. Several strands of hair were pulled from underneath your cloche hat by the force of the resulting breeze it created as it travelled past your head.

“Sorry!” you heard a male voice calling and looked round to see a tall, lean figure bounding towards you, tennis racquet in hand. “So very sorry! That was my absolutely pitiful serve.”

You tucked the errant strands of hair back under the brim of your hat, and bestowed a small frosty smile on him. “Are you being taught?”

A pair of sparkling dark eyes looked back at you, a confused look in them. He ran his fingers through his equally dark hair, pushing it back off his forehead where it had flopped during his gallop over to you.

“Tennis,” you clarified, “Are you being taught how to play?” “Ummm...no?” he replied, confusion still reigning on his face.

Smirking, you looked up at him and intoned in a serious voice, “Well, you should be. Because you’re atrocious at it.”

“Ha...yes... I do believe you have a point,” he said, an embarrassed look on his face. “Can you ever forgive me? Would a glass of champagne help to restore my standing with you, Miss.. er...?”

You gave him your name, before saying, “You didn’t have any standing with me before this incident so how can you restore it?” He gave you a big grin, “Another good point! How about I create a standing with you, then? I have a feeling we could become really good friends!”

He ignored your sceptical look and stuck his hand out towards you, “John Whittaker, very much at your service!” As you reached - out of politeness - to shake his hand, he grasped your hand and brought it to his lips instead, ghosting a kiss over your knuckles and gazing at you through his long lashes as he did so.

You felt the barest fluttering of butterflies in your stomach. This gentleman was going to problematic, you could tell.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Reaching the art gallery where you worked as a conservator, your thoughts wandered back to the young man you’d encountered earlier. He reminded you very much of an over-sized, over-enthusiastic puppy. But a very good-looking one. And well-presented too, despite his slightly dishevelled appearance following his tennis match.

You were still slightly surprised at yourself, having accepted his invitation to partake of some champagne at one of the large hotels in the area later that evening. Your usual type of chap was more bookish, less flighty than your new acquaintance seemed to be.

Oh well, variety is the spice of life.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

John Whittaker came hurtling down the staircase in his large and stately home, swinging himself right round the large carved pineapple at the bottom of the banister rail, landing on his feet with a thump right in front of his not so large and stately mother.

“John!” exclaimed Veronica in an annoyed voice, “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times…!” He landed a kiss on his mother’s cheek, “Sorry, mater - but it’s the only way I know how to come downstairs.” Planting an additional kiss on her other cheek, he continued, “I have a date in town, darling mama, so don’t wait up!” He headed for the imposing front door while his mother asked him hurriedly with whom he was meeting. He ignored her but his sister Marion, having heard the commotion and appearing suddenly from the sitting room, smugly supplied the answer.

“Some woman he met only this afternoon, Mama, I overheard him telling Hilda.”

“Traitor!” yelled John over his shoulder as the front door slammed behind him.

“That boy!” said his mother, “He will be the death of me!”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

John jumped athletically into his open-topped sports car and started it up. The girl he was meeting had really piqued his interest. She was beautiful but enigmatic.

He’d attempted to get some personal information from her after his tennis ball had nearly brained her as she’d been passing by, but apart from agreeing to meet him later at The Grand (which had put a huge smile on his face) she’d fobbed him off and hurried away. He didn’t think it would be seemly to chase after her.

He stopped at a junction and as he turned the car towards town, he sighed. He hadn’t had too much luck with the ladies so far in his life. What with the divorce from Larita - he shuddered at the thought, what a mistake that marriage had been! - and the train wreck of a relationship with Sarah… well.

He thought to himself that he was due a bit of luck in that area, surely?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You arrived ten minutes after the time you’d agreed to meet, not wishing to appear too keen. Well, you shouldn’t, should you?

Walking into the gilded elegance of The Grand, you felt slightly underdressed as you hadn’t had time to go home and change. But at least you didn’t smell of paint and white spirit, your afternoon having been spent reviewing canvases for restoration. Asking the concierge where the bar was situated, he pointed you in the general direction with a slightly disdainful look.

Smiling to yourself as you headed towards it, you wondered if he thought you were perhaps a working girl, so to speak, although how you were dressed could hardly be classed as being provocative in any way. You wore a plain white blouse and a mid-calf black pencil skirt with low heels and your trusty grey day coat, which was uplifted by its discreet darker grey faux fur collar.

Reaching the bar, you spotted your new acquaintance sitting at a table, dressed in smart dark beige trousers and a white shirt with a burnt orange V-neck jumper over it. A wine cooler was sitting in a stand next to his table, an uncorked bottle of champagne nestling in it. He was looking rather forlorn, and you realised he probably thought you’d stood him up.

“Hello again,” you said, seeing his face light up as you spoke. “Hello again!” he echoed, leaping up and rushing round the table to pull your chair out, asking at the same time if you wished to check your coat in. You smiled and shook your head, but you did remove it and place it over the back of your chair. If the evening disappointed, you wished to be able to make a speedy exit.

Settling yourself at the table as John pushed your chair in for you, you watched him wave off a hovering waiter and then reach for the bottle of champagne himself and expertly open it, with a fairly small ‘pop’ and no spillage. He filled two flutes, waiting for the drink to quieten down before topping them up and handing one to you. He finally sat back down, holding up his own glass and you clinked yours against his, as he said “Chin-chin!” with you repeating the toast.

He lounged back in his seat, smiling at you, “You look very businesslike. Businesslike… and beautiful.” You felt a blush rising in your cheeks although you willed it not to. “Thank you. I think,” you replied. “Oh it was definitely a compliment,” he grinned, “…I’ve been avidly thinking about you the whole afternoon.” You gave him an amused look, “Oh, really? And what thoughts were you thinking about me?”

He leant in towards you, dark eyes gazing into yours, “Ah. They were very specific thoughts. About how I want to learn everything there is to know about you.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

He was a silver-tongued charmer, you decided as you heard his answer. “What would you like to know?” “Everything.” You laughed, “I don’t think it’s possible to ever know everything about someone.” He looked pensive, “I think you’re very possibly correct.” “I’ll tell you something about me in return for the same information about you.” He laughed, “Perfect! That’s an admirable solution. You go first.”

So you both began with the basics, age (he was three years older than you), place of birth, education. You then informed him of what your chosen career was, and his eyes widened with interest. “Tell me more!” he said, “It sounds fascinating.” “You need to tell me what you do for a living first.” He looked embarrassed, picking up his glass and sipping from it. “I… umm.. don’t really do anything much.” Your eyebrows raised themselves, and he hurried on, “I look after our family estate. Trying to save it from sinking like the Titanic.”

“Oh,” you said, a little amazed, “I see.” He leant forward, “Has that put you off me?” he asked, anxiously. You smiled, “Not yet.”

“Well, thank the lord for that,” he exhaled, “I thought it might.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

John listened eagerly as she described her job, disagreeing with her when she said it wasn’t terribly interesting at all. He was still feeling relieved that she hadn’t run out of the room when he said he was the heir to a crumbling estate. She’d mentioned that she didn’t need to work, but she’d chosen to work. He thought that was astonishing and admirable.

He had a bright idea. He’d invite her for tea. Then he’d see what she really thought about him. And after the absolute car crash of the first meeting with Larita, this new lady friend of his would be seen by his family as a huge improvement.

He felt a slight sinking feeling in his stomach. He hadn’t yet mentioned that he was divorced. Oh. Well, no time like the present.

“I’m divorced,” he blurted out while she was still speaking to him about her work.

He watched her eyes widen and thought, “Damn! That’s blown it, for sure.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You stopped speaking as he made his admission of divorce, absolutely astounded. For some reason, you couldn’t imagine him as having been married, never mind divorced.

“Divorced?” you repeated, feeling like a parrot. He nodded, eyes wide and fearful. “That’s.. unexpected.” He nodded once more, “Dreadfully scandalous, I’m afraid. I met an American woman in the South of France and, well, we got married almost on the spot.”

He looked down, before meeting your eyes again, “That was a horrible, awful decision on my part. We should never have got married. Had a fling, maybe - then moved on. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He smiled sadly, “I hope I’m slightly less of a fool these days.”

You wondered what to do. Maybe you should just run screaming from the room. But you liked him, he seemed like a genuinely nice man. So instead you heard yourself saying, “I hope so too.”

He smiled, covering your hand with his, “Can I entice you to come to tea? See the old pile? Meet the family?”

“It seems very quick to be meeting your family… however I’ll say yes, John, you can.”

Silently you were praying you wouldn’t regret agreeing to this.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@paracosmenthusiast

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

[obx-adventures]

The Introverted Twin

Summary - Being John B’s bookish twin isn’t easy. Especially with my best friend, Pope, being weird about me getting closer with JJ.

Flashbacks in italics

Warning: Mild smut at the end 😁

Catch up here: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4

——

Chapter 5

When I get back to the Chateau, I run inside to find JJ. John B calls out for me but I ignore him. I’m on a mission and not even my brother can stop me. Once I determine JJ isn’t at my house, I jump back in the van and drive to the beach. I finally find him 30 minutes later sitting alone on a pier, lost in his own thoughts.

I give myself a pep talk and remember what Sarah told me. I walk over and sit beside him, nervously reaching out to take his hand.

“Hi JJ,” I start tentatively. “I’m sorry I ran from you earlier.”

“It’s ok, Y/N,” he mutters. It makes me anxious that he is using my real name. “It’s probably best that you left.”

“J, what’s wrong?” JJ’s eyes are red and tears are streaming down his face.

“John B and I got into it after you left. He called me out on some stuff and then told me to leave.”

“Was it about me?” I whisper, afraid that I’m the source of his pain.

He doesn’t answer but turns to look at me. I reach out to brush away his tears and he shudders at my touch. We get lost in each other’s eyes for a few minutes. His are filled with emotion but he looks so conflicted. I’m overcome with the desire to kiss him, but I can’t risk doing that until I know where he stands.

“JJ, you’ve known me for a long time,” I begin anxiously. “You know that I have a hard time expressing how I feel, especially when it’s something big. But it’s you so I’m going to take a leap of faith. Is that ok?”

“Sunshine, you can tell me anything.” JJ gently squeezes my hand to encourage me.

“I… umm, shit, ok… I… damnit, I don’t know why I can’t just say what I want to,” I exclaim, frustrated with myself.

“How about I go first? Give you some time to find the words?”

I can only nod in response, frozen in my own anxiety. He’s staring into my eyes and it’s the most intimate moment of my life. It feels like he’s boring into my soul and I’m worried he won’t like what he sees.

“I want you,” he confesses. “All of you. Your amazing brain, your beautiful heart, your gorgeous eyes. I want every part of you even though I know I shouldn’t. I know that you deserve so much more than I can give you. You are supposed to be the one to get out of here and I would be an anchor around your waist. I’ve been trying to push this down and let you go. But then you look at me like you are right now and it takes everything in me not to kiss you.”

His admission gives me the boost of confidence I need to act. Before I can think too much about it, I lean in and kiss him. His lips are salty from the ocean and his tears, but they are soft and gentle. Our lips move together slowly at first and I feel his hand reach up to cradle my cheek. His thumb brushes along my jaw while he runs his tongue along my lower lip. I open my mouth to give him access and he deepens the kiss as my hands reach up to run my fingers through his hair. When we break apart to catch our breath, I lean my forehead to his and sigh in contentment.

“JJ, I think I’m in love with you,” I whisper.

“But I’m not good enough for you, Sunshine,” he whines as he pulls back from me.

“I’m the only person who gets to decide who’s good enough for me. And you’re the person I want. You pull me out of shell and pay attention to the details of my life. You planned this amazing trip to the planetarium for us even though I haven’t talked about going in at least a year. You can tell when and why I get lost in my own head and help me come back to reality. You make me laugh more than anyone else. You have this vision of yourself as a fuck up who isn’t worthy of love. But that’s so wrong. You are so amazing.”

JJ stares at me in awe. I can see that he’s trying to process everything I just said so I give him a minute. Without warning, he stands up and drags me up with him. He continues holding my hand as he walks down the pier back to the beach. We walk in silence for a while and I begin to get anxious. Suddenly, he stops walking and moves to stand in front of me.

“Sunshine, John B basically banned me from dating you,” JJ tells me as he looks down to the sand.

“Wait, what?! That chauvinistic ass! He does not get to dictate my life.” John B has always tried to protect me but this is way out of bounds.

“Let me explain a little better... After you left the Chateau, I went inside to find out where you were going. John B said he wanted to talk to me.”

“Dude, what’s the deal with you and my sister?” John B can’t unsee the confused expression on Y/N’s face when he asked if something was going on between them.

“I like her, JB, a lot,” JJ admits. “But nothing has happened between us. Sometimes I think she likes me too but then she pulls back. I don’t know, man.”

“JJ, you can’t fuck around with Y/N,” John B knows JJ wouldn’t intentionally hurt his sister, but he also knows that JJ has never committed more than one night to a girl. “You know her, and you know how you are with girls. You can’t just mack on her and then disappear. That would kill her.”

“Bro, that is not what I want.” JJ run his hand through his hair, trying to contain his temper. He can’t believe his best friend thinks that he would do that. “She isn’t the type of girl that you just mack on.”

“What happens when it falls apart? You’re my best friend but it doesn’t mean I won’t beat your ass when you hurt her.”

“Why do you think I’m going to hurt her? I’m not stupid. I know how special she is.”

“Right, she has a chance to get out of here,” John B responds quickly. He has always known that his sister’s destiny is outside the Outer Banks. “She’s crazy smart but once she commits to something, she doesn’t let it go. I don’t want her to get stuck here.”

“I don’t want to hold her back! I want more for her than this bullshit, scrimping and scraping all the time to make ends meet.”

“But she’ll stay” John B explains. “For you, she’ll stay, and she’ll never do all the shit she wants to.”

“I could go with her,” JJ pleads, unsure if he’s trying to convince his best friend or himself. “I could be part of that life.”

“JJ come on. You and I, we’re lifers here. You can’t drag her down to our level. Go think about it before you do anything stupid. I need to try to find my sister.”

I am shocked at my brother’s behavior. Shocked that he would say such hurtful things to his best friend. He knows the verbal abuse that JJ gets from his father. Why the hell would he add fuel to that fire?

“JJ, listen to me,” I tell him as I gently grab his cheeks. “Do you want to be with me? And I don’t want you to think about the reasons why you think you shouldn’t. Just a yes or no.”

“Yes, of course I do,” JJ replies earnestly. “But –”

“No buts, JJ. If you want to be with me and I want to be with you, that’s enough. The rest of the shit will get figured out.”

“What about JB and Pope?”

“I’ll deal with them. John B was right about one thing, though. Once I’m in, I’m all in. Before I fully commit, I need to know that you aren’t going to bail. Are you in this for real?”

JJ pulls me in for a passionate kiss. He’s holding my face gently with both hands and claiming me as his own. He tilts my face slightly to gain deeper access as he slowly slides one hand down to my neck and the other down to my lower back to pull me closer. With my whole body pressed against his and his tongue exploring my mouth, every part of me feels like it’s on fire. I place my hands against his chest and roam over his rippling muscles, trying to memorize every dip and curve. He slowly pulls back and returns both of his hands to my face.

“I am in, 100%. Let’s go back to my place to figure all of this out. My dad is out on a fishing trip so we don’t need to worry about him.”

“JJ, we can go to the Chateau,” I tell him, thinking he’s anxious about seeing my brother again. “I told you I’ll deal with John B.”

“Sunshine, can we just have some time together before we bring our whole world into this?” The idea of alone time with JJ sends a shiver through my body. It feels like we are in our own delicate bubble and I realize that I’m not ready for that bubble to pop yet either.

I nod at him and he pulls me along to the van. I don’t want to leave John B stranded at home, so he follows behind me on his bike back to the Chateau. I hastily write a note telling my brother that I’m ok and I’ll be back in the morning. I leave the keys and note on the driver’s seat and run over to JJ. I’m a little nervous about riding on his bike but don’t hesitate to climb on behind him and wrap my arms around his torso.

When we get to his house, JJ leads me by the hand to his room. Even though he knows his father isn’t home, he locks his bedroom door as a precaution. I haven’t been in JJ’s room since we were kids and I take a moment to explore the one space in the world that is completely his own.

I’m surprised to find so much of his personality in the room since he spends so much time at my house. He has a wall completely dedicated to the Pogues, covered in pictures and mementos of all of our adventures. I stop exploring when I see a piece of art that I don’t recognize. It’s a pencil drawing of me hunched over studying. I’m in profile, so he must have been sitting on the couch while I was studying at the table. My hair is thrown up into a messy bun, held in place by two pens. I’m wearing one of my dad’s old sweatshirts and have a pencil resting on my temple while I chew on my bottom lip.

“I didn’t know that you draw,” I say quietly as I continue to take in all the details of the picture.

“Only when I’m inspired. You were studying for the SATs the first time you took them. I think you sat in that position for 6 hours. I’m pretty sure you didn’t even know I was there. You were so focused and intent, I couldn’t help watching you and sketching. That was when I realized I have feelings for you.”

I turn to JJ and study his face. He looks vulnerable, something I’m not used to with him. I walk over and pull him into another kiss. This kiss feels different than the others we’ve shared today. JJ slowly walks me backwards until my legs bump into his bed. He guides me down to the pillow and settles next to me with one arm tucked under my neck. I turn so I can look at him and our noses are inches apart.

“You are so damn beautiful,” he whispers as his hand slowly glides down my cheek to feel along my neck. He traces his fingers along the exposed skin on my chest and I rest my hand on his waist, feeling his muscles contract as he breath shallowly. I move my hand slightly to get under his shirt and touch his soft skin. I smile when I feel goosebumps form. He follows my lead and trails his hand down my side, and I can’t help the small gasp that escapes as he brushes along the side of my breast. His hand continues down to the hem of my shirt and I sigh when his warm fingers touch my bare skin.

I lean towards his face and press delicate kisses along his cheek bones and down his jawline. I’ve never kissed someone like this, so I rely on instinct and JJ’s reactions as a guide. My mouth travels down to his neck and I slowly work my way up behind his ear. I lick along his ear lobe and he hums in response. I nibble gently along his ear and feel his hand tighten on my waist. I give him deep kisses down the side of his neck and then leave feather light kisses as I move back up to meet his mouth.

When our mouths connect, it’s like an explosion. His tongue slowly runs along my lower lip and then he catches it with his teeth. I moan as he tugs my lip slightly and I move my hand up his back. He swipes his tongue into my mouth and kisses me hungrily. I dig my fingers into his back, and he smiles against my mouth. He kisses along my cheek and then moves to the spot behind my ear. I shiver at the contact and scrape my nails down his back. He pulls me closer to him as his hand roams up my side, under my shirt. He hesitates before touching my breasts until I nod in consent. He then firmly cups my breast in his large hands and trails his finger under the top of my bra to brush against my nipple.

I throw my leg over his hip and use the momentum to flip him on his back with me straddling his lap. His hands automatically rest on my waist and his eyes are filled with lust. I grab the bottom hem of my shirt and pull it off in one smooth motion. I watch JJ take in my lace bra as his hands roam up to touch me. I lean forward and meet his mouth again as his hands explore my body. I feel his erection under my core, and I rock slightly against him, eliciting a moan.

He rolls us over and trails kisses down my neck and makes his way to my breast. He sucks my skin on the top of breast while his fingers tease my other nipple through the lace. I groan and arch my back to give him more access. He roughly pulls down the lace to swirl his tongue around my nipple while he continues to the tease the other. I drag my fingernails up the bare skin on his sides and feel him shiver. I move my hand along his waist band and hook my fingers into the top of his shorts to pull him closer.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he says as he pulls away.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask timidly.

“Fuck no, Sunshine... we just need to call timeout.” I’ve never heard JJ sound so unsteady.

“You don’t want to keep going?” I can’t hide the insecurity in my voice.

“No, I definitely do.” He rubs my cheek tenderly with his thumb. “But I don’t want to rush into this. I want this to be different. I want your first time, our first time, to be special.”

“JJ, everything I do with you is already special,” I insist as I cup his face. “It’s not the circumstances that make something special, it’s the person that you do it with.”

“I know, I just want to do this right, is that ok?” I can tell from his voice and the way he’s looking at me that he’s as new to this as I am. He may not be a virgin, but this is still a totally novel situation for him.

“Of course, J” I cuddle into him and enjoy the feeling of his strong arms around me.

��Can I take you on a date tomorrow, Sunshine?” He traces his fingers over my still exposed skin while he awaits my answer.

“I would love that, J. I just need to go home first for a bit.”

“You going to talk to John B?”

“Yes, my brother and I will be having a firm conversation about his role in my life.”

“I don’t want to get between - ” I stop JJ with a kiss.

“Stop, don’t worry about me and John B,” I insist. “We’ll be fine. And you two will be fine.”

“What about Pope?”

“I’m not sure... The last thing I want to do is hurt him even more. He’s my best friend but I can’t make myself feel something that isn’t there.”

“He’s one of my best friends, too.” I hear the guilt in his voice. “But Pope is a good guy, he would want us to be happy, right?”

“I hope so. I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow too.”

We spend the rest of the evening talking and cuddling. I feel safe in JJ’s arms and fall asleep listening to his steady heartbeat as he combs through my hair with his nimble fingers.

Ch 6

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