#summer well festival 2024

[keane-updates]

Keane on stage at the Summer Well Festival I Hopes and Fears Tour in Buftea, Romania (📷:Stefan Oancea, August 11th, 2024)

[angeltread17]

The Last Black American Lenny Kravitz FAN…

Let me be clear. I haven’t taken a survey. But to me. I am the last black American Lenny Kravitz fan. Love at first Hearing. I fell for Lenny back in the 90’s. But as life would have it. I was not able at that time to see him in concert. It was always a wish. Wish Granted,,, I first saw Lenny 2015 at #afropunk in Commodore Park Brooklyn, NY. Lenny in Brooklyn 2015 I traveled alone and…

[antread10]

The Last Black American Lenny Kravitz FAN…

Let me be clear. I haven’t taken a survey. But to me. I am the last black American Lenny Kravitz fan. Love at first Hearing. I fell for Lenny back in the 90’s. But as life would have it. I was not able at that time to see him in concert. It was always a wish. Wish Granted,,, I first saw Lenny 2015 at #afropunk in Commodore Park Brooklyn, NY. Lenny in Brooklyn 2015 I traveled alone and…

[8iunie]

I can't believe I'm saying this, but that guitar pick is now mine 😭

look at this pookie 🥹

[xalygatorx]

Someone Like You | Human!Alastor x Assistant!Reader

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

AO3 ✍️ | Ko-Fi ☕

Prompt: "Christmas Party"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you liked him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, hi, sweetie!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alastor wasn't having it though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hardly the point," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was happening?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes?" you prompted him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Wednesday 25 December 2024

At the garden centre was this great idea for a small festive tree in the form of a pyramidal trained Salvia rosmarinus (rosemary, old man, rose of the sea). This aromatic, evergreen shrub can be used as a culinary or medicinal herb and just needs a well-drained growing media or soil. The flowers are usually pale blue and white, and are produced from spring to summer with occasional flowers in autumn. I shall try to train some rosemary cuttings into small trees for the festive season.

Jill Raggett

[breelandwalker]

Buck Moon - July 20-21, 2024

Put on your flower crowns and your walking shoes - it’s time for the Buck Moon!

Buck Moon 🦌

The Buck Moon is the name given to the full moon in the month of July and is called this because at this time of year, the rack of antlers previously shed by male deer are beginning to regrow and harden in preparation for the fall rutting season. 

Other North American Indigenous names for this moon include Salmon Moon (Tlingit), Berry Moon (Anishinaabe), Month of the Ripe Corn Moon (Cherokee), and Raspberry Moon (Algonquin, Ojibwe). The West Abenaki also call this the Thunder Moon in reference to the often-stormy summer weather. (This one is my personal favorite and the name appears in lunar calendars just as often as the Buck Moon.)

European names for the July moon include Hay Moon and Wort Moon, and it should be noted that the name Stag Moon does appear in some European sources as well.

This year's Buck Moon will be at peak illumination at 6:17am EST on July 21st, so the moon will appear to be full on both the 20th and 21st. Also, it's a weekend, so plan your festivities accordingly!

What Does It Mean For Witches? 🦌

The July full moon continues June’s template of planning for the future, this time with a focus on your passions and ambitions. Reflect on what you’ve accomplished so far this year and plan your next step.

Dream big and plan big, but don’t give in to reckless urgency. Summer (and capitalist grind culture) gives us the urge to Go Go Go. Despite all this, it’s important to take time to rest and recharge, lest we find ourselves burning out and losing our motivation.

What Witchy Things Can We Do? 🦌

Celebrate your victories and revel in the abundance of the summer season. If you’re inclined to do so, take a page from the deer and do a bit of prancing around a bonfire or your favorite flower arbor with some festive flowery headgear.

Go exploring! Find a local park or garden and take a stroll among the greenery, or use TV and the internet to explore and learn about faraway places. This is another opportune time to go and check out pick-your-own farms and farmers markets as well. Sharpen your foraging and plant identification skills while you’re out and about!

If you’re tending a garden, harvest some herbs and investigate what you can make with them. Whether it’s seasoning for meals, homemade botanical products, or just helpful spell ingredients, many herbs and flowers have a plethora of uses. As an exercise, select three plants growing in your yard or garden, research their magical correspondences and botanical properties, and try to think of as many ways as possible to use each one for witchcraft and for practical purposes. For extra credit, pick something native to your area that doesn't appear in the western magical canon and use its' physical, folkloric, and historical associations to create something new!

(Safety Note: Always clean and prepare home-harvested herbs properly before using them for kitchen, bath, or medical preparations. Always be sure to properly identify any wildcrafted or foraged plants. Always consult a doctor before trying an herbal treatment and take all allergies, medications, and pre-existing conditions into account. Please also note that while herbal treatments can be helpful, it can have negative interactions and side effects just like any other medication, and it is not meant to be a replacement for modern medical care.)

Apart from the usual full-moon festivities, I’ve always found this is an excellent time for weather-witching. Summer weather is notoriously fickle, but it is also highly malleable - one recalls that old American Southern epithet of, “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.”

If you’re hoping to bring some rain to water your garden or break the back of a heat wave, this may be the time to do it. My personal favorite folk magic ritual for rain-calling involves going outside with a broom and a bucket of water, using the broom to scatter drops of water over your yard, and shouting up to the clouds, “SEE? IT’S NOT HARD!”

Make sure you take local weather patterns into account and try to draw on existing fronts and nearby precipitation to get the desired result. And keep in mind that with weather magic, less is more and one casting is enough. Asking for too much or asking too often can produce undesirable results. And if you manage to make it rain, be sure to collect some for moon water!

If you’re interested in weather-witching, I highly recommend checking out this masterpost by @stormbornwitch for a number of excellent articles and suggestions.

Happy Buck Moon, witches! 🌕🦌

Sources and Further Reading:

Bree’s Lunar Calendar Series

Bree’s Secular Celebrations Series

Witchcraft Exercise - Creating Correspondences

Buck Moon: Full Moon in July 2024, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

Buck Moon Bonanza: Embrace July’s Massive Energy!, The Peculiar Brunette.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[cheritzteam]

[Mystic Messenger] The Sparkling Night Sea 🎆 and Us Who Shine Even Brighter,  November 2024 Rika’s Birthday Event

Hello, it’s Cheritz.

Trick or Treat!

Halloween has arrived with the last day of October. While Halloween comes every year, I'm sure I'm not the only one excited to see what this year's trends are for costumes 😝

Around this time, we can feel both the end of fall and the beginning of winter. As fall seems to get shorter each year, we feel winter approaching through the chilly weather, warm clothing, and winter snacks on the streets.

But! Various autumn festivals are still in full swing to make the most of late fall that hasn't completely ended yet.

With the start of winter, Halloween, and not much left of this year, Rika's birthday has also arrived!

Curious about what Rika's birthday will be like this year? 

Then please check the details below~ 😉

< ① Rika’s Birthday Event >

When the weather gets a bit chilly, various festivals featuring lanterns, flowers, food, and fireworks are held everywhere to make the most of this short autumn.

But it seems unavoidable that everywhere is crowded as people have waited for this cool weather 🤔 While going to the fireworks festival would be nice, Rika suggested that spending her birthday together quietly by the sea would be more meaningful than being among crowds, even without fancy fireworks 🎆

Unlike summer beaches visited to escape the heat, this will be their first time at a nighttime beach in chilly weather, so they're preparing thick blankets and heat packs while waiting for their fireworks night.

(If you're curious about the picturesque sparkling night sea and their cozy private fireworks show, please wait a little longer!)

Also, there will be a repost event on X for Rika's birthday. 

Selected participants who repost will receive 50 hourglasses⌛ through a drawing♥ (15 winners)

Additionally, a Bonus Event has been prepared to celebrate Rika's birthday!

Use the hashtag #Happy_BDay_Rika to celebrate her birthday,

and don't miss the chance to win 50 hourglasses⌛ through the drawing♥

Lastly, there will be a discount event for some Rika-related merchandise,

so those who have been hesitating to purchase, please don't★ miss this opportunity!

Cheritz Market Discount Period : November 1st(Wed) 2pm ~ November 8th(Wed) 2pm 

< ② In-Game Login Event >

During the event period below, you can check out Rika’s Birthday Commemorative Title Image by logging into the game! Enjoy the game with the beautiful title image and celebrate her birthday.

Also, don't miss the Halloween login rewards!

Title Image Period : October 31st(Thurs) ~ November 13th(Wed)

Halloween Login Reward : October 31st(Thurs) ~ November 3rd(Sun)

Did you receive our November Event News well?

We would like to thank the coordinators who will join us for Rika's birthday this year. 

With only two months left in 2024, please leave your worries and concerns here, and may only happiness and good things await you going forward coordinator!

Thank you!

Sincerely, Cheritz

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles - Update 22/Dec/2023

Oh, making the switch back to Book Four after Holiday Magic has been quite the experience, hehe!

For a start, I have to keep remembering that Book Four is set at the end of Summer instead of winter and lingering descriptions of sparkling snow drifts is a bit out of place! :D

But I have enjoyed reading through the plan of where I was at. I was thinking on just getting stuck back into the writing full steam, but with Christmas break so close on the horizon, I ended up editing instead…the sensible option, lol.

I am really promising myself this time around that I am going to be so much more organized with editing! :D Anyone who has followed me for a while knows it’s not exactly my favourite part, as much as it’s the most important!

So, I resisted the urge to just write and focused on rewriting a couple of bits I knew I wanted adapting, as well as changing a couple of choice sets, then rereading and editing all of what I’ve already written.

It actually puts me in the perfect spot to come back to, which works out well because we’ll be going on Christmas break tomorrow!

We’re all a bit knackered after Holiday Magic’s release and jumping back to Book Four, so I think a rest is much needed…although I keep looking at Book Four’s plans and thinking how desperate I am to get to a certain part coming up, hehe!

Our Christmas break will be from 23rd December 2023 to 3rd January 2024.

That first week back in January we will be coming back into things slowly and getting ourselves organized for the year ahead, as we have some amazing things planned. Though my focus will be completely on Book Four and getting the first demo released!

We hope you all have the most magical festive season if you celebrate it, and if not then just a wonderful time ahead, and a sparkling New Year! It’s gonna be a good one in Wayhaven, hehe! ;D

[princesscatherinemiddleton]

HRH the Princess of Wales in 2024 ♛  

I certainly did NOT see this year coming! From her abdominal surgery at the start of the year, to her cancer diagnosis and treatment, this year has been filled with huge medical news for Catherine. As a result, we've rarely seen her and, when we have, it has often been at major royal events, such as Trooping, Remembrance Sunday, and the Festival of Remembrance. Catherine also worked hard to attend key events for her own passions, including Wimbledon and her own Together at Christmas carol concert. Despite the few engagements Catherine has been able to attend, we have been gifted with a number of personal moments. Her brother, James, released a memoir, which gave us some behind the scenes peeks at Catherine's life and childhood, while we saw her twice at Balmoral over the summer. A number of videos and photos have been released in relation to Catherine's cancer diagnosis as well, most notably a video released in September to mark the end of her cancer treatment. All I want for 2025 is for Catherine to be healthy but if we get her back out and working more, I would be incredibly grateful!

[keane-updates]

Keane on stage at the Summer Well Festival I Hopes and Fears Tour in Buftea, Romania (📷:Stefan Oancea, August 11th, 2024)

[ateez-himari]

SUMMER SONIC FESTIVAL

Atiny show concern over the physical health of the group.

August 19, 2024 (2:55PM)

ATEEZ's consecutive performances at the Summer Sonic festival mere days following nearly two months on tour raises concerns about the members' conditions, as some were seen struggling in the blazing heat. While the sets were indeed much shorter than normal concert performances, only fifty minutes, the weather that day was so humid even locals have found it unbearable.

While the moment was only partially captured as it took place behind two flags used during the Guerilla introduction, the youngest was seen nearly bowed down in pain while clutching her chest and members who witnessed this happening hurried over immediately. Using the recently released statement from KQ Entertainment netizens were able to infer that they were likely on edge due to the cardiac arrest she experienced the previous year, which stemmed from a level of fatigue quite similar to the one that was observed during the festival. It would seem that there is no need to panic as the vocalist rapidly regained her composure and with the flawless performance that followed, attendees standing away from this area remained unaware of this slight mishap.

Another thing that caught attention however was the return of an elastic rib brace, which was only seen during the first week of touring while she recovered from surgery that reportedly took place in the middle of the year. It became visible during day two when the heat had exhausted her to the point of having to use the main rapper as support during one of her verses, although with their interactions now being more freely close it seemed rather inconspicuous. His worried expression while gently steadying the young woman with two hands around her waist was what gave away the situation.

"Baby, do you need to stop ? Do you need me to get you some water ?" Could be seen being asked by Mingi in a video. His girlfriend simply denied and went off to dance in front of fans after giving him a quick kiss.

Attendees exiting the stage area in order to watch other artists also noticed that medical staff was already on standby the moment their set ended, one of them immediately checking the youngest's pulse while holding her upright. When these clips began circulating through social media fans were shocked as there seemed to be nothing wrong during their performance, the energy behind every aspect of it being the same as during regular concerts.

During the exiting bow on day one attendees noticed that the extreme heat had gotten to another member as well, San, who was seen biting down on his thumb briefly in order to stay conscious prior to stumbling away backstage. Throughout both performances he was seen stumbling during choreography, his facial expressions having also lost their usual animation with much more tiredness becoming visible. One singular video of their main vocalist, Jongho, looking as though he was about to faint any moment went viral alongside these clips which lead to atiny wondering whether they were truly getting enough rest.

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[seecarrun]

Pokeshipping Week 2024

Prompt 2: Fireworks

The sun, which had been setting earlier and earlier every evening, was just sinking below the distant mountains when the fireworks began lighting up the sky at the Summer’s End festival down by the Pallet Town coast.

Brock was inside helping Ash’s mom clean up after dinner, so it was just Ash, Misty, Pikachu, and Togepi out on the patio, enjoying the show.

Their mindless conversation petered out as the fireworks began, lulling them into a comfortable, easy silence.

“You know,” Ash began casually after a bit, “Gary and I almost set that tree on fire with a firework once.”

Misty’s face broke into a grin. “No,” she gasped, delighted. “What happened? And also, who in their right mind would give you two explosives?”

“Gary stole them from Professor Oak, obviously,” Ash chuckled, and stretched out his arm to point to a barely noticeable, bare, dark patch of bark on the big maple tree next to his house. “There used to be a branch right there. We had a swing tied to it and everything. Well, Gary snagged a bottle rocket or something from the Professor’s stash and we decided it would be a good idea to, you know, try it out.”

“Oh no, Ash,” Misty said, biting her lip in anticipation.

Ash just grinned. “He had his family’s growlithe, the same arcanine he still has now, by the way, use a little flame thrower on the wick.” He paused to laugh at his younger self again, shaking his head. “We were like, eight years old, so we had enough common sense to not aim at the house, but, well…”

He trailed off, cringing playfully at Misty who gasped in disbelief and amusement. “You forgot about the tree.”

“We forgot about the tree.”

It was something they did from time to time while traveling; reminiscing and telling stories of their childhoods, and for a while, Ash had actually been self-conscious. Misty and Brock both grew up in cities, in their families gyms, surrounded by pokemon and battling and excitement. What could Ash, who grew up in nowhere, Pallet Town, possibly share compared to them?

He brought it up to Brock one day after Misty had told them a story about dumping bubble bath into the main battlefield two days before an inspection when she was four years old, but he just raised an eyebrow and smiled down at him wryly. “Ash, have Misty or I ever looked bored during one of your childhood stories?” he asked.

“No,” Ash admitted.

Brock hummed. “Because we’re not. Especially Misty, she’s always thrilled to hear about the stupid and ridiculous things you got up to as a little kid.”

Ash shrugged, feeling just a bit shy at the idea. “I don’t know why,” he murmured.

“Maybe because it’s not so much the content of the story that she cares about as much as it’s the fact that it’s you, and she wants to learn and hear more about you,” Brock had explained, like it was that simple. And even though Ash seriously doubted that was it, he had to admit, Misty was always excited for him to share the antidotes of his past.

Exactly like she was now, her eyes sparkling with the reflection of fireworks and glee at his tale of almost-arson. For some reason, he always enjoyed making Misty laugh the most.

“What’s so funny, you two?” came Brock’s voice as he patio door slid open, Brock and his mom joining them with a tray holding hot apple cider. Misty give them a gigantic grin.

“Ash was telling me about the time he nearly set the whole yard on fire,” she chirped in excited exaggeration. Ash’s mom sighed.

“Which time?” she asked, tiredly.

Somehow, Misty’s grin got even wider as she bounced in her seat, prodding her into sharing more stories.

Ash just sat back and enjoyed the show, the fireworks forgotten.

[jokeroutsubs]

[ENG translation] An interview with Joker Out at Sziget

An exclusive conversation with Joker Out from Budapest, where they marked one of the biggest milestones of their career so far!

Article written by Ajda Gregorc, published on the 9th of August 2024 on the ELLE Slovenia website. Translation by @kurooscoffee, @chaosofsmarty and a member of JokerOutSubs, English proofreading by IG GBoleyn123.

You can also listen to an audio recording of this translation, read by IG GBoleyn123:

(or find it on our Spotify)

Source: Personal archive

It's no secret that ELLE has been cheering for our most successful band of all time from the front row. Not only are Joker Out the recipients of the first Elle Style Award in the Music category, we always love to catch up with them and chat about their upcoming projects. It's especially nice to see them on foreign ground. We met up with the guys in the Hungarian capital just before one of their bigger performances as part of their summer festival tour – they took over the main stage of the legendary Sziget festival! Judging by the aforementioned (and in this case, also literal) front row, we can definitely say they conquered it.

With it, they have symbolically reached one of the major, clearly defined goals they set at the beginning of their journey. At that time, they stated, "You know you've made it when you perform on the main stage of this legendary European festival." The energy of the gathered crowd at this performance definitely confirmed it, but more on that later.

Source: Vita Orehek Photography

When asked whether this goal still seems as formidable after they have already reached so many of their set peaks (just this year they successfully completed a European tour, sold out a vinyl edition from the sold-out Arena Stožice in less than half a day, signed a contract with the Wasserman Agency shortly before that, and received a gold record in Finland for their single Carpe Diem, which was also the most-played domestic song last year), the band's frontman, Bojan Cvjetićanin, honestly responds that it doesn't really seem that way anymore.

Festival experiences, with all their systems and mechanisms, are similar to each other regardless of whether it's a slightly larger or smaller stage, and the guys already know what to expect. "You do lose a bit of that, but here today, for example, the organisational aspect is at the highest level." Guitarist Kris Guštin also confirms a slight loss of the mystique, while the band's other guitarist, Jan Peteh, offers a fitting metaphor in his characteristic style. "I see it as going up a hill on a road that has a bit of an incline, and you know you're going up, but the steps to the top are more gradual."

Source: Vita Orehek Photography

Bojan agrees. He feels that it's a point where you're still far from the peak, but already have a beautiful view ahead that you're following, although the full view only unfolds at the end. Sziget is definitely one of the highlights of their festival season when it comes to personal satisfaction, but for the crowning moment of this festival season, Kris would choose the main stage at Exit festival, while Bojan also highlighted the Finnish Ruisrock festival.

Their tour across European festivals is therefore a connecting point between the band and their existing fans, as well as potential new audiences. At festivals where they weren't the most well-visited performers, the guys noticed that many of the attendees were new. "You can see it mainly in the faces and reactions," Bojan explains. They're very pleased that the response has always been positive so far and that by the end of their concert, there were more people present than at the beginning.

Source: Vita Orehek Photography

When a concert is not organised by them, it takes away a good amount of pressure. Over the past year, they carried out a lot of them on their own, especially abroad, which was slightly scary for them, even though everything went smoothly. Fortunately, festivals are primarily defined by the summer, which is accompanied by a good mood and visitors in high spirits, and that creates a good atmosphere. "There are a lot of performers in one place, a lot of a certain type of energy gets accumulated, and everyone comes to have a good time," adds Cvjetićanin.

Jan adds that the weather has cleared up during our chat (before that, the festival area was hit by light showers) and it's true, for their performance at 17:30, the sky actually cleared up so much that people were retreating to the shady side of the stage while dancing to their hits.

Source: Vita Orehek Photography

International festivals, therefore, no longer fall entirely under the "new" category for the Jokers. They've come to feel at home at a number of stages already, so they know how to handle things, both from a technical standpoint and in terms of what to expect from the atmosphere. Finland, with its warm reaction, provided a huge surprise in that regard, and therefore they count their performance there as one of those magical moments that tip the scales into the aforementioned category and go into the "forever" archive.

The third album is around the corner

After constantly working on the third album in London, which will be released in the autumn, the likeable musicians needed a bit of a break from it. That has already ended, however, as they've been in the studio almost every day, which also proves that they're excellent at juggling several obligations at the same time. Considering that the first singles, 'Everybody's Waiting' and 'Šta bih ja', are highly contrasting, I ask them whether this album will offer the most contradictions so far as part of the "intense blend of emotions which reflects the quick turnaround of their lives". That is how they described it recently.

Source: Vita Orehek Photography

In Bojan's opinion, this is by far their most contrasting album. "Especially the most recent products, which we still have to finish, will be like that." Kris adds that the arrangements might be more contrasting than the sound itself.

"It's still us playing and singing," Bojan laughs. "Exactly, per partes¹, some parts are compatible, and then you have one total 'tourist', and then another one." Jan stops the debate with a powerful statement that there will be more variations on this album than most performers have in their entire careers. Let's wait and be surprised.

¹ 'per partes' is a Latin expression that means "by parts"; it is used in mathematics for the process of integration by parts

Source: Vita Orehek Photography

It's not only their vision that goes into creating the new album, they also let their fans in on it. For 'Šta bih ja', it was actually the audience's passionate reaction that showed them that it would be their next single.

Source: Vita Orehek Photography

It is a simple communication style, but one that the band reads well and then translates into its products. By doing so, they typically follow the flow organically, not going against it (true fans will understand this extremely corny joke), always driven by a well-thought-out strategy. Sometimes even at the initiative of Kiki the roadie, who unintentionally hung the lyrics of a new single facing the audience instead of the band, which turned it into a viral hit. "He's a marketing genius," the boys laugh, and tell ELLE that he's definitely receiving special treatment now.

Less than an hour later ...

Shortly after our conversation, we join the large crowd right in front of the famous Hungarian stage and, as the show unfolds, marvel at the visual production, specially upgraded for the festival season under the baton of Studio 7, with whom the Jokers have formed an unstoppable partnership since their beginnings.

Source: Vita Orehek Photography

The waving Slovenian flags beautifully complement the lace on the band members' clothing, their trademark and a tribute to the culture of their homeland, signed by Karlo Kirri (the Jokers have been collaborating with him regularly for the past year).

Unfortunately, the boys couldn't exchange the "performer" wristband for the "visitor who is just having fun" one, as a concert in Romania already awaits them this Sunday. Jan tested the field the night before, while the rest of them are still waiting for that experience somewhere in the future. Now with a very special aftertaste.

P.S. The news of the upcoming album was followed by the promise that Slovenians will be among the first to hear it live. In the lively backstage area, where the famous singer Halsey was casually strolling just an hour later, I'm told that this will be very soon after the album's release and that "they're going to go for a slightly smaller thing than they could have gone for," adding that it will be nostalgic for them.

What better way to end the conversation, and thus the article, than at this point?

Guys, thank you, and good luck!

[dreamings-free]

about the artist

Louis Tomlinson is a singer and songwriter from Doncaster, UK. As a member of One Direction, Louis was a part of one of the biggest musical groups of all time. Now solo, Louis is following his heart musically. Louis' debut solo album 'Walls,' released in 2020, saw huge international success and sold over 1.5 million copies. In 2022, Louis went onto release his second solo album 'Faith In The Future' which saw continued success achieving #1 in the U.K, Spain and Belgium along with Top 5 in the U.S, Germany and Australia which was followed by the announcement of a global tour spanning 98 stadiums and arenas.

2023 saw the release of Louis' highly anticipated documentary film 'All Of Those Voices,' a film that documented his transition from a member of One Direction to a solo stadium artist, capturing the challenges and triumphs that were defining his new musical path. The film had a series of global premieres across London, Mexico City, Tokyo and L.A, along with a cinematic release, seeing it air in 2,500 cinemas across 65 countries.

Upon the completion of the 'Faith In The Future' World Tour, Louis kicked the 2024 summer off with the return of his highly successful self-curated event, The Away From Home Festival. The one-day multi-act festival was staged this year in Merida, Mexico, having previously been hosted in England, Spain and Italy. This year's Away From Home festival saw an incredible line up take to the stage with the likes of DMA's, Dylan, Reverend & The Makers, BBC Radio 1's Abbie McCarthy and local hero Kevin Kaarl. Now heading into its 5th year, Louis aims to take the festival to a new country again for 2025.

As well as a summer run of festivals, including Lollapalooza Berlin, Sziget, Superbloom, Victorious, Frequency, Untold, Pinkpop and Cabaret Vert, Louis unveiled a surprise live album, LIVE, released in August, with the digital version comprising a collection of 15 songs, all released live for the very first time. Each song was recorded in a different city, at a different show, spanning the past 3 years across Louis' two global world tours which have seen him perform over 170 shows to date.

Louis’ biography with his booking agency Wasserman Music, 2024

[phanfictioncatalogue]

2024 Era (2) Masterlist

part one

Blonde (ao3) - philforscale

Summary: Phil went blonde. Dan loves it.

cornetto and a hot chocolate (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: a cute little stolen moment shared on a tour break 💙

Dan & Phil 2024 (ao3) - VPofPanic

Summary: This is a ficlet written for the prompt "Dan & Phil 2024" from the Phinktober 2024 challenge.

It covers the first three months of 2024 with a focus on one video/event per month:

1) January: Viewers Pick My Birthday Presents 2024

2) February: Reacting to My TERRIBLE Acting

3) March: Keeping or Yeeting My Entire Closet with Dan!

Date Night (ao3) - achromatic__sky

Summary: Playing a game made for couples on the channel is not really a big deal is it ?

And yet as they wrap up filming like any other night, with the tour coming up in only a few days, Dan finds himself doubting everything once again.

Date night, or Dan is having a mild freak out about Terrible Influence and Phil is there to comfort him.

Duneussy (and other ways to say I love you) (ao3) - Lesbianphan

Summary: A companion piece to Gentle. Dan's thoughts after his 33rd birthday livestream on DanandPhilGAMES, featuring the Dune bucket

dreaming of you (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: “and now I’m dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming of you” - cigarettes after sex

Fall in love again and again (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: An evening, right before tour. Phil thinks about feeling lucky and different ways to take care of someone.

Float (ao3) - Aliquis

Summary: Dan's a professional, after all, and this is his job. Just another day at the office in front of hundreds of their grown-up fans whose expectations exited the stratosphere somewhere between his last two posts on socials. Fuck.

french toast, again (ao3) - buskingalbatross

Summary: Dan's ice cream shop dream, sort of. Not really.

Go out with a bang as it were (ao3) - natigail

Summary: The cursor was mocking Dan as he was trying to work on his Terrible Influence Tour script and he kept getting distracted thinking about his life with Phil and the relationship with their audience. Until Phil showed up with water, stole his laptop, made him faint and promised to love him for 100 years.

heart skipped a beat (ao3) - starryfaced

Summary: Dan and Phil have a day to spare in Stockholm - cue the seals and the meese, it's time to go to the zoo!

I have to tell you something (ao3) - solarpower21

Summary: Dan confesses he was the one behind the PhilsLion account.

In our garden (ao3) - trashcanfromgallifrey

Summary: The boys spend a warm summer afternoon in their garden together<3

liquorice ice cream (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Dan and Phil go on a date to the zoo.

(Snapshots of their Swedish zoo date, September 2024. This fic is free from TIT show spoilers!)

not a lot, just forever (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: working through the feels post-hospital incident ❤️‍🩹

One and Only (ao3) - clcprint

Summary: dan meets a new phil and his phil gets jealous.

or

phil loses the idgaf war

Phome is where the heart is (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: dan and phil go shopping at target while in Seattle for tit. they’re feeling festive for the season and a little sappy bc, well, duh 🧡

Phouse Chores (ao3) - SpiritsDJH

Summary: Very loosely based off of the chore segment of the preshow at TIT.

pizza & packing (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: dan and phil eat pizza and pack for their trip. they might love each other a little bit

Precious baby angel (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: Dan and Phil buy matching precious baby angel shirts because they’re gay and in love. Dan shows Phil how much he likes the shirt on his angel 💖

Precious Baby Angel (ao3) - toadsappho

Summary: Phil shows Dan his new t-shirt, but that's not the only surprise he has for him.

Proxy Requests (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summary: A story about poop and fear (unrelated)

Sheets and sharpies (ao3) - wwoodles

Summary: “Are you going to be good for me?”

He hovered above Dan’s face, awaiting his response. Dan was always taken aback that Phil had this power in him. The ability to completely disarm him.

“Yes, Father.”

Or, in the moments after the end of Dan’s birthday stream, Dan is not only incredibly grateful for Phil, but also incredibly horny.

Side By Side (ao3) - SpiritsDJH

Summary: Dan and Phil, reeling in all the feelings of tour, and finally being able tour the world together again.

silent and sure, keeping watch in the night (ao3) - gaydreaming

Summary: Phil has always loved being on tour. The adventure, the sounds of the tour bus, the way his quality time with Dan takes on a different shape. On the road between Oslo and Helsinki, he sees some beautiful stars through the bus window and wakes Dan up in the middle of the night to enjoy them with him.

Spa night (ao3) - philsbignaturals

Summary: In which Phil gives Dan a nice pampering set for his birthday that's big enough for two.

Spearmint & Espresso (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: Scents (and cuddles) can be healing ☕️🫧

Stolen Sweets (ao3) - e_5456, Frog910

Summary: Phil's sweet tooth strikes again

sunkissed (ao3) - ivylakes

Summary: Maybe Phil was made to pour warmth into this man and leave little marks all over his body the way the sun does when it covers his skin with freckles. Maybe everything they’ve ever done and every little way they’ve loved each other has culminated in this very moment, where they can hardly see each other in the low light but are still brighter than the yellow light that breaks through the sky and glitters on the ocean.

Or, Dan and Phil go on holiday, and every photo they take tells a story.

Sweet Haribo (ao3) - dprkives

Summary: Phil says corny shit to Dan while he’s high on fentanyl at the hospital

switch it up (don’t stop) (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: post workout activities wink wink

Through Sickness and In Health (ao3) - Mysticallykai

Summary: After Phil's hospital stay and their vacation, Dan and Phil try to fall back into their routine. Though it's hard to go back to normal when your normal has changed so suddenly. How will the significant health scare affect Dan and Phil even weeks after it's over?

tweet and retweet (ao3) - gesticulationbubble

Summary: Dan wakes up to a 'surprise on twitter' discovered by Phil. Knowing the Phandom, he guesses he's in for a treat.

Or the August 1st/2nd 2024 Incident, retold.

wear no disguise for me (ao3) - lesbaurinkos (pluginbaby)

Summary: It’s not exactly jealousy, Phil doesn’t think. Not– exactly. But he’s feeling petulant and selfish and maybe like he wants to be a little mean about this… not-Phil. This Phil who doesn’t know the half of what it means to be half of Dan.

(or: dan made a new friend called phil. am i a joke to you)

When you're in the mirror, you're just looking at me (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: A morning, in a hotel during the tour. Dan thinks about tours past and present.

Where it began (ao3) - Frog910

Summary: Dan and Phil are thinking back to how things started

you will be (the death of me) (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: “I wanna play the game, I want the friction

You will be the death of me”

- Muse (Time is Running Out)