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antimony-medusa · 6 months

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Is that— bells ringing? Keyboards clacking? The sound of two thousand stressed writers pancing furiously about the floor? Ah yes, Yuletide.

Hello. MCYTblr. I am back again.

You are looking fine today as we move towards the end of the year. Is that a new cologne you're trying? New shirt? New glasses? It's working for you. How have I been? Well.

Well.

*I smack the wall, curtains spring aside, revealing my flip chart presentation that I've had lying in wait*

It is time for me to talk to you about Yuletide again. I was here earlier during tag nominations, but it's sign-up time, and I want to make sure everybody has a change to participate in this if they want to.

What's Yuletide?

Yuletide is an annual mega-exchange for small and rare fandoms. It runs in the close of the year, with a 1000 word minimum for gifts, with gifts revealed anonymously on the 25th of December and de-anoned on the 1st of January. It is easily the biggest exchange in multi-fandom-exchange-world, and last year more than 1,350 people signed up.

Why does everyone sign up?

Well, it's tradition, for one. There are a lot of people that only do Yuletide as their big exchange every year. It's a big holiday spectacle, it's really fun to see it operate and see pinch hits come out and get nabbed in minutes, and people kind of put on their holiday outfits and turn out for it.

For another thing, if you are in a small fandom, it's the one exchange where you can actually have a shot of getting a gift for an obscure manga fandom, or an out-of-print book, or a tv show from the eighties. If your fandom has five people in it, the odds are higher than average that two of them are signing up for this exchange, and hey presto, suddenly you're matchable in your fandom for an obscure podcast.

For another, and this is the biggie, the fact that this is an exchange for small and rare fandoms has led to a certain tradition and vibe for the fandoms that people nominate. People bring their most obscure and fun ideas, going, "hehehehe wouldn't it be fun if someone wrote a story about this", and into the tag set it goes. There is SUCH a spectrum of fandoms in the tag set.

This year there are 4,263 fandoms and 16,735 characters in the tag set. Let me just skim through and look at some of them.

There are commercials, web sketches, art pieces, songs, music videos, board games, podcasts, a dizzying assortment of anthropomorphising different places, items, and ideas, and RPF from a marvelous variety of historical periods (so, y'know, historical fiction if it was published professionally). There are people who nominated tik tok sketches. Twitter threads. A bridge. Book binding techniques. You ever wanted to write a romance between Knitting and Crochet? That's in the tag set, and someone wants to prompt you to do that. Happy Yuletide.

So if you are at all the sort of person who likes a prompt challenge, BOY is this one just a MARVELOUS one. I know I personally am going to be signing up for Humans are Space Orcs (tumblr post) and Fandom Exchanges (Anthropomorphic) amid my more traditional fandoms.

And as for my more traditional fandoms, and the reason why this post has the tags it does (I would get to it eventually)— there is a lot of MCYT in the tag set! I put out a post saying GUYS, the smaller fandoms might apply for this, and BOY did people show up for it. I scanned through it, and the MCYT (and adjacent) that made it in is:

Karmaland SMP

Legacy SMP

Lifesteal SMP

Moonlight SMP

New Life SMP

Outsiders SMP

Rats SMP

SMPEarth

SMPLive

Witchcraft SMP

Pirates SMP

Mianite

Slimecicle Cinematic Universe

SBI Rust

Generation Loss

You could make an entire sign up, 3 minimum requests and 4 minimum requests, and only select MCYT fandoms. The wild thing is that you can only select a max of 10 fandoms to offer, so you actually couldn't offer all of the MCYT. ZombieCleo Witchraft SMP is in. Tommyinnit SMPEarth. Clownpierce Lifesteal. Tubbo SBI Rust. Oli Rats SMP. A wealth of options for the block folks.

So come, join me! What's that? You say this sounds excellent, you're in? You want to know how to sign up? Well this post is already long enough so I'm putting the rest below a cut.

You sign up on the collection here, using fandoms listed in the tagset here. Before you do so though, I'd recommend you check out the blog, especially their "how to sign up" post here, because even if you're used to exchanges, the way Yuletide works is a little bit different. Let me do a quick breakdown here.

Requests

# of Fandoms

You have to select a minimum of 3 fandoms that you are Requesting (a gift that you want made for you), up to a maximum of 6 fandoms. Each fandom has to be unique. For each fandom, you can request between 0 to 4 characters in that fandom, and 0 means "literally you can hit me with anybody", and the up-to-4 characters are the people you definately want to show up in the fic.

AND MATCHING

This is one of the things that Yuletide does differently, because most fandom exchanges do "or" matching, where they match you on either characer A OR character B, (maybe you only offered character B) and you can pick among any of the selected characters on the person's request to write for. Because Yuletide does AND matching, you will only be matched if you offered every single one of the characters the person has selected, and then you get to write for every single one they have listed in their fandom, unless they say differently in their letter. If they requested character A and Character B, you get to deliver a gift that includes them both, according to the rules.

Bu like, in practice, a lot of people are a bit more like "you can pick only one of these guys if you'd like", because that is how everyone is used to things running in most other exchanges, plus people don't want to be too picky, so you can specify in your letter if you definately 100% want characters A, B, and C, or if you're fine with just A, or just A and C, or whatever constellation of characters you're chill with.

This year they have added optional freeform tags you will click on, that will specify either A) use every single one of these guys I selected. B) I have specified in my letter which guys I need for sure and which ones you can swap, C) Dealer's Choice Of Guys Go Crazy.

DNW and Optional Details

Yuletide is an "Optional Details Are Optional" (ODAO) exchange, so technically you could request (or receive) an offer that just has the characters and then you get to go absolutely buckwild for the two month writing period. Most people, however, do not want to do that, so that is where you'll put in Do Not Wants (anything that would ruin the gift for you, from major archive warnings to kinks that you don't vibe with to headcanons you loathe), and some prompts and/or likes for your person to jump off of.

DNWs absolutely must be abided by, and breaking a person's DNW is grounds for getting turfed from the exchange. Following a person's prompts or lists of likes is technically optional, but definately best practice, and y'know, part of the whole spirit of the exchange. Most people are doing their best to adhere to both the DNW and the Optional Details when they do their gift.

You can just format your DNW and Optional Details on the Ao3 signup page (easy, fast), or you can link them offsite in a letter (fancy, you can do formatting, people do them in google docs or dreamwidth pages (the traditional and more accessible option)). There's a tradition of people posting their letter links here, so that people can get an idea for what sort of prompts and signups people are offering, and make sure they're matchable to people with especially fun ideas. Note: you do have to duplicate the data if you're doing a letter, cause if you put your DNW in your letter but NOT in your Ao3, the mods won't enforce it.

And while we're here, that last link is to a community blog that includes a place where you can promo your fandoms to lure people into signing up for your guys, or participate in mini-challenges within yuletide for people who specificially want poly relationships (Three Doves Challenge), or characters of colour (Chromatic Yuletide), or horror/darkfic (Crueltide), or smut (Yuleporn), or art (Wrapping Paper), or even more. There's even a poetry challenge!

Offers

# of Fandoms

You have to sign up with a minimum of 4 fandoms, to a maximum of 10, for fandoms you are Offering (a gift you are willing to make). You must offer at least 2 characters for each fandom, to a maximum of 20— but there's also an "any" tick box if you want to go full "hit me, I like a challenge" and you'll write anything (in the tag set) within a fandom. Each of your fandoms must be unique.

Writing Period:

Signups are open through the 21st, with assignments out by the 23rd, and then you have until the 18th of December to deliver your gift.

Important Notes

You must be 18 or over to participate in Yuletide (because you might be matched with someone who requests smut), and signups close on 9pm UTC on Saturday, 21 October.

There's a known issue where the safari browser isn't letting people sign up properly, (when you get an exchange this big sometimes things break), so they say to either sign up on mobile or use a different browser. So that will be fun for me.

And that's it! Yuletide! Just under a week left to sign up, and 351 people have signed up as I write this letter at 1:30am. I just refreshed it and now it's 352. You can sign up on the Ao3 page here!

JOIN ME EXCHANGES SUCH FUN LETS GO.

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gigabyte-flare · 4 months

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🎄 I'll Be Home 🎄

[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]

Summary: Christmas is just around the corner and your boyfriend, Leon Kennedy is away on a mission. You begin to accept the fact that you'll probably be spending the holiday alone, but Leon has other plans.

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairing: RE4!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), pet names, just really sexy fluff honestly

A/N: Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all those who celebrate! Divider by firefly-graphics

“You have no idea how terrible this makes me feel, sweetheart.”

Your boyfriend’s voice is coming through your landline handset, nestled in your v-neck shirt, supported by your cleavage as you put up ornaments on your Christmas tree you just picked out at the tree farm.

“Leon, I promise you, it’s fine. I know what I signed up for. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened,” you reassure him, putting up a vintage glass Santa ornament onto the tree, “we can celebrate when you get back; no matter how long it takes.”

You hear Leon let out a deep sigh, “It’s Christmas Eve, babe. I should be there with you. It might not be until a few weeks after the new year when I finally get home. Are you sure that’s ok with you?”

“Leon. What did I just say?”

Leon goes silent, yet you can almost hear the gears turning in that mind of his. You then hear him clear his throat after a few minutes.

“You are too good to me, I don’t deserve you.”

You scoff as you struggle to put the star on the tree, “on the contrary, I don’t deserve you.”

You hear Leon clear his throat and chuckle nervously, you can picture him smirking at you, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“Hey… I gotta get going, just got to the hotel room. I’ll call you later, ok?”

“Alright, love you, Leon.”

“Love you, too.”

You pull the phone out from your cleavage and press the end call button, walking into your small kitchen to put the phone back on the receiver. You walk back into the living room, humming the tune of a classic Christmas song as you finish decorating the tree. Afterwards, you bring out your gifts for Leon, setting them under the tree to await his return.

Later that night…

You slowly wake up in the middle of the night, your bladder painfully full and your mouth drier than the Sahara Desert. You lazily toss your comforter off, swinging your legs over the side of the bed before standing up and going into the bathroom to relieve yourself. After you finish up in the bathroom, you go out to the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water to bring relief to your dry mouth.

Wearing only a thin white tank top and your underwear, you walk out into the kitchen, opening one of the cabinets to grab a glass before turning on the sink, putting the glass under the stream to fill it. Once you’re satisfied, you shut the sink off, bringing the glass to your lips and taking several gulps of the water. You let out a heavy sigh, turning the sink back on to top the glass back off, shutting it back off and bringing the glass back to your lips.

Before you can take another gulp of water, you hear something, a thud sound, come from the living room, causing you to freeze in place. Your heart begins to race and you grab the closest thing you can find to a weapon: a spatula. You grip it tightly in your right hand as you set the glass down onto the counter, turning to walk slowly into the living room. You peek around the corner to the living room, your eyes scanning the dimly lit room, your only source of light being the lights on the Christmas tree, the bottom which is obscured by the couch. You don’t see anything off at first, prompting you to step further into the living room.

Your eyes continue to scan the room, the spatula gripped firmly in your hands as your eyes settle to the bottom of the tree where you are greeted by the sight of a naked man laying on his side, his arm propped up to support his head. You scream, stumbling backwards as your eyes roam up and down the naked man’s body, his nether region covered by a large red bow and donning a Santa hat on his head. You realize quickly that you know this man, and let out a loud sigh of relief, bending forward and resting your hands on your thighs, taking deep breaths.

The naked man is Leon.

“Jesus Christ, Leon!” you breathe out, laughing in between breaths, “how long have you been laying there waiting?”

Leon bursts out laughing, standing up from the floor to approach you. His hands instinctively place themselves onto your waist, pulling you gently to him before he reaches up, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind one of your ears, his azure eyes looking down longingly at you.

“Like 20 minutes I think? I didn’t mean to scare the shit out of you, babe.”

“I almost threw the spatula at you,” you say, unable to contain your laughter as you set the spatula onto the coffee table.

“Oooohh scary!”

You playfully punch his shoulder, still giggling, “shut up!”

Leon smiles down at you, and you feel yourself practically turn into putty in his presence. He leans down, his lips sealing themselves over yours; it doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, for the two of you to begin devouring each other’s lips.

“So,” Leon says, breaking off the kiss, “aren’t you going to unwrap your present?”

Your eyes trail down his muscular form, settling on the large red bow that he somehow haphazardly attached to himself.

“Of course, go make yourself comfortable on the couch, love,” you tell him, motioning to the couch.

Smirking at you, Leon makes his way to the couch, sitting gently onto it. You step towards him, promptly getting onto your knees to position yourself between his legs. Gently grasping the end of the bow, you pull on it, watching it unravel. His hardened dick springs up once the bow is removed, the tip an angry red and drooling with pre-cum. You gently grasp his length in one hand, pumping gingerly while you bat your eyelashes at him. Your thumb presses into his slit, gathering his pre-cum and spreading it down the thick hard shaft.

Leon groans, shifting his hips and leaning back to get himself more comfortable. You stick out your tongue, pressing it against the base of his cock and licking upwards, flicking the tip with your tongue before wrapping your lips around it.

“Oh fuck…” Leon whispers, his hand grabbing the hair on the back of your head and gently guiding you to move your mouth up and down on his cock, his hips bucking upwards to fuck your mouth.

Your fingers dig into his powerful thighs for support as he continues to thrust into your mouth, his movements becoming more irregular as his release looms closer and closer. His hand that is buried in your hair on the back of your head abruptly yanks you off his throbbing member; he watches as your drool runs down your chin, a tired smile crossing your lips as you catch your breath.

“Wanna cum in that pretty pussy of yours,” Leon growls, his sapphire gaze full of lust.

You stand up, hooking your thumbs into the hem of your underwear, pulling them off and tossing them aside before climbing onto his lap. As soon as you’re on his lap, he takes hold of your tank top, pulling it off over your head and placing it onto the couch next to him. His large hands grasp both of your breasts, kneading them in his hands. You shift your hips, feeling the tip of his cock press against your entrance, your juices coating the tip. You settle your hips down onto his lap, his dick sinking into you, the feeling of him stretching you out euphoric.

You let out a soft moan upon feeling the tip kiss your throbbing cervix and you waste no time moving your hips in a grinding motion as you place your hands onto his shoulders for support.

“That’s it… you’re doing so good, babe. Taking me so fucking well,” Leon coos in your hear before placing gentle kisses along the side of your jawline; both of his hands resting on your hips to relish the motions of you grinding on him.

The feeling of him pressing against your cervix as you move is almost too much for you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you let out a loud moan. In that moment, you feel Leon’s fingers dig into your hips; his hips once again bucking up into you, bouncing you on his lap. Each time, his dick presses into your g-spot, pushing you over the edge. Your juices flow from you, coating him and leaving a white ring at the base of his cock, the sounds of your soaked pussy along with both of your animalistic moans filling the living room.

“I’m… I’m gonna-- oh fuck I’m gonna fill this fucking cunt… shit!”

With a few more ragged thrusts, he pushes his hips upwards, pressing into you as deep as he can go as he paints your insides white with his cum. You relish in the warmth of him, crying out as his name as your nails dig into his shoulders, your pussy walls squeezing around him to milk every last drop of his cum. His softened dick slips out of you and you practically collapse onto him, your hips still straddling his lap. His strong arms wrap around you, his fingers running up and down your spine to comfort you.

He gives you another deep kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth for a moment. After a few minutes he breaks off the kiss, his blue eyes gazing into yours lovingly as he smiles at you.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #gigabyte writes #christmas smut

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imagining-in-the-margins · 6 months

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CM Office Party Challenge 🎉

The following are prompts including an Office Party! Reader, Original Character, Character/Character ships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed!

This event is over (Masterlist of Fics here), but you are welcome to use any of these prompts. If you would like to be added to the existing Masterlist of entries, please check out the Rules below!

🎊 Prompts 🎊

It’s a BAU kid’s birthday!

The BAU throws a ridiculously large/lavish bridal/baby shower.

It’s rare that the BAU gets to celebrate the return of an old team member.

The team hardly believes it when Character A agrees to dance with B.

After sharing sad prom stories (or lack thereof), Penelope throws a BAU prom.

It’s characters first Missed Holiday Meal (MHM). It’s also the first time a holiday meal actually felt like home.

The team discusses holiday traditions. Characters decide to try a few out.

The FBI is throwing a family picnic. The playful competitions get a little… heated.

It’s the anniversary of the BAU. The team throws a party to celebrate the greats.

Penelope planned a Murder Mystery party… with a bunch of criminal profilers. Great. (Bonus if a non-profiler wins)

The BAU has been dealing with a lot of stress. Penelope plans a day at a pottery shop so everyone can make something. It causes even more stress.

The team pairs up to play the newlywed game. Someone starts to notice that, despite not being partners, A knows the answers to every question about B…

Rossi is finally (actually) retiring. The party brings together friends that haven’t seen each other in years.

An anniversary/award brings back old team members. There used to be a time when they couldn’t fathom a week away from one another, but they haven’t spoken in years.

More Prompts Below + Create your own! 🎉

Each team member has to find an obscure holiday to celebrate (pi day, random acts of kindness day, unicorn day, etc.). Character goes above and beyond.

Character has very surprising responses to Never Have I Ever. They have even more shocking admissions.

There is nothing that a bonfire can't fix.

Characters are stuck at a party, but they can't stop thinking about each other (based on "Dinner & Diatribes" by Hozier).

Characters always find each other. Even at a masquerade, when their faces are almost entirely covered.

A party is the perfect place to see a new side to your coworker.

🎄 Holiday Specific Prompts 🦃

Halloween prompts / Winter Holiday prompts

It’s time for Penelope’s Halloween Party! Someone comes in an… unexpected costume.

The single members of the team decide to host a lonely hearts club dinner on Valentine’s Day. Two people leave together.

Characters end up beneath very suspiciously placed mistletoe at the holiday party.

Character accidentally started an ugly Christmas sweater tradition which somehow turned into a contest.

After an awful case, the team comes back on Christmas Eve to find that Penelope has gathered their loved ones and quickly decorated the BAU as a surprise.

Character only wanted to reveal that they are someone's Secret Santa at the BAU Christmas Party but they end up confessing a lot more than that.

🎂 Dialogue Prompts 🍰

"... Surprise?"

"What are adults supposed to do at a kid's birthday party. Does anyone actually know?"

"Whatever you do, be sure to avoid the food. I don't know who made it, but it's awful." "Oh, it uh... it was me."

"If you help me win, I'll owe you one great big giant favor."

"I just never saw you as a... party type of person."

"I think you're bluffing." "Am I?"

"You are the last person I expected to have attended clown school. I figured your clownish nature was inherent in who you are."

"So, if you had to guess, who do you think is going to drunkenly confess their love for someone else at this party?"

"The year is over. Did you accomplish everything you hoped for?"

"I fucking hate balloons."

"What's the point of a fridge on the jet if not for a celebratory drink?"

"If we're stuck here all night, we might as well have fun."

"I love you. I do. But you are a terrible Santa."

"Next time, I'm in charge of the karaoke mic."

🎈Rules 🎁

The fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I’m collecting both! You can also tag it “#mentioningmargins” which is a tag I track.

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds writing challenge #criminal minds prompts #cm fanfic #cm fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #emily prentiss #tara lewis #luke alvez #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #matthew simmons #derek morgan #david rossi #jennifer jareau

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angelltheninth · 4 months

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Prompt #96 ("come look at the stars with me.") with - Kirishima 🥹

Cute! Thank you for the prompt.

Pairing: Eijirou Kirishima x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, sneaking out of the doorms, stargazing, cuddles, flirty Kirishima

A/N: Sorry about not posting lately I got busy after the holidays but I have more free time now.

96. "Come look at the stars with me."

"Was breaking my window really necessary?" You groaned stepping over the broken glass. Every date night with Kirishima seemed to end with something broken, why would tonight be any different.

Kirishima dropped his hard form, scratching the back of his head. "I was trying to knock. Not my fault they make these windows so fragile." Fragile as in designed against break-ins. "Ready for our date baby?"

"You still haven't told me where were going." Now that his form dropped you kissed his cheek. His usual cocky smirk returned to his face turned around and motioned for you to get on his back.

"Come look at the stars with me." He poked his head out the window, glancing at the sky one more time to make sure there weren't any clouds to obscure the view. He leaned forward a bit more when he felt your weight on his back. "Hang on spidermonke-"

"If you finish that quote I'm breaking up with you." You wouldn't either way.

"Understood. But you really should hold on." You locked your arms and legs around his body, very mindful of how your boobs pressed against his back. "Would it be too much if I made a hardening joke?"

"Yes... no." Kirishima laughed as he stepped out the window and with the force of his Quirk used his stronger legs to jump up to the window above. And the next and the next until you were on the dorm rooftop.

You untangled your body from his and jumped down, much to his displeasure. You both leaned against the rails, Kirishima placing his arm around your shoulder asking you if you could name the stars.

"Wait... is this for the test we have tomorrow?" His eyes widened at being caught. "Kirishima... you didn't study again did you?"

"I did! I... wanted to go over it again so I figured we could make a date out of it." His defense was quite easy to see through, quite ironic. "I remember things better when you say them. No one's got a voice as pretty as yours." He flirted to try and make you forgive him. Which you did of course and even stayed up all night naming as many stars and constellations as you could.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #kirishima x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #kirishima imagine #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #kirishima fanfiction #bnha x you #mha x you #kirishima x you #bnha fluff #mha fluff #kirishima fluff #bnha drabble #mha drabbles #kirishima drabble

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astarlitsoul · 1 month

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Morning Star

Azriel x OC

@starfallweek prompt: Character A is a fallen star, Character B finds them.

A/n: This is my first time posting on tumblr (Ik I'm a decade late) and my first time trying to write fanfic. I wanted to give this prompt from Starfall Week a try. I hope to make at least a second part bc I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Feedback is appreciated, I hope you enjoy.

This is set a year after ACOSF when the red star (likely Aelin) was seen by Rhysand on Starfall.

Warnings: Angst, blood, wounds (not too graphic), I think that's it...

Rhys had truly outdone himself this year. In anticipation of Nesta and Cassian’s wedding, the High Lord had created his largest guest list yet for the upcoming Starfall. The House of Wind had been undergoing preparations for the week prior to the holiday in preparation for all the guests. The residence was being readied to host the courtiers and their plus ones, the ruling families of allied courts, and Keir and Lord Devlon plus their ilk. Even the owners of businesses the Inner Circle frequented had been extended an invitation.

Azriel had attended far more of the balls than he could remember. In his youth, Rhys, Cassian, and he would perch atop the roof of Rhys’ mother's house to watch the streaks of light until they dwindled away. In his adolescence, it was not uncommon for one of them, often Cassian, to bring their lover at the time and share kisses under the show. (Of course, the perpetrator would be teased to no end the following day.) More recently, as Rhys and Cass found their mates, Azriel found himself missing those days. He was happy for his brothers, and he loved his found sisters. But that didn’t change the feelings of unworthiness that were spurred when he was left without a date at event after event.

In the recent weeks leading up to Starfall, these thoughts were the subject of Azriel’s dreams. The dreams were not nightmares, per se, which Azriel was well acquainted with. They all began with a depiction of a different Starfall from his youth. However, the good memories were soured when Rhys and Cassian would fall silent beside him atop the roof. Azriel would call out for them, but their eyes would remain glued to the sky as if seeing something he couldn’t. They pointed and murmured things he couldn’t hear before they grabbed him in an attempt to winnow away.

Even now, as he flew home the morning before the holiday, he found himself thinking over the dreams. Lost in thought, he was surprised to find himself flying over the quaint cabin. He had subconsciously altered his flight path to pass the first home he’d known. Landing softly in front of Rhys’ mother’s house, he scanned his surroundings before entering. Assured that the sun was just beginning its ascent and that much of the world still slept, he entered the cabin.

Strolling through the small foyer and into the kitchen, he observed just how worn it was. As boys, they did a number on the cabin, leaving lasting scuffs on the floor and permanent dents in their favorite chairs. He loved the damages now, seeing them for what they were. Signs of life, proof that joy and love had filled the space. Proof that even he had known joy and love. After walking through the small rooms, he exited and flew up to the roof. He told himself he wouldn’t get too comfortable, that he’d rest for only a few moments before heading to the House of Wind. Facing the spot where the sun threatened to rise from the ocean, he took in the orange and pink hues of the pre-dawn sky. While Velaris was mostly obscured by the trees, he could glimpse the city in the distance.

His musings were interrupted by a rising feeling that moved from his stomach up behind his ribs. His shadows, which had settled into languid movements upon arrival at the cabin, began flaring out from him in a frenzy. He inhaled deeply at the foreign sensation, and it was then that he noticed the first star in the darkening sky. Azriel cocked his head at it. Prythian's brightest star — and the last to disappear each morning — should lay behind him in the sky. His confusion only grew as the star began flickering and growing.

No, not growing, approaching. The white-hot mass was careening towards him. He ducked, lying flush against the roof, his shadows making themselves scarce in the presence of the foreign glow. He closed his eyes against the brightness before he felt a wave of searing heat through his leathers as it passed overhead. Only when the light stopped attempting to shine through his shut lids, did Azriel open his eyes. Standing once more he looked himself over, then at his surroundings. Whatever it was had bowed the trees in its path, unobscuring the view to Velaris and leaving char marks and a glittering substance in its wake.

Let us see. Let us investigate. A few of his shadows hovered in front of his face, and he permitted them to follow the path. Reaching for Truth-Teller, Azriel wracked his mind for any information he’d know of objects falling into their atmosphere. He’d gone with Rhys to see multiple experts about the upcoming celestial event. The High Lord was still shaken by the red star he’d seen during last year's Starfall. Yet none of the court’s prophets nor astronomers had forecast this. They’d all claimed the view on Starfall was set to be uninterrupted, that only good things would come from the spectacle. It was another reason that Azriel’s dreams confused him. And a reason why he didn’t mention it to his brothers.

There is blood, Master. So much blood. His shadows whizzed back to him, wrapping around his middle and tugging him in the direction of the foreign object. Taking to the sky, he spotted a clearing a few hundred feet behind the cabin that hadn’t been there before. Upon passing the last of the trees, Azriel drew up short and hovered over the sight. There were so few things that turned his stomach after centuries of horrors. But the sight of a body laying in the crater, a tangle of limbs and wings and branches and moss had the foreign feeling returning to his chest. Landing softly, he rolled the hilt of his dagger in his palm, a nervous tic of his. He stood at the edge of the crater and found his throat tightening as he took a closer look.

The being was breathtaking, even as it lay limply in the ground. Pale blue feathers lay beneath the body, adorning wings that bent at a too-wrong angle. The being was dressed in nondescript robes of a darker blue hue, which now lay in tatters. Much of the flesh that wasn’t shredded, was obscured by long, curly locks of dark hair and a thick layer of glittering dust. His shadows were snaking their way towards the body, picking up some of the glistening flecks as they approached when they froze suddenly.

Alive. But the breaths are too shallow. There is a great wound.

A faint groan escaped the being and he found himself stepping down into the crater. Precaution thrown to the wind, he saw no need to intimidate the dying creature. It appeared female, as he took in the soft facial features and shapely figure as she lay against the dark soil.

“Hello?” he asked gently.

Another groan, then a cry as the being shifted. Tightening his grip on Truth-Teller, Azriel watched a shaky hand emerge from beneath a heap of feathers to reach for what he believed was a thigh. It was then he saw the wound. The Illyrian winds had been known to whisk away even the largest tents and banners, typically with sandbags and iron posts still attached. The stake of one of those posts was protruding through the leg, too close to the center for her femur to still be intact.

“Hey hey hey,” he sputtered as he reached for the delicate hand hoping to prevent her from causing herself further harm. While he was no healer, he knew that the bones and arteries in the thigh posed a life threat when damaged. The moment his scarred hand closed around her wrist her eyes flew open.

Time may as well have frozen. His eyes met her own, pools of a similar hazel but flecked with stardust. Within his chest, he felt a new ebb and flow. Not of his diaphragm as he remembered to breathe, but of his end of the mating bond that had awoken within him. He was shaken from the moment when another cry left her lips.

She began speaking frantically in a language he’d never heard as she attempted to move, her eyes jumping between his face, his shadows, his flared wings, and the weapon in his hand. Her feathered wings shifted again, as she attempted to free her other arm. Sheathing his dagger, he held up his hands, a sign that he meant no harm. Realizing the efforts to free herself were futile, the female stilled, throwing him a pleading look.

He brought his hands towards the wound slowly, one hand steadying the bloodied stake before the other felt beneath her leg. Wherever the stake had come from, this piece had broken off when it caught in her leg.

She must be moved. She will not last long. His shadows had been working their way around her form, through the hair, feathers, and tatters as they tried to gain a full picture for their master. A few of them brushed the hair off of her face, while others seemed to stroke her hand. Something in his chest squeezed at their report.

“Let me,” he gestured to himself, “help you.” He finished by making a scooping motion with his arms. Azriel had no idea if she understood his miming, or if the bond had come to life in her chest too, but she nodded once in agreement. He pushed an arm under her back gently, before leaning her torso up from the ground. Her face screwed in pain and he paused as she took a shaky breath. He ordered his shadows to steady the stake before pushing his arms under her legs as well.

Standing up, he took note of her limp wings. What he had believed were two large wings, were actually two sets of wings. Looking up at her face, he flared his shadows as he prepared to shadow-walk to Velaris. Once again, despite her ragged breathing and pained face, she nodded at him with resignment in her eyes. Azriel was unsure if she could feel it, but he tried to soothe her through the bond before he allowed his shadows to envelope them. He hoped that she was able to receive the calming waves he sent her, and none of the panic he felt as his mate’s blood soaked his leathers.

#starfallweek2024 #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar oc #starfallweek #starfall #its my first post be nice plsss

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huntingingoodwill · 1 year

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how to steal a million (t.s.)

masterlist

pairing: tommy shelby x reader

prompts: must include: a confession, hurt/comfort, a family tradition, forced proximity

a/n: this is my fic for @runnning-outof-time 's holiday bingo challenge! i hope you like it <3

You hitched up the skirt of your gown, the silk gathering in your fingers and tumbling past your knuckles as you hurried down the hallway.

You heard your name echo down the corridor, and you swore under your breath, wisps of hair falling from your perfect coiffure as you evaded the voice.

“Where are you? Everyone’s asking after you! Come down and join the party!”

Your eyes landed on an inconspicuous door, and you scrabbled toward it, heels clicking frantically against the marble floor.

You slid into the broom closet, hurriedly clicking the door shut behind you. You were immediately plunged into darkness, the only sliver of light peeking through the gap at the bottom of the door.

You watched that little strip of light fall across your feet, holding your breath. Your fingernails dug into the soft flesh of your clammy palms as you heard the voice get closer, footsteps quickly approaching.

You breathed a sigh of relief as the footsteps receded into the distance, the voice growing fainter as the shadow that obscured the light moved past the closet.

The tension draining out of your body, you sunk toward the door, bracing your forehead against the smooth, cool wood.

You heard the click of a lighter behind you, and you whipped around to see a man in the darkness, illuminated by the orange glow of the small fire.

“Cigarette?” He mumbled, the smell of tobacco filling the cramped space as he lit the cigarette that dangled off his lips.

“Jesus Christ!” You exclaimed, jumping back in shock.

Your hand shot up to feel around for the light switch above you, yanking on the cord.

Suddenly, the tiny closet was awash in light, and you took in the sight of a man sitting in the corner, casually nursing a cigarette.

“Who are you?” You blinked at him, astonished.

“A guest.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, folding your arms over your chest as you felt suspicion swirl through your mind.

“A guest.” You repeated, your tone brimming with doubt. “And what is a guest doing, hiding here, so far away from the party?”

“I could ask the same of you.” He quipped, icy blue eyes holding your gaze.

“Ah, but I’m not a guest.” You defended yourself, holding up a manicured finger as you corrected him. “This is my family’s party. I’m technically a host.”

“Well,” He began, taking a puff of his cigarette, silver smoke spilling from his lips as he spoke. “You’re not being a very good host if you’re hiding up here, are you?”

You gave him a tight smile, eyebrow cocking as you looked at him. You hadn’t been able to put your finger on it before, but recognition now registered in your mind.

“I remember you.” You wagged your finger at him, beginning to catch on. “I saw you with May Carleton at Cheltenham in March. Tommy Shelby. I don’t seem to remember my father mentioning that gangsters would be on the guest list tonight.”

“Why not? We’re good fun at parties.” He replied, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Cut the shit, Shelby. What are you really doing here?”

“Well, if you must know,” He sighed, bothered by your incessant questioning, “I’m here to rob your family blind.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your father has come into quite a bit of money recently.” Tommy said, words calculated and measured. “He’s been stepping on the Blinders’ business. So, I came here tonight to take back what’s ours.”

“How much?” You asked.

“A million dollars.” He sighed, punctuating his statement with a drag of his cigarette.

“You’re seriously admitting to me right now that you came here to steal a million from my family?”

“You’d hardly miss it.” Tommy explained. “And, with your family’s yearly legendary holiday party going on tonight, I figured I could hide until all the…” He took a second to ponder, searching for the words, “rich fucks down there were drunk enough. Then, I’d take what’s mine and leave. No one would be any the wiser.”

“Well, I’m sorry to ruin your plans, Mr. Shelby, but I won’t stand by-” You said, turning to leave and warn your father.

“You’re not going back down there.” He interrupted.

You swivelled back around, glaring at him.

“Is that a threat?” You spat. “I’m not scared of you.”

He sighed, shaking his head.

“You’re not going back down there, because you don’t want to.”

“What?” You said softly, your tough exterior faltering for a second.

“I can tell you don’t want to go down there. So don’t.” He said.

You reached for the doorknob, but as your fingers grazed it you lost your nerve. You sighed, flexing your fingers. Your hand returned to your side.

“Move.” You ordered, and Tommy listened, sidling closer to the wall as you squeezed next to him, pressed up against him in the cramped space. You plucked the cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag for yourself. You took a breath, carefully considering your next words.

“It’s not that simple, you know.” You mumbled, eyes trained on the glowing end of the cigarette.

“Sure it is.” He replied, taking the cigarette back as you passed it to him.

“It really isn’t.” You chuckled.

“How so?” You furrowed your eyebrows, turning to gaze at him.

You could hardly fathom why he’d care. Still, you felt the emotions you had kept bottled up all your life bubble up within your throat. You pressed your lips firmly together, fiddling with your fingers nervously as you felt a lump form in your throat. You felt so silly, feeling yourself unravel little by little, all because the criminal you were squashed up against in this tiny room asked you a simple question. But, no one had ever really asked you about how you felt, living in the gilded cage of high society. It felt foreign, sharing your feelings, and you grew nervous at the prospect of having to do so.

“I don’t know.” You muttered, folding your hands in your lap meekly. You could feel the barrage of emotions pooling in your mouth, the true feelings you had kept hidden for so long ready to spill out. “It’s one of our many family traditions, this stupid holiday party. I don’t like any of it.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, just thinking of it making you feel dizzy. “All the parties, all the gossip, all the expectations. If I make one small misstep at one of these, I’m immediately filed under disappointment.” You rolled your eyes, smiling. “I feel…trapped. It’s better to hide than risk being a blemish to the family because I wear the wrong dress, or my soiree conversation isn’t polite enough.” You forced out a laugh. “Sorry. It probably sounds stupid to you.”

“It doesn’t.” He replied immediately, and you turned to him, a little stunned. “I’m not going to pretend I know all about what it’s like being a high society woman,” He started, earning a little laugh from you, “But, I think you deserve better than this. You should go. Leave it all behind.”

You smiled, shaking your head.

“It’s not that simple, Tommy.”

“It won’t be.” He replied. “But, I think you deserve better than living a life you hate. I’ve heard about you for a while now. As you said, stupid high society gossip. But, meeting you has confirmed it. You’re bold. Brave. Intelligent. You should do what makes you happy.” He paused, thinking over what he wanted to say next. “I… would like to see you happy. I want you to be happy.” He said, trailing off quietly at his final revelation.

“Really?” You whispered.

“Really.” He cleared his throat. "And... if you ever need any help, come find me, alright?"

An uncontrollable smile tugged at your lips. You reached out for him, pulling him into a hug. You felt him tense under your embrace, but he soon relaxed, melting into your touch.

“Thank you.” You mumbled into his shirt, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“Alright, that’s enough.” He mumbled, patting you awkwardly on the arm, already missing you as you pulled away.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, leaning against each other’s shoulders in the small space.

“Hey, Tommy?”

“Yeah?” He turned to look at you, eyebrows raised, noses practically brushing each other due to your proximity.

‘How’d you like some help with stealing that million?”

#tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby blurbs #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy imagines #cillian murphy #cillian x y/n #fluff

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la-la-lavandee · 4 months

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Lavandee's Stimboard Ask Game

Here's how it works! By reblogging this post you welcome your friends and followers to submit numbered prompts to your inbox which you can then use as inspiration for a themed stimboard or gifset!

1. An obscure favourite character

2. Your first OTP

3. Your strangest kin

4. Your favourite colour

5. Your favourite song

6. Your favourite band

7. Your favourite Pokemon

8. An obscure hyperfixation

9. Your favourite food

10. A recurring dream

11. A childhood memory

12. A plush from your childhood or the current day

13. An old OC of yours

14. The first anime you ever watched

15. What you last ate

16. A song from your childhood

17. A character who's birthday you share

18. A hobby you enjoy

19. Your biggest fictional crush

20. A series you plan on getting into

21. A game you never finished

22. A series you have a love/hate relationship with

23. Gifs from your favourite stim blog

24. An interesting moment in history

25. An old hyperfixation or special interest

26. The AMV in your head

27. A defunct website you used to frequent

28. A fandom you're not in that looks like fun

29. An instrument you can (or wish you could) play

30. Create a crack ship!

31. Your zodiac

32. The decade you were born in

33. An overplayed song you unironically love

34. A remake/remix/reboot that's better than the original

35. A meme that makes you laugh

36. Your favourite animal

37. Your favourite sport or game

38. Your favourite holiday

39. Your current OTP

40. WILD CARD! Asker, send in a character that the stim blogger reminds you of. Blogger, make a stimboard of them!

#ask #ask game #reblog bait #ask meme #inbox memes #not stim #lavandee dialogue #prompts

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yiiyiiwrites · 2 months

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JJ Maybank - Older sister - Headcanon

Herds JJ and his friends away from fights.

Nags her brother to do his homework on time and knows that JJ drags it out just to annoy her.

Stupid dares when they're home alone and have a run of the house.

Would both eat cereal for every meal of the day.

Has a soft spot for Pope and loves listening to all the obscure facts he spurts out. Asks him loads of questions, genuinely interested in what he has to say.

Early morning surf sessions after not seeing each other for a few days.

Text check ins...mostly so she can see he's not done anything too reckless.

Hates when she pulls rank and say she's older. "But I'm taller," he says crossing his arms, which normally earns him a shove.

Doesn't lie to her, knows she can tell if he is...so doesn't even bother.

Biggest JJ protector, acts as peacekeeper between him and their dad. Comes unstuck later on though when she gets the rest of Lukes wrath when JJ isn't there.

Codewords between her and JJ so they don't run into Luke... "We''ve got 1180 in progress."

Dropped out of school to make sure there was food and bills were paid.

Drives a beat up old car that JJ even jokes he doesn't want passed down to him.

Learns how to do different hair styles from Kie and has a friendship bracelet from her.

Calls JJ every time her car brakes down.

JJ teasing her for everything and anything he can.

John B always taking her side whenever JJ isn't thinking things through properly.

Hangs out with pogues every now and then but doesn't want to get in the way of his friendships.

Has an on and off relationship with a guy who lets her stay at his whenever she needs somewhere to crash.

Works on a fishing boat during the summer holidays so could be gone for a couple of weeks, but it's good money so she just does it.

Reminds JJ to be careful instead of good.

Nickname is Missy.

✨ I've just started this blog for my fan fiction writing and writing prompts :) - Yiiyii

#jj maybank #jj maybank headcanon #jj obx #maybank!sister #obx headcanon #jj maybank sister #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #obx fanfiction #jj maybank x sister #jj maybank x sister reader #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction

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lookedlikethebins · 21 days

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i'll say it twice

Finally! The long awaited Valentine's Day producer george x TA matty oneshot! I'm so sorry for taking as long as I did. Thank you for being patient AND a big thank you to the anon that inspired this fic with the prompt about matty coming to a club/one of george's dj gigs! [set ~6 months since meeting each other] ~5.8k words xo side note: i know nothing about being a DJ but a lot about cyclical anxiety and epic poems so i compensated xo

George had been semi-confident—and a bit overprepared—in his upcoming set, until Matty showed George the readings he’d suggested for the next week of class: Lover’s Discourse. The date of his set hadn’t registered until that moment, sitting with his arm around Matty and feeling embarrassed by his own obliviousness.

Valentine’s Day. Of course, the club wasn’t just holding an event to sell more drinks on a cold, mid-February Friday night; they were hoping to max their margins for the first quarter. For every one patron, there would undoubtedly be another—their date. George included.

The set had to be a bit beyond perfect.

For the next two weeks, each time Matty stopped by after his classes and office hours, George had been closed up in his studio. He would've been there most of the day, starting early in the morning (right after Matty left, if he’d stayed the night) and blowing past every mental stopping point in favor of fixing just this one last thing.

After Matty was left waiting outside for the third time, knocking and trying to ring George—phone on silent and face down on his desk—George gave him the spare key. Each time, Matty let himself in with a loud shout, letting the door slam shut; they’d learned George startled easily when he was working. When he was worried.

While Matty shouldered off his bag—as well as coat, scarf, sweater, and unbuttoned and rolled his cuffs—George would unplug his headphones and continue his work out loud. Matty often settled onto the loveseat beside George’s desk and leaned forward to best see George’s screens without hovering over his shoulder. Despite sometimes getting up to dance, Matty would never grow (outwardly) irritated when George would have to stop and adjust, redo, or take note of an idea for later. The only time Matty spoke during George’s work was to exclaim that a certain part of a song was his fucking favorite.

Most times, Matty’s excitable commentary was the reason George had to stop and make slight changes.

It would be Matty’s first time coming to see George work. Matty had asked if he could before—about other gigs and recent shows George was playing with the boys too—but George struggled to say yes. And thankfully Matty never pushed back or took offense when George stumbled over his answer. Granted, George had taken Matty to his label’s holiday party—and he’d been a hit—but his club set wasn’t for a closed group. There would be a room packed with people looking for the smallest pinhole in George’s quiet (misunderstood to be “stoic”) exterior, hoping to peep in on his private life.

But, even with all that fear and discomfort with the unfamiliar, it truly was sort of time for it, wasn’t it?

---

“Oh, fuck,” Matty said with a burst of laughter that seemed to surprise even him. “it’s loud.”

They had entered the club through the back entrance meant for employees. George made sure to pull around to the parking lot purposefully obscured by bins and out-of-place planted shrubs. They used the side streets and alleys of nearby buildings to get in without being seen by the group of patrons lined up outside, waiting to get in.

While George had been getting his bag out of the car, Matty stood by the hood, tapping his foot to the muffled beat sneaking through the club’s opening doors and sparse windows. But now, inside and standing on the farthest edge of the dance floor, Matty didn’t need to move his feet to the music; the floor was nearly moving for him.

It was what George loved the most: how the room, the physical space, came alive when music was loud—almost too loud. The air felt like it was breathing on its own from the shear pulse of the speakers.

It terrified George to think Matty might not like that feeling. The encasement of music. The ever-shrinking proximity to other people, while verbal communication became impossible and almost moot. All George ever had in those moments was the same unavoidable and inarguable beat moving him to keep time with the other bodies around him. That feeling of sharing the same heartbeat. He could live in the same suspended moment with someone, just a few minutes at a time.

“Is that… okay?” George said. He had steered Matty toward the back lounge for the invited guests and hired talent. Once George closed the door behind Matty, the wall of sound became a void, ringing white noise. “Do you want earplugs or something? I, uh, I probably have a pair somewhere. I’m sure I do.”

“No, no—I don’t mind that it’s loud. Just sort of forgot. Can’t tell you last time I’ve been to a proper club.” Matty placed his hand on George’s arm, gently squeezing it, before leading him further into the room and away from the door.

“Not a fan?” George asked. He immediately grabbed a bottle of water from the oblong coffee table. He twisted off the cap and handed it to Matty. It was Friday; he’d had his early and late classes.

“Just prefer a place I can sit down,” Matty shrugged. “And if I’m feeling wild: hear my friends talk.”

“You’re really not supposed to chitchat at a club.”

“Name another time I’ve been quiet that long, George.”

George paused. “Okay, so you might actually hate it here.” He was trying to tell a joke, but his chest tightened and twisted into a knot. Like he forgot how to create a laugh. He couldn’t.

“George, love, stop fretting—please? I’m starting to think I’m making you worse.” Matty swung his hand out to playfully hit George on the arm. The open water bottle made a small damp spot on his sleeve; luckily, he was only wearing a short sleeve, cotton shirt. “Pretty sure you’ve been doing all this before I ever showed up. You know what you’re up to—you’re very talented. I’m just here to listen, take a vow of silence, have a drink or two.”

“Oh, I should go get you one, shouldn’t I?” George muttered, looking at his watch and then the clock on the wall—they were a minute apart: George’s watch a minute behind. He was already floundering. The first time he brought Matty—any boyfriend at all for that matter—to one of his shows and everything felt like it was developing into a disappointment. A stumble. Two left feet. George could hear the music muffled in the other room; he just wanted to stand submerged in it.

“That—No, George. That’s not why I said that. I’m not angling for you to go and—Look, I just want to drink after I had to listen to someone wedge Ecstasy of Influence into our discussion for the third class in a row.”

“But I should go get them—they won’t charge me.”

“Oh, so it’s about showing off, not chivalry…” Matty said, offsetting his jaw as he crossed his arms and smirked at George.

“No! I—Matty, it’s Valentine’s Day," George said, taking out his phone. His phone matched his watch but not the wall clock.

“And you’re already going to get laid. I’m not sure why you think you have to butter me up—"

George sputtered in surprise and embarrassment as he heard someone talking just outside the door. “I meant, it’s Valentine’s Day so they’re going to be up-charging, I’m sure. Let me get you a drink. They don’t charge the people they hire.”

“You must not know what happens when a cute guy like me goes up to most bars,” Matty said, lifting one eyebrow. “I won’t pay for anything; Fuck, I’ll barely even need to be paying attention.”

George had never considered how Matty was as a single guy. He’d never really told him. Or maybe George had never asked. There wasn’t much for George to tell Matty, so maybe he’d forgotten people had dating histories that weren’t accidentally shallow or convenient. Had first loves before their late twenties.

The club owner opened the door while still finishing the tail end of his hallway conversation. “—on in twenty, okay? Yeah—George! Good to see you, early as always. What I like to see. JJ walked in five minutes before she was supposed to go on. Again.”

“She likes the spontaneity,” George said with a shrug, placing his bag down in one of the mismatched armchairs. “I can’t argue her style. She’s always great.”

“I just wish she could be spontaneous and not raise my blood pressure,” he said. “You ready to go on in half an hour?” George nodded, checking all three times again. “Great. Anything you need—you can go out and float around JJ when you’re ready. Get either of you a drink?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” Matty said. He placed a hand between George’s shoulders as he hunched down to look in his bag. George’s nervous energy was never something Matty could ignore. “George, did you want something? Or do you want me to get it for you.” Matty was teasing, probably feeling the tension in the muscles of George’s back. Maybe hoping for a laugh.

Instead, Matty’s kind and gentle smile—eyes following George’s hands as they continued to jostle everything in every pocket—was distracted by the owner’s follow up question: “I’m sorry—and I mean no disrespect—but who are you again? George, if this is a new label rep, I’m sorry I’ve forgotten again—”

“Label rep?” George turned toward Matty, who was still touching his back with one hand and had begun to hold his bicep lightly with the other. It was certainly no way to represent a professional relationship.

Matty looked down at himself. “I just came from teaching—Dammit, George, why didn’t you tell me I look like a corporate drone? Is it the tie? It is, isn't it?”

Finally, George smiled. The plane of his back under Matty’s hand relaxing as he laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t look like a drone, okay? And Matty isn’t my PR guy. He’s—” George had never actually called him his boyfriend in front of anyone before; at the holiday party, the moment everyone saw Matty walk in with George, they knew this was The Date George had after studio sessions so often. “He’s just here with me. No business.”

George couldn’t hear the music as clearly anymore, blood rushing in his ears. Matty moved his hand along George’s shoulder blades, slowly and soothingly. Finally, George’s fingers found the loose pair of foam earplugs in the front pocket of his bag. The last place left. He righted himself and held them out to Matty. He ignored the conversation he’d left paused with the owner for as long as it took Matty to tire from arguing he didn’t need them. He dropped his hand from George’s bicep to take them, his other hand not leaving George’s back.

The clock on the wall kept ticking, faster than the one on his wrist.

“Matty’s going to uh… he’s going to be up there with me.” George pointed loosely toward the door; he didn’t know what was out there, technically. Without being sure where the music was coming from, without being able to feel it faintly pulsing in his chest, he didn’t even know where the dancefloor was.

“Up where?” Matty asked.

“The stage. When I’m doing my set.”

“I didn’t think I would be allowed.” Matty shot the owner a quick look before adjusting his tie.

“Of course you are! But only if you want to. I won’t be offended if you’d much rather... not.” George wanted to give Matty the option to pick how he wanted to spend his evening. How to make it better without George intervening, even by accident, and making things worse—

“George,” Matty said softly. George blinked and realized the owner had already left the room; no commotion, no remark, no insistence Matty become part of the monolithic, pulsing, impersonal crowd. No pushback. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, you know that, right?” Matty said. He stood in front of George and placed both hands on his shoulders, as if keeping him planted on the ground. George didn’t know he’d been feeling an urge to pace until then. Until he couldn’t. “What’s got you this upset?”

“I always get nervous before I perform anything. You know that. You know me.”

Matty had been sitting on that studio couch every day for those two weeks. He’d been over when George accepted calls for other gigs and immediately interrupted his own train of thought to jot down his immediate thoughts and plans—afraid he’d forget the “genius” of the impulse. Afraid his instincts weren’t really instincts at all, just moments when inspiration would take pity on him.

While talking about his students’ coursework, Matty had told George about the idea of ancient Greek poets praying at the beginning of their works. Of asking the gods of inspiration—the muses, actually; George remembered feeling embarrassed by his own surprise and sense of clarity by this fact and connection—before embarking on their epics. The invocation, Matty had called it with a flourish of his hand.

Matty described it as if the idea was antiquated; no one thought creativity or inspiration was so out of their hands that it had to be requested at the beginning of every project. But sometimes, when George could feel expectations compounding and very separate things interconnecting into one daunting and terrifying moment, he wished there was someone he could hand things off to. Trust he had solid instincts when he was mid-set and suddenly becoming aware of his own hands and expression and body and position with the person next to him—the new DJ that just arrived and hovering too close and asking too many questions, but being so polite and was someone George should be very eager to show the ropes because he never had that... To trust he would have no need to second guess, critiquing himself for too long and missing the window to execute his plan. The swing of his set broken while George was left standing in horrifying, reverberating silence and—

“This isn’t nerves, George. You look like you might pass the fuck out. Or throw up. Maybe both.” Matty ran his hands across George’s shoulders and laced them together behind his neck, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s not me making you this anxious, is it?”

“No, of course not,” George said quickly. “I just want everything to be perfect—”

“Well, it can’t be.”

“I-I know. I know. Nothing can be perfect,” George mumbled, trying to echo Matty’s frequent and always kind encouragement. What George tried to remember when he was feeling his anxiety bind tighter with the feeling things were slipping out of his control. George had invoked Matty’s words a lot in the past week in particular. “Best-case scenario, then. I want the very best-case scenario. For you. I want you to have a good time and—”

“Do you not think I’m having a good time?”

“My set isn’t for another,” George looked at the clock on the wall only. “fifteen minutes. We’ve just gotten here and… literally stood in a room while I’m…” trying not to freak out or throw up or just blurt out that I— “That’s nothing very exciting.”

“Hey, that’s not all we did today; you picked me up from class, we had dinner, you let me read to you that botched essay intro, you told me about that tour invite and the boys, you invited me to see you do your job. George,” Matty stopped to reset his worried expression with another warm smile. “George, you do know you’re the reason I came, right? Not to experience the best DJ set of my life or have one too many and convince your band to dance with me, or even know any of the songs you’re going to play. I just came here because it meant spending time with you. And that’s why I’m having a good time. That’s it. This isn’t a performance review. I am not qualified for that in the slightest.”

“But—”

“George,”

“I’m not trying to argue,” George said. Matty nodded, moving both of their heads. Matty carefully ran one hand up and down the back of George’s neck, encouraging him to continue. “But… this is sort of your first… event with me. Next to me. Associated with me.”

“… And? We talked about this, right? It’s not industry people who know you, so I’ll have to be more… aware of what I’m doing. But just at first, like you said—I get it, George. I really do.”

“No, no. It has nothing to do with that… Or maybe it does. Fuck,” George stopped to take a breath, forcing it out through his pursed lips. “I want to do something you can be proud of. Be someone you don’t mind admitting is your date. I don’t want to embarrass you—"

“Embarrass?” Matty repeated with a soft but tense laugh. He cleared his throat and George could hear a sudden wetness sink his words. “What a preposterous fucking idea. And, actually, even more so: the idea I didn’t come here already proud of you. That I’m not already more than willing to walk out there and tell everyone who’s even remotely paying attention to me—free fucking drinks or not—” Matty gave them both the chance to laugh, the thickness falling away from Matty’s voice and some of the weight shaking off from George’s shoulders. “That I came here with you. I’ll go anywhere with you—anywhere you’re willing to have me.”

George dipped his head down to kiss Matty, quickly and without invitation for any lengthier response, considering the moment and environment. He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell Matty right then—without the expectation of anything in return. Just simply say. But that was sort of the point of the set. George hoped he could say it without the words; without the direct chance of rejection.

Matty kissed George on the cheek, hands sliding from his neck to smooth his collar and flip his silver earring so the engraving of the dagger’s hilt faced outward. His knuckle grazed George’s jaw as he stilled the jewelry from swinging.

“You’re going to be incredible—as you always are.” Matty said, holding the sides of George’s face. “Like, that’s not me setting a ridiculous bar. That’s actually sort of the baseline for you. Anything beyond that will just be genius—which, also very possible, I’m finding.”

George leaned against one of Matty’s hands—warm and firm and unflinching from the request for support—and sighed, a sense of relief hitting him.

George remembered what he was doing there. He could feel the music in the other room. He smiled. And Matty, the central reason for the tailoring of the next hour of George’s night, smiled back.

They waited in silence, George not trusting himself to say anything else. Not wanting to spoil it.

---

The music was too loud. But that was sort of the point. George was up on stage, feeling the rolling pulse of the room and the music, and didn’t have the space or sense in his head to hear himself think about anything other than just that.

The lights, flickering and flashing and swirling. The faces in the crowd—at least those he could make out—lighting up and excitedly reacting to the change in song, speaking to the person beside them—the only person who could hope to hear them.

The person beside him, waiting until George lowered his headphones to lean in to talk to him. Both of Matty's hands gently holding George's forearm. Matty's chest pressed against George's bicep and shoulder as he leaned in, trying to shout in his ear over the music coming from the speakers on all sides of them.

“I’m going to go get a drink, okay?” Matty said. George only understood when Matty pointed at the blue backlit bar directly across the dance floor. He’d been standing next to George for the entire first half of his set, enthusiastic and smiling. Bouncing and dancing. Trying to get George to do more than his usual simple sway to the music—Oh, come on! I know you know how to move your hips a bit better than that, love.

George gave him a thumbs up and a smile. Matty held up two fingers and lifted his eyebrows. He pointed to George’s empty glass resting on the low railing surrounding the raised stage platform. It had been a vodka soda that, thankfully, had barely had much of the first ingredient. George shook his head and nodded toward the bar with his continued smile.

Matty stepped down from the platform and began weaving his way around the dance floor. He avoided all the clueless drunk dancers, almost bodies possessed by the music, and nosey patrons that bothered to look up at the DJ and see the new face now walking among them, but managed to bump directly into Adam. Which meant within seconds, and a silent cheer of surprise, Matty had also found the rest of the band that had come: Ross, John, and Polly.

As if discussed beforehand, the moment they all saw Matty they collectively looked up at George and waved. As if they knew George would be watching Matty from the slightly higher vantage point. Because of course George was. He answered them all with a quick grin so they would turn away again. After a moment of gesturing and over-enunciated (but mostly unheard) sentences, Ross walked with Matty to the bar. The other three migrated to the side of the dance floor with a cementing nod and lift of a hand: We’ll wait right here.

Watching Matty struggle to get through the crowd to the bar, George quickly rearranged his mental lineup of songs. What use was Matty knowing—dating—the DJ if George played all his favorite songs while he stood in line, cramped in his reach for the bartender between Ross and the back of a guy with shoulders practically as wide as Matty was tall.

For a moment, being able to see Matty from a distance was sort of romantic. It was a thrill to be able to take all of Matty in at once—when most of their romance typically happened up close, barely enough distance for George to see the lips he was about to kiss. From his vantage point, George could watch Matty lean forward on the bar, his weight shifting onto his left foot with his right hovering just above the ground. Could watch as Matty began bouncing his foot with an unknown pulse of anxiety, impatience, or anticipation; George couldn’t see Matty’s expression to know.

George looked back at the decks, needing to focus to ensure his secondary ordering of songs transitioned smoothly. He looked back up at Matty—to see if he’d have to sub in another song before he was back on the dance floor—and saw him angled back toward the rest of the room, smiling and chatting, his face more in view. The only face George couldn’t see was that of the man talking to Matty, one hand braced against the bar railing and the other quickly—and so smoothly George barely noticed—fiddling with the end of Matty’s tie.

George checked his watch, trying to give himself somewhere else to look. He lowered his head and gave himself the chance to hide his flushing and crimson embarrassment. He didn’t mind someone else flirting with Matty—George couldn’t be upset with other men that fell under the very same spell he did after their first introduction. No, George felt embarrassed he’d seen them, that he had been watching at all. That he was observing when maybe Matty had no such idea. Exposing a moment perhaps Matty would rather not have George see; invading Matty’s privacy and knowing something Matty would always think George didn’t know. What a terrible basis for lo—

Finally, George looked back up. Resisting to do so almost like telling himself not to think of something—and only prompting further rumination. George saw Matty shaking his head, hand resting on his own chest, as if holding his heart. When the man nudged Matty’s foot with his own—yet something else George felt he should never have seen—Matty lifted his hand to point at George.

Four sets of eyes were now on him: Ross, Matty, the stranger, and now the bartender returning with Matty’s drink. George froze. He didn’t know what Matty had said about him in their conversation; he didn’t want to betray his point by doing the wrong thing. George had told Matty to keep things lowkey for the night while George acclimated to (very subtly) exposing his personal life, but with someone flirting with him why else would he be pointing at George? Surely, it was romantic sort of point—literal romantic gesture—right?

But how could George ensure Matty knew it was okay he brought it up, that he was happy and so proud to be up there but if only because it meant Matty could turn and point and mouth something that looked a hell of a lot like: that’s my boyfriend.

Before George could short-circuit much further, Matty put his fingers to his lips and blew George a kiss. He then folded his hand at the knuckles in a flapping wave. Almost like a joke. A tease. A giddy gesture that had George feeling like he was growing sunburnt under the minimal, flashing lights. A youthful, almost teenage, motion done with complete honesty and infatuation. For a moment, George felt relief, felt certain for a moment that his very ridiculous and overthought plan would work...

With his drink in hand—and small black straw between his lips—Matty started going back toward the rest of the group. His eyes were busy searching each face he passed for Adam or Polly he didn’t look back up at George at first. It was just as well; George was already so anxious, he was sure if Matty looked directly at him as the next song started, his entire heart would’ve dropped into his shoes. Maybe bruised, maybe shattered, maybe resilient enough to bounce back up.

Although, as the song started, George felt like his heart had stopped. Its internal pulse absent from his ears as the beat around them took over, pounding against his chest, ribs, temples. George dissolved into the music; hoping that the joy and repeatedly expressed excitement Matty had shown listening to it in George’s studio would appear on the dance floor in front of him.

Just one more time, George. Play that part just one more time… For me?

After a deep breath, George forewent any subtlety and made no effort to hide he was watching for Matty’s reaction. He pulled his headphones down around his neck. The sound diluted into the vastness of the room, in comparison to being fed directly into George’s ears, but he preferred it. He wanted the space and breathing room. At least for the moment.

Matty stopped his gesticulating and conversation with John, pausing as he registered the song. His pivot from speaking to emphatically starting to sing along was split-second. Adam stood sort of confused, amused, and dumbfounded as Matty’s apparently dire point faded away and he started dancing: swaying mostly his hips with the beat and holding his one arm up, while the other steadily held his drink in front of him.

Matty lowered his arm and went to take another sip just as the chorus was about to hit again, his usual stopping point when listening with George, but the song swung back around to the start of the verse. Just that part, one more time. For him.

Matty’s declared favorite, all over again. Right on time—jumping to that exact thump of the brutally danceable kick drum. George wasn’t sure Matty would even notice; he probably hadn’t heard the song that many times to know its structure the way George had to. Oh, maybe it was all a bit ridiculous to think—

But Matty had stopped dancing. His lips still moved along to the lyrics, but now like trying to whisper across the cacophony to George. The lyrics almost being stripped and returned to its poetic form. Spoken with slight disbelief.

While everyone else seemed slightly confused—feeling more betrayed by their memory than upset about any music decision or direction—Matty continued to melt right back into the song. Dancing just as he had, holding the back of George’s chair with gleeful distraction.

As George began to fade between the songs—no threat of the verse cycling a third time—Matty pushed his empty glass into Ross’s hands and began hurriedly snaking back through the crowd to the platform. Despite his evident excitement—shifting and shuffling his feet while he pulled at his sleeves—Matty still stood and waited for George to give a cue he was finished with his task at hand.

Admittedly, George wanted to stay in the momentary reprieve between his gesture, the reaction, and his direct confession—the purpose of it all. In that moment, he could only be relieved that he’d done it in the first place. He hadn’t yet had enough time to worry or feel embarrassed by his own ornately constructed vulnerability.

But if George stayed in that moment forever, he’d never hear Matty’s reaction. Good or bad, it would still be Matty. And that sure as hell beat a solitary moment of acquiescing to fear.

George lowered his headphones again and turned to Matty with the very best look of neutrality and obliviousness he could. Matty was looking back with that minute, timid smile: the one meant for George and almost undetectable by onlookers. A glimpse at the joy thrumming inside of him; almost too full to even attempt to express; settling for an undersell rather than falling short.

“Need something, Matty?”

“I love that song!” Matty leaned in toward George’s ear. His hand gently curled around George’s hanging safely under the table and out of view. He tugged and pulled George toward him, able to slightly lower—soften—his voice. “You know I love that song—thank you.”

“I-I wanted you to have a good time! A chance to know some songs—your favorites!”

“You didn’t have to do that—what about everyone else here?”

George pulled back to better see Matty’s entire face. “Yeah? What about them?”

Matty’s smile faltered as he lowered his eyes to George’s earring, now swinging in the air after being pressed down by his headphones. His lips parted as if he was going to speak but then pressed them back together.

“Matty,” George said, although not loud enough. “I’m really glad you came tonight.”

“Hm?” Matty moved his fingers behind his ear—as if his hair was even remotely long enough—to politely hint he couldn’t hear George.

“I…” George cleared his throat, hoping it would still be there even if he couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t hear anything but the music flooding his body just like the flush creeping up his chest and over his cheeks. “I love you.”

“What?” Matty cupped his ear and leaned forward toward George.

George found himself repeating the sentence, but far softer. “I—I love you.”

Matty lowered his hand and looked at George with a furrowed brow. “I-I’m sorry, George. I can’t hear you!” He gestured toward his ears with splayed out hands, mimicking the pulsing, pounding soundwaves thudding against him from the surrounding speakers. “Don’t forget though, okay? Tell me later?"

George nodded, smiling. Like he could ever forget.

"Sure, yeah. Later!"

Like he was ever thinking about anything else.

---

After his set, despite the band congratulating him and offering a few rounds on them, George wanted to go home. Wanted to get out of the noise. He was beginning to feel spoken over, crowded, and pushed out by the thumping music—then even more so when it was no longer him behind the decks.

Thankfully—and once again forgetting the holiday—no one teased George for turning in earlier than them. He and Matty were able to be back in his car, sitting in the parking lot, thirty minutes after his set finished.

“George, you’re incredible, you know that right?” Matty was speaking too loudly, but George didn’t mind; his ears were ringing too. And it also meant Matty laughed a bit louder than he usually did, too. “I don’t think I’ve had that much fun in a very long time.”

“I’m glad you came,” George smiled, his own laugh sounding muffled to his ears but feeling stronger in his chest. Matty lifted himself from his seat to lean over the console and kiss George, quickly but firmly.

“Thank you for inviting me, George. I was happy to be there with you not on business,” he said. “Happy to be your date tonight. Proud to be—even if we’re still the only people here that really know I was.”

George thought about saying it again—a third time—but he didn't think he could stomach the trade of an oblivious, neutral response to his intended confession for open, undeniable, almost amplified (possible) rejection.

Instead, he kissed Matty again. He braced his hand on the console and caught Matty's lips again before he moved all the way back into the passenger seat. Matty broke the kiss—without pulling away—with a near-muffled, definitely mumbled confession of his own:

“I heard you, you know,” Matty said when George inquisitively pulled away at the sound spoken against his lips. “After you played my song—what I told you not to forget; I heard you. I-I just wanted to see if you’d say it again. If you wanted to—If you meant it.”

“Do—would you like me to... say it again?” George asked. It was a nicer response than quietly pleading, please don’t break my heart. I’m sorry if I—

“No, no, you don’t owe me another one," Matty held the sides of George's face, anticipating his emotional and physical retreat and apology. "Especially since I still haven’t answered.”

“You don’t have to right now. Let's just go home and—"

“George, I think I should tell the man I’m in love with that I do love him, don’t you? Seems like a reasonable thing to do.”

George reached for Matty's face, holding him and trying to get a good look at the man in love with him. Trying to spot the moment Matty would break, would maybe lie and soften what he'd admitted to. Matty held his joyful—and increasingly teary—look at George.

"You do?"

"Yes! Yes, George. I love you! Of course I do." Matty laughed and pulled George in again. His hands dropped from holding George's face to rest flat on his chest. Feel the beat of his heart.

"Wait," George muttered, turning his face to break the kiss but not pull away. "Say it one more time... For me?"

#gatty #gatty fic #matty x george #george daniel x matty healy #producer george and TA matty fic #andfacedown fics #(not yet i know but shh)#producer george oneshot #THANK YOU for waiting & enjoy MWAH!!

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