#comedians live on stage

[livehypnosisevents]

[breedsblood]

Peter Kay - Misheard Lyrics - Live Streaming With Just Jen Reacts

https://rumble.com/v32ujjs-peter-kay-misheard-lyrics-live-streaming-with-just-jen-reacts.html?mref=1t2sy0&mc=e0pra

[physalian]

How to make your writing sound less stiff

Just a few suggestions. You shouldn’t have to compromise your writing style and voice with any of these, and some situations and scenes might demand some stiff or jerky writing to better convey emotion and immersion. I am not the first to come up with these, just circulating them again.

1. Vary sentence structure.

This is an example paragraph. You might see this generated from AI. I can’t help but read this in a robotic voice. It’s very flat and undynamic. No matter what the words are, it will be boring. It’s boring because you don’t think in stiff sentences. Comedians don’t tell jokes in stiff sentences. We don’t tell campfire stories in stiff sentences. These often lack flow between points, too.

So funnily enough, I had to sit through 87k words of a “romance” written just like this. It was stiff, janky, and very unpoetic. Which is fine, the author didn’t tell me it was erotica. It just felt like an old lady narrator, like Old Rose from Titanic telling the audience decades after the fact instead of living it right in the moment. It was in first person pov, too, which just made it worse. To be able to write something so explicit and yet so un-titillating was a talent. Like, beginner fanfic smut writers at least do it with enthusiasm.

2. Vary dialogue tag placement

You got three options, pre-, mid-, and post-tags.

Leader said, “this is a pre-dialogue tag.”

“This,” Lancer said, “is a mid-dialogue tag.”

“This is a post-dialogue tag,” Heart said.

Pre and Post have about the same effect but mid-tags do a lot of heavy lifting.

They help break up long paragraphs of dialogue that are jank to look at

They give you pauses for ~dramatic effect~

They prompt you to provide some other action, introspection, or scene descriptor with the tag. *don't forget that if you're continuing the sentence as if the tag wasn't there, not to capitalize the first word after the tag. Capitalize if the tag breaks up two complete sentences, not if it interrupts a single sentence.

It also looks better along the lefthand margin when you don’t start every paragraph with either the same character name, the same pronouns, or the same “ as it reads more natural and organic.

3. When the scene demands, get dynamic

General rule of thumb is that action scenes demand quick exchanges, short paragraphs, and very lean descriptors. Action scenes are where you put your juicy verbs to use and cut as many adverbs as you can. But regardless of if you’re in first person, second person, or third person limited, you can let the mood of the narrator bleed out into their narration.

Like, in horror, you can use a lot of onomatopoeia.

Drip Drip Drip

Or let the narration become jerky and unfocused and less strict in punctuation and maybe even a couple run-on sentences as your character struggles to think or catch their breath and is getting very overwhelmed.

You can toss out some grammar rules, too and get more poetic.

Warm breath tickles the back of her neck. It rattles, a quiet, soggy, rasp. She shivers. If she doesn’t look, it’s not there. If she doesn’t look, it’s not there. Sweat beads at her temple. Her heart thunders in her chest. Ba-bump-ba-bump-ba-bump-ba- It moves on, leaving a void of cold behind. She uncurls her fists, fingers achy and palms stinging from her nails. It’s gone.

4. Remember to balance dialogue, monologue, introspection, action, and descriptors.

The amount of times I have been faced with giant blocks of dialogue with zero tags, zero emotions, just speech on a page like they’re notecards to be read on a stage is higher than I expected. Don’t forget that though you may know exactly how your dialogue sounds in your head, your readers don’t. They need dialogue tags to pick up on things like tone, specifically for sarcasm and sincerity, whether a character is joking or hurt or happy.

If you’ve written a block of text (usually exposition or backstory stuff) that’s longer than 50 words, figure out a way to trim it. No matter what, break it up into multiple sections and fill in those breaks with important narrative that reflects the narrator’s feelings on what they’re saying and whoever they’re speaking to’s reaction to the words being said. Otherwise it’s meaningless.

—

Hope this helps anyone struggling! Now get writing.

[allthegeopolitics]

When the Hospitals of Regina Foundation invited former Saturday Night Live star Rob Schneider to perform at their Four Seasons Ball fundraiser, they probably weren’t expecting to have to issue an apology. However, that’s exactly what the Canadian charity ended up having to do, after the increasingly right-wing and controversial comedian reportedly offended the majority of the audience at the event by telling anti-trans and anti-vaccination jokes. The Four Seasons Ball took place in Saskatchewan, Canada on Saturday (1 June), with Schneider’s allegedly misogynistic, transphobic and Covid-denying jokes going down like a lead balloon with the audience, with some attendees claiming the comedian was “booed off-stage”.

Continue Reading

[simonriley09]

Fem!comedian!reader x husband!simon

You're standing on stage, doing your usual jokes and entertaining the crowd.

Simon sitting in the front row with his mates next to him after he persuaded them to come, you were walking around the stage before you decided to tease your husband.

Calling him your sex toy on a live stage? Oh... everyone stared at Simon. You've embarrassed him.

He glares at you and mouths. "Watch it." But you just continue, talking about lewd things as a "joke" making your usually calm and collected husband flustered.

Your show lasts about 2 and a half hours before everyone else leaves, Simon's mates taking a cab home.

Before you can even get changed Simon sneaks up behind you, grabbing your hips and pinning you to the stage, making you yelp.

"I'm a sex toy huh?" He growled in your ear, nipping at the shell.

"I can show you sex toy." Is what he said before unbuckling his belt and pulling his cock out from beneath the zipper, slapping the thick meat against your clothed ass.

Simon flipped your skirt up, revealing the red lace panties that were teared open and destroyed.

He spread your plush thighs open, rubbing his cock against your pussy to tease you, shallowly thrusting the head of his dick into your hole before pulling out again, doing it a couple times before finally sinking into the wet heat.

You let out a small moan as Simon's above average dick speared you open a bit painfully. But it was quickly replaced with pleasure as you felt his cock hit your sensitive cervix.

His hands were now on your doughy thighs, keeping them open as he thrusts deep and hard, drawing it out to make your pleasure more pronounced.

"Loud fucking whore." He growled, holding your plush ass against him with his calloused hands, slamming you back onto his cock, making your toes curl in your shoes.

You can't help but squirm and clench at his words, feeling the coil in your belly tighten as his thrusts get harder and faster.

"You wanna cum, doll?" He asked gravelly which you nodded eagerly to. "Beg for it." He followed up with.

"Ple- ngh... please Simon.. wanna cum... please... first me then- ah! Then you-" you wailed in pleasure, begging.

He smirked and sped up his pace, fucking you straight into the hard wood floor of the stage as your orgasm drew near.

"Simo- ngh! Si please- m'gonna cum-" You cried out, arching your back.

"Then cum, doll. Cum around this big fat cock." His grip tightened around your hips as you finally came, a thick creamy base around the Base of simon cock as he empties his load inside you with a growl.

[helloeverybodyhere]

the gratest gift

summary: something happens during the last day of love on tour

Warnings: cryptic pregnancy

The energy of the final night of Harry's tour filled the air in Emilia Romagna Campovolo, Italy. Fans from all over the world had gathered for this special moment, knowing it would be the last time they would see Harry Styles perform live for a while. Y/N stood with a small group of Harry’s closest family and friends, watching him on stage, her heart swelling with pride as he danced and sang with his usual magnetism. The crowd’s love for him was palpable, their collective voices rising up to meet him, but there was something she couldn’t shake.

The persistent, dull pain in her stomach had started earlier in the day, just after she’d woken up. She’d chalked it up to stress, the excitement of the tour winding down, or maybe even a slight stomach bug. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt a bit under the weather on tour—jet lag and late nights had taken their toll. But as the night wore on, the cramps had only intensified, creeping from an annoying ache to a sharp throb that made her wince. Still, she forced a smile, trying to enjoy the moment.

Standing beside her were Gemma, Harry’s sister, and their mom, Anne, who were both chatting animatedly with Jeff and his wife, Glenne. James Corden was also there, cracking jokes, and the group was trying to maintain a sense of normalcy amidst the overwhelming excitement of the final show.

“Y/N, you alright?” Gemma asked, her eyes narrowing with concern as she noticed Y/N clutching her stomach slightly.

"Yeah, just a little... uncomfortable," Y/N replied, offering a faint smile, but her voice trembled slightly. It was more than discomfort now, though, and the pain was growing more difficult to ignore.

Anne turned, her motherly instinct kicking in. “You don’t look alright, love. Maybe we should get you checked out?”

Y/N hesitated. She didn’t want to be a bother, especially on such a special night. "No, no, I'm fine. Really. I don’t want to ruin anything."

James, ever the comedian, leaned in with a wink. “If you’re fine, then I’m the Queen of England. No offense, but I think Gemma and Anne are right. You’re looking a bit pale there.”

Y/N tried to laugh it off, but the pain in her stomach was no longer something she could brush aside. It was becoming unbearable. As Harry continued to perform on stage, Y/N’s breaths began to grow shallow, her face flushed with discomfort.

"Y/N," Anne said firmly, the concern in her voice now more pronounced, "Let’s just get you checked out, okay? We’re not messing around. This is Harry’s last show; he’ll understand, but you need to be taken care of."

Gemma nodded in agreement. "We’ll go together. It’s not a big deal; we’ll just make sure everything’s okay."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, but the pain flared again, and she finally nodded. "Alright, okay. But I don’t want to ruin anything for him."

Anne smiled gently and took Y/N's arm. "Trust me, love. He’ll want you to be okay more than anything else."

The drive to the hospital was a blur of worry and discomfort. Y/N was trying to breathe through the pain, her hand clutched tightly in Anne's as Gemma kept glancing back at her, checking to see if she was alright. The minutes felt like hours, and by the time they reached the hospital, Y/N was struggling to even stand. She felt like her world was spinning, but she kept thinking about Harry, wishing she could be there with him as the show came to a close.

Anne, ever the rock, led her inside, and soon they were seated in a sterile examination room. A doctor quickly came in, speaking in Italian, but Gemma was quick to translate and explain the situation. The doctor checked Y/N over and then took a step back, her face tight with concern.

“Signora, I’m afraid you’re in labor," the doctor said gently. "You are pregnant."

Y/N blinked in confusion, her mind spinning. "What? I... I’m pregnant? I don’t understand. I’ve never felt pregnant."

The doctor nodded solemnly. “It’s called a cryptic pregnancy. Some women don't realize they're pregnant until very late into the term, sometimes until they go into labor.”

Gemma’s jaw dropped in shock, and Anne's face paled. Y/N’s heart raced as she tried to process the words. Pregnant? But that didn’t make sense. She hadn’t noticed any symptoms—no cravings, no morning sickness, no physical changes that would have pointed to something like this. She was just... Y/N. Just herself.

“Are you sure?” Y/N asked, her voice trembling. “How could I not know?”

The doctor gave a sympathetic smile. “It’s very rare, but it happens. Your body may not have shown typical signs. Some women don’t realize until much later in the pregnancy, sometimes not until the moment they give birth.”

Gemma held Y/N’s hand tightly. “What does this mean? Is everything okay?”

The doctor nodded. “You are full-term, and it’s likely that the pain you’re feeling is because your body is preparing for delivery. We’ll need to monitor you, but everything seems to be in order.”

Anne was quietly taking deep breaths beside Y/N, clearly trying to keep her composure for her daughter. “Well... well, then, let’s get this sorted, eh? Y/N, sweetheart, we’re here with you.”

Y/N nodded, but her mind was still reeling. Pregnant... Full-term... How was that even possible? She could barely process the words, let alone the reality of them. But then she thought about Harry—his smile, his kindness, the way he had held her so close when they were together.

And then, as if on cue, her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a message from Harry.

"Where are you? I miss you. Are you okay?"

Y/N’s heart ached. She could almost hear his voice through the screen, and she knew he would be devastated if he knew what was happening. She couldn’t tell him, not yet. She needed to be strong for both of them.

Before she could respond, the pain came again—stronger this time, and the doctor moved quickly, motioning for them to prepare for delivery. “It’s time.”

The next few hours were a whirlwind of activity, but Y/N never felt alone. Anne and Gemma stayed by her side, offering comfort and support as the medical team helped her through the labor. The pain was unlike anything she had ever felt, but she held on to the idea that once this was over, she’d have something incredible to show for it. Something she never expected but would love with all her heart.

And then, at the very end, when everything was still and calm, the soft cry of a newborn filled the room.

A baby.

Y/N couldn’t believe it—her baby. Her daughter.

As they placed the tiny, perfect baby girl in her arms, she felt a rush of love like nothing she had ever known. Her heart swelled in a way she never thought possible. This little person, who had been growing inside her all this time, was now here.

And then, as if by magic, her phone buzzed again. It was Harry, texting once more:

"I’m done with the show. I’ll see you soon. I love you."

Anne or Gemma must have told him she was in the hospital. Tears welled in her eyes as she smiled at her baby. This was their future. His future. Their future together.

The door opened, and Gemma peeked her head in. "Y/N, are you...?"

Y/N looked up, her voice shaky but filled with joy. “I’m okay. I’m... I’m a mom.”

Anne stepped in as well, her face softening with tears as she looked at her new granddaughter. "Oh, darling. Harry’s going to be over the moon."

Y/N nodded, her hand gently cradling the baby, the tiny life she had no idea she was carrying. In that moment, it didn’t matter how it had happened. What mattered was the love she felt, and the fact that Harry—her partner, her best friend—was about to become a father.

As she held her baby close, she sent a quick message back to Harry:

"I’m waiting for you. And I love you more than words can say."

And in that moment, as the world outside continued to turn, Y/N knew that no matter what came next, she was ready for this new chapter of her life. With Harry by her side, everything would be The hours after Y/N had given birth were a blur of emotion, exhaustion, and overwhelming love. Her little girl—her beautiful, perfect daughter—was nestled in her arms, fast asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling with each delicate breath. Y/N couldn’t stop staring at the baby, her heart full of a love she had never known was possible.

Anne and Gemma had left to give Y/N some space, giving her time to soak in the new reality. Their faces were tear-streaked and full of joy when they left the room, but they both knew how important this moment was—just Y/N and her daughter, before the world came rushing back.

Y/N sat in the hospital bed, cradling the baby close to her chest, when her phone buzzed again.

"I'm on my way, love. I’m outside the hospital now. I’ll be there in five."

The message was from Harry. His words were so simple, yet they carried so much weight. He had no idea. He was about to walk into the most life-changing moment of his life.

Y/N felt her chest tighten. She had to get ready. How do I tell him? she thought. She wasn’t even sure what she was going to say. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that she had given birth—no warning, no signs, just a beautiful little baby that was hers.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft tap on the door.

"Y/N?" It was Gemma’s voice. "Harry’s here."

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart racing. Okay. Here we go.

Anne and Gemma entered, both with huge smiles on their faces. Harry wasn’t with them yet, and Gemma stepped forward, her eyes soft with understanding. "He’s just outside," she said quietly. "Are you ready?"

Y/N nodded, the weight of the moment still heavy on her shoulders. "I think so. But I don’t even know how to tell him."

Anne came over, squeezing her shoulder. "You don’t need to tell him anything. He’ll figure it out when he sees her. You don’t have to say anything right away. Just... be honest with him, Y/N. He’ll be thrilled. He’s going to love her so much."

Y/N smiled at her mom, the warmth of her support helping to steady her nerves. She looked down at the little girl in her arms, who stirred slightly, letting out a soft yawn.

Just then, Harry appeared in the doorway, looking slightly out of breath and still in his performance clothes. His face lit up when he saw his family and friends, but as his eyes landed on Y/N, sitting in the bed with the little bundle in her arms, his smile faltered. He took a few hesitant steps toward her, confusion crossing his face.

"Y/N?" His voice was soft, a mixture of worry and tenderness. "What’s going on? Are you okay?"

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat as she held up the baby, her hands shaking. "Harry," she whispered, her voice cracking, "I’m... I’m okay. And this... this is our daughter."

Harry froze, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to find the right words. His eyes flicked between Y/N’s face and the tiny baby in her arms. His expression was one of disbelief, confusion, and then, slowly, a dawning realization.

"You... What?" Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. "But... but I didn’t—"

"I didn’t know either," Y/N cut him off, her voice gentle but steady. "It’s a cryptic pregnancy. I didn’t know I was pregnant until today. The pain I had, the cramps—it... it was labor."

For a long moment, Harry didn’t move. His entire body seemed frozen, his mind struggling to process the flood of information. But then, something shifted. His eyes softened, his face breaking into a mix of wonder and love.

"She’s... ours?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion, stepping closer.

Y/N nodded, tears welling in her eyes as she reached out to him, the baby still cradled gently in her arms. "Yes. She’s ours, Harry."

Without another word, Harry took a step forward, kneeling beside the bed. His hands were trembling as he looked down at the tiny girl in Y/N’s arms, his eyes wide and full of awe. The reality of the moment hit him all at once, and he reached out slowly, gently, as though afraid he might break the fragile perfection of the moment.

"Hi," Harry whispered to the baby, his voice a soft caress. "I’m your daddy. I’m so sorry I didn’t know... but I promise I’m going to love you more than anything in this world."

The baby stirred in Y/N’s arms, and Harry’s eyes welled with tears as he carefully stroked her tiny hand. "She’s beautiful," he murmured, his voice breaking as he looked up at Y/N. "How... how did this happen? How did we not know?"

Y/N smiled through her tears, feeling her heart swell with love for him, for their daughter, for the family they were about to become. "I don’t know," she said softly. "But here she is. She’s perfect, Harry."

Harry looked up at her, his face filled with an overwhelming mix of emotions—shock, joy, disbelief, and pure, unfiltered love. "You’re perfect, Y/N," he whispered. "And this... she’s perfect. I love you both so much."

Tears began to slip down Y/N’s cheeks as she leaned in closer to him, her heart full. "I love you too," she whispered, feeling the weight of their new life, the life they would now build together. "You’re going to be an amazing dad, Harry."

He smiled at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I already love her more than anything. I promise you, Y/N, I’m going to do everything I can to make this family everything it can be."

As Harry gently cupped their daughter’s tiny hand in his, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I can’t believe this. She’s ours."

Y/N nodded, her smile wide and radiant as she looked at Harry. "She’s ours. And we’re going to be okay."

With that, Harry stood up slowly, never taking his eyes off the baby, and turned to Anne and Gemma, who were standing at the foot of the bed. His voice was thick with emotion as he spoke.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Thank you for being here. For helping her. For being... for being everything she needs."

Anne smiled warmly, her heart full of pride for her son. "We’re family, Harry. And family takes care of each other."

Gemma stepped forward, smiling through her own tears. "I can’t believe I’m an aunt!" she laughed softly. "She’s going to be the most spoiled little girl in the world."

Harry smiled at them, his heart so full he thought it might burst. And as he looked down at his daughter once more, he couldn’t help but think that maybe the world had a way of surprising you when you least expected it.

This was their new beginning—the beginning of a new chapter. One filled with endless love, laughter, and, most of all, their little girl.

"Hi, baby," Harry whispered, his voice filled with awe and wonder as he bent down to kiss the top of her head. "You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. And I’m so glad you’re here."

And in that moment, with his family gathered around and his daughter in his arms, Harry knew one thing for sure—life had just given him the greatest gift.

[kiwriteswords]

All is Bright

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: apologies to those who have requested things before this! I am working on a few others, but I had to get this one out today! Hope everyone enjoyed their Thanksgiving if they celebrate it! I also would be happy to take holiday requests that are non-christmas!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Grumpy!Female Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags/Warnings: Christmas, Alcohol TW, Grumpy!Reader, Hotch with the Praising, Suggestive Flirting,

Sypnosis: When the BAU gathers for Rossi’s annual Christmas party, you’re determined to survive the night with your grumpy demeanor firmly intact. Holiday cheer isn’t your thing, but Aaron Hotchner—your stoic, endlessly patient boyfriend—has a way of melting your resolve.

Rossi’s estate was decked out in its holiday best. Twinkling lights illuminated every corner, and the smell of pine, cinnamon, and whatever culinary masterpiece Rossi had whipped up filled the air. The BAU team, scattered across the sprawling mansion, was in various stages of celebrating—laughter and clinking glasses echoing in the space. You, however, sat on the edge of a couch in the living room, a scowl lightly gracing your face as you sipped your drink.

“Didn’t realize Scrooge made the guest list,” Morgan teased, plopping down beside you. He had a full glass himself, but it was in stark contrast to what you were drinking. The spiked eggnog he had was far too sweet for your liking. You kept it simple and…you with the gin on the rocks.

“Ha, ha,” you deadpanned, taking another sip, waving him off, “I’m just here for the food. Don’t get used to this festive spirit.”

“Festive spirit? That’s a stretch,” Emily chimed in from across the room,  “Come on, admit it—you’re having fun.”

You rolled your eyes. Sure, the party wasn’t awful, but your natural state of grumpiness was a hard shell to crack. And yet, it seemed like everyone was on a mission tonight to tease you out of it.

Well, almost everyone.

You glanced across the room, and there he was—Aaron Hotchner, in all his stoic, composed glory. He was in conversation with Rossi, holding a glass of something that wasn’t eggnog (because, of course, he also wasn’t an eggnog guy). His suit jacket was off, tie loosened just slightly, and the sight of him caused the smallest crack in your armor.

Hotch glanced in your direction as if sensing your gaze. His lips quirked into a small, knowing smile before he excused himself and made his way toward you. Your heart betrayed you with a flutter, but you shoved the feeling down, keeping your scowl firmly in place.

“Hey, sunshine,” he greeted softly, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to tease you.

“Funny,” you replied. “Everyone’s a comedian tonight.”

“Hmm.” He perched on the armrest of the couch beside you, close enough for his presence to feel grounding but not overwhelming. “Morgan giving you a hard time?”

“When isn’t he?” you muttered, glancing at the man in question, who was now laughing with Garcia by the fireplace.

Hotch chuckled lightly. “It’s only because he cares.”

“I think he just likes to mess with me.”

“That too.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping just for you. “You know, you could try smiling. It’s Christmas.”

“Why should I? There’s a whole house full of people here doing it for me.”

Hotch’s laugh was quiet but genuine, the kind of sound you swore could melt even your grumpiest moods. You felt his hand brush lightly against yours, where it rested on your knee, a simple, grounding touch.

“I like your grumpiness,” he said, surprising you. “But I like it even more when I can make it go away.”

Before you could respond, you heard Emily call out from somewhere behind you. “Hotch, do something about her face before it ruins the photos.”

You turned to glare at her, but Hotch chuckled again. “Let’s give them what they want, then.”

He stood, placing his drink on a coaster and offering you his hand. You raised a brow. “What are you up to, Aaron?”

“Trust me,” he said, his tone gentle but playful.

With a sigh, you placed your hand in his and let him pull you up. He guided you toward the doorway leading into the dining room, where a sprig of mistletoe hung, subtle but unmistakable.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, realizing his plan. “Mistletoe? Really?” You knew you sounded like a defiant child, but really? 

“You don’t like traditions?” His voice was smooth, his expression amused but patient as ever. Why did he have to give you that look? 

“It’s cheesy.”

“Maybe. But I think we owe Rossi for hosting this party.” He stepped closer, his brown eyes warm, his smile soft. “What do you say?”

Before you could roll your eyes again, the team noticed. Garcia was the first to squeal. “Oh my gosh, yes! Kiss her, Hotch!” 

“Might as well get it over with!” Morgan called out, grinning ear to ear. 

“Stop making it a thing,” you muttered, cheeks heating as you shot daggers at your friends. You could have sworn you heard Rossi whistle.

But then Hotch gently tilted your chin up, bringing your focus back to him. His expression was calm, steady, the kind of look that always reminded you why you fell for him in the first place. The soft brush of his thumb against your chin was electric enough to refocus your brain. 

“It doesn’t have to be a thing,” he said quietly, just for you. So nonchalant, like you weren’t the center of attention. “Just us.” 

You couldn’t argue with that. With a resigned sigh, you leaned up, and he met you halfway, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was soft and unhurried. The world around you seemed to fade for a moment, your grumpiness melting away like snow under the warmth of the sun.

When you pulled back, the room erupted in applause and cheers, which immediately brought your scowl back.

“Great. Now it’s a spectacle.”

Hotch chuckled, his hand sliding down to rest on the small of your back. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Better.”

The team’s laughter and cheers didn’t let up, and you glared at them over your shoulder. “Don’t you all have something better to do than act like high schoolers?”

“Not when this is more entertaining than TV,” Morgan quipped, raising his glass.

“You’re all insufferable,” you grumbled, though the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed your faux annoyance.

Hotch leaned in closer, his hand steady on your back. “Do you want to stay here and endure this, or should we disappear for a while?”

Your brow quirked. “Disappear? That’s not very supervisory of you.”

“Supervisory me is off duty,” he replied, his lips just barely brushing your ear. “And I have more interesting priorities tonight.”

The flush creeping up your neck betrayed the calm facade you tried to maintain. “Fine. Let’s get out of here before they start taking bets.” 

You were hoping he meant to leave. Adios. Irish goodbye. But his plans were more of an intermission of sorts. 

The two of you slipped away toward one of the quieter sitting rooms, though not without a few knowing smirks from the team. Rossi’s mansion, as sprawling as it was, offered plenty of places to hide away from the chaos. You found yourselves in a cozy, dimly lit room with a roaring fireplace, the sound of the party fading into the background.

“This better not be where you try to sell me on more Christmas traditions,” you teased, crossing your arms as you turned to face him. Somehow, even this unused room, in Rossi’s mansion, abode for one, was even decked out for the holiday. 

Hotch stepped closer, his gaze soft but focused entirely on you. “No traditions this time. Just us.”

You softened at that, the tension you always carried in your shoulders easing a little. “You’re dangerously close to getting me in the holiday spirit.”

“Is that so?” he said, the faintest hint of amusement playing at his lips. “Should I be worried?”

“Maybe.” You stepped closer, resting your hands on his chest. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently along your skin. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

The kiss that followed was deeper this time, more intent behind it, yet still carrying that steady warmth you always found in him. You lost yourself in the feel of him, the stress and grumpiness of the day melting away completely.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and you let out a soft sigh. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Am I?” His tone was amused, but his gaze was steady, his hand lingering at your waist.

“Yeah. I can’t even stay mad around you.”

“That’s the goal.” He kissed your forehead, his voice low and affectionate. “I like seeing you happy. Even if it takes a little extra effort.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the sound of someone clearing their throat made you both turn. Standing in the doorway, Rossi grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, though his tone suggested he was enjoying this far too much. “I just came to see where my guests of honor disappeared to.”

You sighed, giving Hotch a knowing look. “I told you they wouldn’t let us escape.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his hand still at your back. “It was worth a try.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Rossi said with a wave of his hand. “But you might want to come back before Garcia starts circulating conspiracy theories.”

Rossi left with a wink, and you groaned, burying your face in Hotch’s chest. “I swear, next year, we’re skipping this.”

He held you close, caressing your back with reassurance, his voice warm with laughter. “Not a chance. But I told you,  I’ll make it up to you afterward.”

You looked up at him, arching a brow. “You’d better.”

Hotch’s hand lingered at the small of your back as the two of you stepped back into the glow of Rossi’s holiday party. The laughter and music were a sharp contrast to the quiet moment you’d just shared, but his steady presence grounded you as always.

Morgan was the first to spot you, a wide grin splitting his face. “There they are! And here I thought you two were off plotting something.”

“Only my escape,” you replied dryly, earning a chorus of laughs from the group.

“Oh, come on, we know you secretly love it here,” Garcia said, her sparkling outfit matching the mischievous glint in her eyes. “Especially when you’ve got him by your side.”

Hotch’s hand tightened slightly at your back, his calm demeanor unshaken by the team’s teasing. “Someone has to keep her from bolting.”

“Someone,” you muttered under your breath, shooting him a side-eye glance. His lips quirked in amusement, his brown eyes soft as they met yours.

The teasing continued as Rossi brought out a tray of desserts, insisting everyone try his homemade tiramisu. As the team gathered around the kitchen island, you felt yourself relax into the chaos, the warmth of their camaraderie chipping away at your usual reluctance.

“You know,” JJ said, nudging your arm with a grin, “you’re almost smiling. Is Hotch rubbing off on you?”

“Absolutely not,” you deadpanned, earning another round of laughter.

Hotch leaned in close, his voice just for you. “Is it so bad to admit you’re enjoying yourself?”

You shot him a playful glare but couldn’t quite fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe. But if you tell them that, I’ll deny it.”

He chuckled softly, brushing his hand along your arm. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

As the night wore on, the team drifted into various activities—some chatting near the fireplace, others engaged in a spirited game of charades. You found yourself by the Christmas tree, admiring the lights despite yourself. Hotch joined you quietly, his presence as calming as ever.

“You’re staring,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. You tried to focus back on the various shiny bulbs hanging from each branch but couldn’t help but look back toward him.

“Just admiring the view,” he replied without missing a beat, his gaze fixed on you.

Your cheeks warmed, and you looked away, grumbling, “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he said, the faintest smirk on his lips.

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him slightly, letting the quiet moment settle around you. For all the teasing, the chaos, and your initial reluctance, you couldn’t deny that being here—with him—made it all worthwhile.

The soft glow of the Christmas tree lights reflected in Hotch’s warm brown eyes as you both stood there, taking in the quiet moment. The sounds of the team’s laughter echoed in the background, distant enough to feel like you were in your own little world.

“You know,” he started, his voice low and thoughtful, “I never thought I’d be doing this again.”

“Doing what?” you asked, glancing up at him. You could feel the shift in his energy. It was something, especially with him, you could pick up on before words even left his mouth. Your usual demeanor softened, recognizing this.

He gestured subtly toward the tree, the party, the warmth of the night. “Celebrating. Finding this... peace. With someone I care about.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten. Hotch wasn’t one to overshare or wear his emotions openly, so moments like these carried weight. You hesitated, unsure how to respond, the vulnerability in his words catching you off guard.

“Maybe I didn’t mind it as much as I let on,” you admitted quietly, your voice softer than usual, almost reluctant. The confession hung in the air for a beat before you quickly added, “But don’t get too sentimental on me. I have a reputation to uphold.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, his gaze flicking toward you briefly before returning to the road. “Of course. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’ve gone soft.”

As the evening wound down, the energy in Rossi’s mansion began to settle. The team had dispersed into smaller groups—Emily and Garcia were deep in a heated debate over whether "Die Hard" was a Christmas movie, with JJ chiming in occasionally, Morgan was helping Rossi clean up, and Reid had somehow been roped into organizing the board games Rossi insisted on showcasing earlier. You stood near the door, watching it all unfold with a mix of amusement and relief. The night had been more tolerable than expected, but you were ready to call it.

Hotch appeared at your side, his coat draped over his arm. “Ready to head out?”

You sighed, giving the room one last glance. The goodbyes had just about done you in. You tried to hide a comment about likely being called into seeing all of these people before the next few days were over but held back. 

“More than ready. Let’s go before Rossi tries to guilt me into taking leftovers.”

Hotch’s lips curved into the faintest smile, and he helped you into your coat, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary. 

Once outside, the crisp winter air hit your face, a refreshing contrast to the cozy warmth of Rossi’s house. The driveway was lined with cars, their frosted windshields glittering under the soft glow of the outdoor lights. Hotch walked you to his car, opening the passenger door for you as always.

The drive back to your shared apartment was quiet, the sound of Christmas music on the radio filling the silence. You stared out the window at the snow-dusted streets, watching as the lights from decorated houses passed by in a blur.

The soft hum of the car and the muted glow of passing streetlights filled the comfortable silence between you. Hotch glanced your way again, a flicker of amusement in his gaze as his fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel.

“You were good tonight,” he said again, his voice carrying a warm, teasing edge that made you glance at him with narrowed eyes.

“Good?” you repeated, raising a brow. “Are you about to give me a gold star?”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t break. “If I thought it’d keep you in line, I’d consider it. But we both know you respond to other things.”

Your cheeks burned at the weight of his words, the way his tone wrapped around you. Your stomach flipped at the way his voice dipped just enough to send a pleasant shiver down your spine. You masked it with a roll of your eyes, your tone teasing as you replied, “You’re impossible.” 

“And you love it,” he countered smoothly, his eyes flicking toward you again, steady and unshakable.

Your mouth twitched into a small, reluctant smile as you turned back to the window. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not exactly lining up for the Most Festive award anytime soon.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said, his voice softer now. “But you showed up, you played nice, and you made it through without biting anyone’s head off. Maybe even a smile or two. That’s progress.”

You scoffed lightly, though his words sent a subtle warmth through your chest. “If you think that’s progress, your standards are lower than I thought.”

His smirk deepened, and he let the silence stretch for a moment before he replied, “I think you know my standards are anything but low. Especially when it comes to you.”

Your cheeks warmed at the weight of his words, but you kept your tone light. “You’re lucky I even went. I could’ve stayed home.”

“You could have,” he agreed easily, his voice steady. “But you didn’t. And I’m glad you didn’t.”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard for a moment, and you glanced at him, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the passing streetlights. His presence was so steady, so calm, it made your usual defenses falter. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

He gave a small nod, keeping his eyes on the road. “I do. You didn’t have to go, but you did. For me.” The corner of his mouth tugged upward again, but this time, his gaze stayed on the road. “You know, for someone who’s so resistant to the holidays, you play along pretty well when you want to.”

You raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said, glancing at you now with that steady, unreadable expression, “that I see right through you.”

Your stomach flipped at the way his voice dropped, warm and firm. “Oh, do you now?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, his tone laced with challenge. “And for the record, you did better than good tonight. You were perfect.”

The car pulled into the driveway of your shared apartment, and the engine’s hum faded as he shut it off. You turned to face him, your heart beating just a little faster under his gaze. “Perfect, huh? That’s a bold claim.”

“It is,” he said, his hand resting lightly on the gearshift as he leaned just slightly toward you. “But I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

You stared at him for a moment, caught between wanting to roll your eyes and wanting to melt under the intensity of his gaze. “Fine. But if you’re so impressed with me, you’d better make it worth my while.”

His lips curved into that rare, private smile he reserved just for you. “Oh, I plan to.”

The warmth in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you huffed, reaching for the door handle to hide your reaction. “You’d better, Hotchner.”

He chuckled softly, stepping out of the car and rounding to your side to open your door—always the gentleman, no matter how much it flustered you. As you stepped out, his hand found its way to the small of your back, guiding you toward the door with that quiet, steady presence that always left you feeling just a little off balance.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were practically buzzing with anticipation—not just for whatever promises lay unspoken between you, but for the way he always seemed to know how to unravel your defenses with nothing more than a look and a touch.

And tonight, you were more than ready to let him.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[matan4il]

I'm gonna put it as simply and blatantly as possible.

Russia in 2022 attacked another Eurovision participant and made a whole bunch of other contestant countries scared of being attacked next, after already having attacked a fellow competitor in 2008 -> Russia got banned from Eurovision

Ukraine in 2022 got attacked, had its civilians targeted intentionally, did not choose to start the war, has no record of past attacks against ESC contestants, and is not currently posing a threat to any other Eurovision participating country -> Ukraine did not get banned

Israel in 2023 got attacked, had its civilians targeted intentionally, did not choose to start the war, has no record of past attacks against ESC contestants, and is not currently posing a threat to any other Eurovision participating country -> Israel did not get banned

There isn't a double standard, except for people who insist on not following the geopolitical logic. Same ones who didn't use Ukraine's retaliation activities against Russia as justification to get Ukraine banned, but are doing that to Israel, usually with a side dish of false, hyperbolic accusations that have nothing to do with reality.

Also...

The only flags allowed are of participating countries and the pride flag. The American flag is therefore banned. The Mexican flag. The Japanese, the Korean, the Nigerian flags. The world doesn't actually revolve around Palestinians, they're not actually the ultimate victims, and honestly, it's offensive they're cast that way when there are conflicts far worse and bloodier than the current war in Gaza, not to mention it takes away attention and help from them, to make everything constantly about the Palestinians.

Meanwhile, this is supposed to be the rule. Outside the performance hall, but within the borders of the Eurovision village, a visiting Israeli comedian called Guy Hochman was assaulted for walking around with the Israeli flag. Swedish police intervened, but they didn't act against the anti-Israel protesters who attacked and spat on Guy, they stopped him from openly carrying the Israeli flag. He asked why are they not allowing it, even though the flag is of a participating country, in accordance with the rules. He was told it's too dangerous. He then asked why are Palestinian flags not being removed, if they're banned according to contest rules, and was told that in Sweden, freedom of speech is above anything else. He was also grilled about whether he's Jewish by the Swedish policemen. Why was his flag denied, then? Why was his freedom of speech not protected, why was his Jewish identity a matter for questioning?

Another thing, the Swedish singer who ended up in third place in 2011 Eric Khaled Saade went on a childish rant crying over the Palestinian flag being banned (again, as if it's the only one), and as he was invited to perform this year, he got on stage live with a kaffiyeh tied to his left hand, even though he knew that was considered political, and therefore not allowed. Once more, he whined about it as if this is specifically against Palestinians, but you know what? The dress designers wanted to have a Star of David on the dress of the Israeli singer. She's a Jewish woman, that's a Jewish symbol, so why not represent her identity? But they were told that's "political." And you know what the Israeli delegation did? Followed the rules. You won't see the Star of David on Eden's dress. When they were told not to wear the hostage pin, because that's "political"? They followed the rules. When the Israeli song writers were told that their song, expressing Israeli pain, is "too political," what did they do? Followed the rules, they changed the lyrics. And you don't hear them crying about it all over social media and the news.

Not to mention, Eric Saade had no problem kissing the ass of Israeli fans back in 2011, when he competed and needed their votes. Was his dad less Palestinian back then? By the way, Israeli fans didn't hold his identity against him, they didn't demand he be questioned about Palestinian terrorists, or what his stance is on Hamas, they didn't drag politics into it, they focused on music and culture connecting people across borders and identities (as the ESC is supposed to do), and Israel gave its 12 points in both the semi and the final to Eric Saade that year. How did he repay those fans? Campaigning to ban Israel (and therefore them) from the contest, because he's incapable of seeing them as people first, and political rivals second, or maybe even (God forbid!) not at all...

It all smells like hypocrisy to me. But we all know this post won't get anywhere near the exposure (through likes and reblogs) that the lying, self-centered, hypocritical anti-Israel posts do. Doesn't matter. I'll still be here, speaking the truth.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[kanemanuelkeludbp]

Trump "bombards" Zelensky, words never used before

According to reports, on the international political stage, Trump's recent "bombardment" of Zelensky has caused an uproar, making the already complicated US-Ukraine relations and the Russian-Ukrainian conflict situation even more confusing.

On February 19, local time, Trump launched a fierce attack on Zelensky on his "truth" platform. He fiercely called Zelensky a "slightly accomplished comedian" and an "unelected dictator", and accused Zelensky of persuading the United States to invest up to $350 billion in an unnecessary conflict with no chance of winning. Trump stressed that without the United States and himself, Zelensky would not be able to quell the war at all, and warned Zelensky that "he'd better act quickly, otherwise his country will cease to exist", and pointed out that Zelensky refused to hold elections, had extremely low approval ratings in Ukrainian opinion polls, and was good at "playing" Biden.

Trump's remarks are not groundless. Previously, the United States proposed a "rare earth debt repayment" plan to Ukraine, claiming that Ukraine could exchange up to $500 billion in aid for the transfer of rare earth and other resources. However, according to sources on the 18th, the final version of the "rare earth agreement" given by Trump contained many unreasonable conditions. The United States coveted not only rare earths, but also Ukraine's ports, other minerals and land, etc., which was as absurd as a "defeated country treaty." This agreement was eventually rejected by Zelensky, who said that now was not a good time to sign the agreement and refuted Trump's statement about the amount of US aid. He said that in the nearly three years since the outbreak of the Russian-Ukrainian conflict, the United States has actually provided Ukraine with weapons and equipment worth about $67 billion, and direct financial support for Ukraine's budget is $31.5 billion, far less than the $350 billion Trump said. In addition, Zelensky also hit back, saying that Trump lives in Russia's "fake information bubble", criticizing the Trump administration's proposed agreement for not only requiring 50% of Ukraine's mineral resources, but also lacking the "security clauses" that Ukraine urgently needs, and bluntly saying that "the country will not be sold out."

In the face of Zelensky's retort, US Vice President Vance quickly warned Zelensky that it was an extremely bad move to publicly criticize Trump, which would only backfire, and condemned Zelensky's brutal response to the peace talks. At the same time, Musk also joined the battle, claiming that Zelensky killed an American journalist.

From a deeper perspective, Trump's eagerness to resolve the Russia-Ukraine conflict has its own strategic considerations. He is eager to get rid of the heavy "burden" of Ukraine and focus more energy and resources on dealing with other opponents, especially important competitors in the international political and economic landscape. In his view, Zelensky's various actions hindered his plan to quickly end the Russia-Ukraine conflict. Zelensky refused to sign the seemingly tempting but harsh agreement of the United States, and fought back against Trump's accusations without showing any weakness, which made Trump, who has always been tough and has a clear love and hate, intolerable.

In this fierce confrontation between the United States and Ukraine, Ukraine's situation has become increasingly difficult. Originally as a "chess piece" of the United States in the Russia-Ukraine conflict, Ukraine has made great sacrifices for the interests of the United States and Europe, and the country has been shattered, with millions of casualties. Now, the United States has turned its back on Ukraine, not only forcing Ukraine to repay the huge aid, but also trying to plunder Ukraine's resources through unequal agreements. The European Union, an ally that has always followed the United States, has also been put in an awkward position in this incident. The United States asked the European Union to provide security guarantees for post-war Ukraine, completely disregarding Europe's own interests and security needs, showing the United States' indifference to its allies in pursuit of maximizing its own interests.

The conflict between Trump and Zelensky is not just a personal conflict between the two, but also a major adjustment of US-Ukraine relations under the new international situation. It reflects the United States' unscrupulous side in international affairs for its own interests, and also puts Ukraine in a more passive situation. In the future, whether Ukraine will make greater sacrifices under Trump's pressure and where US-Ukraine relations will go have become the focus of close attention of the international community. For European countries, it is time to re-examine their relationship with the United States to avoid being further sacrificed in this great power game.

[mistyshane30]

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 4)

Synopsis: A night of laughter, drinks, and unexpected tensions—what starts as a simple trip to a comedy bar takes a turn neither of you saw coming. You brace yourself for the stand-up routine, but the real punchline comes when the comedian mistakes you and Agatha for a couple. It’s just a joke… right? 

Word count: 3.2k 

Warnings: Mild language, Mention of alcohol consumption, Mentions of harassment, Physical confrontation, Lingering tension, Unresolved emotions, Subtle angst 

The van rolled to a stop in front of the dimly lit comedy bar, the neon sign casting a soft glow against the pavement. The motion of the sudden halt stirred Agatha, who blinked awake, momentarily disoriented. 

Then she realized. 

She had been sleeping—leaning—on your shoulder the entire ride. 

Agatha’s body stiffened, her breath hitching for just a second before she masked it with a nonchalant stretch. You, having felt the exact moment of her realization, stole a glance in her direction. The way she recovered, shifting seamlessly from surprise to indifference, almost made you smirk. Almost. 

Instead, you shrugged it off and pulled your earbuds out, tucking them into your bag as Jennifer nudged Agatha’s arm. “Come on, sleepyhead. We’re here.” 

The group filed out of the van, stretching from the long ride. The crisp evening air carried a hint of laughter from inside the venue, setting the atmosphere for the night. The comedy bar was a modest yet lively spot, buzzing with energy as people gathered around tables, drinks in hand, ready to be entertained. 

Jennifer took the lead, approaching the front desk where a receptionist greeted her with a warm smile. “Reservation under Jennifer Kale,” she stated. 

The receptionist scanned the list, then nodded. “Ah, yes. Party of six. Right this way.” 

Following her through the crowded space, the group was led to a table directly in front of the stage—center, prime seating. You exchanged a glance with Wanda, who grinned knowingly. “Front row, huh? Guess we’re getting roasted tonight.” 

Alice chuckled as she took her seat. “Better us than someone else.” 

You slid into your seat, and—once again—Agatha ended up beside you. Coincidence? You weren’t so sure. A quick glance around the table caught Wanda and Jennifer exchanging a knowing look, their little smirks barely concealed. Your irritation flared, but you masked it with practiced ease, feigning indifference. 

Agatha, on the other hand, acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary. She adjusted her posture, reached for her phone, and began scrolling—calm, composed. Or at least, that’s the image she wanted to maintain. 

The show hadn't started yet, so they decided to order some food and drinks first. A waiter approached the table, notebook in hand. "Good evening! Can I start you off with some drinks and appetizers?" 

You barely glanced up from your phone. "Animal fries, classic American cheeseburger, and a classic cocktail." 

Agatha set her menu down neatly. "Greek salad and a Black Magic martini." 

Alice grinned. "I’ll take the buffalo wings and a Skinny Grapefruit Moscow Mule." 

Lilia tapped a finger against the menu before nodding. "Truffle fries and a white sangria for me." 

Jennifer hummed in thought before closing her menu. "Just a charcuterie board and a glass of merlot." 

Wanda smirked. "Nachos and an old fashioned." 

The waiter jotted everything down quickly. "Sounds great. I’ll get these started for you right away." 

Once the waiter left, conversation naturally lulled. Wanda and Alice fell into easy chatter, while the rest of the group—including you—busied themselves with their phones, scrolling mindlessly as they waited for their food and drinks. 

After a few minutes, the waiter returned, balancing a tray loaded with plates and glasses. One by one, the dishes were set in front of each of you, the enticing aroma immediately filling the air. 

Jennifer let out an appreciative whistle. "Now this is what I call a pre-show meal." 

As you picked up a fry, Wanda nudged you with a teasing smirk. "Damn, Y/N. You planning to feed an army or just yourself?" 

Alice laughed. "You practically ordered enough for two people." 

You rolled your eyes, unfazed. "I'm starving. That hour-long ride drained me." You took a deliberate bite of your burger. "And besides, I need fuel to survive whatever tonight has in store." 

Lilia snorted. "Yeah, like dodging the comedians’ jokes?" 

"Exactly," you said, pointing a fry at her before popping it into your mouth. 

Jennifer chuckled, raising her whiskey sour. "Well, here's to surviving the night." 

Everyone lifted their glasses in a small toast—except Agatha. She quietly picked at her salad, absentmindedly stabbing at a piece of lettuce while keeping her focus on her plate. Her silence was noticeable, but no one commented on it. You, however, were hyper-aware of her presence beside you—the slight tension in her posture, the way she avoided looking at you, as if she was deliberately shutting out the energy at the table. 

Wanda, catching on, smirked and leaned over. "You good, Agatha? You're a little too quiet for someone about to witness live stand-up." 

Agatha barely looked up, offering a dismissive, "Just eating." 

Wanda raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Jennifer, but let it go. The conversation continued, flowing with laughter and playful jabs, though your mind remained half-distracted by Agatha's odd distance. 

Alice wiped her hands on a napkin and grinned. "Alright, so predictions—who's most likely to get roasted by the comedian first?" 

"Y/N," Lilia said immediately, smirking at you. "It's always the quiet ones in the front row." 

You groaned, tossing a fry at her. "You all better back me up if they come for me." 

"No promises," Jennifer said, smirking as she sipped her drink. 

As the laughter continued, Agatha finally lifted her glass, taking a slow sip of her martini before setting it down. Still detached, still reserved. 

You exhaled softly, pushing down the slight irritation that crept in. Fine. If she wanted to pretend like nothing existed outside of her meal, so be it. 

After a few minutes, the host finally took the stage, a bright grin on their face as they welcomed the audience. "Good evening, everyone! Hope you're all ready for a night of laughs!" The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, the atmosphere immediately shifting into excitement. 

The host's eyes scanned the audience before landing on Jennifer, their smirk widening. "Well, well, well—looks like we have a bride-to-be in the house!" They gestured toward her, prompting a round of chuckles from the table. "Congratulations! You ready for some pre-wedding roasting tonight?" 

Jennifer laughed, raising her glass. "Bring it on!" 

"That's the spirit! Nothing like some good ol' public humiliation to kick off the countdown to your big day." The host winked, earning more laughter before they smoothly transitioned into warming up the rest of the audience with lighthearted jokes. 

The energy in the room grew as the host playfully interacted with different tables, cracking jokes, calling out unsuspecting guests, and setting the stage for the night's lineup of comedians. The anticipation buzzed in the air, infectious and electric. 

The group carried on eating, exchanging knowing glances between bites. The conversation flowed naturally, mingling with the laughter echoing across the venue. You took another sip of your drink, bracing yourself for whatever chaos the comedians had in store. 

After that, the opening act for stand-up comedy starts, followed by the middle act. The whole thing is hilarious, and the group bursts into laughter at the comedian’s jokes. You find yourself stealing glances at Agatha when she’s not looking, catching fleeting expressions you can’t quite read. 

By the time the middle act wraps up, your group has finished eating, leaving only drinks on the table. With a few rounds in, the alcohol is starting to take effect—laughter is louder, smiles last a little longer, and conversations flow more freely. Everyone is slightly tipsy, but the real fun begins when the headliner takes the stage for the roast segment. 

The headliner is ruthless in the best way, roasting the crowd left and right. Your table isn’t spared either. The comedian’s eyes land on you, and a slow grin spreads across their face. “Oh, now look at this one,” they say, gesturing toward you. “This is power. This is money. This is—hold on, let me get it right—‘I don’t have time for your nonsense, and I will fire you before lunch break.’” 

The group erupts into laughter, even you can’t hold back a smirk. The comedian squints dramatically. “Seriously, you walked in here looking like the CEO of an evil tech empire. I mean, damn. This is some full-on Miranda Priestly realness. I bet you don’t even blink when you say ‘You’re fired.’” 

You shake your head, chuckling. “I am not that scary.” 

“Oh no, honey, you terrify me,” the comedian teases, making an exaggerated shudder. “I feel like if I asked you for a raise, you’d just stare at me until I reconsidered my entire life.” 

The laughter continues, and as you glance toward Agatha, you catch it—the small, quiet giggle she tries to hide. It’s brief, but it’s there. Your chest tightens, though you quickly compose yourself and turn back to the stage. 

But then, the comedian isn’t done. Their gaze flickers between you and Agatha, a knowing smirk forming. “Oh, and look at this—CEO Boss Bitch and the mysterious, brooding one sitting next to her. There’s a story here, I just know it.” 

The table hollers, except for you and Agatha. 

The comedian crosses their arms, tilting their head. “Okay, tell me the truth. How long have you two been together?” 

You nearly choke on your drink. Agatha visibly stiffens beside you. 

“We’re not,” you say quickly, shaking your head. 

Agatha clears her throat, “Definitely not.” 

The comedian raises their hands in surrender. “Ohhh, my bad! My bad! I just saw the tension. I mean, come on, the energy between you two is practically a Netflix slow-burn romance waiting to happen.” 

The laughter from your friends doesn’t help, and you shoot a glare toward Wanda and Jen, who both look way too amused. The comedian moves on, roasting Jen, Alice, Wanda, and Lilia in turn, making sure no one escapes unscathed. 

By the end of the set, everyone is still giggling, finishing off their drinks as the host returns for some closing remarks. The show is officially over, but the night isn’t. The group decides to linger for a bit, chatting among themselves. Agatha is engaged in conversation with the others, purposefully keeping her back toward you. And you? You’re doing the exact same thing—pretending not to notice her. 

But somehow, despite the distance, the weight of her presence refuses to fade. 

After some time, you excuse yourself from the group to use the bathroom. Standing up, you weave through the tables, scanning the dimly lit space for the restroom sign. It takes a moment, but you finally spot it near the back of the bar. Just as you’re about to walk toward it, a figure steps into your path, blocking the way. 

It’s a man. 

"Hey there, gorgeous," he says, his voice slurred with alcohol. "Haven’t seen you around here before." 

You immediately tense up. "I’m just heading to the bathroom," you say firmly, trying to sidestep him, but he moves with you, cutting you off. 

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. No need to rush," he grins. "Maybe I can keep you company. You look like you could use some fun." 

Your patience wears thin, but you keep your composure. "I’m not interested. Please move." 

The man chuckles, undeterred. "Playing hard to get, huh? I like that." 

And then, before you can react, his hand lands on your shoulder. 

A cold shiver runs down your spine. Your instincts scream at you to get away. You step back, trying to shake him off, but he steps forward, closing the space between you. The overwhelming stench of alcohol clings to him, making your stomach churn. 

"Don’t touch me," you say sharply, your voice laced with warning. 

He ignores you. "Come on, don’t be like that," he slurs, his grip tightening as he leans in. "Just one drink with me." 

Your pulse spikes. The weight of his touch, the suffocating closeness—it triggers something deep and visceral within you. Anger surges up like wildfire. 

"Fuck off!" you snap, shoving him hard. 

The man stumbles back, his drunken daze breaking for a second before it twists into something darker. His face hardens, and before you can take another step, his hand latches onto your arm, yanking you back and slamming you against the wall. 

Panic grips you as you struggle against his hold. He’s strong—stronger than you expected. His breath, reeking of whiskey, fans against your face as he leans in, an unsettling grin curling on his lips. 

"You’re feisty," he murmurs. "I like that." 

Your stomach twists with disgust. You try to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. Your heart pounds. You need to get out of this— 

Then suddenly, the weight disappears. 

The man is wrenched away from you, shoved back so hard that he nearly stumbles onto the floor. A blur of movement, and then a familiar voice, sharp and full of venom— 

"Back the hell off." 

Agatha. 

The man regains his balance, glaring at her. "And who the fuck are you?" 

Agatha tilts her head, a cold smirk tugging at her lips. "Your worst nightmare." 

Something in her tone—calm, deadly—makes even the drunk man hesitate. But his bravado is short-lived. He scoffs and lunges toward her, raising a fist. 

Big mistake. 

Agatha moves fast. Too fast. In one swift motion, she sidesteps his attack, grabs his wrist, and twists it behind his back, forcing him down with an effortless grace that speaks of experience. The man yelps in pain, his other hand scrambling for balance against the wall. 

"I’d think really hard about your next move," Agatha warns, her voice eerily composed. "Because I promise you, if you touch her again, you won’t be walking out of here with all your teeth." 

The man grits his teeth, writhing in her grip, but ultimately, he knows he’s lost. With a frustrated grunt, he yanks himself free and stumbles back, cradling his wrist. 

"Crazy bitch," he mutters before staggering away into the crowd. 

Agatha watches him go, her posture still tense, like she’s ready to chase him down if he so much as looks back. When she finally turns to you, her expression softens just a fraction. 

"Are you okay?" she asks, scanning your face. "Did he do anything else?" 

You take a shaky breath, still feeling the phantom weight of the man’s grip on your arm. "I’m okay now. Thanks to you." 

Agatha exhales, nodding. "Good." 

You hesitate, then add, "I mean it. Thank you, Agatha. Even with… everything between us right now, you still—" 

Agatha shrugs, cutting you off. "I’m still pissed at you," she admits bluntly. "But you’re still my friend. And when someone messes with you, I’m not gonna stand by and let it happen. No second thoughts." 

Something in her words tugs at your chest. Maybe it’s the sincerity, maybe it’s the way she doesn’t hesitate—like protecting you was never a choice but a given. 

The weight of the past few days settles between you, and suddenly, you don’t want to let the moment slip away. You take a deep breath and finally say it— 

"I’m sorry, Agatha." 

She blinks, surprised. 

You continue, "I went too far with what I said about Ralph. I was out of line, and I hurt you. I just… I was worried about you, but that doesn’t excuse what I said." 

Agatha studies you for a long moment, then sighs. "Yeah. You were an ass." 

You huff out a small laugh. "I know." 

She crosses her arms but nods. "But… I get it. And I appreciate the apology. I forgive you." 

A weight lifts from your chest. The tension between you both eases, just a little. 

You shift on your feet before glancing back at the hallway. "What were you even doing here anyway?" 

"I was going to the bathroom too," Agatha replies casually. "Good timing, huh?" 

You let out a small chuckle. "Yeah. I guess I owe you one." 

She smirks. "Big time." 

Remembering your original mission, you nod toward the door. "Well, I still need to go, so…" 

Agatha gestures toward it. "After you." 

With that, the two of you head inside the bathroom, the lingering weight of what just happened still settling between you. But for the first time in days, something between you and Agatha feels… okay. 

After finishing up in the bathroom, you and Agatha walk back to the table where the rest of the group is gathered. The air between you feels a little lighter now, the weight of past tensions momentarily set aside. 

Alice is the first to notice, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. She nudges Lilia in the elbow, not so subtly. Lilia, catching on, smirks before whispering something to Wanda, who raises an eyebrow and glances your way. Soon, the entire table is looking at the two of you as you approach, their expressions ranging from amused to outright smug. 

You immediately sense the teasing before it even starts. 

"Ohhh, look at this!" Alice grins, crossing her arms. "The storm has passed, huh?" 

Lilia chuckles. "Yeah, look at them. Walking side by side like nothing happened." 

Jen sighs dramatically. "Ah, young love—" 

"Shut up," you cut in, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. 

Wanda, who has been watching this unfold with thinly veiled amusement, leans forward. "So… did you finally apologize?" 

You groan. "Why do you sound so invested in this?" 

"Because," Wanda says, smirking, "we’ve seen this same cycle a hundred times. You piss her off, she ignores you, then you both get over it and pretend it never happened. Rinse and repeat." 

Agatha shakes her head, sighing. "You all seriously have nothing better to do?" 

Jen grins. "Nope." 

You huff, deciding to just get it over with. "Fine, yes, I apologized. Happy now?" 

Wanda claps her hands together. "Extremely." 

Alice leans forward, eyes twinkling. "Wait, wait, wait—there’s more to this story, isn’t there?" She gestures between you and Agatha. "You two weren’t gone that long, so what happened?" 

The teasing simmers slightly when you decide to tell them. You recount the incident near the bathroom—how the man had cornered you, how Agatha had stepped in, and how she had taken him down effortlessly. The table listens intently, the laughter from before dying down. 

"Wait, hold on," Jen says, brows furrowing. "Some drunk creep actually grabbed you?" 

You nod. "Yeah. I tried to push him away, but he was strong. Then Agatha showed up." 

Alice turns to Agatha, jaw dropping. "And you took him down?" 

Agatha shrugs nonchalantly, sipping her drink. "It wasn’t that hard. He was too wasted to even put up a real fight." 

Lilia grins, nudging Alice. "See? All that self-defense training finally paid off." 

Alice whistles. "Damn, Governor Harkness out here protecting citizens firsthand. Maybe you should start patrolling the streets." 

Agatha scoffs. "Please. One idiot at a time." 

The group chuckles, but there’s a mutual understanding that lingers—gratitude for Agatha stepping in, concern over what could have happened, and the unspoken relief that it ended the way it did. 

As the conversation shifts back to lighter topics, you glance at Agatha. Tonight, for the first time in a while, you choose not to tease her. Not because you don’t want to, but because—for just this night—you’re simply grateful she was there. 

The drinks keep flowing, and the group chatters and laughs late into the night. But tomorrow?

That’s another story. 

Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @charlottelinlin1 @milflovers4 @claramelooo @loveshineslikethesky @kaymariesworld @marcelinaceciliarose @misskassycollins @greyella @theothersideofthescreen @whitelotus00 @agathaallalongg @psychickryptonitebouquet @sweetmidnights @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose

[pepi1989]

can you do dating marcello head canons

Dating Marcello Hernandez Headcanons

Constant Laughter: Marcello is hilarious, both on and off the stage. Dating him means you're always in stitches, whether he's cracking jokes about everyday things or making fun of his own clumsy moments. You’re his favorite audience, and he loves seeing you laugh more than anything.

Supportive Partner: He’s super supportive of your dreams and ambitions. Even though he has a busy schedule with comedy gigs and acting, he makes time to listen to your goals, hype you up, and offer encouragement when you need it. Marcello’s genuinely invested in your success and never misses a chance to remind you of how amazing you are.

Impromptu Dance Sessions: He randomly bursts into dance whenever a song comes on that he likes, and pulls you into the fun. His moves are either really smooth or goofy, depending on his mood, but either way, it leads to spontaneous dance parties in the living room or even in the middle of the street.

Date Nights with a Twist: Marcello loves to keep things interesting when it comes to date nights. One day it might be a fancy dinner, the next he’s taking you to an open mic night where he’ll casually roast himself in front of a crowd, or even a late-night food truck run where he tries to order for you in a ridiculous accent. The variety keeps your relationship exciting.

Goofy Texts All Day: His text messages are either memes, funny videos, or random thoughts that make no sense but somehow always make you smile. He’s the type to text you a photo of an ostrich and be like, “This reminded me of you.”

Protective in the Sweetest Way: Marcello might be a comedian, but he’s also a bit protective of you in the best way. Whether it’s making sure you’re comfortable in social settings or standing up for you when someone oversteps, he’s got your back. It’s never overbearing, just that quiet reassurance that he’s always in your corner.

Never a Dull Moment: You’re never bored with Marcello. Whether it’s traveling for his shows or him introducing you to new things, there’s always some spontaneous adventure waiting. Sometimes it’s as simple as him suggesting a new hobby, like trying out a cooking class or going hiking even though he’s not the outdoorsy type.

Romantic Surprises: He may be a jokester, but Marcello has a romantic side he brings out when you least expect it. Small gestures like leaving cute notes, randomly bringing you your favorite snacks, or planning surprise dates to places that mean something to you both show how thoughtful he is.

Family Guy: Marcello is super close with his family, and that love extends to you. You’re welcomed with open arms by his family, and Marcello makes sure you feel like part of the crew. He talks about his roots with pride, and bringing you into that part of his life is a big deal for him.

Inside Jokes for Days: Over time, you two develop a vault of inside jokes that no one else would understand. He’ll say one word or give you a look, and you instantly crack up, leaving everyone around you confused. Your connection is filled with those small, silly moments that make your relationship special.

He’s Your Biggest Fan: Whatever you’re passionate about, Marcello is right there, cheering you on like it’s his job. Whether it's a hobby, your career, or a personal goal, he’s always there to support and celebrate your victories (and help you through the tough spots).

Cuddles and Comfort: Despite his busy, high-energy persona, Marcello loves quiet, intimate moments. After a long day, he’s the first to wrap you up in his arms on the couch and just relax. He might play with your hair or make sure you’re cozy with a blanket as you watch your favorite shows together.

Always Trying to Impress You: Even after you’re together for a while, Marcello will still try to impress you. Whether it’s pulling off a joke that took him forever to perfect or showing off his cooking skills (which may or may not need work), he wants to make sure he’s keeping the spark alive and showing how much he cares.

Late-Night Talks: Some of the best moments are your late-night conversations, where Marcello drops the funny guy act and gets real with you. Whether you’re talking about your dreams, fears, or just reminiscing about the day, these quiet, vulnerable moments make you fall for him even more.

Lighthearted Teasing: He’s always playfully teasing you, but in the most loving way. It’s never mean-spirited, just his way of keeping things fun. He loves seeing how flustered you get when he calls you out on something silly you did, but you always know it’s all in good fun.

Public Displays of Affection (But in His Own Way): He’s not one to shy away from holding your hand in public or wrapping an arm around you, but Marcello’s version of PDA also includes playfully embarrassing you, like doing something goofy when you’re in a serious moment, just to make you laugh.

[urdreamydoodles]

Remy LeBeau "Gambit" x Fem!Reader

Laughing at every jokes he make

You find yourself on a romantic stroll with Remy LeBeau, where his playful jokes and charming demeanor lead to a deeper connection. As your laughter draws you closer, you both realize there's more than just flirtation between you, culminating in a tender and passionate moment.

The warm glow of the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the streets of New Orleans, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and the lively hum of jazz music in the distance. You found yourself walking alongside Remy LeBeau, your hand barely brushing against his as the two of you meandered through the quiet backstreets. The gentle breeze carried with it the rich smells of the city and a sense of anticipation you could feel in your bones, a feeling heightened whenever you were in his presence.

Remy had insisted on taking you out for a stroll, away from the chaos of your usual lives as X-Men, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. It was impossible to say no to that roguish smile of his, the one that made you feel like you were the only person in the world who could see through his devil-may-care attitude to the heart beneath. Today, though, Remy was especially playful, cracking jokes at every turn.

“Y’know,” he began, his deep Cajun accent weaving through his words like music, “if de X-Men ever decide t’fire me, I got a back-up career as a stand-up comedian.”

You chuckled softly, the sound light and airy, though the joke itself was far from laugh-out-loud funny. “You sure about that? You might want to keep practicing.”

His grin widened, eyes flashing with a spark of mischief. “Practice? Chère, I’m already a master. Ain’t nobody got charm like Remy LeBeau.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, a little louder this time. There was something about the way he said things, like he didn’t care whether they were funny or not—he was confident you’d laugh anyway. And, of course, you did. It wasn’t just the jokes themselves, though. It was the way he carried himself, with a swagger that spoke volumes, and the way he’d glance at you, his red-and-black eyes lingering just a little too long, sending a shiver down your spine.

Remy raised an eyebrow as he leaned in closer. “Now you laughin’, but I know y’thinkin’ I got potential.”

“Potential to get booed off the stage, maybe,” you teased, nudging his arm with your shoulder, your eyes crinkling at the corners from how hard you were smiling.

“Ah, chère, you wound me!” Remy dramatically placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt, though his smirk gave him away. “Lucky for me, I got a beautiful girl like you t’keep me company. Long as you laughin’, dat’s all dat matters.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the casual compliment, even though you were used to his flirtations by now. Being called “beautiful” by Remy was like being told the sky was blue—he said it so often, you’d think it would lose its effect. But it never did. It always felt like a small flame igniting inside you every time the word passed his lips.

Your laughter faded into a quiet smile as you glanced up at him, watching the way the evening light softened his sharp features. Remy had a way of making everything feel light, like the weight of the world could fall away when you were with him. He was always making jokes, always teasing, and you always laughed, even when they weren’t all that funny. It wasn’t that his jokes were bad—they just didn’t always hit the mark. But the way he looked at you when he delivered them, with that lazy, confident grin, you couldn’t help but laugh. Because he was trying, and because, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, his laughter became contagious, drawing your own out of you like a melody that was meant to be sung.

As the two of you continued walking, you noticed Remy glance at you out of the corner of his eye, the smile on his lips softening. There was something different in his expression now, something quieter and more thoughtful. He stopped suddenly, taking your hand in his without a word, guiding you toward a small, secluded park nestled between two rows of charming old houses.

“C’mere,” he said softly, pulling you toward a bench shaded by a large oak tree. The branches above rustled gently in the breeze, casting dappled shadows on the ground beneath your feet. Remy sat down, his hand still holding yours, and patted the spot next to him.

You sat, feeling the warmth of his body close to yours, your hand still tingling from his touch. The playful banter had died down now, replaced by a silence that felt… deeper, more intimate.

“Y’know,” Remy began after a moment, his voice quieter than before, “I been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t often that Remy got serious, and when he did, you knew it was important. “What’s on your mind?”

He looked at you, his red-on-black eyes meeting yours in a way that made your breath catch. “I been thinkin’ ‘bout you. ‘Bout us.”

There was a pause, the words hanging in the air between you like the last note of a song waiting to fade. You weren’t sure what to say, so you waited, letting him find the words.

“You always laugh at my jokes,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even when they ain’t so funny. Why’s dat, chère?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. It seemed so simple, but the way he asked it—like it meant more than just the surface—made your heart stutter in your chest. You glanced away for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts, before looking back at him with a smile of your own.

“I guess… I just like hearing you talk,” you said, feeling the truth of it even as you spoke the words. “Doesn’t matter if the joke is funny or not. I like being around you, Remy. You make me feel… lighter. Happier.”

His expression softened at that, his smile turning more genuine, more tender. “Dat so?” he murmured, leaning just a little closer, his voice low and smooth, like the soft rumble of thunder in the distance.

You nodded, your heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah, it is. I don’t think I could stop laughing around you even if I tried.”

For a moment, Remy said nothing, just watched you with an intensity that made your skin tingle. Then, without warning, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin longer than necessary. His touch sent a thrill down your spine, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Y’know,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I been doin’ a lot of thinkin’ ‘bout how lucky I am.”

“Lucky?” you echoed, your voice quieter now, the world around you seeming to fade as the space between you and Remy grew smaller.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his hand still resting lightly against your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Lucky dat someone like you’d wanna spend time wit’ someone like me. Wit’ all my bad jokes an’ all.”

You laughed, the sound soft and breathless, and Remy’s smile widened at the sound. “I think I’m the lucky one,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Remy’s eyes darkened slightly at that, and you could feel the air between you shift, becoming charged with something unspoken. For a long moment, neither of you moved, the world narrowing to just the two of you, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, Remy leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Can I kiss you, chère?” he asked softly, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart raced, your pulse pounding in your ears as you nodded, unable to form words. The moment you did, Remy’s lips met yours, soft and warm, sending a surge of electricity through your entire body. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened as Remy wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer.

You melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back, every thought in your mind dissolving into the sensation of being this close to him. His lips were firm yet soft, his touch tender but possessive, as though he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, Remy rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in soft, shallow pants. He smiled, a real smile, the kind that reached his eyes, and your heart swelled in your chest.

“Now dat’s a punchline I can get behind,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

And just like that, you laughed again, not because the joke was funny, but because you were happy—truly, completely happy.

[haikyu-mp4]

The Comedians

word count; 937 – f!reader, part 2 of this

Tendo held the door for you and gestured with his arm like a classic gentleman. His smile made you chuckle in adoration while you looked at the sign that stood beside him: Open mic comedy night, it said. What a coincidence.

"You can go find us a seat and I'll get us something to drink," Tendo said and walked over to the barista, trying not to show how excited and nervous he was.

The atmosphere was warm and light. You and Tendo both had rosy cheeks and conversed lightly. Every topic flowed so naturally like you were catching up on your entire lives even though the topics were simple things like what you got up to recently. At some point, two guys walked in, and you felt curious when Tendo lifted a hand in greeting. "Hey!" the grey-haired one called and walked over. They did a quick handshake before his eyes fell on you with amusement glittering in his eyes.

"Semi-Semi, I didn't expect to see you here today," Tendo said, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and leaning back in his chair. You had a feeling they were close friends.

"I'd like to say the same to you, but that would be a lie. You, however," Semi said, turning to the unfamiliar woman accompanying his old teammate. He held out a hand, and you shook it with a wide smile. "You must be y/n. Tendo told me about you, from the library?" Semi wanted to take full advantage of the situation as his friend's ears got redder and redder. Tendo exclaimed sounds of complaint at the comment but made no move to deny it.

"That's me, y/n from the library. Semi-semi, was it?" You, amused by their friendly teasing, tried to hide how flustered you felt by playing along. Y/n from the library, you nailed that, you sarcastically praised yourself. Semi nodded right as the lights in the cafe dimmed and the small stage lit up.

"Just Semi, preferably. Nice meeting you, y/n. We’ll talk more later; it looks like the event is starting."

The first few young adults daringly tried to win the stage with their humour, telling stories that ended with a funny punchline or making comments about the people in the room who interacted. You and Tendo laughed and commented to each other about what you liked and didn't like, sometimes even adding jokes in between and trying to keep your laughter silent. The last person left the stage, and the microphone stood there, lonely and desperate for some good, or bad jokes.

"Go on, Tendo. Steal the stage," you encouraged, gesturing with your hand.

"Ah, it would be unfair to the others when I'm so naturally funny," he said, and you giggled in response, shoving his shoulder lightly.

"What if we both go?" Tendo looked at the beautiful woman beside him with an unplaceable emotion in his eyes.

"Together?" he asked, making a bold move by grabbing your hand from the table between you and standing up. "We'll go next!" Tendo yelled out, making all the other students clap and whistle.

However, no one could have prepared the audience for the show they were about to see. You and Tendo took turns saying terrible dad-like jokes before taking a few seconds between each one to laugh loudly like two windshield wipers in a rainstorm. "How do lawyers say goodbye? We'll be suing you!"

"What's an astronaut's favourite part of a computer? The space bar!"

You leaned on each other for support and almost forgot anyone was watching. Semi certainly did, with an incredulous look on his face after taking a short video to send in the group chat later. "This is so embarrassing, they're perfect for each other," he said to himself, shaking his head as the duo finally stumbled off the stage while drying your tears.

You sat down by your table again and heaved heavy breaths to try and stop giggling. However, it only took one look at each other's faces to start the laughter factory up again, which is why you decided to leave and get some fresh air. "I can't breathe!" you exclaimed into the night and finally ceased laughing. Not only is he incredibly handsome, but also perhaps the funniest person I've ever met.

"We make a good duo, don't we?" Tendo thought out loud, glancing at your pretty face. You sat down on a park bench by the cafe, arms brushing against each other.

"I don't think the audience was impressed," you admitted while rubbing your hands for warmth. Tendo saw this and decided, that now was the moment. He lifted the arm closest to you and let it fall across your shoulders, which automatically made you lean closer to him.

I always wanted to try that, he thought and smiled.

You sat there for a while, just looking at the sky and enjoying each other's company, but the cold eventually got to you, and you had to walk back to the cafe. As Tendo opened the door, you laughed once again and said, "A clown held a door open for me the other day. I thought, what a nice jester".

The joke made Tendo realise how smitten he already was, and he had the sudden urge to lean down and kiss you. So he did. It was a short peck on the cheek, but meaningful nonetheless. You both enjoyed the rest of the evening, talking to some other students, including Semi. He kept watching you and his friend looking at each other like he had only read about in books.

The Schoolyear Series ║ masterlist

[lemoncrushh]

Live From New York

Summary: Harry's on SNL and he gets a little jealous when he thinks you're not there for him.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1313

A/N: Super silly blurb from 2017 after Harry was on SNL. This was a request (some requests were oddly specific back then lol) that you have a bit of a crush on Colin Jost and Michael Che. It also helps that you know a couple of Rolling Stones songs that are mentioned at the end.

We gotta get away from here...

Harry's lyrics were still ringing in your ears as you watched the stage being set up for the next skit. Your stomach flipped when you realized it was going to be the Weekend Update segment. You liked this skit in particular, having always had a little secret crush on Colin Jost and Michael Che. Perhaps it was their humor, and the way they would sometimes roast each other that got your juices flowing, but they always managed to crack you up.

"Hey, come with me," you heard to your left.

You turned your head in time to see Harry walking toward the dressing room. Hesitantly, you followed him, quickly returning your focus to the monitor set up on the wall.

"Sit with me for a minute," he requested, beckoning you to the sofa where he sat.

Smiling, you did what he asked, taking his hand. "You were great."

"Yeah?" he grinned.

"Mmm hmm," you nodded. "I especially liked seeing you in that white Mick Jagger suit."

Harry chuckled. "Maybe I should add one to my wardrobe."

You scooted closer to him, hiking up your leg to lightly brush against his.

"I wouldn't be against it."

Just as Harry leaned in for a kiss, your peripheral vision caught sight of Colin and Michael on the screen.

"Oh!" you squeaked. "This is my favorite!"

"Um...alright," Harry paused as you sat up.

You thought he might've mumbled something under his breath, but then someone else entered the room to tell him to get ready for the next skit. He rose from the couch as you continued to watch the segment, giggling at everything the two comedians said. When it was over, you noticed Harry had left the room. You felt a little guilty, knowing this was his special night and you'd been ogling over two other men. Determined you find him to wish him luck on his next skit, you opened the dressing room door. Just as you stepped out, Colin and Michael were walking down the hall.

"Oh my god, you guys...I love you, you're amazing!" you exclaimed, the word vomit escaping your throat before you had a chance to stop it.

The two men stopped to thank you, and you chatted for longer than you'd expected. So long, in fact, that you missed Harry's next skit. He was just walking off the stage when you caught up to him.

"That was great," you lied, though you were sure it had been considering the comedic faux beard he had on.

"Really?" he asked with sarcasm and a deadpan stare. He knew you hadn't seen one second of the skit.

Unable to speak, you watched as he walked past you to the dressing room. You stood frozen, feeling more guilt ooze throughout your body than you thought possible. You'd hurt him.

"Harry," you muttered when you entered the dressing room.

No response.

"Harry, I'm sorry," you added.

Nothing.

You stepped closer to him, his back to you as he pulled on his slacks.

"Say something."

"'s nothing to say Y/N. You obviously had something more important to do than to be there for me."

"Harry, that's not fair," you argued. "I was there for you. I mean...I'm here! For you!"

He finally turned then, his eyebrow raised in question. "Really?"

"Yes!" When he just continued to glare at you, you shook your head, throwing your hands up. "I can't believe this."

"Can't believe what?"

"You can't be jealous because I was excited to see Colin and Michael."

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not jealous."

"Then what is it?"

Harry sighed, dropping his shoulders. "I'm just upset that you missed the skit."

"I said I was sorry. I didn't mean to. You're right, I got caught up in the excitement, but I truly did not do it on purpose. You're the one I'm here for. You're the one I'm immensely proud of! You're the one I'm in love with!"

The last sentence slipped out unwillingly. You couldn't take it back, but you also knew you didn't want to. Harry stared at you, his jaw set but his eyes softening. Then he separated the space between you in one stride, pulling you into his arms and kissing you on the mouth.

"I'm so in love with you," he whispered when your lips separated. He pressed his forehead to yours, cupping your face in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" you choked.

"For..." he paused, "for doubting you."

"No," you shook your head. "I'm sorry. I should have been more considerate. I know you're nervous."

Harry chuckled, stepping back on his heels. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not blatantly," you grinned, running your hands up and down his arms. "But yeah, I can tell."

"'m so bloody nervous, 'm shaking."

"Well, babe, it's live TV. Of course you are! But you're doing amazing, and I'm so so proud of you."

"I still have another song to sing," he remarked.

"And I'm gonna be watching. I promise."

Oh tell me something I don't already know...

The second performance had gone well, and if anyone had really been paying attention, they could hear your claps and cheers the loudest.

You followed Harry back into the dressing room after the finale and credit roll where he had not surprisingly hugged every single member of the crew. You smiled when you sat on the sofa and watched him get undressed.

"So are you as proud of yourself as I am?"

He flashed his dimpled grin and shrugged. "Maybe."

"Are we going to the after party?" you asked cautiously. He hadn't mentioned it, but you'd heard there was one. You didn't want to rock the boat though, after what had happened earlier.

"Do you want to?"

You cocked your head nonchalantly. "It's your call. I'm fine with it. Either way."

Harry smirked. "You're funny."

"Me? Why am I funny?"

"You're trying not to get too excited again. But I know you."

"It's whatever you want, Harry, really. I was just wondering."

Smiling, he took her hand and kissed the back of it. "We can go. I just have to do something first."

"Okay. What's that?"

"Just a minute."

Harry turned toward the rack of clothes at the far end of the room. Then with a smug look on his face, he took something off a hanger, turning again swiftly so you couldn't see. But as soon as he stepped into the trousers, you knew what it was.

"Oh God," you giggled.

Harry looked back at you with a shit-eating grin before pulling on the shirt and jacket.

"C'mere, Mick," you beckoned.

"Wait, I don't have my wig on."

"Don't need it," you commented. "I just want the suit."

Harry finally turned around then to face you, making you grin from ear to ear.

"There he is," you murmured low. "My Midnight Rambler."

"Oh, Jesus," he scoffed which only caused you to giggle more.

"I said, come here," you demanded in a seductive tone.

"Yes, ma'am."

You rose from the sofa as he stepped closer to you. Pulling on the lapels of his jacket, you kissed him on the neck, your tongue licking and sucking his skin, sticky with perspiration.

"Hmm," Harry sounded, turning on his Mick Jagger impression once again. "Looks like someone wants some manky panky."

You laughed under your breath, pulling him backwards towards the couch. Sitting down, you urged him to come with you as you kissed his lips.

"What exactly is manky panky?" you asked. "I thought it was hanky panky."

"I dunno. Is it?"

You laughed harder, sliding your hands down his chest to unfasten the two remaining buttons.

"You fucking Brits," you mocked.

Harry lifted himself up to look you in the eye. "You know what this makes you then, don't you?"

"What?"

"A Starfucker."

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[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Shiryn Ghermezian

A live comedy event set to take place in New York City next week featuring comedians discussing the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been canceled by organizers after the pro-Palestinian comics withdrew their participation.

“Comics for Conversation: Because It’s Not Always a Laughing Matter” was scheduled to be a show in which both pro-Israel and pro-Palestinian comics would perform stand-up comedy sets followed by a moderated discussion on stage about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The event was meant to be the first initiative of a new movement called Don’t Hate Debate, a joint initiative between the marketing platform The Heart Monitors and Stand Up NY. Organizers hoped to promote interfaith dialogue between comics from both sides of the conflict while also hosting an evening where audiences can enjoy some laughs.

Two of the pro-Palestinian comics who originally joined the lineup dropped out of the show in late November after facing backlash from anti-Israel activists, who falsely claimed that the event would be a debate about “the genocide” taking place in the Gaza Strip. In response, organizers decided not to release the names of other participating comics and the location of the event in advance. The decision was made to ensure the safety and security of attendees and the remaining comics who would be featured in the show.

Dani Zoldan, the founder of Stand Up NY and the Chosen Comedy Festival, told The Algemeiner on Thursday that the event was ultimately nixed altogether when more pro-Palestinian comics dropped out of the event. The Heart Monitors and Stand Up NY released an open letter on Thursday addressed to the pro-Palestinian comics, urging them to reconsider their decision to pull out of Monday’s show.

“By participating, you are not endorsing any narrative or perspective other than your own. You are helping to create a space where others can see what it looks like to sit in the same room, listen, and engage without fear or anger dictating the conversation,” they wrote in the letter, which was shared with The Algemeiner.”We need your voices. We need your humor. And most importantly, we need your courage to engage.”