#✍️✍️✍️ I'm listening

[encrucijada]

person writing guy whose thing is Music and whose mum is literally a rock artist from the 80s realises they have to actually research 80s rock/music in general (not just 80s, in General, i'm supposed to know how guitars and singing works and also probably what it's like for this to be Your Job)

[whimsicalcotton]

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[xalygatorx]

Someone Like You | Human!Alastor x Assistant!Reader

Written for the VoxTek Server Winter Event 2024 hosted by @redfoxwritesstuff & @redvexillum of @voxtekinc xx

AO3 ✍️ | Ko-Fi ☕

Prompt: "Christmas Party"

Summary: Being Alastor Garland's assistant has never been an easy feat, but you reach the end of your rope at the station's annual Christmas party when one of his snide comments hits a little too hard.

Warnings: Angst to hurt to comfort that rounds back into steamy fluff, We're rockin' around the Emotions Tree 🎶, Implied period-typical racism (it's the 1920s), Reader has an established crush on Alastor despite him presenting as a certified dickhead, Alastor likes you too but he doesn't handle it well up to this point, Confused graysexual screaming, Reader's grandmother has passed away, Reader is female and in her early 20's (Alastor is almost 30 in this one), There's no smut here even if it seems like there might be during the steamy fluff scene I'm telling you that right now

A/N: Whatever you do or don't celebrate, I hope you have the coziest, kindest winter season ahead of you. Take care of yourselves. x

And be sure to check out all the other festive, lovely stories from everyone who contributed to this event!

The entire house smelt deliciously of warm, spiced cider. Molten notes of fresh baked apples, butter, and a pinch each of salt and cinnamon rolled over your tongue with every inhale, accompanied by a bloom of heat when you opened the oven to retrieve the cake you'd been painstakingly crafting all day ahead of tonight's party.

Memories of your grandmother were easy to come by in her own home—a home that had been passed down to you specifically as an escape from the house you'd grown up in. The differences between a house and a home were plenty and those had all been differences you'd learned in your travels between the two—one, a house where you'd lived with your mother and father and three younger siblings, and the other, the home your grandparents had cultivated over decades and decades of firefly summers and holidays within the often mild winters New Orleans had on offer.

A home your grandmother had taken fully into her care after your grandfather had passed almost ten years ago. A place that, despite your family house never being cold or violent or somewhere you felt unwelcome, had always felt like home.

And then it had become your home the day you turned 18. Against your family's wishes—primarily ones born of concern—you'd struck out on your own, eager to take over the care of the home your grandmother had left you, that she had entrusted to you. It was your turn to bring life to it now.

When you closed your eyes, time travel was a simple task. You let the heat wafting from the open oven warm you to your bones, let the scents of the cake your grandmother had made every Christmas Eve fill your senses entirely until everything was simply cake. When you opened your eyes to slip on the mitts and pull the cake from the oven, the scrape of the pans against the rack filled your ears and, if you listened, you could hear the ghosts of holidays past along the edges of those metallic keens—your brother laughing at the expense of you or one of your sisters, your mother fretting over anything and everything, and your father's silence as he watched it all unfold.

As the pans left the rack and the scraping sounds ceased, you were left with silence again. Fragrant, nostalgic, but very silent silence. A sigh eased from your chest as you set the pan down to cool and busied yourself with locating the festive bit of china your grandmother had always used for this very cake.

You just hoped you'd done it justice—you hadn't had a reason to bake it before and your maiden voyage into your grandmother's old cookbook (a still relatively pristine copy of Woman's Exchange Cook Book) had come about due to your first office Christmas party.

Well, the first one you had any interest in attending.

Your jobs for the first few years of living in New Orleans had varied—diners, coffeeshops, a bakery, two speakeasies, and a tailor—but none of them had offered much in the way of holiday parties. The diner and bakery had tried, bless their hearts, but it had always been more of a social gathering among friends orchestrated by the waitstaff. The speakeasies had been fun, but when every night was a party, holidays were even more so and they often got too rowdy for your temperament (particularly the one year the boys and blue had attended as uninvited guests and you'd had to run out the back with the bartender and his girlfriend).

Whatever the station had planned would surely be much more in the realm of a planned, prim office party. A scene you were new to. Second only to how new you were to the station itself.

You'd spent six months so far employed there, which was five months and twenty-nine days longer than anyone had expected you to be. There had been a betting pool. There likely still was one, just kept better under wraps after you'd discovered the first. You'd been swiftly assured that the pool wasn't aimed at your work ethic, but rather at the pure hell your "boss" seemed gleeful to put you through on a daily basis.

Alastor Garland wasn't technically your boss. He was the current dashing darling of the radio world, a local celebrity gradually going national as the show's popularity spread, and the man you were meant to assist, but he wasn't your boss. You were sure he would've fired you by now if that had been the case. Or rather, you would've never been hired to begin with.

Again, not necessarily because of you—although that was becoming harder to believe as time wore on and his jabs got more personal—but because Alastor was stalwart in his insistence that he did not need an assistant. He took offense to your very existence so long as it was under the title of being his assistant. And he couldn't take it out on your boss, the owner of the very station you were soon to leave for that night, so he took it out on you.

Impossibly timed errands. Last-minute coffee orders you knew were only requested to get you out of his hair for a bit. His overcoat dropped just shy of the rack so you had to juggle everything you were already toting into the recording studio for him just to get it up on the proper hook. Snide remarks whenever you messed up a cue or made his coffee "wrong" or took too long to notice whatever mess he'd made with the expectation that you'd clean it up.

He was rude. He was positively childish at times. He was sarcastic and mocking and generally unpleasant to work for.

And you liked him.

Your nose wrinkled at the thought alone as you sifted powdered sugar down onto the cake you'd just upended onto the festive Christmas china, the descending granules mirroring the rare Louisiana snowfall outside.

You were pretty sure your mother was ultimately to blame for this debacle, traced all the way back to your childhood. All the times you'd come home complaining that some boy had pushed you down in the schoolyard and she would simply check you over for anything past a scrape or a bruise and inform you, "He's probably just got a li'l crush on you, honey. Boys don't like to be honest about that kinda stuff, so they'll just pick on ya instead."

And then there was her relationship with your father, a gruff and perpetually pokerfaced man who wore his emotional reserve like a badge of honor. You honestly couldn't remember a single instance in which he'd told you he loved you growing up, but you also couldn't remember ever hearing him say it to her or his other children either. You were pretty sure he did though. You'd just always gotten the impression that he didn't know how to say it.

Well, if Alastor was one of those "boys in the schoolyard," he must've really liked you. The thought alone made you scoff because you knew that wouldn't be the case in a million years. Funny enough, he was also the exact opposite of your father while sometimes seeming the exact same. Alastor was emotive, theatrical in how little he seemed to hide, but he was just as pokerfaced as your father, you'd found. He just did it through showmanship and a smile.

You settled the cover to the china plate over the cake you'd finished garnishing, hoping it would be enough to keep it warm through the cold walk to the station. Stepping back, you went upstairs to finish getting ready, coming back down in a red velvet cocktail dress you'd spent three weeks' worth of accumulated pocket money on after hearing the receptionists discussing their own party budgets and worrying you'd look out of place.

You felt like a pretender or at least like someone trying to dress up like something they weren't, but there wasn't any time or spare change to go back on it now. So you bundled up in your coat and scarf, slipped on your heels, and plucked your freshly baked offering from the counter.

You triple-checked that the oven was off before taking a deep breath and working through the two additional deadbolts you'd added to the old front door after listening to one too many of Alastor's broadcasts about the recent murders around the Big Easy. And then finally, you left to start your trek through the snowy evening.

The snow provided a unique layer of soundproofing the city couldn't usually be afforded, particularly during its vibrant, sleepless nights. Contrary to the expectation that colder weather and snow might discourage New Orleans' nightlife scene, either the novelty of the chill or the holiday had even more folks out than usual. Couples rubbing noses under streetlights, parents and their children armed with sleds despite the hour, gaggles of teens pelting each other with snowballs while their laughter bounced off the seasonably decorated buildings lining the streets.

It helped to quell the somber feeling your silent home had left with you before departing—nice as that quiet often was, the holidays had a way of making even the most comfortable silence feel pointed.

Swiftly enough—and after only once nearly slipping and sacrificing your cake to the frosty pavement—you made it to the station and let yourself in the side alley door. Upon entering, you were immediately greeted with the murmur of conversation, the clanking of plates and platters being set up on an emerald green-clothed serving table, and a vinyl crooning from somewhere further in.

"Oh, hi, sweetie!"

Instinctively, you turned toward the voice and smiled when your eyes landed on Rosie—your boss's fashion-forward, easily delighted wife, who had all but made him hire you on the spot when she just happened to be in the station the day you came in to inquire about a job. She reminded you a lot of your grandmother had your grandmother been more boisterous and open with her thoughts.

She was wonderful. And it was always a relief and a joy to run into her.

"Hi, Rosie," you said back, smiling as she relieved you of your dish and then swept you into a hug. "It's so good to see you!"

"And it's lovely as ever to see you, too, dear," Rosie said, throwing you a wink as she uncovered your cake and set the steam-lined cloche aside with care. "I knew ya'd stick it out here. I'm very proud of ya. I'm sure Alastor hasn't made it easy for you."

You just smiled a little tighter, comically widening your eyes the next time she looked at you, which made her laugh conspiratorially.

"Don't take it personally, dear, he's… He's a character," she said, not for the first time. "There's a reason he's made it to where he is and it's not by mincin' words." Whipping around to focus on your dessert, she asked, "Now, anyway, what do we have here? It smells divine!"

Your chest puffed a bit with pride. "That would be my grandma's favored recipe for apple cider cake," you told her, your smile widening when she gave a happy clap of her hands. "She made it for us every Christmas Eve when I was growing up."

"Well then how wonderful of you to share it with us, doll! I can't wait to try some," Rosie said as she turned to face you again. Her eyes darted over your head briefly before she tsked through her teeth. "Just don't even mind him tonight, okay, sweetie? He's been in a foul mood all week, as I'm sure you've caught onto."

Ah, you'd thought you'd felt eyes on you.

You were almost afraid to turn around, but you knew that it'd probably been obvious even from afar that Rosie had noticed him and then commented to you on his presence. So it might give him some degree of satisfaction or sense of victory if you didn't turn around now.

Couldn't have that. And you wouldn't admit it, but you weren't exactly rueful of having a reason to look even while your nerves ate away at your insides.

Pulling the proverbial bandage, you glanced over your shoulder and it took only a few seconds for your eyes to land on your target. He was dressed to the nines like everyone else in the station tonight, looking immaculate in a dark suit with merlot accents and shiny silver cufflinks. He was clean-shaven—something he'd uncharacteristically not been all week—and his hair had been hot-ironed straight in a stylish fluffy flop that was almost as signature to his look as his smile. His round wireframes had descended a bit down the bridge of his nose, but he righted them now with the precise press of a fingertip.

Behind the lenses, his honey-hued eyes were already locked on you.

You tried to channel your dad's immaculate pokerface, but there was only so much you could do when those eyes evoked in you the strangest mix of intrigue and genuine unease. When your eyes met, you felt yourself freeze—prey in a predator's trap as your heartbeat drummed ever faster against your ribs.

You swallowed harder than you meant to and you knew he saw it by the way the polite smile he'd turned toward the men he was currently rubbing elbows with—sponsors most likely, you didn't recognize them at a peripheral glance—slowly curled into a sneer.

So much for keeping him from a bit of undue satisfaction for cowing you before you'd even uttered a word his way this evening. Your jaw tightened and you turned away to roll your eyes, melting a little when you spotted one of the receptionists—the station owner's niece, Charlie—enthusiastically waving you over.

It's not just him here, you reminded yourself as you smiled back at the excitable blond belle and made your way over to join her. And you're off the clock. He's just a man.

Just a man you wished you could write off as truly just a man.

The cider cake you'd baked was annihilated within the first hour and it was compliments abound from everyone who'd had a slice. Rosie had been sure to let everyone know that you were the one to thank for it.

You really weren't sure what you'd done to endear yourself to her so much, but you were endlessly glad for it.

More party attendees had shown, however, and there was room to be made on the buffet. You excused yourself from Charlie's company—along with her friend, Anthony, and her "friend," Maggie—to squirrel away your empty baking dish and help clear the way for more warm, tasty homemade creations to have their spotlight moment debut on the table.

You'd settled the cloche on the crumb-dusted plate and then turned, taken approximately four steps from the table, and then a passing gentleman—who'd had a bit too much from a poorly obscured flask in his jacket pocket, nevermind the hot punch and roasted chestnuts from the actual spread—walked right through you and jostled the china from your hands.

It shattered on the floor and deadened all conversation in the room. Your hands had gone to your mouth after fumbling the dish and failing to right yourself and you felt tears stinging your eyes as you stared down at your grandmother's beloved baking set in ruins.

What had you been thinking, using that to bring your cake here tonight? How hadn't you foreseen something like this happening? If not now, from your hands, then from some other folk rearranging the table offerings or even before the party had started, when your heels had nearly slid out from under you on the walk outside?

You'd broken it. By unearthing it from your grandmother's home—your silent, silent home—you'd put it in the path of being destroyed. And now there was no replacing it because it wasn't the dish that was broken, it was every memory you'd tied to that fragile bit of china.

Utterly careless. When you thought such things of yourself, suddenly your inner voice started to sound like your mother and you felt like a child in their house—not your home, their house—all over again.

And if the mistake itself weren't enough, you were suddenly pointedly reminded of who was in attendance tonight.

"Dear, I really must ask that you reserve your skillset of being completely useless for working hours," Alastor remarked through a mostly stifled chuckle, earning heartier laughter from the men surrounding him who'd hardly given you a glance before you'd made a fool of yourself. "It's Christmas, after all, take a bit of time off."

"Alastor," Rosie admonished him as she bustled over to you and the wreckage at your feet, hands waving fretfully as she deliberated how best to help. "Sweetie, are you—"

"I'm fine," you said, quick and hard, before trying to school your expression and agitatedly swiping a wayward tear from your eye. You'd probably smeared your mascara in the process with your luck tonight. Shaking your head, you said again, "I'm fine. Don't trouble yourself, Rosie."

Rosie frowned, watching you stoop down and start to collect the pieces by hand. "It's no trouble, let me just—"

"I can manage," you said, still feeling Alastor's eyes on you and ignoring him with all your might as you collected the chunks of china from the floor and stacked them into something you could tote back home. Perhaps even fix. It wouldn't be usable again, surely, but at least you'd have it, you supposed.

Maybe if you put it back in the display case and pretended that you'd never broken it—truly the child version of yourself all over again, weren't you—you'd get away with it. But you only had yourself to fool now and there was no feasible way to do that.

It was in that precise moment that you realized finally what had you pining for your "house" over your "home" this time of year every year—you were lonely.

In your revelation and your determined state of clearing the floor of china shards, you'd missed the way Alastor's expression had shifted. His eyes never did, no—unfortunately for him, they rarely did with you.

If he was honest with himself, he'd regretted his comments as soon as he'd noticed the constituents around him laughing, too. It was different when it was just him and you in the studio or perhaps with one or two of your colleagues around to play the audience. Your coworkers knew you—they knew no matter how much grief he gave you that it wasn't anything you did. They knew you well enough to know that you were capable and patient and far better than you had any right to be at a job you'd all but fallen into.

These fools flanking him with dollar signs in their eyes and targets on their backs only he could see (for now) didn't know you. Even if they did, they wouldn't have respected you. So they turned to regard you and saw a silly little woman who'd dropped a dish and looked ready to cry over it and laughed.

Alastor had called you "useless" but he'd been thoughtless. And now you were hurrying so much through the cleanup stage of fixing what you'd broken that you nicked yourself on a sharp edge of china, ignored it, and toted it all away and out of the room while avoiding everyone's eyes.

And Alastor felt guilty. Because, unbelievable as it might be to you or to anyone who'd ever seen you two interact, he had a great deal of respect for you. It infuriated him how true that was because he didn't want it to be the case.

Because it wasn't just respect. He liked you.

And that—given your backgrounds, your age, his other career, and several other aspects of his self that he'd yet to fully understand in correlation to society's expectations—was something he'd found himself unable to tolerate the thought of. It was easier to try to find reasons to dislike you all while making you dislike him in the process.

"Mr. Garland, that was absolutely out of order," his boss's wife, Rosie, approached him to murmur, looking more distressed than angry. "I'm surprised at you! You're usually such a sweet boy—a little sarcastic, sure, but it's a good weapon to have at the ready. What's gotten into ya?"

"Nothing, ma'am," Alastor said, his smile snarling slightly as he heard the faint tone of petulance in his own voice. "Simply a joke that landed wrong. Nothing more."

"You owe her an apology, Alastor," Rosie declared, fixing him with a serious stare. "I mean it. The poor little thing's very shaken up, I don't know if I've ever seen her like this."

Despite all his teasing, poking, and prodding these past six months, Alastor had to admit he hadn't ever seen you like this either. You usually either rolled your eyes—as you'd done earlier, he'd not missed it even though you'd tried to turn away before reacting—had a remark to toss back his way, or just snickered a little, yourself, depending on what he was griping about.

He'd never seen you cry or just clam up and shrink in on yourself. He'd be hard-pressed to ever want to see it again.

As Rosie bustled away to tidy a few decorations that had gone askew throughout the night, Alastor sighed through his nose.

"Bit of a nag, that one," one of the sponsors remarked once she left, making Alastor bristle beneath his suit jacket. But it was via that comment and the way the other graying, self-important men around him began piling on amongst themselves that Alastor found an easy enough way to excuse himself.

Because, unfortunately once again, Rosie was correct. He owed you an apology.

And, damn it all, despite the purpose of his seeking you out, he found himself secretly pleased to be doing so.

After leaving behind the stuffy, string-lit room being used for munching and mingling, Alastor put his hunting skills to the test. A minor test, to be sure, but it gave him an excuse to stretch his legs and busy his mind. He already felt sluggish from the sheer boredom of being beholden to small talk with whoever presented themselves tonight.

At least, with you, he was never bored. It was often a thing attained at your expense, but he could admit—so quietly perhaps the universe would miss it—that even when it wasn't at your expense, you were far from boring to him.

Pretty little darling like you, inheriting your family's old ornate farmhouse and moving yourself out here by your lonesome despite your age (sure, you were in your 20's now, but he'd heard you tell Charlie once that you were 18 when you'd moved here) and despite not having a job or a betrothal lined up?

Whip-smart, progressive, sassy when sufficiently pestered, and still sweet and domestic when it came to the home. Why, you were fascinating.

You were also sitting on the back steps out to the alleyway, he found—it'd taken a bit of a search, but the station wasn't big and there were only so many places to get away from other guests tonight without outright leaving. And he didn't think you'd leave after that, at least not without telling Rosie or someone else you deemed a friend.

That traitorous ache near his heart felt morose at the notion that he would not be someone you'd think to tell you were leaving tonight. But when would he have earned it?

You'd snatched a small first-aid kit from the supply closet adjacent to the back door of the station before making your way out with your coat and the pieces of your grandmother's broken plate and cloche bundled up in your scarf beside you. You'd pulled out a cigarette case from a pocket on the inside lining of your coat, snapped it open, and placed one between your lips, sighing when the shallow cut on your hand smeared a little blood on the end.

You'd abandoned looking for your lighter for just a moment while you fumbled the kit open and cleaned your finger—you were bandaging it when Alastor found you. He lingered in the open doorway, watching you for a moment before announcing himself with a lamely spoken, "I'm afraid you might need to light that to get the full effect."

Why couldn't he just talk to you without talking down to you? You were both wondering that now.

You resumed your search in your coat pockets for your lighter and sarcastically mumbled around the cigarette, "Knew I was forgetting something."

You were playing nice, but there was a hard edge to your voice that spoke volumes more than your words. One of those volumes was an unspoken suggestion for him to go back to the party.

Alastor had never been one to follow instructions well. Particularly the ones left up to his interpretation. So instead of heeding your fair warning, he sighed through his nose and lowered himself to the step to sit beside you. Once he was settled, he rummaged through his own pockets and located his lighter, which he flicked to life and held to the end of your smoke.

You eyed him suspiciously, wondering if a wick could be poisoned and if that poison could be sustained through a flame to an unsuspecting host. Then again, after tonight, perhaps that would be him doing you a favor. You murmured your thanks as he stowed the lighter away again, hesitating before offering him your cigarette case by way of reciprocation.

He waved away your offer. "Kind of you, but I'm afraid that would put me back in your debt," he said, running his long fingers through his fringe as he glanced around the alleyway to avoid your eyes.

Your eyes narrowed, but you blinked them a little wider when a wayward snowflake landed on your lashes. He saw it in his peripheral and thought it was rather cute.

"So lighting my gasper is your definition of evening the score for tonight?" you wondered, tone flat and fatigued.

Alastor had a snappy comeback already on the tip of his tongue, but he held back. Even he knew when it wasn't the time and this was the opposite of "the time."

"No," he said, just the faintest edges of amusement at what he might've said lingering in his Transatlantic accent. If you hadn't known him better, you might've thought he looked sheepish. "I thought an apology would better suit that."

"An apology?" you half-laughed, sucking on your cigarette before noting, "Alastor Garland doesn't do apologies."

Alastor smirked down at his dress shoes, shiny on the dull stone steps you two were seated on. Snow had delicately dusted his hair in just the short time he was outside with you and he looked even dreamier than usual somehow. Ethereal.

You were supposed to be upset with him, remember? You were upset with him. It turned out that being upset with someone didn't always make them less beautiful.

"Not insincere ones," he allowed and, just when you thought that was his exit from the conversation and from whoever had guilt-tripped him or threatened his livelihood to get him to come out here and speak to you, he followed up with, "I'm sorry, darling."

It wasn't the first time he'd "darling"-ed you. If Alastor was anything, he was consistent, and he was always in supply of dears, darlings, and the occasional sweetheart for any lady he found tolerable, which was most of them. Certainly all the ladies that worked at the station. The only exception had been Susan, the receptionist whose spot Charlie had eventually taken, who he'd called an "ornery old bitch" in one particular dust-up you'd unfortunately missed but that still lived and circulated like lore within the station to this day.

All that aside, this "darling" felt a little different. Softer. Why?

Wary of the feelings this was stirring, particularly in your vulnerable emotional state, you murmured a simple, "It's fine," and left it at that.

Alastor wasn't having it though.

"It isn't," he disagreed. "Not really. Don't be so quick to let me off the hook, cher."

Alright, now that one was new. He had your attention—what was his game?

You turned to face him and felt the furrow in your brow deepen alongside your confusion. "…Pardon?" you asked, flabbergasted.

The smile he wore was almost boyish. He tilted his head as he studied you, briefly removing his glasses and cleaning the melted snow away from the lenses before putting them back on. Despite his efforts, they kept either smudging from the snow or fogging up with the heat from his skin.

"I was a complete ass to you back there," Alastor said and you blinked owlishly at hearing him swear. It had no right to be as attractive as it was.

Bewildered, you forgot to check yourself as you mumbled, "…You're always an ass to me."

A bit of shock froze his expression before he burst into laughter beside you, his mirthful cackling bouncing off the alley walls. Your arms brushed, something you understood to be a cardinal sin when it came to him (so much so that it'd been included in your primer when you'd taken on the job of being his assistant), but he leaned into the contact as he fought for composure.

When he finally had a handle on himself again, he grinned down at your chagrin-flushed face and nodded once with satisfaction.

"There you are," he declared as if seeing you for the first time tonight. As if you were comrades-in-arms rather than a famous radio host and the assistant he abhorred. "And you're right. I am. And I shan't be proud of it any longer! I feel positively dreadful after tonight."

"Why did tonight make any difference?" you asked, genuinely wondering.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because those charlatans Franklin's so keen on me impressing don't know their own mouthes from holes in the wall," he remarked after briefly glancing back at the door to ensure you were still alone.

Alastor looked back down at you as he said, "They certainly don't seem to comprehend that a woman's worth just as much as a man."

Your brow pinched. "Few do," you murmured, the simple statement as much of a slight to society as it was an acknowledgment of him being above that. If there was one thing you'd always noted about his jabs, it was that they never came from a place of demeaning what you were. What you did was another story.

"Indeed," Alastor said. "And my mother raised me better than that. I may have had my usual fun needling you at first, but they didn't take it as such—I don't like feeling as though I added to their backwards ways of thinking." His thin smile wavered. "And… Well, I've never seen you upset about something I've said. Have you just been adept at hiding it?"

You'd tended to your cigarette while he spoke and, halfway through the stick, ashed it out on the step and replaced it tidily in your case.

As you worked, you said, "No. I'm… The holidays are tough."

The admission felt strange to say aloud, much stranger to say aloud to Alastor.

"And things wear a person down over time. So perhaps it was that, perhaps it was all this," you gestured vaguely to the electric light strings and garlands lining the building, "and it was also that the dish I broke was my grandma's. It was all of it."

"It was an accident, no? I'm sure she won't be upset," he suggested, keen enough to lift your spirits somewhat that he'd forgotten the tidbit about you he knew regarding your inherited home.

"I know she won't be, she's been dead for years," you quipped, watching the fog of your breath bend and then fade in the night air. Sniffling a bit from the cold, you murmured, "Sorry, that was uncalled for. And not as funny as it was in my head."

Alastor chuckled. "No need to apologize, dear. It was morbidly funny, but I couldn't speak for having my entire foot in my mouth," he bantered back, mollified when he saw the corner of your mouth curl upward just the tiniest bit. "Still. You needn't be so hard on yourself. It's… Well, it's a dish."

"I know," you murmured, glancing down at your bundled scarf with the china remnants inside. "Straw that broke the camel's back, I suppose."

"I'm afraid I missed out on your little cider cake creation," Alastor said. "The entire thing was gone before I blinked."

A tiny swell of pride lanced through your hollow chest. "You're not one for sweets," you pointed out. "I don't know that you would've liked it much."

"Hardly the point," he said.

You glanced back at him. "Then what is the point, Alastor?"

He shrugged, suddenly boyish again at just his name on your lips. "That you went to all the trouble of making it," he replied. He cleared his throat a little and said, "And it looked rather good."

Was he flirting with you? Or just buttering you up to get through the rest of the party only to start back from Square One come Monday?

"It does go well with a black coffee," you allowed, resting your chin on your hand and studying him, looking for answers he wasn't openly giving yet.

"A-ha!" Alastor huffed, giving a theatrical sigh as he said, "I knew there was something for me there. Alas, now I'll never know."

"Bit dramatic," you murmured. "It's a Christmas Eve tradition. There's always next year."

Carefully, he asked, "You think you might still be at the station then?"

"Do you intend to fire me?" you asked rather than answer.

Something about that struck him as funny, but he didn't elaborate. "Couldn't even if I wanted to, cher," he informed you. "Even if I could, no. I wouldn't."

Finally, you asked the question that'd been nagging at you from your very first day on the job. A question that was made even more imperative by your exchange tonight. If anything, his explanations had muddied already-muddy waters and you needed some clarity if this was to continue.

"Then why are you so mean to me, Alastor?" you finally asked. Before he could take the easy way out, you added, "Not right now, obviously. But up until now. Why? Do you hate me or something? And why are you being nice to me now?"

His smile had grown threadbare, but it clung on for dear life. "Any other questions before I get a word in edgewise?" he snarked.

"No, that's all. Go ahead," you snarked back in kind.

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes before he turned away, staring at the opposite wall as he answered. "Because I desire to ruin our working relationship, dear," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "And not in the way you might think. Not in the way I'd prefer."

"What on earth does that mean?" you asked, already exasperated.

"Let me finish," he murmured, tapping the tip of your frozen nose with his index finger. You sat in silence as he took stock of his words and then started up again with renewed purpose. "I don't want to like you. You're young, occasionally quite bratty perhaps due to your age, and you waltzed into a job you are objectively not qualified for.

"You are also learning it at pace when I've given you no room to slow down. You've handled yourself with grace in every crisis I've seen you endure and you've shown compassion for others even when stretched to your limit. Myself included. All without sacrificing your own well-being in the process. It's a difficult balancing act that you do strikingly well."

What was happening?

Alastor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and adjusting his glasses back into place as he continued. "You are clever, persistent, hardworking, and kind," he listed off, making eye contact with you again as he emphatically added, "and not useless."

"I don't understand," you admitted, an unspoken apology in your tone for what you saw as perhaps being a bit obtuse. He could hardly blame you for not following the wild chase he was taking you both on though. That he'd been taking you both on for months now.

"Darling, the only thing I don't like about you," Alastor finally said, "is how much I do like you."

You were floored. It was the goddamned schoolyard run-around all over again. Maybe if he'd pushed you into a snowdrift and run away giggling instead, you would've caught on sooner. Honestly, that didn't feel far off from something he'd do on a whim.

"When you…say 'like'," you murmured, wary of him bursting into another round of laughter at the sheer implausible scenario you were soon to present about this being a confession rather than a truce. "Do you mean—?"

Alastor gave you a rueful, embarrassed smile as he flicked snow off his sleeves. "I said I desired to ruin our working relationship," he reminded you and you felt the heat of a blush creeping up your neck. "And not in the way you might think—that being that I want you to hate me or I want to hate you, and so on. That would also be the way that I'd prefer wanting to ruin things between us. That I've tried to."

"…But?" you prompted him when he didn't immediately continue.

Whatever this was, it was taking it out of him to put it into words. He stifled a groan and rolled his eyes to the clouded night sky as he murmured, "This isn't what you might've thought. It's not what I would have preferred. So yes. I do mean."

"Oh," you replied, barely a whisper. You didn't think you could be more shocked. You were, yet again apparently, wrong.

"Do with it what you will," Alastor said to the night—certainly not to you, he could hardly look at you. "I apologize if this is untoward or if this causes you any measure of discomfort. Rest assured that I'm well aware that my behavior has been such to have not earned me any sort of good grace with you. I admit, I…am not versed in these things and, as such, handled it poorly."

You frowned, fiddling with your cigarette case. "Listen, Alastor, I'm not—"

"It was selfish of me even to mention it, I think," he said. "What a cliché this is, ha-ha! An older superior—a man no less—having an eye for his young assistant. It's innately a power imbalance, a vintage bit of nonsense. Rest assured, this little folly of mine will have no effect on your career, I can—"

"Let me finish," you asserted as he had earlier and he looked at you, surprised enough to fall silent and give you the floor. "First of all, phrased like that, it sounds every bit as scandalous as you think and that doesn't make it any less interesting."

You were gratified when he blushed bright red, his flush exacerbated by the cold. You couldn't help the little laugh that bubbled up, but you schooled your expression quickly enough.

"Second, as antagonistic as you've been these past months, I'm afraid I like you, too," you admitted, finding it came more easily now that he'd said his part. Well, several parts. With how his eyes rounded, it appeared to be his turn to be shocked. "Don't ask me why. At least not based on our interactions. When you've not spoken to me, you've seemed perfectly agreeable and there's a lot to like about you.

"You're smart. You're an ace for banter, you just often use it for evil. You're strikingly handsome and you run one hell of a show. And just from your quick mention of her earlier, you seem to think a great deal of your mother." You smiled. "You're progressive, too. Even when you've descended upon my worth as your assistant, you've never demeaned me as a person. It's a strange standard to draw, but it's one I might've clung to a few times when I really did think you hated me."

"I admit, I did try to," Alastor sighed, finally taking you in again. His honey-brown gaze languidly traveled over yours, over your face, and then over the snowflakes clinging to your hair and coat. You were a vision he was finally allowing himself to appreciate, somehow not too late. "You make it exceedingly difficult."

"Thanks?" you replied, your uncertain tone causing you both to dissolve into a quiet round of shivery laughter. "Okay, I'm about to freeze to death. Back inside?"

"Back inside," Alastor agreed, his own Louisianan composition not cut out for these rare freezes he'd only seen one or two of before in his New Orleans lifetime. "Tom said earlier that the snow was supposed to stop around seven tonight."

"Well, Tom's keeping up his streak of being categorically incorrect then," you grumbled as you shook off the snow you'd accumulated on your person, plucked up the scarf-wrapped china pieces, and walked under Alastor's arm through the door back into the station.

He was chuckling at your remark about Tom as he followed you in and shut the door, checking that it locked before you both hung your coats back up. Alastor lingered while you found a place to stow your scarf bundle, watching you with elation flowing like post-hunt adrenaline through his veins.

This was warmer and more inviting though—he felt invincible after tonight, even knowing that he'd hardly broached the subject of his fascination with you. He warred with himself to not write off the victory but to also not let it cloud his judgment. He had a lot of making-up left to do.

That lasted all of five seconds before he spotted a new opportunity and he was surprised at the relief he felt over trying these sorts of things before he held any real interest in someone else. Things he previously despised ever having done at all were proving to be, curiously, worth something now if it meant it might all end with you.

Alastor cleared his throat behind you and you stopped in the doorway to the hall that would lead you both back to the party, your freezing hands mid-smooth over the skirt of your dress. Your instinct was to wonder what you did wrong despite the at-length conversation you'd just had about how so much of what he'd found "wrong" with you had been a ruse.

When you remembered that conversation and took in the pleased smile on his face, you were at a loss again.

"Yes?" you prompted him.

A little shiver ran through you at the realization that you were standing in a dimly lit hallway with a man. This man. He'd hardly ruin just your working relationship—he'd ruin you if you weren't careful.

The thought wasn't as unwelcome as you might've hoped.

"If the idea isn't one you are necessarily opposed to," Alastor suggested, his cat-that-ate-the-canary smile familiarly mischievous yet unfamiliarly warm. You were still getting used to that part. "Perhaps I might ask you officially—would you allow me to court you?"

Heat flooded your cheeks anew and you didn't have the cold air to fall back on this time as an excuse. You swallowed, feeling embarrassed at the sheer schoolgirlish amount of butterflies his question stirred to life in you, but had the wherewithal to nod at least. Some paranoid part of your brain that had learned not to trust Alastor's intentions at face value wondered if this was some elaborate multi-stage insult, too, that had yet to deliver its punchline.

"Lovely," he murmured, pure pleasure in your answer lacing the low husk of his voice as he continued to encroach on your space. You didn't realize just how close he'd gotten until your back pressed against the doorframe and he loomed over you, handsome even in shadow. Especially in shadow.

"This isn't an elaborate prank, is it?" you asked, feeling a little sick at the thought. Not only for how embarrassed you'd be for falling for it, but for the disappointment it would cause you, too.

You'd known this whole time that you'd liked him well past what you knew was smart, but you'd never known just how much until the possibility of him and of you and him was right at your fingertips. Envisioning the other possibility that you'd made a fool of yourself only to have him rip the rug out from under you—no, not just a rug, the ground itself—felt like the worst sort of afterthought.

"Heavens, no!" Alastor chuckled, leaning his forearm against the doorframe above your head. As he leaned down, nearly nose-to-nose with you, he added, "You have walked us both into a bit of a trap, however."

You blinked, eyes wide with alarm and confusion. "A trap?" you repeated. "I don't—"

Oh, but then you did. All it took was one pointed flick of his molten gaze upward for you to follow it and realize that you two were situated beneath a sprig of mistletoe someone—Rosie probably—had incorporated into the garlands lining the jamb, laced in with larger evergreen branches, pinecones, and holly berries.

You couldn't remember if that sprig had been part of the arrangement before you'd stepped outside, but it was certainly there now and the only thing more expectant than that traditional little Christmas plant was the radio star—your radio star now—leaning over you and waiting to see what you'd do.

Alastor shrugged, playing off the situation he'd drawn attention to despite the bit of nervousness beginning to drum up in his belly now that you'd caught on.

"I've simply made our little predicament more proper by asking for exclusivity," he pointed out, carrying on with his bit while relishing how your blush deepened with rivaling desire and undue shame. "You can thank me at any—"

Two could play at his game and he had never had the full upper hand, even before. You were always surprising him with your banter, your reactions, and your moxie. So you surprised him now, too, by leaning in first and pressing a careful first kiss to his speech-parted lips.

His brain positively scrambled the second your warm, soft lips touched his. Whatever teasing he'd been prepared to lead with into this precise exchange became positively moot.

He'd not been accustomed to the feelings he'd had for you before your heart-to-heart in the alley, but he certainly wasn't accustomed to these either. Less so.

And yet…

You'd just started to find time and headspace to start panicking at his lack of response when Alastor got his bearings and his warm hands found your still-chilled skin, sending a shiver through your frame. The sensation teased a threshold between the lingering cold from the snowscape you'd left outside and a blooming warmth that seemed to originate from Alastor's deft, elegant fingers tracing patterns along the velvet of your dress and your jawline.

His hand poised against your cheek tilted your head back and what were you to do but acquiesce? A gasp escaped you as his other hand cleverly found and toyed with the zipper on the back of your dress and he used the opportunity he'd elicited from you to lick into your mouth. You could feel his smirk as he kissed you deeper, self-satisfied in his usual way and yet so unlike himself in every other.

You finally found room to breathe when he moved down to your neck and the rush of oxygen to your brain reminded you what exactly you were doing and where.

"Alastor," you hissed, squeaking as the sound of his name just seemed to encourage him further and his hard body pressed more snugly to yours. "We can't do this here!"

"Mm, we seem to be doing just fine, no?" he whispered, his lips brushing over the pulse point in your neck as he continued pressing leisurely kisses to your throat. Tempted as something deeply primal in him was to leave marks, he refrained from doing so—he didn't want to embarrass you, after all. That respect came into play here, too.

"We won't be if someone comes back here and—cut it out," you mumbled, wriggling and only managing to make you both less inclined to pause your backroom activities.

Still, Alastor did stop and drew back a little to check on you, a cute tilt to his head that put his glasses a couple of centimeters too far down his nose.

You couldn't help but smile a little as you took in his blush and fixed his glasses for him. "You don't think I'm easy, do you?" you asked with a sigh, reaching up and gently fixing his hair, too.

Alastor looked alarmed by the question, but simultaneously melted into your hands—something you'd thought impossible for the usually touch-averse radio host and something even he was surprised he felt the urge to do. Especially considering how you two had started the night and your six-months-long working relationship. He'd thought for sure that this would be something confined to his more intrusive dreams or thoughts—instead it was simply better.

"Of course not, sweetheart," he murmured, seeming immediately aggrieved that he might've caused you to think that. "My apologies, I'm… I'm not accustomed to these sorts of indulgences. Or at least not being particularly fond of them. I suppose I lost myself a little."

You gave him a reassuring smile and leaned in to press one more chaste kiss against his lips—a compromise. "You don't need to be sorry, Al. I just… I don't know, I'm just still shocked you even like me, I guess, much less like me."

He sure looked like he liked you though. His honey eyes were tender as they took you in, a look you'd never seen in them before.

The corresponding smile that found his lips nearly took your breath away. "Then it sounds like I have some makeup work to do," he suggested, disentangling from you and kissing your hands before beginning to straighten up your appearance the way you'd done for him.

Your cheeks flushed hot, but you let him, appreciating him looking out for you (especially since he'd caused most of the damage). "That sounds ominous," you posited.

Alastor chuckled and gave you a mischievous wink before nodding for you to walk with him back out to the party. "Good."

The entire night left you in a daze. Between the stress of being around work colleagues in a non-work affair yet knowing whatever you did that night would still follow you into work the next week, breaking your grandmother's china, the embarrassment that followed, and then everything that happened with Alastor from being openly mocked to having a quick makeout under some mistletoe…

…well, you were exhausted. Exhausted enough to get through the rest of the party—separately from Alastor as you'd both decided to leave any announcement of your change in status for next week unless it came up sooner—and then head home and collapse into your bed, still fully dressed.

It was only on waking that you realized a couple of things from the night before.

The first of which was to remember the second half of the "Everything with Alastor" portion of the night and wonder if it all really happened. If it had all been a dream—and, admittedly, it wouldn't have been the first time you'd dreamt of him—it had been unbelievably vivid. Maybe there was something in the party punch.

The second thing you noticed was that you'd been so out of sorts by the end of the office soiree that you'd completely bypassed your scarf-bundled china wreckage when you'd gone to get your coat. So that was something you'd have to remember to collect from the back on Monday.

After settling in with a cup of coffee at your breakfast bar and easing slowly into the start of your weekend, you admittedly felt a little trepidation at what you'd finally concluded were the actual happenings of the night before with Alastor. He had apologized for his actions, he had admitted he actually liked you for all the reasons you'd thought he hated you, he had admitted to really liking you, and he had kissed you under a bit of mistletoe. Or rather, you'd kissed him and then he'd proceeded to really kiss you.

What if he regretted it? What if he'd woken up this morning and thought back and realized it'd all been a bit of a spur-of-the-moment fancy or some holiday impulsivity or the effect of some spiked punch like you'd earlier entertained the possibility of ingesting? What if you walked in Monday and he called it all off? Or worse, what if it really had been a joke and it was just a more strung-out joke than you'd originally fretted it might be?

You sighed, your breath stirring the steam wafting from your aromatic morning brew just before you took a deep sip.

What if, what if, what if. If he regretted it or thought it'd been good for a laugh or simply (more likely) played it off as either of those just because it was new and scary and maybe not something he wanted to commit to…despite not only kissing you but asking to court you, too…then there was nothing you could do about that. It was as much his decision as it was yours and you spent the off-and-on moments through the rest of your weekend in which you obsessed mulled over your memories of the Christmas party reciting that truth to yourself.

It was all a long game of prepping yourself for his eventual task of backpedaling to, in the best-case scenario, let you down easy in an attempt to make things go back to normal. Because there wasn't really, to your impending disappointment, a universe in which you could imagine Alastor not wanting out of this new dynamic of yours for any number of varying reasons that popped unbidden into your head.

The bouquet you'd find sitting prettily beside the meticulously repaired china set on your desk the following Monday morning would indicate otherwise.

[yuri-is-online]

Hi, there (again)!

If it's not too much trouble, make a second and last request, I can request

Pronto: (5) seeing their partner wearing someone else's jacket

With Trey, Silver And Sebek?

In case of passing me orders you can discard my order. Take your time and at your pace, bye 🌠🌌✍️💐

5. Jealousy pt.1- seeing their partner wearing someone else's jacket

Hello again yourself! I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that this was the most popular prompt huh (ﾟωﾟ；) Sorry I took so long to get back around to this one, I hope it was not too frustrating a wait I find it a bit difficult to wrap my head around Sebek.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, Rook is a bit dramatic (Trey), light injury but nothing descriptive (Silver), some misunderstandings quickly cleared (Sebek). The rest of the event requests can be found here.

Trey

"My beloved, hath thou truly forgotten me? Tis I! Your sweetheart!"

In a scene out of a particularly annoying, tropey rom com, the thought dead lover throws themselves into the... indifferent arms of a most unwilling extra around whose shoulders have been draped a lab coat to serve as a makeshift cape. Trey should be focusing on his strawberries, or maybe the grip he has on the watering can, but it is getting much more difficult to ignore the farce going on just out of his line of sight. Sure, Trey trusts you, he isn't worried you are going to leave him for Rook of all people he's just worried that you're uncomfortable. That's it. That's why he keeps glancing at the lab coat and not listening to the dialogue.

"Thine eyes doth not deceive thee?" You know you're supposed to put effort into line delivery, but you literally just got this script ten seconds ago so you hope Rook' expectations are low. "I hath been adventuring in a distant land these many moons, thinking only of returning to thee and thine-" your face immediately wrinkles "Rook I'm not saying this shit."

"Non non," Rook shakes his head, dropping character only for a second "You will not be saying them, your character will be saying them." He settles back into his role making doe eyes up at you as you swear you hear the sound of something snapping just behind you. Probably your patience.

"Thine eyes doth not deceive thee, I hath been adventuring in a distant land these many moons, thinking only of returning to thee and thine embrace." the script calls for Rook to dip you, but instead of Le chasseur d’amour you find yourself gently pulled back by your makeshift cape into the arms of a knight.

"Sorry," the "cape" falls to the ground as Trey spins you into a dip, complete with the lengthy kiss the script called for "but I don't have anything cool to say." And yet the way he holds you, the strain in his smile and the angry slit his eyes have slimmed to is very cool. Very rare is the sight of genuine frustration on Trey Clover's face, rarer still the glare. Rook is well and truly enraptured, and now it's your turn to feel jealous.

"Chevalier des Roses! I certainly hope I did not overstep-" That bastard is grinning, almost like he was deliberately trying to poke the bear.

"Of course not." Trey pulls you up, arm wrapped firmly around your waist. "I just need to get a new watering can from storage and was wondering if Yuu wanted to come with me." Ha "ask" as if he is intending on letting you go, his grip hasn't loosened one bit.

Silver

"I'm sorry we weren't able to be of more help, prefect." The kitchen ghost's mournful face looks painfully out of place, you're so used to seeing their big smiles you almost feel like you're the one who screwed up.

"It's ok, really! Please don't feel bad, I'm not going to quit just because we had one little accident." Technically, it was not a little accident, otherwise you would still be wearing your clothes and not a master chef approved chef's jacket, but in pursuit of enlightenment one must be willing to make a few sacrifices. If making coffee could be considered a culinary pursuit.

"I'm very glad to hear that," some of the ghost's usual pep returns, along with it his seriousness as an instructor "but no more attempts today, you hear me? Make sure to put a compress on your arm when you get back to Ramshackle and put some ointment on it. I'll never forgive myself if your burn gets worse." You give a mock salute, carefully cradling the single thermos of coffee you had managed to salvage from your lessons close to your chest with your non injured arm.

"Aye aye captain, I'll make sure to come back to pick up my shirt after I've changed." And you did fully intended to do that if you hadn't run into the exact person your little delivery was for on your way back to your dorm. Silver pauses when he sees you, with a strange tight look on his face you don't recognize that doesn't disappear as you get closer. If anything it gets worse, and he doesn't snap out of it even when you're directly in front of him.

"Silver?" You try one more time and he startles, face slipping back into his normal listlessness.

"Sorry, I don't really know what came over me." So he says, but his attention remains firmly fixed on the coat even if his look is passive. "I didn't realize there were Master Chef classes going on."

"Oh there aren't, I just had a small accident." You say, subconsciously reaching for your sleeve as if you can hide a burn by drawing attention to it. It's a reflex, much like Silver's reach, his fingers careful not to irritate the bruised skin. "Silver?" You ask, trying to find the words you need to reassure him.

"I don't like red on you." He says, so oddly serious it takes you a second to realize he isn't really looking at the burn, no his attention is on your chef's jacket and it's offensive Heartslabyul badge. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me... I should be more concerned about the burns."

"Funny," you laugh ignoring his embarrassment "I think green looks nice on you."

Sebek

Sebek isn't very good at saying what he means. You know this, you love him in spite of this. It makes him feel very lucky, and he has no real problem telling people this. Silver was by far the person who heard him brag about you the most, even if he attempted to downplay just how happy he was to be with you it wasn't like he could hide very much from his friend. Which was what made this situation so... confusing. Hurtful even, Sebek doesn't have words for what he is feeling because "jealous" just feels petty but "distressed" feels pathetic. And he is neither of those things. In his opinion. Because being jealous is something insecure people do, and he is not insecure nor does he not trust Silver.

So why then why is he in so much physical pain?

"Hmph, I expect short sighted napping from Silver, but I was starting to expect better from you." Sebek can't tell who is more surprised that he isn't shouting, you or him. Hell, his tone is so normal Silver hasn't moved from his slumped position against one of the courtyard apple trees. You had been lying on the grass, waiting for him he knows as a fact even if his hammering heart is doubting it.

"Sorry, I couldn't wrap my head around some of the figures Crewel went over in class so I was up late studying." You sit up as you answer him, Silver's jacket falling off of your shoulders and taking Sebek's narrow gaze with it. "I guess I lost track of time."

"Did you ask Silver for help." It's a question but he doesn't voice it as one, there's genuine hurt on your face that pushes him back from anger into embarrassment and shame. You just look confused, looking down at the coat crumpled across your legs then back up at his still on his person and-

Laughing. You start to laugh and the lightest twinge of anger returns firmly setting his face into a cross between a scowl and a pout.

"H-hey I'm being serious. I'm Lord Malleus's retainer, diligent study is not something I will scold you for! I can help you stay awake!" His begging just makes you laugh harder, which should make him angrier but you're smiling. You are smiling and the silliness of the situation really settles on him. Sebek talks to Silver about you all the time, of course Silver would be just as worried as he would if he found you asleep on the courtyard green. There is no challenge to his honor or ability as a partner here, just the friendly concern over the partner of a brother knight.

"I know you are Sebek." You stand up, scrambling over to return Silver his coat before falling naturally into you place at his side and returning his smug pride to his posture. "Can I ask you some questions about those equations? I remember things better when I picture them in your voice."

"Of course!" Said voice booms back to life, the shout finally doing it's job in cracking Silver awake. "Make sure you don't take your eyes off of me for a second, Yuu!"

[theglitchywriterboi]

RANDOM OC & WRITER QUESTIONS

🤞 You HAVE to switch lives w/ one of your OCs [during the events of the story] who are you switching w/ ?

🎶 OC that would vibe w/ your music taste the most & OC that would hate 99%->100% of your music taste ?

⁉️ If your book takes place in a world not like ours - which OC would be most shocked about our world [& what would they be most transfixed by] ? & which would be most chill & kinda nonchalant about the switch ? If your book takes place in our world - which would be most shocked going to a fantasy fantasy world & which would be most chill & kinda nonchalant about the switch ?

👻 OCs biggest fear ?

🦖 OCs biggest regret ?

🌴 OCs ideal vacation ?

🎸 If your OC knows an instrument, what do they play ? & if they don't know one, which one would they play/be most drawn to/best at ?

💭 OCs fondest memory ?

❤️‍🔥 Who's the love [or loves] of your OCs life [doesn't have to be romantic - it can be platonic or even familial love] ?

🤡 OCs most embarrassing moment ?

💀 How do they feel about their mortality [or if your OC is immortal/already dead [ghost, zombie, vampire, etc]: their lack there of] ?

🎬 What is [or would be] your OCs favorite movie in our world ?

👪 Does your OC have any siblings ? If yeah, what's their relationship ? If no, are they happy being an only child or do they wish they had a sibling ?

👶 Favorite, if any, childhood memory of your OC ?

🐈‍⬛️ Does your OC have any pets [or did they previously] ? If yeah, what do/did they have ? & if they don't, what pet would they want [if any] ?

🎃🎄 Whats your OCs favorite holiday ? [If one not of our world, what's the holiday for+how do most/your OC celebrate ?]

🎂 Does your OC celebrate their birthday ? If yeah, what do they do ? If no, why not ?

🤼‍♂️ Is your OC competitive ? If yeah, how does it come out ? If no, how do they react when doing stuff w/ someone super competitive ?

🎮 OCs favorite game [board game, video game, any kinda game] ? If it's a game not in our world, how do you play it ?

💤 Whats your OCs biggest dream ?

💐 Are they a romantic ? What's the biggest romantic gesture they've done ? Whats the biggest someone's done for them [or something that hasn't happened but they would love] ? If romance is not for them - Whats the biggest gesture of love they've done for friends/family & Whats the biggest someone's done for them ?

🗡 If your OC has never killed [& won't in book] - would they ? & what would bring them to ? If your OC has killed, how did they feel the first time they did so ?

🍝 OCs favorite food ? [If not of our world, what does it consist of ?]

✍️ Do you outline your stories ?

📚 Whats your favorite book+what books inspire you ?

😼 What scene/line made you go "DAMN I can't believe I did that, I'm a good writer tbh" ?

📖 What made you wanna be a writer/what drew you to writing ?

🥅 Whats your goal w/ writing ? [Money, making people happy/give them an escape, being able to see your world come to life & being able to reread a world you made & love, etc etc]

😢 Have you ever cried writing a scene ?

🪕 Do you listen to music while writing, if so what do you listen to ? [Do you have a playlist ? If so share !]

😻 Fav scene you've written [if it's spoilery, be as vague as possible while sharing] ?

🌈 Who's your favorite OC ?

🥇 First story you remember writing ?

😨 What genre[s] do you watch ? What drew you to that [or those] genre[s] ? What genre [if any] will you never write ? Why won't you write it ?

[pray-montana]

As someone who is also a despicable me fan I’d love to hear some headcannons for Valentina (as someone who struggles with making headcannons I’d like to hear some from another persons view)

Thank you very much for your question. I couldn’t even imagine that someone would be interested in my opinion about the DM characters!

Unfortunately, the summary about Valentina is quite vague, but this has its advantages. So the field for thought becomes much wider ✍️✍️✍️

I'd like to start by saying that Valentina is an ally, but also independent of Maxime and his views on villainy (not like Harley and Joker.) This makes her not only a modern woman but also a strong character if the writers aren't lazy. It’s a pity that her summary and explanations contain no specific facts, other than the fact that she is cool and a proponent of a healthy lifestyle💀

• I think that in her relationship with Maxime, she is the voice of reason. Even if he believes that he's the head of the family, he makes the final decisions after considering her reasonable arguments. She's able not only to convince Maxime, but also to cheer him up in the worst times, even if it doesn’t seem so at first.

• Compared to Maxime's bright appearance and eccentric behavior, she silently shows who is trash here.

• She, unlike Maxime, is a perfect pilot of their giant ship. Plus, judging by her emotions in some of the shots, she really enjoys it! In this, I understand her 🏎️💨

• Sofía Vergara claimed that Valentina's arrogant personality also concealed a soft side. I believe that this side is personified in her dog, who, in contrast, looks very friendly. At first I even thought that it would be better for them to even swap pets with Poppy.

• I think she was that rich straight-A student in high school. BUT! It wasn't for nothing that she was considered the coolest girl at the Lycée. She looks very intelligent, reserved, and calculating, which is perfect for a villain. C'mon, she got her boyfriend out of jail?!?!?

• She has a whole ritual of preparing for going out, from beauty procedures to choosing outfits and combing her pet's hair. But Maxime still gets ready longer, even though he has half as much to do.

• Valentina looks like a trendsetter. She probably has a whole collection of branded shoes, handbags and other luxury items.

• Valentina is SINCERE in her relationship with Maxime. Have you seen the shot of her smiling enthusiastically when he shows her his invention? God, I want to wish this dynamic for everyone who wants to find a healthy relationship.

• I'm convinced that she knows a lot about humor, and in a way that not everyone will understand: Valentina will joke with the same serious face and voice as usual. You just need to listen to the words. (Perhaps her vibe is somewhat reminiscent of Daria series?)

• I think she actually doesn't treat Gru badly and may even enlist his help in the film. At the meeting, she simply doesn't care about Gru and everyone else. But she'll only help to take revenge for the sake of Maxime... as long as it's sounds like a good idea

• I think that before her relationship with Maxime, Val was disdainful of insects. However, she then worked through the issue and became neutral with it. By the way, she vibes like a dragonfly, don’t you agree?

• Val had to get used to the fact that her partner was special not only in personality but also... Well, in general, at the moment she has no problems with Maxime's features. Great message about accepting other people. I respect that!

• She may be soft on the inside, but she doesn’t act like she’s being overly cute. She looks like an adult woman and shows gentleness, attention, and care like an adult too.

• She often has to save Maxime from trouble, even from the stupidest ones, like a flytrap. But it doesn't annoy her at all🤲

• I am convinced that Valentina was the one who instilled self-confidence in Maxime and offered him a way to present himself, based on his hidden qualities!

In any case, I am sure that the relationship between Valentina and Maxime will be harmonious not only within the framework of being villains, but also as ordinary people. They don't look like people I'd want to wish bad things upon.

[casualtf2fan]

TF2 Dream - Sun, Sep 17

I had a Dream last Night, as a Lost Child.

(I decided to write ✍️ this down before I forget, even though I'm still tired.)

So basically I was hanging out with the All Age Party 🥳 were all the Kids and Adult are Having Fun Hanging out with people.

I decided to take a Break from the Loud Party and went in the Gaint Bouncy Castle 🏰 there's some Bodyguard who we're making sure that everyone is playing Safety.

I went up to 1 of the Guards and ask if I can go through the Back so I can take a Break from the Party and he said that it's Blocked 🚫 of And had to go the other way.

So I went further in and crawled while making sure I don't bump into anyone who was playing Hockey in the different section of the Bounty House, after that I found the Zipper Door that you usually see in Bouncy Castles 🏰

So I opened the Zipper and Zip it back up behind me, so people who were jumping does not accidentally get hurt while they have Fun.

After that I went around the Fence and saw some kids and Teenagers hanging out Outside a School 🏫 Building and I decided to go to the Playground since it's a nice quiet 🤫 place.

I was about to chill 😎 Intel I saw a car behind me... I kinda got worried 😟 and decided to run into the School so I won't get kidnapped when there's multiple people around.

There was a few people sleeping on the Benches when I was speed walking Past them who are from the Party 🥳 from different Ages.

And then I saw an open door 🚪 full of students, I decided to look behind me. To make sure I did not jump into conclusions and panic for no reason. 🙃

it turns out I was right, and they were just bringing School Supplies. While the Students I walked past who we're sleeping 😅 on the Benches. Are know wide Awake and bringing more Boxes 📦 into the Classrooms.

And some of them were talking to each other, I sighed in relief 😌 and said "Oh thank goodness I thought I was gonna get Kidnapped."

And then the Kid I was near with accidentally missed heard me and Said "I'm not wasting it?" Who was sharpening all the Pencils ✏️ for the Class. And then I said "Oh u missed heard me, I said that I was worried 😟 that I was gonna get kidnapped."

And there like Oh... it was a miss understanding, we talked for a bit and I said that I think u and engineer will get along since you like Machine Stuff, and she’s like "Do u really think so?"

While I'm like "Heck Yeah! Go for it." after that I said goodbye 👋 to her and decided to visit the TF2 Base and say HI 👋 to Engineer & the others.

So I left the Classroom and went out of the School Building 🏫 and walked to the TF2 Base we're all the Blue & Red Teams we're chilling out having fun also killing each other and then come back from the respawn. I decided to watch them Secretly, by somehow climbing up to sit on a very tall Shelf 😅 with some trophys 🏆 and TF2 Items on it.

I over heard Engineer talking to a Demo about how proud 👏 of his Machine Gun he created and how 🤔 its has been past down to generations and how over time it improve.

While I was listening to their Conversation I kinda slowly 🐌 realized that I was Stuck...

And I couldn't climb down from a Very Tall Shelf...

I was sitting next to a Dinosaur Trophy 🏆 awkwardly watching to see how long will they finally notice me or if I should somehow get their intention or not.

While Demo parted ways from Engineer I kinda panic and wave 👋 my Hands at him to notice me, luckily he had sharp eyes 👀 and gasped in surprise 😮 seeing a scared Child Stuck on the Shelf, before he could help me or shout out.

He got shot in the head by a Blue Scout and used the Taunt Laugh and then he got Killed by a Red Spy wearing a Hat, he was about to laugh too but he saw me on the Shelf and Panic, and before he could help me too he also got killed but this time a Blue Sniper killed him while the Red Soldier was laughing beside him with a Female Voice. Turns out the Spy that got killed was her Brother while Sniper is a Gay Friend.

I was looking at them and was like Damb I guess I do have to grab their intent, so I proceed to grab the trophy and throw it at the Floor hoping not to accidentally hurt anyone...

I accidentally K.O a Female Scout who was hanging on top of Heavy's Head and flop down at the Floor like a Ragged Doll and disappeared to respawn.

Everyone who was partying and chilling and got confused and then looked up and saw me.

A Child on top of a Very Tall Dangerous Shelf, all of them Panic and tried to think of a way to help me like a Community, Blue Scout ran and said she's gonna look for a ladder 🪜 while Pyro was like "HOW THE F@CK DID THEY GET UP THERE?!?!"

The Red Medic was like "As a Father of 3 Children, i was wondering why my parenting instincts were acting up"

I decided to tell them that I can't get down and was scared of heights, the 2 Spys decided to work together by letting Blue Spy's climb on Red Spy's Back and trying to balance themselves before trying to grab me. Everyone was watching just in case they need to help or not.

The Blue Spy proceed to reach 💙 out to me while I looked at Red Spy's Eyes 👀 seeing the look of concern and worried, after watching 2 Adult Spy's trying to help me I became less scared 😱 and decided to try to get off of the Shelf but I accidentally went to the red spy.

His Eyes wide open and decided to let go of Blue Spy's Leg's and to grab me safely, while the other one fall down on the floor.

I was being held by red spy in relief while the Blue Spy got up quickly 💙 I got worried 😟 for his safety but he was perfectly fine.

I decided to hug them Both while they leaned in so I could hug 🫂 them and say "Thank You"

I basically hug 🫂 them while I'm still being held by red Spy in his Arms, everyone was happy.

After that my Dream Ended, it was very nice...

It showed how wonderful the TF2 Community is and my experiences playing the Game 🎮 in the Past. I usually play as Medic in TF2 and I'm not a Pro at it, but I still enjoyed playing as Him.

That's my Story, do u guys had any Dreams of any TF2 Characters?

I would like to hear about them if u decide to share in the Comments.

[exyrpf]

Exyblr Dashboard Simulator based on what I personally see on sportsblr (The Sunshine Court Edition):

4/?

☀️ usctrojanny

jeremy knox saying jean moreau needs to get some sun bc he's too pale to pull off red and gold at the moment askjdfh i feel like anyone standing next to jeremy for longer than ten mins needs to wear SUNSCREEN bc that boy RADIATES. stick his sunshine ass next to jean and he'll be able to pull off the red and gold in no time 👍

248 notes

👁 jean-mor-uhoh

um!!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️ HELLO LISTEN 🗣️🗣️🗣️ !!!!!!! !!!!!!!! !!! i'm the only one to ever win ever BECAAUSE MY FAVORITE BACKLINER WITH NO DISCERNABLE PERSONALITY BESIDES BEING TALL AND FRENCH IS NO LONGER A RAVEN 🗣️ NOT ONLY THAT HE'S A LITERAL TROJAN?!?! I WILL BE SEEING HIM ON THE COURT IN PERSON ???🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

#this ....don't call don't text i will not be answering bc JEAN MOREAU IS A TROJAN

60 notes

😎 foxyknoxy

absolutely losing it about jeremy knox announcing jean moreau is going to usc next year immediately after they lost to the ravens like !!!!!!! it's going to be DELICIOUS i can't wait for the NARRATIVES ohhh mygoddd JEAN MOREAU?! A TROJAN?!?!?!

🗣️ jeremyknoxes follow

✍️✍️✍️ ooooo narratives u say

😎 foxyknoxy

even ALREADY like.......i've been to both evermore and the gold court and they can't more different. i've never met jean (....has anyone?????) but i've met jeremy (can confirm 'captain sunshine' is not an act) and ANYONE going from RIKO to JEREMY is.......let's just say the sun and moon edits are gonna SLAP

443 notes

🌸 a-softer-exy

jean moreau - new beginnings

#usc #university of southern california #usc trojans #trojans #jean moreau #exy #web weave #poetry

2,074 notes

🫡 exyisntreal follow

i don't usually do this bc it's my job and they're just classmates to me but as we are working with CRUMBS right now: just watched jeremy knox physically (PHYSICALLY) drag jean moreau into the coffee shop. LIKE BABYGIRL THAT FRENCH FUCK (affectionate) IS TWICE YOUR SIZE WHY R U DRAGGING HIM AROUND

(jean ordered a small black coffee bc of course he did)(dont ask how many shots of espresso jeremy ordered bc u don't want to know)

17 notes

🧚 goalie-stan

not to be a lesbian on main but ooohhhh my godddddd OH my GOD can catalina alvarez STEP ON ME i'm gonna fucking LOSE IT

205 notes

🥰 boytoyjeremyknox follow

how have i not seen everyone yelling about jeremy/jean??? do i follow the wrong people???

👸🏻 kevindazed follow

i'm pretty sure they've known each other for like a week bro

🥰 boytoyjeremyknox follow

but they have EVERYTHING!!! tan cali boy vs pale frenchman. personalities that will PROBABLY clash but AKJSHD what if they DON'T, backliner/foward, light/dark, moon/sun.............it's all there!!!!!!!

👸🏻 kevindazed follow

ok ok ok you are so right i see ur vision i am sorry i doubted you

#you forgot HEIGHT DIFFERENCE btw #usc #jerejean #is that the shipname? #1129

579 notes

🌸 a-softer-exy

jeremy knox

#usc #university of southern california #usc trojans #jeremy knox #trojans #exy #web weave #poetry

3,089 notes

[chimichangasanddoorknobs]

I'm tired of these absolutely vile rumors (spoilers)....

Johnny Storm ⛈️🔥: And I'll tell 🗣️ you who "her" is, 👩‍🦲✴️. A megalomaniacal 📣 psychotic 👹 asshole 🫏🕳️, a finger-licking🖕👅 dead 💀 inside 😵 pixie-slab 🧚🏻. A third-rate 🥉 dime store 🪙 nut 🥜milk 🥛. And I'll tell you 📢 what she can do 📢.

Deadpool ☠️🎱: I'm listening. 👀👀👀

She can lick 👅 my goddamn cinnamon-ring 🍑💍clean 🧼 and kick rocks 🥾🪨 all the way to Bald Hell 👨‍🦲🔥👹. In fact, I don't give a shit 🚫💩 if she removes 🍌 all my skin 🍌 and pops 🍾 me like some nightmarish 💤🪦 blood 🩸 balloon 🎈. If the last thing I do in this God forsaken cum 💦 gutter existence is light 💡that fuckbox 👉👌📦 on fire 🔥 I still won't die happy 🚫💀🙂.

☠️🎱: 🤣 Holy shit 🙏💩 girl 👧, you crazy 😵.

That's right, Wade ☠️🎱. I won't be happy 🚫🙂 until I've urinated 🚽on her freshly 🍃 barbecued ♨️🔥 corpse 🧟 and husk-fucked 🫔👉👌 the charred 🔥 remains ⚰️ while gargling 😮😝🤪🤤Juggernaut's 🤹👩‍🚀 jugger-nuts 🤹🥜🌰.

☠️🎱: Wow! 😱🤯🫢🫣💯👻

And you can quote me. 🤬✍️

☠️🎱: 'kay ✅

[tenderfxck]

I need more alhaitham fics in ur writing plz god…. bully him bully him bully him public teasing which makes him very flustered??.? I’m just ranting at this point anws love ur writing ✍️

al haitham//distraction from argument//gn!reader//18+

contents: flustered!al haitham, pent up!al haitham, gn!reader, exhibitionism, handjob, alcohol mention, drinking, al haitham being put in his place <3

word count: 2.3k

notes: i've been itching to write another fic where i get to tease haitham. enjoy <333 (and thanks to @bobaboob for listening to my crazed ramblings as well as beta reading this fic!)

it’s a warm summer night at lambad's tavern and you find yourself seated in a booth in between the two arguably brightest minds of recent akademia history.

well, they were supposed to be bright. but even with you in their presence, they weren’t courteous enough to keep their bickering to themselves.

to your right sat the great architect and your best friend, kaveh. both of you were kind souls who bonded over the more beautiful things in life (as well as kept each other up to date with all the drama in sumeru city. so what if the two of you were gossips?)

and on your left sat the grand scribe, al haitham. you and al haitham were-

well. . .

enemies? rivals? annoyances to each other?

ah, yes. let’s settle on that. any more analysis would call into question if each tense moment the two of you had shared in passing was just animosity or something more. . .

at this point, you think they were hashing it out over some household chores or some other domestic affair. who ever thought those two could ever be roommates?

while sitting between two grown men arguing like a married couple is usually great entertainment, today you were quite over it. and quite bored.

but this was a bar, wasn’t it? you chose to focus your attention on polishing off your own drink as they continued this little disagreement of theirs. and when your glass was empty, you pivoted to sneaking sips from their neglected drinks.

well, until al haitham shooed you from his glass. of course. he was oblivious enough to (rudely) ignore you for the last fifteen minutes but yet he was keenly aware of you emptying his drink. damn scribe. . .

you sighed. you had completely lost the plot of this little spat a few minutes ago and had no patience to dare decipher where in the hell it had led. resigned to your fate stuck between the two, you pick up the bottle of liquor sitting in the middle of the table, planning to drown your boredom in another stiff drink. 

"-and that's why you're being completely irrational." al haitham stated bluntly, pushing his freshly polished off drink towards you.

"i'm being irrational?" kaveh scoffed, pushing his empty glass towards you as well. "have you even been listening to yourself?"

they hold a tense stare for a few seconds, before whipping their heads to face you.

"who do you think is right?" they snap in union.

"i think you both need a drink." you sigh, tipping the bottle and filling both their glasses with a healthy dose of liquor.

. . .

this had continued for a while. bicker, bicker, fill their glasses, bicker, bicker, more shots, so on, so forth.

you still had no idea what they were arguing about, but it proved a LOT more fun to watch them keep at it all the while becoming more and more intoxicated.

al haitham’s never been much of a drinker. even in his akademy years when some students chose to let loose on the weekends, he preferred to stay in, instead engaging himself with a good book. only a few drinks in and he can feel the flush cross his features. kaveh wasn't faring much better, definitely slurring his words and swaying ever so slightly.

“what do you think?" kaveh slumps against you, resting his weight on your shoulder in hopes of keeping himself steady. "you can't possibly think haitham’s being reasonable.”

“nonsense, my point is perfectly just.” al haitham sits back against the booth and crosses his arms.

they both looked at you expectantly, equally sure that you'd come to each of their aid.

"i think kaveh is making more sense."

watching al haitham's face drop was priceless. granted, you had zero idea what you were even agreeing with kaveh on. but the look of disbelief that al haitham made no effort to suppress confirms your suspicion he's typically used to most (other than his hard-headed roommate) agreeing with him at the drop of a hat.

"you're not even affiliated with the akademia," he bit back after collecting himself once again. "and your thoughts on such matters are inconsequential." al haitham goes to take another swig but finds his glass empty yet again, dropping it back onto the table with little grace before he regards you and kaveh with a certain distaste in his voice. "you artsy types love to have an opinion on everything, don't you?"

you place a hand to your chest in fake offense, unable to suppress a teasing smile. "inconsequential? a well-rounded person should recognize that relying purely on a scholarly view of the world is a detrimental one."

. . .fuck. al haitham was normally weary of rousing you but he mistakenly dug himself this grave. he cursed the alcohol for making him so careless.

"i have opinions on the akademia's actions just as i have opinions on the importance of the arts. what about you, grand scribe?"

"what?" he stiffens in his seat. when did this become a discussion about him?

"what are your view on accessibility of the arts? recognition and comprehension among citizens?" kaveh covers his mouth, poorly hiding his giggles as you laid into the increasingly tense scribe. "what about you, haitham? do you think the akademia is properly instructed in artistic literacy?"

al haitham had a sharp intellect. but not as sharp as your wit.

"I, uh. . . w-well. . ."

“so you have no opinion." you let a devious smile tug at your lips, addressing al haitham with a look of faux pity. "how disappointing. to think the akademia holds you in such high regard and yet you have neglected such a large area of expertise.”

this always seemed to be an ace in the hole for you. using whatever rhetoric he attempts to argue and your gilded tongue to throw it right back at him.

“when your pride allows you to be open to a conversation outside of your area of expertise, let me know. maybe we can have a more stimulating conversation.” you spit, taking up your glass of liquor once again.

“stop that.” al haitham huffs.

“stop what?”

“that. that- thing you always do.”

“eloquent as ever.” you sigh. kaveh snickers behind your other shoulder, and al haitham responds by staring daggers right over the other at him. “haitham, you have to be more clear.”

he grunts in frustration, turning away from the two of you. you were truly skilled at this feigned innocence. the kind that taunted al haitham, just enough to entice him into playing straight into your hand, just to get teased even more. but he chose to keep that observation to himself.

"you purposefully distract me." is what he settles on.

"i distract you? how so?"

“your words. you twist mine and then goad me on purpose.” 

“that’s barely a distraction, mr. scribe.” you chuckle, shifting in your seat. al haitham dutifully ignores how you brush against him. “but if it’s truly my words that prove a disturbance to you, i’ll keep quiet. surely you’ll easily best kaveh then, hm?”

“surely.” he bites back.

a self-satified look returns to him as you, as promised, shut up, instead busying yourself with refreshing your drink.

al haitham’s attention was quickly stolen by a fresh jab from kaveh about how “distracted” he could be, falling so easily back into their regular song and dance of bickering. he was once again far too caught up in this spat to notice the look you were giving him over the rim of your glass, an evil plan forming behind your pretty eyes.

when he first felt your hand graze his thigh he barely registered it. you were in close proximity anyway, seated right between him and his debate partner for the night.

the second was harder to ignore, your palm sitting atop his leg and stroking down ever so slowly. he stumbled a bit on his next words, but put it out of his mind to recover just enough to keep laying into kaveh.

it was only when your hand trailed between his thighs, grasping between his legs, rubbing his crotch with feather light dexterity when he became painfully aware of your wandering hands.

he froze, mouth opening and closing as he felt his body temperature climb a degree or two.

"ha! so you really have nothing left to say." kaveh gloated, a smug expression crossing his features.

"like hell, you still- ggh!" you squeezed a little firmer this time, feeling his cock stir beneath your touch. you could see how his chest now began to noticeably rise and fall, no doubt his heart beating ever so quicker with how you stroked his hardening length.  you licked your lips, savoring each little reaction you pulled from him, made all the more sweet with how he tries so desperately to hide them.

"that doesn't sound like a rebuttal to me, haitham." kaveh laughs, grasping his glass to take a celebratory swig.

al haitham grits his teeth. his attention is divided between his unshakable urge to one-up kaveh, and the slow, purposeful drag of your fingers under the table. the fabric of his pants starts to tent under your hand, al haitham grunting at the now suffocating tightness of them.

he swallows, takes a deep breath, and dissects kaveh’s last few points with precision. albeit, a little more breathlessly than usual.

so this was your game. If you couldn’t distract him with words. . .

a soft palm reaching down his pants causes haitham to jerk so hard he almost knocks over his glass.

. . .you seemed to have other means. 

you were kind enough to rid him of his binding clothes after a few excruciating minutes of teasing caresses, dragging his cock out of his restrictive pants and exposing it to the cool air of the tavern.

he worried his lower lip as you paid special attention to his now throbbing cock, tilting his head back in a sigh as you grabbed him again, now stroking him earnestly.

he sits there, still attempting to argue with his roommate. truly trying to act like everything is fine. but his heart is thumping in his chest so intensely you swear you can feel it as well. he tries to take deep, steadying breaths, but it feels like every time he opens his mouth he has to close it immediately, or else a shuddering noise will escape his trembling lips.

archons, does it feel so good watch him crumble.

you pump him under the table at a steady pace, paying oh so close attention to every sharp inhale and every twitch of his body as he melts in your hands. you only slow when he seems like he’s about to burst at the seams, instead choosing to stroke his inner thighs with teasingly light touches or fondle his heavy balls. and at any moment it seems like he’s regained an iota of composure, wondering if he can still best you, you take a thumb to his sensitive tip, grinding intense little circles into the head of his cock sending such cute little tremors through his whole body.

kaveh takes a glance at his squirming roommate, noticing that al haitham is white knuckling the table as their bickering goes on. he takes satisfaction in the knowledge he's stirred haitham up so much, but only you truly know why.

it builds and builds, threatening to careen off that edge of restraint al haitham keeps himself bound to so diligently. 

he tries to ignore the obvious. but his mind cant help but flash back to last night when he was fucking his fist, imagining it was your hand teasing him so. and now it’s happening, for real, all right in front of him and all of the bar's patrons if they paid any closer attention to the writhing scribe.

al haitham never stood a chance.

“haitham~” you breathe out, so close that it tickles the shell of his ear. he attempts to bite his lip to content the whine that would otherwise escape. “why don't you admit that kaveh has a point? then this whole affair can be finished.” you whisper that last word, giving him an especially drawn out stroke to his twitching length, clearly conveying your intent.

“f-fine.” al haitham stutters, now slumped against the table in front of him, praying it will give him even just a little support. “you’re right. . .” he heaves, unconcerned about his stupid pride. he doesn't care about winning any more. “you’re right!” his voice pitches, feeling your fleeting touches turn steady and fast, pumping his aching cock so fucking good as he finally concedes.  “i’m wrong, just- just!”

he gasps, finally, finally cumming after what felt like hours of teasing. your hand remains firm, stroking him through it while the scribe crumbles in on himself, twitching and biting back moans. he’s sure his release was so intense it hit the underside of the table. but he doesn’t dare open his eyes to check, certain he’ll meet his roommate's confused expression, or the satisfied one you’re surely wearing. 

when he finally does regain enough mental faculties to sit upright again, he can see kaveh across the bar, paying of the tab while happily spouting something about “finally besting that damn bastard.”

his eyes drift up. you’re wearing a sweet, albeit just a bit smug, smile.

“i’m glad you finally came around, mr. scribe.”

kaveh circles back to you, face flushed and cheery as can be. “let’s take this back to our place. The two of us will treat you to a thorough lecture on the arts as a reward for being so humble, haitham”

“you go on ahead, i’ll catch up with you.” kaveh regards him quizzically, but al haitham can only look past him. “i need a moment to. . .” you throw him one last glance before removing yourself from the booth, but not before he can catch you bringing a thumb stained with release to your mouth, licking the last bit of evidence on your person away. he’s reminded of the uncomfortable mess currently staining his abdomen and running slick down his thighs.

“. . .organize my thoughts."

[rose-riot-johnson]

Well my Tumblr Peeps, I have been listening to this particular song and I really am starting to feel inspired by that particular song, so I felt maybe Hisoka would be a good character to choose for this particular fanfic💡🤩🃏

*This fanfic inspired by the song Monster by the band, Imagine Dragons (if any1 has an issue with the song or the band I do apologize🙇‍♀️)✍️📝📖👩‍💻This fanfic also contains 1 or more long paragraphs😅

🌌🃏Opening Up To Hisoka About The Darkness Inside Of You🃏🌌(Hisoka Morow x Any Gender Reader)

Genres: Angst to Comfort (Warning: mentions of murder)

When you first met Hisoka it was during your battle with him in one of the parts of the Hunter's Exam, which you have made a very good impression on him, considering he sees tons of potential and no one has earned his respect, as much as you did, in his eyes. Once you got your Hunters License after passing the Hunter's Exam with flying colors, the both of you exchange cellphone numbers, as you decide to travel with him, atleast occasionally, if not sometimes.

Throughout the years of your time with Hisoka, when you travel with him, despite of your feelings for him, you have been consistently rejecting him whenever he asks you out. It's not that he asks you out at times, out of harassing you til you tell him yes, since you've told him many times you had feelings for him... He doesn't know why you continuously tell him no, aside from you telling him, "I promise it's not you, Hisoka... It's me...".

One evening when you decided to travel with Hisoka, he suggested, "(Any Gender Reader)... I think we should have a serious and important talk about something... There are things that have been running heavily in my mind and sooner or later I really need to get things off of my chest...". You became nervous, you replied, "What do you mean, Hisoka? What are you talking about?". Hisoka assertively replied back, "You see... You claimed that you have feelings for me, then you turn around to reject me over and over again many times then say it's not my fault on why you do this to me... I'm starting to feel insecure right now... Be honest with me, (Any Gender Reader)... Is it because you never really had feelings for me to begin with? Did you lose feelings for me after a while? Are you not ready for a relationship? Are you afraid of love? Am I a bother to you? Or do you have someone else you're going out with? Regardless if it's any or all or even something else, I really want to know right now, because it's really making my heart ache that you're someone who claims to be in love with me, while telling me no multiple times claiming it's you... I can respect we can me just friends, but I won't stand for an "it's not you, it's me" excuse of telling me no when you supposedly love me! I don't like waiting! You better be honest with me right now or I will be done waiting for you...", as he is starting to feel hurt from you pushing him away repeatedly after confessing your feelings for him.

You didn't realize what you had done, until he told how he felt about what you've been doing to him after your confession to him, as you began knowing that he has the right to know why you've been doing this to him. "You see, Hisoka... I really do love you... But I was never lying when I said it's not you it's me! Here's why I have been doing this... I have been facing my demons and there's a monster inside that I could never escape no matter how hard I tried... I just don't think you'd understand... Everyone who I had ever known who has ever been close to me, has either turned on me or I scare them away or I hurt them... Every relationship I was in, people eventually find a reason to leave me... I'm just way too different from everyone else... I wish I could change myself for the better... If we were to be together, if I have you know anything about me or even have you know me would you ever turn your back on me or even judge me?", you responded. Hisoka was shocked this might have been your reason for you constantly rejecting him, as he said, "So you mean to tell me that this was your reason why you kept telling me no, despite of your feelings for me? I won't turn my back on you... For how much nen you have and your strength, why would I judge? I'm fascinated and curious about your life... Tell me more!". You certainly weren't expecting he would be the type of person to tell you such things, as it surprised you that he has became intrigued instead of frightened or upset.

You then explained, "For atleast the majority of my life, I've tried to be like everyone else... I have tried to do what others do, to fit in... I've have tried staying away from my likes and hobbies, to be liked... I have even tried to keep how I feel things about myself, including my own opinions, how I feel on my heart, and some of my nen abilities repressed, inorder to have a good future where I could be beloved and seen as a hero... Unfortunately my attempts eventually backfire, considering I have too much darkness inside of me to begin with... It affected my friendships, how my family sees me, my future, how my village see me, and even my past relationships... It seems like there's light in everyone else, but me... I guess I'm way too different from everyone else... So, I did eventually become a killer before I took the Hunter's Exam to become a Hunter, but even after becoming a Hunter, I still am a cold blooded killer... While killing on the kill list to complete the mission is one thing, I have killed others for not being able to control my nen and when others got in my way, especially civilians and the other Hunters got in my way, my nen made me unconsciously kill them, which I do deeply regret...", before you finished with a question, as you asked, "Now, would you like for me to continue or do you change your mind about me now, Hisoka?". Hisoka was surprised with what you told him, however he is becoming more and more interested in you, instead of giving up on you (like you expected him to do). And when you told him about some of your dark parts of your life, he's becoming more and more excited, while he does feel bad that some of your kills are due to your nen abilities controlling you.

"I see... Here's my honest answer for you! The only way you're changing my mind about you is what you're telling me is only making me think more highly of you! I knew you had potential, I just wasn't expecting that you would be dangerous... I guess from now on, if we still travel together, regardless if we stay just as friends or become lovers, I would like to help train you, especially with your nen... As much as I enjoy how dangerous you are, I don't want you to do that if you're unwilling to do something... It seems to me that the kills you regret, your nen abilities are manipulating you... I'm confident enough to tell you that I might be able to help you control your nen... Sometimes you need to learn to show your nen and your nen abilities who's boss... Infact, while there's no use in trying to escape this monster inside of you, but maybe embracing this darkness you have while understanding your nen abilities and your nen in general would help your growth, as a Hunter more...", Hisoka finally answered your question with a smile. He then asked you continue with talking about your life, considering that he wants to know more about you. You became very surprised about his reactions on what you told him and how he answered your questions, in what seemed to be in his very own loving way, to the point where you're convinced to continue traveling with him and let him know more about you, from there.

As you continued to travel with Hisoka you have told him more and more about yourself. This includes, your origins on how you started your journey to become a Hunter, your struggles in your life before and after becoming a Hunter, everything that you recalled about your nen abilities, how much Hisoka meant (and still means) to you, and so much more about yourself. It just seems like in your case he's willing to accept you for who you are, no matter what you say or even do, now.

After Hisoka started training you (especially about your nen), you did struggle at first, however he would keep giving you a push for you to keep going and keep trying, which he was right for pushing you to keep training. The longer amount of time you have been training with Hisoka, you've been noticing more and more of a difference with your nen. While your nen abilities are still, just as effective as they are and your nen is still dangerous, you have finally been able to control your nen, as you are finally able to use your nen (and all of your nen abilities) at will.

For months and months after you continued to travel with Hisoka and kept on seeing the results from him training you for the better, you began to realize that he turned out to be right and that you've made the right decision to train with Hisoka on your nen and continue traveling with him. This even made Hisoka proud of you (and proud of himself) that you have been improving. Months later, to his surprise, you asked him, if he would like to be in a relationship with you, as he told you "yes", considering that he's been waiting a long time to be in a relationship with you, as the both of you became a couple even since then.

🌌The🃏End🌌

Okay Tumblr Peeps, I get there are differences between this fanfic and the song I'm inspired by, however most of the fanfics I have writen have atleast happier endings, if not completely happy endings🃏For any1 wondering why did I even put the song in this fanfic or even mention about, if I'm gonna put an ending in this fanfic like I did, well it's because I decided on ending this particular fanfic the way I did and with having the reader open up to Hisoka in a paragraph or so I do hope it would be enough proof of why I put the song or mentioned about which song inspired me to work on this fanfic in particular🤷‍♀️I'm not sure about any1else, however for me this song can hit home, as time continues on, even if it's a decade or less ago⏳So, after listening to the song yesterday, I really felt it's time to brainstorm on some ideas for this particular fanfic and go from there🧠💡😎 Anyways, those who enjoyed this Hisoka fanfic, overall regardless of the ideas I put in the fanfic or what inspired to wrote the fanfic or anything else in this post, I'm really happy you enjoyed it and had fun reading the fanfic as a whole😁👍

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

Happy birthday to the bat-swap, buddy!!! 🎂🎉🥳

I absolutely adored reading this fic, and while I'm not done reading it through yet, I'm having so much fun seeing all the amazing writing you put into it and the cameos of old Fawcett characters! Genius! A masterpiece!

The question I wanted to ask has already been answered, lol. Do you eat snacks or listen to any particular songs while you write? If so, which ones do you recommend? I always snack while I write ✍️

Thank you so much!

Normally when I write I listen to one of 3 playlists, my A List when I want a good variety of vibes, my Music List if I just need the silence to be filled, and my Billy Batson Vibes list if I need to get into his headspace when I’m having more issues with a chapter. As for snacks it’s normally a mini-sundae cup full of smarties I eat 2 at a time based on shared coloration or some saltine crackers with a drink.

Behold my sugars, I think the rushes they give are half the reason this fic got so long so quick lol

[troutfur]

thistlebush helping kill silverstream, but also maybe helping shelter leafpool and squirrelflight and their kits from the worst of snow even in such a weak power level while they rest in a nearby tree or something, because even if leafpool shouldnt have kits, even if theyre half clan and he's not happy about that she's still his MEDICINE CAT and the only one at that, and by starclan he will NOT let his medicine cat get frostbite because she's stupid even if he's not fully happy with her for being stupid with the running off thing or whatever replaces it in this au because i know people change this arc a lot on who the sire is and how it happens but she's their only medicine cat and the plan she has to put this behind her and move on is a good one, she's clearly repenting unlike stupid graystripe insert obligatory she shouldnt have to but like its thistleclaw here

maybe his tugging on her fur was one of the reasons squirrelflight agreed, as if it was him trying to go "yes, cmon, its perfect, we can fix this, say yes"

I just...i love his nuance, i love him, i hold your portrayals of mudclaw and thistleclaw so gently in my hands as wrong but nuanced cats who did bad things, and dont regret it, but had interesting nuanced reasons why and are capable of more then just those things

✍️

Y'all are on fire with this Thistlebush scenarios.

Yes, yes! I can imagine that, with the move and them no longer having a RiverClan border the new location he took root in after the stray seeds caught in someone's pelt could be somewhere aroudn the other border, near WindClan. He could have seen Leafpool go out, give her a scratch as she left, as bad as he could given his power level and the limitations of his magic to punish her for deserting the clan and when she comes back that same way... He's surprised by her loyalty and lets her pass, only leaving a stray seed or pollen on her so he has a connection to her.

I can see him using that liaison to the camp to listen in on her and Squilf as they are planning and fretting and with what little power he still has manifesting in their dreams, pointing them to a hiding place, letting them know about a place where they can rest and give birth to their kits.

The three are dangerous to StarClan. The prophecy plus the fact they came from a codebreaker doesn't endear them to the kittens. For all they care let Leafpool bear the consequences of her actions, whatever those may be.

Firestar is dead, Hawkfrost's plan succeeded, and Brambleclaw is carrying his involvement to the grave as he ingratiates himself with the very rule-following Brackenstar. Leafpool is beloved, but without her dad in the highest office will she be granted leniency? StarClan doesn't really care, but if not, two birds with one stone eh?

Thistleclaw has other ideas. He can't help directly, and he hates the idea of these kits in principle. But the Clan having a medicine cat is important. She better not repeat this fuckup, though. He has his limits.

Aaaaah, thank you! <3 Putting out these concepts and playing with the ideas of StarClan as the embodiment of the historical memory of the Clans is very, very interesting to me. I'm glad it's resonating and really hitting for y'all.

My plans for Haneossia are very all-encompassing and ambitious. So many moving parts and concepts to explore, not only with the supernatural side of things but also with the default polyamory dynamics. I'm still trying to figure out how to realize it all within a format that is comfortable to me. I am, at my core, a writer of short stories not long form fiction. So bear with me as I experiment and see how I can strike a balance between executing my ideas and keeping my workload manageable.

[thetorturedpoetsfest]

Welcome to Day 11 of The Tortured Poets Fest!

Click the links listed below to check out all of the content our lovely Tortured Poets have created for all of us today! (and go to our bio to access the rest of the AO3 Collection)

✍️ Bereft and Reeling by the_casual_author

Ship(s): Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley 

Rating: T

Summary:

“What if I don’t care?” Ginny chokes out.

Harry gives her a pained look.

“I care,” he tells her, and that’s that. 🕯 Requiem In Three Strings by @eurhythmix

Ship(s): Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Rating: M

They say Sirius Black is a madman. They say he betrayed his closest friends. Deceiver. The great pretender. Wretched ruiner. Breaker of bonds.

They say his name in whispers. They say his name in wails. He’s more shadow than man. Creature. Killer. Monster. Madman. Murderer.

(A great many adjectives, one must agree.)

(Indecisive bunch.)

Or: three Marauders.

One refusing to look backwards.

One refusing to look inwards.

One refusing to look forwards.

A story told in three parts.

🗝 the time will arrive by @steveahoi (art)

Ship(s): N/A — Remus Lupin

Rating: M 

Summary:

I'm so very sorry to once again come here with pain - it's the PainPuff in me I fear. The very first thought I had listening to Robin, was "Oh no, Remus" and here we are.

"You got the dragonflies above your bed You have a favorite spot on the swing set You have no room in your dreams for regrets You have no idea The time will arrive for the cruel and the mean"

The time will arrive so soon for poor little Remus.

📜 But Daddy I Love Him (Hermione’s Version) by @grangermalfoy07

Ship(s): Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

Rating:  M

Summary:

6th year is when everything changed for Draco and Hermione. Fighting in a war they shouldn’t be in and all while hiding a secret of their own. How will they navigate through their 6th year, win a war and try to stay alive?

🖌 The Way You Make Me Heal by the_prettiest_w0lf_star

Ship(s): Regulus Black/James Potter 

Rating: E

Summary:

“What if I can make you come three times in a row?"

“You think you're that good?”

“I'm better.”

𓇢𓆸 touch down (call me PrInceSS) by Sagiko_aka_regulusblackkinniebitfw @themoonthesunandthestarsbetween

Ship(s): Regulus/Sirius/Remus/James

Rating: E

Summary:

"What are you gonna do after winning the superbowl?"

"Get pissed!"

**************

Be sure to check our page for Day 12’s reveals! Until then, Tortured Poets <3

🩶 Your mods, @wolfpadx @multiimoments @heartsoncover @lemonlans @mercurial-witch @steveahoi damagecontrol & shewritesmaybe

[x-press-it]

🎉 WiP Poll train : results🎉

Last monday I joined the WiP Poll train because I loved the idea.

I had 70 votes total (71 including my own.) and it resulted in sort of a tie between 'Sleepwalker' and 'Into the Woods'.

As I'm always happy to share more about what comes out of my brain, here is two WiPs instead of one, one for each story.

And yes I was supposed to do 71 words only, but that's way too short so I'll give you a little more to thank you for your support.

Love you all, happy reading :D

Sleepwalker (205 words) exbf!Logan x f!reader 🎞️ - 🖤❤️‍🔥🌹 - ✍️

When he’s finally close enough, he clears his throat. “Hey, bub.” The sound of his voice—gravelly and familiar—hits you like a double-edged blade. For a fleeting second, it’s warm, like slipping into an old, beloved sweater. But just as quickly, the memory of how he left you twists that warmth into something sharp, a knife to the gut. You’d convinced yourself you were starting to move on, but hearing him again makes you question everything. “Logan…” His name feels foreign on your tongue—you hadn’t said it in months. Hadn’t wanted to. “Why are you here? Is everyone alright?” After everything that happened between you two, it’s the only logical explanation you can come up with. If he’s here, it must mean something happened at the mansion, and he’s just the messenger. It feels inconceivable that he would come because of you. “Yeah, everyone’s good.” His voice is hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken to anyone in a long time. His eyes linger on you, taking in every detail, like he’s trying to memorize the way you look all over again. “Couldn’t stay away.” That’s Logan for you. No apologies, no grand gestures, just that raw, simple honesty. But this time, it hits different.

Into the Woods (164 words) guardian!Logan x witch!reader 🎞️ - 🖤🌹❤️‍🔥⚔️ - ✍️

You pull a bundle of thyme from the basket at your feet and hang it from the line, letting the quiet stretch between you. It’s not a kind silence. It’s the kind meant to make him uncomfortable, to remind him that he doesn’t belong here. Finally, you break it. “If you’re planning to go into the woods, I’d be careful.” Logan scoffs, leaning against the fence with a confidence that borders on arrogance. “What’s out there that’s worse than me?” You glance at him then, letting the weight of your gaze settle on his. For a moment, you say nothing, just studying the sharp line of his jaw under the scruff, the faint shadow of weariness behind his bravado. “Things that don’t bleed,” you say quietly. “Things that don’t care if you do.” His smirk falters. Just a little. “I’ll be fine,” he says, but the words are slower now, less sure. You don’t argue. Men like him never listen until it’s too late.

Those are unedited so it might change in the future but I hope they live up to the expectation :D

Have a nice day and see you around ;)

[drowninnoodles]

Ahem. ✍️🧐

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say?

20. Do you like your neighbors?

21. What are you bad habits?

22. Where would you like to travel?

23. Do you have trust issues?

24. Favorite part of your daily routine?

31. Is your hair long enough for a pony tail?

35. Would you rather live without TV or music?

37. What do you say during awkward silences?

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in?

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean?

43. Do you smile at strangers?

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean?

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning?

46. What are you paranoid about?

71. Craving something? What?

77. Chocolate or Vanilla?

78. Favourite ice cream flavour? 

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now?

96. Favourite actress?

97. Favourite actor?

99. Have any pets?

100. How are you feeling?

101. Do you type fast?

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state?

115. Do you play the Wii?

116. Are you listening to music right now?

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup?

140. Summer or Winter?

141. Night or Day?

149. Do you believe in ghosts?

Ik it's a lot. MUAHAHAHAH you asked for it 🤷‍♀️

BOI

11. Uh actually it was a drawing sent to the person who requested it as a art for a song cover-

20. Never met them

21. Spending money immediately after earning it probably.😬🫣

22. kitchen

23. I don't have trust issues if I don't trust anyone 🫵🏻

24. Sitting in the kitchen in the morning after I get dressed. Because I sit with my mother and feed the cats then and all

31. its almost buzz cut bro

35. TV i think

37. irl? I dont talk to people. Online? If the silence is awkward, I decide that there is no point in talking to that person and I go look for new friends.

39. Uhhh every but I love big shopping malls, mainly because I love walking around them

42. Irl? That means I'm out of the house. Online? I sleep or draw

43. No, unless someone says something nice

44. bottom

45. my mom

46. sleeping

71. attention

77. both. both is good

78. salted caramel.

91. yea too many people

96. dont have one

97. dont have one

99. snail, two dogs, cats....

100. bored

101. yea i think so

114. not sure XD

115. nope

116. nopeee

117. god no

140. WINTER

141. day

149. Nope

BRO