Currently writing x readers only. . Find my works under the Tag Alaska Writes or peep the master list *SMUT FOR ADULT CHARACTERS ONLY*
If in ya wanna tip the local goblin -> https://ko-fi.com/laneinthemembrane
Call me Alaska. Is that my real name? No. What is my real name? Well if I may quote a long lost platform "Wouldn't you like to know weather-boy (gender neutral)" Moving on. Welcome. I write fanfiction. Let's do some housekeeping shall we?
NSFW Works: Some of my fanfics are SFW. Most are not. I try to make it VERY clear when a work or a chapter is 18+ only. Please respect these warnings. I am an adult. If the warnings are there that fic or chapter is now an adult only space. Kapeesh?
Requests/Asks: I encourage requests for fics or if you just wanna ask a question. Don't be any sort of afraid to ask, I'm just a lil fic blog.
When do I update chapters?: .... the word depressed is in the blog name. Mental health is a journey and I may stop and start things dependent on how I'm doing. Please don't be scared to shoot me a message if your curious if I'm working on something.
Taglists: I do taglists for all of my fics. Just send me a message or leave a comment and I'll add you. Also since I'm dumb of ass please specify if you want to be added to the taglist for just that specific work, works for a specific character or for all of the works I publish.
Vesemirâs favorite cereal is Raisin Bran. You know why.
Eskelâs doesnât have a favorite cereal but will have a bowl of whatever is available to achieve a balanced breakfast.
Geraltâs favorite cereal is Shredded Wheat because it looks like hay bales and he likes pretending heâs a horse.
Lambertâs favorite cereal is Reeseâs Puffs because they look like bombs and he loves peanut butter.
Aidenâs favorite cereal is Life because he likes to fill the box with lemons when heâs done with it and leave it to prank Eskel.
Ciriâs favorite cereal is Lucky Charms because she likes marshmallows.
Yen makes ice coffee and claims it counts because the ice is the cereal, and it has milk and sugar like cereal. Jaskier will make it for her in a bowl any chance he can get to subtly call her out on it. She just picks up the bowl and carries on like itâs normal.
Jaskierâs favorite cereal is Frosted Flakes because Tony the Tiger is hot.
Sometimes I get the "I can fix him" urge for a fictional character but like not in a sexy way. I can fix him with the power of friendship. I look at him the way a 12 yr old horse girl looks at an abused stallion that has injured its last 3 riders but she knows that it will sense her good vibes and she'll be the first person to show it kindness. That man is a skittish horse to me.
now say it with me: authors/artists dont owe you moral purity. an author/artist job is not to hold you by the hand & tell you exactly what is Goodâą & what is Badâą. you should be able to think for yourself
making up characters is so fun because you can be like âthis is johnson he came from my mindâ and all your friends will go âyippe!!! horray!!! we love johnson!!!â
listen to me. this is my final message to you. when you are at your lowest a fictional guy will come to you and when that happens you must start putting them in situations. this is the meaning of life.
Hey all! Sorry for the long, LONG hiatus on this. I won't go into the details of my life the last year but in short wedding planning has been taking all my free time, and any left over has been going to the cats lol. Anyways, here ya go dearies!
Morning sunlight clawed at the edges of the curtains, seeping through the bedroom. It crawled along the wall, scattered onto the floor and made its way to you. Rousing you from sleep with its irritating call to start a new day. Â
The first thing you felt was a distinct pain in your neck. Â
Youâd been holding too much tension in your shoulders again and now your poor muscles were strained and angry. Â
This wasnât the first time something like this had happened, but it had been quite some time since your neck had hurt like this. Back home, everything had fallen into a routine, it was easy and calculated. A new season, a new show, same opera house, same schedule. It was simple and flowed nicely.Â
It was boring. Â
Thatâs what you had thought at least. Itâs why you came to America in the first place. To get a break, to meet new people, work in a new theater, make a name for yourself in a new town, a new country. Â
Some great idea that had been. Â
The events of the past few days weighed on you. You hesitated to call coming here a mistake, mainly because that would imply that your father had been right about you leaving. To concede that his badgering and curmudgeonly âadviceâ was of any usefulness was something you were loath to do. Â
Still. Â
Being away from the only support system you had ever know was taking its toll on you. Â
And your neck was paying the price. Â
The walls crept in closer and closer as the morning went on. The lifestyle you had was always a busy one. Filled with music, meetings, rehearsals and personal practice. Due to your.... misstep... with the costume woman, the theater had been shut down for the time being while the investigation continued. Â
You really never intended to continue your fatherâs work outside of France, honestly. Frustration had boiled in you, building up with no escape. The support system that had allowed you release all your life was gone, and in its place was a foreign world filled with foreign people. Each day filled with having to learn new idiosyncrasies of the average American on top of learning a new theater and show. Â
At first it had been a welcome change of pace. Â
Then itâs glamour quickly faded. Â
Then you had met with Alastor, and something deep within you that you couldnât describe shifted. Â
Then you were left, boiling over, with only one option for rest. Â
You had chased her down to the costume department. Her sedentary life of sitting and working on garments evident as the chase was lackluster at best. She was a little stronger than you had first believed, no doubt strength built up from moving large bolts of fabric, but she was not strong enough. Â
Strangling her had been thrilling though. Â
This was far from your first strangulation. Your beloved father had taught you hanging first, then close quarters strangulation. After that was knife skills, poisons, explosives and anything else he had picked that he thought you should know. Other little girls, played with dolls and learned how to cook. You played with knifes and learned how to gut a man. Â
But what did you expect? Your father was far from normal as was his life, so why would anybody expect any different for his precious daughter? Â
Strangulation, up close had always been the most thrilling for you. Being so close to someone as they perish. Not quickly and quietly giving into that sweet release but gasping and thrashing. Trying so desperately for another gulp of oxygen, knowing that if they could just get you off of them, they could live. Then getting a front row seat as the realization dawned in their eyes that you wouldnât budge, and that they would die here. By your hand, or your rope rather. Â
Once you had finished with the costume woman, all that energy was released, the steam allowed to leave as you lifted the lid off of the pot.Â
Once you were done, panic had struck you. Â
This was far from your first strangulation, but it was your first one alone. Youâd always had your father before. He was always there in the aftermath to help and take the blame under his ghostly persona. Now you were alone with a horrid macabre scene in front of you. Â
You began madly pacing back and forth, hands gripping forcefully at your hair. This had been so off the cuff, so spur of the moment that it dawned on you how sloppy you were. You didnât check to see if anyone else had noticed you going to the theater. You didnât have an alibi lined up. You didnât have a place to put the body or a way to get it out of here. You were screwed, at the mercy of fate if you could get away with this. Â
Your savior in that moment had come in the shuffling of a newspaper, tucked under a desk, moved in the gust caused by your brisk pace. Down, down in the far corner was the start of an article Â
âNew Butcher victim still unidentifiedâ Â
Your hands shook as you picked it up and began to read. Â
âNearly two weeks since the Bayou Butcherâs latest horror rose to the surface, and still there are no leads on the identity of the body found in the...â You stopped reading, recalling the cab driver when you first arrived. He had blabbed on and on regarding some... butcher that had been terrifying the streets for the past few years. In that moment you racked your brain to remember every detail you could about that conversation. Â
Then youâd grabbed a precision blade from the table and got to work. Â
And now you were enduring the consequences of your recklessness. Being stuck, bored out of your mind with only your elderly landlord as company. Â
Just as the thought crossed your mind, a bell rung out from downstairs. A signal that the old woman was requesting your presence.Â
The smell of pine was aggressive as you stepped into the house proper. Making sure your footfall was audible so that Anais would hear you coming. The woman physically looked ancient, like a small gust of wind would send her flying to the next block. Mentally however she was still sharp, kind and even a bit funny. Â
At first, she had been reluctant to allow you to rent her upper room. Stating that you were young, single and surely prone to trouble. However, her attitude had switched on a dime once she learned that you were born and raised French. For whatever reason, that was what changed her mind and now you were roommates for the foreseeable future.  Â
As you turned the corner, there your landlord sat. Leaning against the kitchen table with an aged and worn book cradled in her hands. Â
âYes maâamâ you asked. Â
âOh dearie, can you come here and read this for me? You know my eyes aren't any good.â Â
You sat next to Anais, noting the passage she was pointing to. Smooth handwritten lines greeted you, a recipe crinkled and stained from years of use on the page. Written in a mix of broken English and French. Â
âIs that the recipe for cassoulet?â she asked. Â
âYes madam.â Â
âAh good, would you mind doing me a favor dearie?â Anais looked up at you, her warm weathered face expectant.Â
âBut of course, itâs not like Iâm doing much right now anyway.â You responded, half laughing. Â
âCould you check our pantry and icebox, and then go out and get me whatever we would need to make this?â As Anais looked up at you, you couldnât help but think of how adoring her gaze was. You knew she had family, yet for some reason she looked up at you, a practical stranger, like you held the world in your hands. Â
You looked down at the book, before looking back up at Anais and smiling. âNot a problem, I think some movement would do me some good.â As you turned to make your way to the pantry, Anais spoke up once more. Â
âAnd you do understand everything there, right?â She asked. You looked down at the recipe once more. It appeared that most of the French was random. Different words and phrases that the writer simply didnât know how to say in English. Â
âOui madam, I can understand everything clearly.â Anais smiled wider and she almost looked teary eyed, though it may have been the lighting. Â
âAright thenâ Anais nodded, motioning for you to continue.  Â
~Â
The smell of spices and bread hung over the street as Y/n made her way down to the grocer. The market was rather empty for late afternoon, though you supposed most people probably didnât do their shopping on weekday afternoons. The crisp ring of a bell announced your entrance as you walked into the store. Handing the list you had made earlier over to the boy at the counter, y/c/e wandered as he ran off to grab everything.Â
Warm orange poured into the building from the windows. So saturated in color, it almost looked like you could dip a pitcher into it and pour yourself a glass of it. It warmed the store pleasantly, almost too warm, but never quite reaching hot. The kind of warm that, when you breathed it in, the air seeped into your chest in such a way that urged and beckoned you to close your eyes and take in the moment.  Â
It was peaceful, tranquil even. Â
Your eyes began to unfocus, the pleasant temperature and surreal atmosphere the perfect setting to shut your brain off for a bit. Many minutes passed before you were jolted back into the present by footfall. Â
Though it wasnât the quick steps of the counter boy returning, instead it was the short sharp sound of a woman approaching. Â
âHey! Y/n right?â you turned and were greeted with the petite frame of the receptionist from the radio station walking toward you. Her firey hair flowing behind her, tossed in the breeze of her brisk pace. Â
What was her name again? Sydney? Sophie? Â
âSandy remember?â she granted you mercy as she stopped in front of you. Â
âOh yes yes, sorry, I'm not so great with the American names yet.â You commented. In reality you hadnât bothered to remember her name. Your brain was preoccupied that day with Alastor revenge. Â
âOh yeah I get that. I canât imagine going to another country like that. Youâre a braver gal than I.â Sandy remarked. You shrugged your shoulders in response. You had asked for this mess and now you were going to have to wear it with pride. Â
âSo, you just getting off of rehearsals?â She asked. Normally small talk like this would have been the bane of your very existence, but having been holed up in the house, you were eager for some new interactions.  Â
âUhh. No. Did you not hear about the theater?â You set her with a confused stare. The story had been released to the public yesterday. You thought that gossip would have spread about it by now. Perhaps not. It would have in Paris. Â
âOh heavens yes, lordy I'm sorry. You must think Iâm all sorts of brash bringing it up like that.â She was quick to apologize, throwing her hands up as red bloomed across her cheeks. Â
Discomfort grew in you as she flustered her way through an apology. You hadnât had a chummy conversation like this in quite a long time. You forgot how odd it felt, trying to match others' energy with thoughtless small talk. Â
Where the hell was that damn worker boy!Â
âOh no harm done.â you replied, letting your nerves get the better of you as you held yourself. Â
You could stare down theaters of thousands without breaking a sweat, but a little one on one conversation sent you into a panic? Â
God y/n get a hold of yourself. What is wrong with you? Â
You're not performing right now. A voice, strangely reminiscent of Alastors piped up in the back of your mind, and it was right. Â
In the dream like haze of the shop you had let your guard down and when Sandy had approached you had been unprepared. Â
In this moment, this conversation wasnât a performance for one, it wasnât a play to prove your superiority or even an act to sell your authenticity. Â
In this moment, it was just an honest conversation between two women in a corner store. Â
Why did that thought terrify you so much? Â
âAre you holding up okay?â Sandyâs voice was rimmed in concern, taking your Â
un-comfortability at normal human interaction as unease from the situation at your workplace. Â
âIâm doing okay, for the most part.â you replied, nodding your head trying to shake the shivers out of your spine. âThe hard part is being so bored. Theyâve shut down all rehearsals till the investigation finishes.â Â
âDamn, so youâve just got all day to think about it.â Sandy commented. You replied once again with a shrug, not sure how far you wanted this conversation to go. âAre you exploring at least? New Orleans has plenty to do iffin you got the time.â Â
You shook your head at her. Noticing the counter boy finishing up in your periphery. âNo, I'm not fond of getting lost or worse in foreign citiesâ you ended with an empty laugh, turning to pay and get your items. As you nestled the bag into your arms, balancing it with your waist, Sandy came up to the counter. Â
âWell how about I take you out then? I took tomorrow off to do some dress shopping; you can join me.â Sandy proposed. Â
You worried your lips. What was this girls deal? Â
âOh Iâm sure Iâd only slow you down.â You waved her off hoping that she would just drop it. Â
âOf course you wouldnâtâ she returned. âBesides you can give me all the good Paris fashion expertise.â She quipped back, smile growing on her thin face. Â
Okay so not dropping it then. Â
You were about to deny her once more when a voice, this time definitely Alastorâs chimed from your subconscious. Â
âIs it so hard to believe that someone just wants to know you for you?â The conversation from before rearing its stupid little head. Why did it have to come up now? Why did he have to be right? Sandy seemed nice, but she was far too much of a wild card. Sheâs new, unpredictable; sheâs given you no reason to trust her. Â
Sheâs given you no reason not to trust her either Â
With a sigh you looked at her again. She was just being nice, surely there was no harm in one day, right? Â
âWell if you insist.â Before you finished the sound of the t, she was cheering gleefully. Â
âOh Y/n this is going to be so fun! I never get girls days like this. Meet you here at 7 tomorrow morning yeah?â Before you could affirm, she had trotted out the door leaving your stunned expression in the door frame.Â
She didnât even buy anything. Â
 ~Â
âAre you sure you can handle the first part of the Cassoulet today? I can always postpone.â You called from the front room to Anais who was busy prepping in the kitchen. Â
âOh no, youâre not getting outta this on my account.â Anais hobbled over, a stained apron over her flour sack dress, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel. She settled next to you and began to fret over your choice of outfit for the day. âNow I can handle the first day on my own. You go out and have some fun and we can finish together tomorrow.â She leaned back, looking you over in approval. âNow get into some trouble and live a littleâ She waddled back into the kitchen. Â
As you stepped into the doorway you called out to her once more. âYou know when I first got here you thought I was going to be nothing but trouble. Now you're telling me to get into it.â You giggled as she waved you off from inside the kitchen.  Â
âGon git!â Â
~Â
The air in the boutique was perfumed, but not heavily so. Racks of fine dresses lined the walls in all manners of cuts and colors. Sandy had been in and out of the dressing room all morning. You were convinced she wouldn't be satisfied till she had tried on every article of clothing in the store, and somehow you werenât bothered by that either. Â
Once it appeared that Sandy was in it for the long haul on this shopping trip you had expected to get annoyed rather quickly with her. She was surprisingly pleasant, however. Sandy was quite the talker and -- rather than jabbering on about herself like you expected-- she mostly directed conversation at you. She was teeming with questions and not surface level ones either. She asked all manner of questions about your job, from vocal pedagogy to internal theater workings. Â
It was quite refreshing, and youâd been happy to indulge in some high art discussions. Â
You had taken particular interest in a dark blue number; tiny stars embroidered into the hem and sleeves. As Sandy called you over to the dressing area you decided against buying it. Where would you wear such a piece anyway? It wasnât appropriate for a gala or premiere so what was the point? Â
âWhat about this one?â Sandy exited the changing room and up onto the rostrum. Surveying herself in the wall of mirrors before her.Â
âCut yes, color no. That blush washes you out. Where did you get that one?â Sandy pointed over to a rack and you sauntered to it. Picking an identical dress closer to aubergine. Â
âSeeâ you held it up next to her âMakes your hair and eyes pop more.â She took the dress as you smiled up at her. Â
âI told you," She playfully smacked your shoulder as she got down âYouâre good at this. Now go grab whatever you were staring at over there while I get out of this.â You scoffed at her and rolled your eyes but nonetheless sought out the gown from before. Â
By the time you had found it again and brought it back Sandy was in her normal attire. She all but shoved you into the dressing room to get changed. âYou get into that, and I have another one I need to see you in too!â She called from the other side of the curtain. Â
âSandy why would I even need a dress like this anyways?â You asked, trying to get her to see reason. Â
âYou canât fool me girl, I know youâve probably got a few dates lined up.â You could practically sense her kicking her legs in delight, so much so that you were almost reluctant to dash her little fantasy. Â
âIâm not really dating at this moment dear Sandy.â You replied. Â
âY/n I donât believe you! You canât honestly tell me you haven't had people asking you out on dates?â She chirped Â
You huffed, the stagnant air of the room stifling as you tried to get into the gown. âItâs not that I lack offers, Iâm just focused on work at the moment.â You replied with a deep inhale to catch your breath Â
Sandy made an audible sound of disgust from the other side. âNo wonder you got along so well with Al. You both work like you need it to breath.â Â
You rolled your eyes as you buttoned up the gown. âYou act like a good work ethic is a bad thing.â You said. Â
âThere is a huge difference between work ethic and what you two do. Youâre like addicts I swear.â Sandy replied. Her point cut short as you stepped out. Â
It was a nice gown, truly. Â
A deep, almost mystic blue that reminded you of the ocean. The top was loose, fine thin fabric cascaded down your shoulders. The edges of the top rimmed intricately in silver thread. The skirt popped with thread-thin lines of sequins. All of it capped with a gorgeous silver embroidered hem. Â
âYou have to get that.â Sandy demanded from her seat. Â
âWhile I do like it, I again ask what I would do with a dress like this?â you asked her. Â
âFor Christâs sake wear it for a morning stroll for all I care. If you donât get it, Iâll buy it and sneak it into your house when youâre not there.â She remarked wildly. Â
âYou donât know where I live.â You stated.Â
Sandy stood up hands on her hips âIâll find out.â She threatened. You stared her down for a moment before childishly crossing your arms and huffing out âOkay fine.â Â
She flipped back to being giddy and thrusting another garment into your hands. âThis is the one I need to see you in.â Â
Sandyâs pick was more akin to a tea gown. Mid length sleeves with a drop waist and a pleated skirt, with a few choice ruffles on the bust. Colored like raspberry jam or fruit cordial. Â
âAnd this one,â she started before you could give an opinion on the dress âI already have an event for.âÂ
You lifted a speculative brow to her. âAnd what would that be?â Â
Sandy stood up, placing her hands on your hips as she leaned closer to you. âComing with me to Ernieâs 57th birthday party.â she gleamed. Â
You looked at her, your expression conveying the âseriously?â that hung unspoken in the air around you. Â
âIâm being serious y/n, Ernie seemed to really enjoy your company when you visited. He even talked about it for a few days after. Plus youâll already know most of the guests attending, outside of a few spouses or plus ones.â Â
You sighed. âYou just like playing dress up donât you?â you asked Sandy. Â
âShhhâ she said, placing a delicate finger over your lips. âWeâre not focusing on that, weâre getting you out of the house.â She almost whispered; her finger never moving. Â
A deep belly laugh burst out of you at her antics. Her following swiftly into similar hysterics. You shook your head fondly, making your way to change back. Â
You ended up buying both dresses. Â
~Â
The savory scent of meat tempered the air of the kitchen. Cassoulet was not a dish for the weak. It was customary to cook it over multiple days due to its demanding nature. Anais and you had started in the morning, and the sun was about to set. Your muscles strained lifting the cast iron, laden with literal pounds of food, out of the oven. With great effort you set it down on the stove top and pondered why Anais didnât halve the recipe. Â
Because there was no way the pair of you would be able to eat that whole thing before it spoiled. Â
Perhaps you should take it to the party tomorrow? Â
You quickly shook the idea out of your head as the thought of carrying that cast iron pot across town sounded like literal hell. Â
Maybe you could invite Alastor or Sandy over? You called Anais over as you pondered. Â
Alastor, definitely Alastor, Sandy looks like she survives on crackers and coffee exclusively.Â
Your tender little landlord waddled into the kitchen and sat down at the table. A bright grin beaming on her face. Â
What was so special about a cassoulet? Â
For a brief second you entertained the idea of bringing the pot over to the table, before thinking better of it and ladling the stew into two bowls.Â
Seeing her begin to eat, you started doing the same, unaware to the situation across the table from you till the clang of silverware hitting the floor grabbed your attention. Eyes darted to your companion, her wrinkled face the basin for the river of tears that streamed from her eyes. Â
âWhat, what happened?â the chair you sat upon was jolted back from the force with which you sprang up. Kneeling down next to her, Anais turned in her seat, grabbing your face in her warm grasp. Â
âYou donât know the peace, the joy youâve brought me dear... truly.â You simply stared up at her in confusion. Before you could ask for an explanation, she spoke once more. âFinish up sweet, Iâll take care of cleaning up.â She then got up and waddled to the living room. You didnât follow her. Didnât question how such a fragile woman planned on cleaning up such an endeavor of dinner. You simply finished eating and walked back upstairs baffled, but for some reason...proud. Like a ghost was watching you from the windows approvingly. Â
~Â
âIâm glad to see you here Y/n! Your company has been so refreshing.â The smile lines of Ernieâs face creased harshly as he spoke with you, grin seemingly never fading as the conversation went on. You were having more fun than you thought you would. Everyone remembered you from the previous week and the conversation had been engaging and light. Â Though you mostly stuck by Ernie or Sandyâs side. You would have tried Alastor but besides a brief exchange of pleasantries he had been occupied the whole night with others. Â
âThank you for allowing me to be a guest at your party. I know I wasnât anticipated.â Ernie waved a hand at you, blowing a puff of air out of the side of his mouth. He reached next to him and grabbed two glasses of some kind of punch. Â
âNonsense Y/n my friends are always welcome in my business, besides ol Sandy always brings a new plus one to our parties.â You raised an eyebrow at him, nodding at him to continue. âUsually itâs some girlfriend of hers wanting to court one of the boys,â Ernie motioned to the corner with the food, where Alastor, Franklin, Stacie and a few others you didnât recognize were gathered, speaking jovially. Â
âSometimes she brings in business owners looking to schmooze. One time she brought in her mother.â Ernie visibly shuttered at the mention of the incident. Â
âHow did that go?â You asked, mischief in your eyes and curiosity in your voice. Â
âWe only just got the hole in the wall patched up last month.â was his only reply. Â
Your hand shot up, hiding the smile breaking out on your face. Â
âYou can laughâ Ernie huffed out. âI never thought Iâd rather have shameless filtering in my station than a lace laden sixty-something but..â he trailed off with a chuckle and shrug of his shoulders. Â
âuhh.. Speaking of thatâ You caught the sight of Gary and Sara in your periphery, the pair sneaking into a back hall in the midst of party chaos âthat shameless flirting...â you trailed off focusing back on Ernie. The more you got to know Ernie the more guilt at saying nothing about his wifeâs affair ate at you. You werenât a moral person. Extremely far from it, but Ernie just called you a friend. One of the three you now had. You werenât accustomed to friendship, but you were almost certain hiding partners cheating from them wasnât something friends did. Â
Ernie had followed your gaze, shaking his head as you focused back on him. âNot subtle about it are they?â He stated more so than asked. You fiddled with the glass in your hands. Â
He knew and said nothing...why? Â
âI donât understand... why donât you?â Ernie sighed, defeat in his eyes. Â
âItâs... different here in America darling. I have my family to think about, our public reputation. And..â Ernie stared off into nothing for a moment; tears held back in his eyes. âRegardless of if she wants to forsake them now, I meant my vows when I said them. And just because she has strayed doesnât mean I plan on breaking them.â Â
Ernie looked at you once more, sentiment in his gaze. âThank you for telling me though, I know you had no obligation too.... though I question your choice to tell me on my birthday of all days.â Â
You sputtered, trying and failing to get out an apology. He laughed at your struggle, his mood lightened once more. Â
âYouâre a good man Ernie.â You set down your drink, wrapping your hands around his free hand. âA better boss than he deserves, and a better man than she deserves too.â Â
Ernie shook his head, lifting the drink to his mouth before muttering into the glass. âIf only you were thirty years older.â The brazen statement shook you for a moment. Ernie swallowed harshly, as if the punch was a stiff glass of bourbon, before taking in your expression. âYou donât happen to have a single mom back home, do you?âÂ
The entire station heard the laughter that erupted from you. Â
~ Â
The soiree for Ernie was supposed to be a standard affair. Pick lightly at the food to be polite, have a glass of punch, stay just long enough to be noticed by everyone but not long enough to irritate him. Â
Once again however, the one thing Alastor couldnât predict was Y/n. Â
Beautiful menace Â
He might have guessed Sandy would bring her, if he had given it serious thought. He probably should have given his current standing with the singer. Â
Alastor was torn to put it mildly. Â
He had spent the better part of a few hours lost in thought after their little lunch date. Annoyingly putting him behind on scripts. Â
He was already a week out on them, but anything less than two was behind for him. Â
On the one hand she was arrogant, probably more than even he was. She could walk into a room, correctly guess that she was the smartest one there, and back it up if anyone challenged her. Â Â Â
Perhaps arrogant isnât the right word Alastor pondered. Â
More accurately she was a braggadocious diva that knew she was the best one on stage and had the pipes to back it up. She was devious, cunning, observant and vindictive and Alastor hated her for it. Â
On the other hand, she was so much fun. When her ire was redirected to someone else, her brain used to torture others, it made something inside Alastor twist in glee. She had also revealed to him a vulnerability that he guessed few other got to see. Along with a mysterious past back home across the sea. Â
Lastly there was the strange feeling that ran up his back when he was next to her. The sensation started in the tensing of his legs, like a jolt of electricity. Stinging every muscle as it sprinted to his shoulder blades. Gooseflesh breaking out on his neck, the sudden feeling like he wasnât the only predator in the room anymore in the back of his mind. The feeling was either arousal or fear, which one he couldnât be sure. And he wasnât sure which one would be worse. Â
And he once again felt the stings of it clawing up his back as Y/n walked in, arm and arm with the dear receptionist Sandy. He made a point to speak with her as little as possible till he figured out how he would proceed. Â
Fate had other plans. Â
Fateâs name was apparently Stacie. Â
âPleeeassee Franky, just hear me out. When have I steered you wrong?â Stacie was hanging off of Franklinâs shoulder, as they made their way over to the snack table. The whiney pitch of the normally composed Miss. Quick caught Alastors attention, turning from his uninteresting conversation with Ernieâs brothers to face the other host and his assistant. Â
âDo you want every instance? Alphabetical or Chronological?â Franklin said back. Â
âDonât be like that! I have done far more good than harm and you know it.â Stacie released the hosts arm as he fetched a plate. Â
âWhat is Stacie wanting you to fail at now?â Alastor hid the smile at his own comment in the rim of his glass. Â
âCan it Al, no one asked you.â Franklin was by far the easiest to irk, and thus one of Alastors favorite targets. Â
âTell him to hear me out Alastor! Iâve had a real lightbulb moment over here.â Stacie pleaded with him. Â
âWhatâs the harm in hearing her out? Canât be any worse than when you two tried an advice column.â Alastor remarked. Franklin rolled his eyes. Â
âThat was not that bad number one and two she wants to broadcast on Sunday.â Franklin threw his hands in the air. Â
âOh that is a terrible idea.â The distaste was clear on Alastorâs face, matching Franklinâs previous refusal. Â
âOh shut it Alastor who even asked you?â Stacie shot back, crossing her arms in frustration. Â
âYou did my dear, you did.â Alastor retorted. Â
âDonât listen to him Franky, heâs scared of women, you canât trust advice from him.â Stacie tried dragging Franklin away by the elbow, hoping to find someone else to support her foolish cause. Â
âNow where ever did you get that preposterous notion Miss Quick?â Alastor was perplexed as the duo turned back to him. Â
Franklin shot him a look. âItâs pretty obvious Al.â Â
âNo it is not âpretty obviousâ and no I am not afraid of women. Iâm half woman on my motherâs side as a matter of fact.â Franklin rolled his eyes at the joke, but it only spurred Stacie on. Â
âSee! Right there, a woman confronts you and you deflect. You donât answer, donât fight, just move the conversation somewhere else.â Stacie was hyped up, pointing at Alastor in her âgotchaâ moment. Â
âSo by being gentlemanly toward the fairer sex, and politely declining an argument is now being afraid of them?â Alastor shook his head, fighting every urge to walk away from the conversation and prove some part of Stacieâs point. Â
âNo itâs not that, itâs the fact that you always run away anytime a gal comes up to you for more than a polite handshake.â Franklin jabbed. Â
Alastor had to steel his nerves as Franklin dug deeper. It was low, and he was contemplating if going lower was worth it. Â
âAgain where are you people getting such ridiculous ideas? I know I may not share most of my personal life but this is-â Â
âCome off it Alâ Stacie interrupted him âWe all see how you hide when we have visitors. And how you brush off any girl thatâs ever come up to you on the street. When were you last out with a girl? Have you even been on a date?â Â
Alastor sighed, this was why he didnât associate with his colleges outside of work, becuase of this right here. Â
âYes I have been on a date.â Alastor said flatly. Â
âOh real convincing Al.â Stacie quipped. Â
âI donât have to convince my co-workers of anything Miss. Quick, nor do I have to tolerate there infantile behavior, now if youâll excuse me.â Alastor made to walk away when a stray comment caught him. Â
âFive dollar says you wonât.â Franklin chimed.Â
âSays I wonât what?â Alastor turned around once more.Â
âConvince us.â Franklin said, his arms extended gesturing to himself and Stacie. Â
âAnd what exactly would that be âconvincing youâ exactly?â Alastor asked. Â
âHave one real date by the end of the week. Real date, no hired girls or cousins faking it or nothing.â Â
Alastor scoffed. âIâm not some circus act you can pay to amuse you.â He said, turning to walk once more. Â
âFive dollars and Iâll type your scripts for a month.â Stacie added to the deal.Â
Alastor stopped walking away. To everyone else it appeared he was contemplating the offer. His eyes and attention though were rapt with something else. Â
Someone else.Â
Beautiful menaceÂ
Her laugh echoed through the room, loud and boisterous. Unabashed in her joy. Alastor had no clue what she and Ernie had been talking about to bring her such mirth, but he now desperately wished he did. If only to get closer to that pure brightness shining off of her. That familiar foreign feeling of energy down his back struck him once more as he looked at Y/n. The swish of pleating at her legs. The rich color of her gown bringing out the flush of warmth on velvet smooth skin. Those damned annoying lips, that sang like an angel with her song and stabbed like a devil with her words, painted in the same berry as her attire. Then those eyes. In that second, he could swear they found his. Keen and bright, sharp and tactical, like a beast finding its target. Â
Less a house cat and more a mountain lion. Â
You afraid of women old chap? Â
No.Â
Then you know the only way to be a mountain climber.Â
Climb the mountain. Â
Alastor spun around on his heel âFive dollars, TWO months and Iâll have a date planned by the end of the evening.â Â
Franklin stood there stunned, sure this was his payback for all the times Alastor had pushed his buttons. Stacie grinned ear to ear. Â
âDeal!â she practically shouted. Â
âStacie!â Frankling scolded her, but Alastor was already pirouetting to the thousandth time that day, quickening his pace to Y/n. Â
I feel like we really lost something when we started looking at writing as a reader-centric product meant to appeal to the desires of a specific audience rather than a writer-centric approach of someone writes whatever particular thing particular compels them/whatever weird thing the demons in their head want to talk about, and people out there who are also compelled, and/or relate, find that writing. A lot of discussions of writing really center around what readers want rather than a writer's exploration. Sometimes as a reader I don't know what I want. I click on a fic or pick up a book I'm not sure about but that looks interesting, and I love it. Reading what I expect to get is it's own joy, but we always need to expand our horizons and not get mad at creators for not always writing what we want/expect.