#(not wearing a tacky sweater)

[providencehq]

Thank you for the request @edgemcjee!

[a-ramblinrose]

JOMP Book Photo Challenge || December 19 || Festive:  Ugly Holiday Sweaters & Current Reads

[deltaruminations]

i wish i could properly articulate my brainworms about dess and wingdings deltarune having been peers and friends and why i think the idea is fascinating but i just keep getting overwhelmed by the sheer Possibilities and Implications and tripping over myself about it. i’m just. oooouuuuggghhhh ooobh girl ness & teen giygas. non-diegetically ascribed enemies who defy their “purpose” and become friends instead because from their perspective they’re just Normal Kids who complement each other well. and yet they end up fulfilling their fated roles of opposition anyway in spite of or maybe partly because of their care for each other. and maybe they continue to be cosmically at odds well into the timeline of DR the game but the nature of their roles is shifted and jumbled by context or extraplanar shenanigans and/or obfuscated and skewed by narrative manipulation on the part of someone trying desperately to prove to himself that he isn’t doomed to be a villain but is still approaching the problem as if he is one

here’s a thought: at least one of them possibly gains enough metanarrative awareness at SOME point via SOME means (shadow crystal? shattering? word from a FRIEND?) to figure out he’s villain-coded and probably destined to (according to the logic of a video game) hurt and/or murder his best friend over and over until she finally succeeds in killing him. how far would he go to keep that from happening? would he, again, do Villain Shit? would he remove his friend from the game, leaving her in some kind of stasis outside the narrative, to keep her (and, of course, himself) “safe”? would he remove himself from the narrative, so she and the world are safe from him, then task others with picking up the pieces he left behind? what if the narrative needs a hero and a villain — what happens when one or both are missing? will the universe attempt to self-correct, and if so, how?

[bunnyhopkins]

girl get off the floor!!! are you thinking abt love as symbols and objects again??

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

he’s staring.

in the corner of your eye lies a silhouette, a blur of black hair and sharp facial features. awfully hard not to notice, when he’s standing so close to you — gazing at you so intently. waiting for you to say something.

(resisting the urge to look at him directly is a struggle.)

a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, something giddy and sweet flooding your veins. he’s just standing there. all while you tap at the keys of your laptop, trying to focus on your work. in vain.

because, inevitably, the rubber band of your patience snaps — and you can do nothing but give in to the temptation. feeling him shift from foot to foot, silent as a mouse. you turn your head.

suguru looks meek.

there he stands, tired eyes trailing over your facial features, before falling down to the floor. something about it makes you want to coo — almost like he’s a little flustered. fidgeting with his hands, wringing his long fingers together, so patiently waiting for your attention to fall on him. 

you swear you see the ghost of a pout slip into the curve of his lips. wearing a comfortable sweater, oversized and fluffy, framed by the obsidian of his hair; cascading down his shoulders like a black river. let loose, free to fall as it please, a signature sign that he’s tired.

and as soon as your eyes meet his, a certain something blossoms within the scope of his iris. peeling at the corners, slipping into the amber and cedar, an emotion you can’t quite place. would it be too tacky to call it love?

a giggle slips from your lips, dancing on the tip of your tongue. it’s soft, a little teasing, but who could blame you when he looks so cute? suguru, with his tall stature and broad shoulders, sharp eyes and intimidating presence, staring meekly in your direction. as if too embarrassed to ask for something, curling into himself.

”hey there,” you exhale, something amused laced into the vowels. ”everything okay?”

he averts his gaze. enamored with the smile on your face, the crinkle of your eyes, the melodic lilt of your sweet laughter. like peach blossoms and duvet covers, too soft for him to handle. far too sweet, the mere sight of you, all cozied up on the couch; legs crossed and laptop balanced on your thigh. 

(suguru wishes he could take its place.)

a tilt of your head beckons him to speak, and he can’t help but notice the remnants of something teasing in the gesture. he feels a little out of his element, almost shy, and it’s discomforting — but he’s just so tired. much too plagued by the need to be close to you.

he can live with a little teasing, if it’s you, only if it’s you. 

”what’re you working on?” he asks, delicate, soft voice flowing from his lips like melted honey. there’s a raspy tilt to it, a little scratchy. you smile, gaze drawn towards the screen in front of you.

”nothing much, just some essay. i’m almost finished.” a low sigh, as you lazily scroll through the text. suguru hums. when you look over at him, the smile on your face grows just a tad softer. ”did you need something?”

suguru stills. blinking drowsily, slow and awfully endearing, a flutter of his black lashes. absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of his puffy sleeve. the silence lingers, a contemplation etched onto his features, until he clears his throat — still unable to look at you properly. 

(there’s only one thing he wants. needs. asking for it is just a little bit tough, though.)

patiently waiting, you begin to study his expression. second nature, to tuck his features in between your ribs, smoothe along the contours you’ve come to love so dearly. memorizing every dip and birthmark.

there’s a barely noticeable flush to his cheeks, a crimson smear that starts at his ears and only ever nips along his cheekbones, but it’s enough to let you know that he’s embarrassed. more than enough, seeing as his gaze won’t even land on you, seeing the fatigue beneath his eyes, the crease between his brows. something that sticks to his skin and drags him down. 

he has been a little stressed, lately. more so than usual. and you’ve noticed, of course you have — worriedly waiting for him to approach you, to let you help. winters are never very kind to him. 

he’s gorgeous, though, even like this. especially like this. sleepy, just a little unkempt, in his natural state. bare, somehow. like he just woke up, like the morning sun is kissing up his collarbone and he just made a cute little sleepy noise that you’re going to tease him for over breakfast. like he’s unguarded, at peace, safe in your arms.

it makes your heart soften considerably. crumbling at the corners, a pang of lovesick ache tugging at your fragile heartstrings.

and finally, you speak up. urging him to continue, gently, not wanting to rush him. ”well?” 

suguru gnaws at the flesh of his bottom lip, just a little chapped. his tongue flits out to lick along the dry skin, and he does a little cough under his breath. you’re patient, waiting for him to speak, but it’s tough when all you want is to tug him close.

(you have an idea of what he’s going to ask you, what it is he wants. because you know him — and you want it too.)

”… can,” he starts, tentative. slow, as if he’s trying to swallow the embarrassment, gulp down the nervous flutter of his heartbeat. then he continues. ”i get a hug?”

finally, he looks at you; and your heart ricochets in your chest. amber eyes boring into yours, deep and warm, soft around the edges. kind of shy. 

a sharp intake of breath. you can’t help the grin that crawls up to your lips, and you can’t help the words that spill from them. ”gosh, you’re so cute.”

suguru turns away, with what you’re almost sure is a low grumble — buzzing in his throat, like a dragonfly itching to break out. he really does look meek, a little needy, so cute you’re afraid your lungs might collapse. when a chuckle pushes past your lips, the red tint on his neck and ears only seems to exacerbate. 

with swift movements, you close your laptop, plopping it down on the table in front of you. not wanting to waste any time, a little afraid that he’ll change his mind. ”of course you can,” you assure him, a soft lull of your tongue.

leaning back, you rest your head against a pile of cushiony pillows, melting into the couch beneath you. extending your arms; beckoning him close, into your embrace. the smile you grace him with is a little teasing, but mostly soft, inviting.

and suguru can’t resist it.

he still seems a little flustered, as he crawls along the couch, to take his rightful place in your arms. flopping down on top of you with a huff, like a big dog, cheek squished against your chest — eager to listen to the echo of your heartbeat. steady and soothing, a lullaby to his muddled mind.

a long, satisfied sigh escapes him, muffled into the fabric of your shirt. he wraps his arms around you, nuzzling a little further into your touch. slowly melting.

ah, he’s just too much. try as you might, you don’t fully manage to stifle the coo that laces the tip of your tongue. just admiring him, in the dim lighting of the room, all sleepy and content. that palpable fatigue, slowly dissipating. a soft groan slips from his lips when your hand goes to card through his hair, softly, nails raking over his scalp.

”my big baby,” you murmur, planting a kiss on the top of his head. suguru wants to grumble, protest a bit, but all he can do is soak in the words, the skip of his heartbeat that follows. ”everything okay?”

he nods. groggy, cheek against your soft chest. no longer able to hide his neediness, to muster the strenght, thoroughly soothed by the warmth that seeps from your body. from your veins to his. and he sighs, barely above a whisper. ”jus’ missed you.”

he must notice it, you think — the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat, something erratic in the decisive thumps of blood. a little louder than they should be. 

but if he does, he doesn’t mention it. only shifting a little in your arms, nuzzling further into your chest, relishing in the sensation of your hand in between his messy locks. so cozy. 

”i missed you too,” you echo, unable to fight off the sappy grin on your lips. so much affection in every caress, every soft glance. eager to be let out. ”’m sorry if i’ve been neglecting you.” 

suguru shakes his head — brushing off your guilt. always so willing to put your peace of mind before his. it only weakens you further, thoughts fuzzy with the image of him, the love that clouds your vision. how to properly convey it in words. 

”i’m always so proud of you,” you exhale, a little shaky. so earnest that you falter. a loud mantra of your heartbeat filling your ears, so much fondness stuffed inside your chest. ”working so hard. love you so, so much, honey.”

this time, it’s suguru’s heart that stutters and flails. reduced to a desperate instinct, something intimate and bare. the term of endearment slips off your tongue like it was always meant to be there, like that’s where it belongs, coupled with the soft sensation of your fingers ghosting over his skin. brushing away his bangs to smear a kiss against his forehead.

”i’m never gonna let you go,” you promise, unable to control the affection smeared into your voice. like you’d explode if you didn’t speak it out loud. ”my angel.”

”okay — that’s,” suguru croaks, before you can continue. exasperated, deeply embarrassed. at this point, he’s sure his face must be red, and he’s sure you can see it. despite his attempts to hide away in the crook of your neck. ”that’s enough.”

laughter bubbles up in your throat, sweet like osmanthus and whipped cream. giddy and teasing, in equal measure, sending a jolt of fondness running through his veins. ”are you embarrassed?”

”no,” he scoffs, too quickly. you both know he’s lying. it’s a rare treat, seeing him this flustered — how could you resist the urge to tease him a bit? 

”then why d’you want me to stop?” you grin, searching for his gaze. but suguru refuses to look at you.

”it’s just…” he mumbles, a string of tiny words. gnawing at his bottom lip. ”a little much, don’t you think?”

”i mean it, though.”

suguru groans, and a bout of giggles pushes past your lips. the smile on your face is starting to make your cheeks hurt, an achy kind of joy. yeah — suguru is just far too cute. he’s cute, and pretty, and beautiful, and gorgeous. how could you keep yourself away?

reaching for a strand of his hair, you let it fall between your fingers. smooth and silky, brushing against your skin, soft and familiar. memories bloom from your fingertips, seeping into your subconscious; the first time he let you touch his hair, that content purr in his throat, the time you braided it as the world fell asleep around you. he takes good care of it, always has. attentive and delicate, almost as lovingly as he handles you.

a great surge of affection sprouts in between your ribs, spreading throughout every cell of your body, wholly engulfing you. it’s too much to bear.

a blissful sigh. you tilt your head, softly, a bleeding tenderness to every word you speak. and you do, with a sincerity to your voice that he’s never been able to handle. “is it really so strange if i want to give the love of my life some affection?” 

— and suguru’s resolve crumbles into dust. 

”… you’re,” he tries, a shiver of his weak voice. under normal circumstances, he could think of a suave reply, something to get the upper hand; but today, suguru happens to be very tired, and you seem awfully set on making him melt through the couch. ”— awful. you know that?”

his heart aches, when the bitter words make you giggle. a little sleepy. it makes him want to tuck you into his chest, hide you away inside his ribcage. kiss you breathless.

”so mean,” you pout, entirely fabricated. a heavy amusement lays thick on your tongue. “i’m professing my undying love for you here, y’know?”

”that’s exactly what i mean,” he sighs, unable to repress the slight smile on his lips. a little tug, that says more than his words ever could.

the laughter in your throat lingers, for a bit, until the intimacy of the moment softens you up. something tender and genuine in the depths of your eyes. ”i mean it, though. i’m not just teasing you.” 

your hand goes to cup his face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. and then you’re leaning in, to press your lips against his forehead — pulling away with a drawn out mwah, a soft grin, a little boyish. terribly cute. 

”i really do love you,” you profess, a whisper. he believes you. “i love everything about you.”

a moment passes. the soft ticking of the clock fills the space between your words, and the scent of leftover curry and brewed coffee simmers in the faraway kitchen. wafting out into the living room. 

suguru places his hand over yours. a rough palm, always so gentle with you, slipping down to your wrist so he can hoist himself up. 

you blink. 

before you know it, he’s pressed his lips to yours, slow and methodical. tender, tender, tender. always. he sighs into the kiss, content, and your heartbeat quickens — he tastes like honey and rain.

when he pulls away, he’s smiling. a little lovesick.

”i love you too,” he hums, a soft purr that trails down your spine. he delights in the way you finally blush, cheeks warm beneath his heavy hands. ”so, so much.”

all you can do is stare, entirely transfixed. 

then you’re averting your gaze, and he’s stifling a soft bout of laughter, and something warm and wonderful blooms in the nearly non-existent space between you. his cheek finds itself pressed against your chest, again, allowing the soft and rapid thumping of your heartbeat to carry him away.

an anchor for him to hold on to, his lighthouse at the end of a murky ocean. it’s always, always there — that soft mantra of thump, thump, thump.

(he can’t tell you how many times it’s saved him.)

”… you can’t do stuff like that when my guard is down,” you murmur, after a moment. sheepish. ”what if my heart explodes?” 

suguru only chuckles, sleepy and raspy, the same as ever. he turns his head to press a kiss against the fabric of your shirt, right above your heart, a kind of cheeky, soft apology that you know he doesn’t actually mean. 

(he could never feel sorry for telling you how much he loves you; no matter how flustered you get.)

and, at last, suguru thinks the fatigue clinging to his soul may have slipped off entirely. substantially. soothed by your presence, your very being. 

it’s embarrassing, being so very doted on, being so painfully unaccustomed to it. but suguru could never hate it. he could never hate a single thing you do to him, grant him with, from your soft touches and cheeky kisses to the burnt pancakes you worked so hard on. 

he’d rather die than deny you. 

so he has no choice but to bask in it; the feeling of your hands in his hair, nails on his scalp, breath against his skin. the change you’ve brought into his life. bringing with you the fading scent of peach blossoms and chewing gum, sweetness and softness. happy dreams.

yeah, that’s right. he has no choice but to melt into your touch, nuzzle into your chest, fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat. 

no choice at all.

[seeminglydark]

A look-book and little break-down of Caro’s style and fashion Journey. I didn’t include their cheer uniform or GasCo uniform because those really didn’t influence their actual style much, other than the Varsity jacket and work jacket. I thought it would be fun to set it up almost like a magazine article and I’m in love with the results. I hope you enjoy it too. (The cover is my fave thing ever, just so you know.)

Here’s the Text:

Caro Greene, Cheerleader to Ghosthunter! An exclusive look at superstar Caro Greene’s style evolution. From femme to them!

The Teenage Years! Caro has been aware the high-femme style their parents chose for them was not the look they wanted for a long time, but didn’t know how to address it. Pairing their best friends tee-shirt over their Prom dress was the first step in figuring out their own personal style! From there, they tested out the route of borrowed too-big sweaters whenever they weren’t under the watchful eye of their family.

GasCo Era! Years of emotional neglect build until Caro chops off their hair, an asset more important to their parents than their happiness, and finds themself abruptly homeless, with nothing but some jeans, shirts and an oversized jacket belonging to their long-gone boyfriend. They get a job at the local gas station, and are gifted a new jacket that fits, with their new name on it, in their favorite color! More gender exploration leads them to a better haircut, and their first time trying a binder, and starting to not hate how they look.

Thrift stores, Sneakers, and T! Now in a new environment with supportive people at the GasCo, Caro discovers thrift stores and the tacky ‘80s aesthetic of their dreams. After years of other people controlling their body and looks, starting on low T is a big step in taking back control. They start wearing crop tops and sleeveless tees to show off new body hair, but also love chunky colored sweaters since they’re always cold. Sneakers go with everything, and when you’re short, the possibilities are endless in the kids shoes section.

Mil-Liminal! Caro’s podcast Mil-Liminal goes viral, and they are given the choice of staying faceless and anonymous, or taking the stage in live shows. They decide to do a face reveal, and that means choosing an iconic ‘look’ for their live performances. They choose their favorite color, GasCo Purple, and a jacket that is a blend of their varsity jacket and GasCo work jacket, two clothing pieces that always made them comfortable. They wear their trans identity on their sleeve, and top it off with the snapback look they donned years ago on their first venture ‘out’ as a teenager. The rest is history!

Current Caro! Which brings us to the present! There’s been some small changes, oversized sweaters and tees with a cosmic theme, which is new for the usually spookified Caro. They’re sporting white hair instead of their trademark blond, and have added a cross earring and a pendant to their Mil-Liminal uniform. A black snapback shows up as often as the purple one, and there’s a new bounce in their step, but perhaps they’ve just been indulging in too much coffee these days.

Caro Green is from my webcomics Seemingly Dark and Mil-Liminal, and podcast Mil-Liminal.

[norrisleclercf1]

Day 8 of 25 Days of Christmas: Tacky Holiday sweatshirt party

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Words: 655

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Little suggestive but that's it

"Y/n! I can't find an ugly sweater!" Charles yells from the closet, making you peek around the kitchen corner and raise an eyebrow. Listen, you loved your boyfriend more than anything and supported his rights and wrongs on and off the track, but the one thing you refused to support was his fashion sense.

So, for Charles to say he didn't have an ugly sweater was a lie. "Charles, are you sure you can't find anything?" you yell back, walking back into the closet and smiling as he holds one ugly sweater. It was horrible green with a poorly and horribly stitched Santa Claus. "Oh, see, you've found a sweater. Just wear that," you say, pointing at the sweater in his hand.

Charles looks at you like you've grown two heads. "This is not ugly," he says, shaking the sweater, and you have to stop the snort. "Baby, it is; it's perfect for tonight," you add, making him stare at you more. "What?" Fixing your hair in the mirror, you stare at him as he stares without emotion.

"Charles, what?" You repeat again and turn around. "My mother made this," He says, voice so flat you go still as you two stare at each other. "Maybe you could fit into one of mine," You say as Charles hums and hangs his sweater back up. God, he was so going to tell Pascale, and then you're really fucked. "Honey, I doubt I could fit into your clothes," Charles says, rubbing his hair.

"Charles, you have a slutty waist, embrace it," You say and come out with a white and blue snowman sweater that has the carrot coming out. It was rather uncomfortable, and you'd hate to say it, but he'd pull it off. "Damn," You mumble as he tugs off his shirt, and you have to stop and stare before shoving the sweater into him. "Put this on; maybe it'll stop your fans from thirsting over you," You grumble, which has Charles giggle at you and reach around, pinching your bottom.

You return to the kitchen to finish making the cookies as you look up and glare. Even with that ugly sweater on, he's still supermodel hot. Unfair. "What do you think? It'll work for Lewis's party?" He asks and looks in the mirror, fixing his hair. "Yes, you look good," You grumble and roll your shoulders back. It was stupid, but Lewis had mentioned that he was inviting many of his famous friends, and hearing some of the names, you knew them as famous models who were drop-dead gorgeous and, thank god, the theme of ugly sweaters.

Charles looks at you, smiles softly, moves, and hugs you from the back, resting his chin on your shoulder. "You know, we can just stay home," he whispers, hands going under your sweater, but you stop his hands. "Charles, we have to go," you whisper, but Charles rests his hands on your hips. You'll be the prettiest there," he whispers, and you snort.

Charles furrows his brows and spins you around, caging you between his body and the counter. "You know I'll only look at you, right? I've only ever looked at you," Charles says gently, and you sigh. "It's stupid; we're supposed to be having a good time," you whisper, and Charles rolls his eyes. Listen, you'll be the hottest one there with your crazy little elf sweater," Charles smiles, and you chuckle softly.

"Shut up," you grumble but can't help but smile as Charles leans in and kisses you gently before pulling back. "But also, only you could turn my snowman on," he says, and you look down and laugh as he moves his hips, shaking the carrot and slapping his chest. "Okay, horn dog, let's go before Lewis gets pissy about us missing the party," Charles smirks and moves, picking you up slightly.

"Good cause the quicker we show face, the quicker we can leave,"

[thedemoninme141]

Ugly Sweater Party (Set in the "Not a bad day" universe)

Summary: Enid orchestrates an "Ugly Sweater Party" where Wednesday's jealousy takes over.

Parings: Wednesday X Female Reader. Theme: Fluff! Set in the "before dating" period. Wordcount: 4k

Warnings: Jealous Wednesday? Hot-cocoa-Burn??? Cringe Romance!!

Dedicating this work to @blue-because-no-yellow

“So, hear me out, guys! An ugly sweater party! Like, before Christmas break. I’ve been looking at ideas online, and it’s just soooo fun! We could have contests for the ugliest sweater, snacks, music. Oh, and hot chocolate! Lots and lots of hot chocolate. Doesn’t that sound amazing?” Enid chirped.

Ajax blinked slowly, clearly still waking up. “Wait, so… everyone wears ugly sweaters and… that’s it?”

“Not just that! There’s music, games, maybe a contest for the ugliest sweater. We’ll decorate a space with string lights and make it festive!” Enid’s eyes practically sparkled. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

"What's the deal with the ugly sweaters, though? Why not just regular sweaters?" Ajax asked.

"Because!" Enid exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Ugly sweaters are festive and hilarious. It's a Christmas tradition!"

Yoko, sipping her coffee, said. "I don't do tacky."

"Yoko, you wear sunglasses indoors," Bianca quipped.

"Exactly." Yoko said, smirking.

“You know what, this can be fun if done right. Besides, who doesn’t love ugly sweaters and snacks?” Divina chimed in.

“A normal human being,” Wednesday muttered flatly.

Enid ignored her. “Come on, it’s not like we have to take it seriously or anything! It’s just an excuse to hang out and, you know, do something festive for once. Right, Eugene?” She turned to the boy, who had been quite.

Eugene adjusted his glasses, looking sheepish. “Uh, I guess it sounds kinda cool. As long as there are snacks…”

“There will be plenty of snacks, Eugene,” Enid assured him before turning to Kent. “What about you?”

Kent shrugged. “I’m in. Sounds chill. Plus, I’ve got this old sweater with Santa surfing on a shark. It’s perfect.”

“See? Everyone loves it!” Enid threw her arms up in triumph, beaming around the table. “Well, almost everyone.”

Bianca sighed. “Even if we wanted to, where are we going to throw a party like that? We’d need space, like a lot of space."

“What about the forest clearing?” Eugene suggested, “We could string up lights in the trees.”

“Yeah, because freezing to death sounds so festive,” Bianca said.

Enid’s blondeness didn't waver down. Enid turned toward Wednesday expectantly. “What about you, Willa? Do you know a place?”

“I am neither interested in your puerile event. Do whatever you want. Just leave me out of your hideous party.”

“What party?”

Wednesday’s posture stiffened immediately. Her grip on her fork tightened as she glanced up, only to find you approaching the table. You carried your tray with that infuriatingly warm smile on your face, the one that made her chest feel like it was simultaneously imploding and catching fire.

You slid into an empty seat beside Eugene, your curious eyes scanning the group. “What’s all the fuss about?”

Enid’s face lit up as if Christmas had arrived early. “Oh my gosh, okay, so I’m planning an ugly sweater party! Everyone wears the tackiest sweaters they can find, and we’ll have games and hot cocoa and, like, a contest for the ugliest one. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

You laughed softly, and Wednesday’s pulse quickened. She hated how much she noticed the subtle curve of your lips. It was maddening.

“Sounds interesting,” you said, your smile lingering.

Wednesday’s jaw tightened. Interesting? Why did you have to find it interesting? And why did that single word make her want to throw herself into the abyss?

The group continued discussing but Wednesday heard none of it. Her focus was on you—the way you rested your chin on your hand, the sparkle of amusement in your eyes. She’d planned to completely ignore this party nonsense, but now? Your involvement complicated everything.

“Where are we even going to host this?” Divina asked again, bringing Wednesday out of her spiral.

Enid groaned, throwing her hands up. “Ugh, I don’t know! There’s got to be somewhere big enough that we won’t get in trouble.”

“You could ask Principal Weems for the common room,” Kent suggested, though his tone made it clear he didn’t think it was a great idea.

“She’d never go for it,” Bianca said. “Not unless you can somehow convince her it’s educational.”

“Educational?” Enid snorted. “What am I supposed to say? That ugly sweaters teach math?”

The table erupted in laughter, but Wednesday remained silent, her mind racing. She could feel your gaze on her, curious and patient. It was unbearable.

Before she realized what she was doing, she spoke.

“The Gates Mansion.”

The group fell silent, turning to look at her in surprise.

“What?” Enid asked.

“You can host your ridiculous party at the Gates Mansion,” Wednesday said, her tone clipped.

“Wait, are you serious?” Ajax asked. “Isn’t that place, like… haunted or something?”

“The hyde is gone. Crackstone is gone. Thornhill is gone,” Wednesday replied matter-of-factly. “It’s nothing but an old, decrepit house now.”

Enid’s eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh, that might work! Weems would never find out if we do something there and we could totally make it festive with some cleaning and lights! This is going to be so cool!”

“You’re going to need more than cleaning,” Yoko said. “That place is a wreck.”

“And terrifying,” Eugene added.

“Exactly why I’m going to need someone brave and crazy to help me clean it up!” Enid declared.

The entire group turned to Wednesday , even you were watching her, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

Wednesday sighed deeply, rolling her eyes. “Fine. But don’t expect me to wear one of those abominable sweaters.”

Enid squealed in delight, clapping her hands. “This is going to be the best ugly sweater party ever!”

Wednesday cast a fleeting glance at you.

She wasn’t sure whether to curse you or thank you for making her day infinitely more complicated.

.

"Uh… are we sure about this?” Ajax asked, glancing at the dilapidated structure. “It looks like the setting of every horror movie ever.”

“Relax, Ajax,” Enid chirped, her voice brimming with forced cheer.

“Wednesday and I have been here before. Just a big, spooky, totally-not-haunted house.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Ajax muttered, inching closer to Enid as if proximity could protect him.

“The last time we were here, we were chased by the hyde. You know, a grotesque, murderous monster with claws designed to flay flesh.” Wednesday was behind them, getting dragged into this mess by Enid.

Ajax stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening. “Wait—what?”

“Wednesday!” Enid shot Wednesday a sharp glare. “You’re not helping.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Wednesday replied, her tone clipped.

Enid rolled her eyes and turned to Ajax, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Look, I promise it’s safe. The hyde’s gone, and Wednesday’s just being dramatic.” She shot her roommate a pointed look.

Ajax hesitated, glancing at the mansion again. “Uh.. I think I forgot something back at Nevermore…”

Enid nudged Ajax forward. “Come on, don’t bail on me now. Besides, we need someone tall to hang the lights. Right, Willa?”

Wednesday didn’t answer. She was too busy glaring at the mansion, as though willing it to collapse and save her from this pointless endeavor.

“Alright, team, let’s split up and conquer! Ajax, you can start by clearing the cobwebs. Wends and I will tackle the furniture.”

“I didn’t agree to this,” Wednesday said flatly.

Enid ignored her. “Come on, it’s for the party! And think of all the fun everyone’s going to have. Especially you-know-who.”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N,” Enid said dramatically, holding a hand to her chest. “I just didn’t get enough help with the setup, and that’s why this party isn’t up to your standards.”

Wednesday’s glare could have turned Enid to stone. She knew exactly what her roommate was doing, and worse.... it was working. Begrudgingly, she picked up a dust-covered chair and moved it to the corner of the room.

Enid winked at Ajax, who looked more confused than anything. “See? Teamwork makes the dream work.”

The hours dragged on, filled with Ajax’s muttered complaints, Enid’s chatter, and the occasional sound of Wednesday grinding her teeth. As they worked, the mansion slowly transformed. The dust was swept away, the windows sparkled, and strings of lights began to illuminate the once-shadowy corners.

By the end of the day, the Gates Mansion was looking almost festive—if you squinted and ignored the peeling wallpaper and the leftover cobwebs.

🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

Wednesday stood near the fireplace, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her posture was as rigid as ever, her expression blank. But inwardly, she was waging a battle against her gag reflex. Everywhere she looked, there was an explosion of color—garish reds, obnoxious greens, hideous yellows. And the sweaters. The sweaters.

Her own attire was simple, deliberate, and true to her identity: a plain, black sweater devoid of any embellishment. It was the only concession she had made to Enid’s ridiculous demands.

Her circle of idiots had gathered on mismatched sofas dragged into a semi-circle at one corner, all chattering as Enid zipped around with an energy that could power a small town. Ajax trailed behind her, struggling under the weight of a tray filled with cups of hot cocoa.

“Wednesday!” Enid called, waving her over. “Get over here and grab some hot cocoa before it’s all gone. Ajax nearly spilled half of it on the way in.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes as she stepped closer with deliberate slowness, as if approaching a live grenade.

“Isn’t this just the best?” Enid beamed, handing her a mug. “I mean, look at us! Ugly sweaters, hot cocoa, and friends. It's like a cute dream!"

“More like a nightmare,” Wednesday muttered, eyeing the mug suspiciously. Still, she accepted it, if only to keep her hands busy and distract herself from the urge to claw her eyes out.

Bianca smirked from her spot on the sofa. “You’re just mad because you couldn’t resist joining in. Look at you, wearing a sweater like the rest of us.”

“This is not a sweater,” Wednesday corrected, her tone sharp. “It’s a black, woolen garment devoid of festivity.”

“Still counts, anyway, guys! It’s time to decide who’s wearing the ugliest sweater. We need a system!” Enid chirped.

“Can’t we just vote?” Ajax suggested, taking a cautious sip of his cocoa.

“No way,” Enid replied. “That’s too boring. We need something fun. Like, a panel of judges or—oh! Maybe we each explain our sweater, and the group decides.”

“Or,” Bianca drawled, raising a brow, “we pick someone who’s brutally honest to a fault and let them decide.”

As one, the group turned to Wednesday.

Her grip on the mug tightened as every pair of eyes locked onto her. Enid was practically bouncing with excitement. “Wednesday, you’re perfect for this! You’ve got the sharpest eye. Come on, roast us.”

Her eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Oh, come on!” Enid pleaded. “You’re perfect for this.”

Bianca smirked. “Well, we’ve finally found a use for Wednesday. Come on, Addams. Judge us.”

“Fine,” she said. “But don’t cry when I destroy your fragile egos.”

“Yay!” Enid cheered, clapping her hands. “Okay, go!”

Wednesday stood, her gaze sweeping over the group. She started with Yoko, her tone clipped and precise. “Yoko’s sweater is an abomination of neon and flashing lights. It looks less like a holiday garment and more like a warning sign for an approaching biohazard.”

Yoko snorted, clearly amused, while the others burst into laughter.

Wednesday’s gaze landed on Enid. She paused, taking in the jingling bells and riot of color. “And Enid… Your sweater is less a garment and more a crime scene. It’s a murder of taste and decency, except crime scenes look beautiful, yours is hideous. ”

Enid gasped in offense, clutching her chest. “How dare you? This is festive perfection!”

Next victim was Ajax, “Your sweater is an assault on the senses. The color palette suggests that it was designed by someone experiencing a particularly vivid fever dream. And the snowman? You know what, I take that back, I actually like this sweater, that abomination of a snowman can work in a horror movie."

“Thanks, I think?” Ajax said nervously.

Bianca crossed her arms, waiting for her turn. Wednesday obliged. “Your sweater is a desperate attempt to marry elegance with obnoxiousness. The glitter alone is enough to give a child a seizure. What do you think it is? The Raven? Your sweater screams, ‘Look at me,’ which, I suppose, is your specialty.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow. “Touché.”

Finally, Wednesday turned to Eugene. She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Your sweater is… acceptable.”

Eugene blinked in surprise. “Wait, is that—was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Wednesday said flatly.

“What about me?”

Wednesday’s head snapped toward you. You were standing near the cocoa station, holding a mug and smiling at her. Your sweater was a disaster—neon orange with a pattern of candy canes, snowflakes, and . It looked like it had been knitted by a maniac with no sense of restraint.

“Go on,” you said, your tone teasing. “Roast me. I can take it. Tear mine apart.” Say what now?

Wednesday opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her mind raced. Hideous. Obscene. A crime against humanity. The words were there, perfectly formed. Yet when she looked at you, all she could think was—

Beautiful.

“Well?” Enid prodded, her grin mischievous. “What’s wrong, Willa? Cat got your tongue?”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened. She could dissect the flaws in a masterpiece with ease, but when it came to you, even wearing that, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything remotely cruel.

“Your sweater…” she began, her voice faltering. “It’s… functional.”

The group failed to stifle their laughter.

“Functional? You said all that for mine and you call her's functional? Come on Wednesday, that's the contest winner right there!” Bianca teased, Wednesday only shot her a glare.

Sensing Wednesday's growing unease, you quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, this cocoa is amazing. Who made it?”

Ajax perked up, raising his hand. “That’d be me.”

You smiled at him, and Wednesday’s chest tightened. “It’s really good. Nice work.”

Ajax grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. My grandma taught me how to make it. Secret family recipe.”

"You have to teach me someday." You took another sip, your eyes twinkling with genuine appreciation. Wednesday clenched her fists at her sides, the mug in her hand threatening to crack under the pressure of her grip. The warmth of your smile directed at Ajax did something unexplainable to Wednesday’s insides. It was irritating and fascinating all at once.

And so she found herself back in her spot beside the fireplace, trying to look as composed as always.

Her eyes, however, betrayed her. They followed you.

You were by the snack table, chatting with one of the stoners—what was his name? Nate? Nick? It didn’t matter. He leaned closer to say something, and you laughed, the sound a soft chime that seemed to echo in Wednesday’s ears far too loudly, it was maddening.

And that boy, with his messy hair and an air of unearned confidence, was soaking it all in. He said something else, and you giggled again, nudging his arm playfully. Wednesday’s fingers twitched. She imagined reaching for her knife, a comforting thought, though regrettably impractical in this setting.

“Wednesday!” Enid’s chirpy voice broke through her thoughts. She turned her head sharply, meeting her roommate’s bright, oblivious grin. “Isn’t this amazing? Everyone’s having such a good time!”

Wednesday glanced at the room, her gaze flickering back to you before she responded. “I fail to see how this qualifies as ‘amazing.’ ”

“Oh, come on! Look at everyone, laughing, drinking cocoa, making memories! Even you’re not glaring as much as usual. That’s progress.” Enid nudged her playfully, earning another withering glare.

Ajax appeared, holding a tray of other snacks. “Hey, Enid, where do you want these?”

“Over by the snack table!” Enid directed. Then, turning to the group, she clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, people! It’s been super fun hanging out, but it’s time to get your pairs ready because we’re dancing next!”

A collective murmur rose, some students cheering while others groaned.

“Dancing?” Bianca raised an eyebrow, sipping her cocoa. “You didn’t say anything about dancing, Sinclair.”

“I did too!” Enid protested. “Well… maybe I hinted at it. Anyway, it’s happening, so suck it up!”

“Uh, what if we can’t dance?” a random student yelled.

“You sway awkwardly and call it a day,” Enid quipped and dashed toward her barely put together DJ booth to adjust the music while everyone started paring. Wednesday remained by the fireplace, her gaze locked on you.

Nate-nick stepped closer toward you, his posture overly casual, and Wednesday’s fingers curled into fists.

“So, Y/N,” he began, scratching the back of his head. “You’re, like, really cool. Wanna, uh, be my partner for the dancing?”

Wednesday didn’t even wait to hear your answer. Spinning on her heel, she made her way to Ajax, who was setting down the last of the cocoa mugs.

“Ajax,” she said, her voice flat but laced with an edge that made him flinch.

“Uh, yeah, Wednesday?” he asked nervously, straightening up.

“I need more hot cocoa. Boiling.”

Ajax blinked, clearly confused. “Boiling? I mean, sure, but isn’t the regular batch warm enough?"

“Did I stutter?” Wednesday’s dark eyes bore into him, and Ajax quickly held up his hands in surrender.

“Nope. Boiling cocoa, coming right up.” He scrambled to prepare a fresh batch, throwing nervous glances over his shoulder just preparing himself to dodge any flying knives. When it was ready, he handed her a mug. The liquid inside was steaming.

“Here you go,” Ajax said, still baffled. “Didn’t think you’d like cocoa this much… careful tho."

Wednesday’s lips curled into a smirk, one that sent a shiver down Ajax’s spine. As he watched her turn and walk away, realization dawned on him. He quickly busied himself with something else, wisely choosing not to question her about whatever she planned to do with this acid he just gave her.

Without hesitation, Wednesday approached the boy who had dared to ask you to dance. He was still by your side, oblivious to the doom looming behind him. With calculated precision, Wednesday "tripped," her hand jerking just enough to send the scalding cocoa splashing onto his arm and chest.

“AHHH! HOT!” He yelped, flailing as the cocoa soaked through. His friends quickly gathered around him, their faces a mixture of shock and fear.

“How clumsy of me,” Wednesday said flatly, not bothering to mask her lack of remorse.

His friends exchanged nervous glances, none daring to confront her. They helped him toward the kitchen to clean up, leaving you standing there, bewildered.

“Wednesday,” you said, stepping closer. “Was that… really an accident?”

“Of course,” she replied, her voice calm as ever. “Gravity is unpredictable.”

You sighed, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been called worse,” she deadpanned.

The music started up behind you, and the others began pairing off and moving to the makeshift dance floor. The room was alive with laughter and chatter, but you and Wednesday stood apart from it all. You glanced around before looking back at Wednesday. “Come with me.” It wasn’t a question. For a moment, Wednesday hesitated, her mind racing with a thousand reasons to say no. But instead, she found herself nodding. “Lead the way.”

Wednesday followed you up the grand staircase. She didn’t bother asking where you were leading her, she didn’t particularly care. If you wanted privacy, she would oblige. If this was another attempt to pry some semblance of emotion out of her, you would fail. Or so she told herself.

You pushed open a door at the end of the hall, revealing a spacious room bathed in moonlight streaming through large, arched windows.

Turning to face her, you crossed your arms, “Well, considering you’ve likely left my dance partner with third-degree burns…”

Wednesday tilted her head, “I fail to see how that is my problem.”

“Oh, it is.” You stepped closer, your voice softening. “Because now, you have to take his place.”

Her eyebrows rose, a rare flicker of surprise crossing her otherwise stoic face. “I fail to see how that logic tracks.”

“You caused the incident. You take responsibility.” Your tone left no room for argument, but before she could protest further, you added, “But I’m kind enough to spare you the humiliation of doing it downstairs. We’ll dance here. Privately.”

The word privately settled uncomfortably in her chest, both a warning and something she couldn't recognize.

“I’m even letting you have a say in the music,” you said, glancing at her. “Any requests?”

“Something haunting,” she replied without hesitation, the corner of her mouth twitching into what might’ve been a smirk.

You hummed thoughtfully before selecting a piano piece—somber, slow, and emotional. It wasn’t the haunting melody she had hoped for, but it was close enough.

Wednesday stepped closer, her posture rigid. “I don’t slow dance.”

“Well, tonight you do,” you said with a teasing smile, holding out your hand.

She stared at it as if it were an unfamiliar weapon, something both intriguing and dangerous. After a moment of hesitation, she took it. Your fingers were warm, soft against the coolness of her own, and she tried to ignore the way her pulse quickened at the contact.

You guided her hand to your waist and placed your hand on her shoulder, the touch sending a ripple of something unfamiliar through her. She mirrored your movements stiffly at first, her steps awkward as the two of you began to sway to the music.

“Relax, Wednesday,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that somehow made Wednesday feel chills.

“I am relaxed,” she countered, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her words.

You chuckled, a sound that grated on her nerves and yet inexplicably soothed them. Slowly, her body began to follow the rhythm, her steps becoming less mechanical. She focused on the music, letting it guide her movements, but her attention kept drifting back to you.

Your eyes were soft, your smile easy, and the way you looked at her—as if she were something precious—made her chest feel something she didn’t fully understand. She had always prided herself on her ability to remain detached, to keep the world at arm’s length. But with you, that distance seemed to collapse, leaving her exposed and vulnerable in a way she found both infuriating and intoxicating.

As the dance continued, the space between you grew smaller. She could feel the faint scent of whatever perfume you wore, and it was all-consuming. Her usually sharp mind felt dull, clouded by your presence.

This was dangerous. You were dangerous. Not in the conventional sense, of course, you posed no physical threat. But the way you made her feel, the way you seemed to slip past every wall she had built around herself, was a danger of an entirely different kind. She didn’t like it. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

And then you rested your head on her shoulder.

Wednesday froze, her body stiffening before she forced herself to relax. Her heart, that stubborn organ she often dismissed as a mere biological necessity, pounded erratically in her chest. She didn’t understand it, this inexplicable pull toward you, but she knew she didn’t want it to end.

You sighed softly, your breath warm against her neck. “Thanks for this, Wednesday. I know it’s not your thing, but… it means a lot.”

Her other free hand, which had been hovering awkwardly at her side, hesitated before resting lightly against your back. The gesture was hesitant, almost uncertain, but it felt… right. Too right.

She didn’t know how long you stayed like that, swaying gently in the moonlight. All she knew was the warmth of your body, the softness of your breath, and this, whatever this was...

When the music finally faded, you lifted your head and met her gaze. There was something unspoken in your eyes, something she couldn’t quite name but felt all the same. She didn’t say anything, and neither did you. The silence was enough.

As you stepped back, breaking the spell, she felt an ache she couldn’t place. You smiled at her, soft and genuine, and she found herself returning it—just barely.

“Thanks for the dance,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her expression as stoic as ever, but her mind was anything but calm.

As you turned and left the room, she felt something in her hand, a small note, "Call me sometimes Wednesday"

The faintest trace of a smile tugged at Wednesday's lips.

Not a bad party, not bad at all.

[This was so fun to write, thought you guys need some fluff after the heartbreak from the last oneshot]

[A VERY IMPORTANT REQUEST: A close friend of mine @blue-because-no-yellow is leaving for a few months on her basic training. So I would be really grateful to you guys if you wished her some goodluck in the comments! Like really, sometimes, the kind words of strangers become something to remember during hard times in the future...]

[WORKLIST]

[harunayuuka2060]

Malleus and Leona: *walking with Granny*

Grandma MC: *holding each of their hand* Oh, I remember when my two grandsons were walking with me like this.

Grandma MC: They're both so tall and handsome too. *chuckles*

Leona: Hey, Granny. It got me thinking. How many grandchildren do you have?

Grandma MC: There's 20 of them.

Malleus: That's a lot.

Grandma MC: Oho, yes. I have ten children, you see. Each of them has two kids.

Malleus and Leona: ...

Leona: That's A LOT, Granny. What had you been doing in your younger days?

Grandma MC: Making babies. *hearty laugh*

Grandma MC: When you're young, you ought to have some vigority.

Leona and Malleus: ...

Leona: I don't know about that.

Malleus: Isn't childbirth painful? And what's more giving birth to ten children...

Grandma MC: Oh, son. I didn't give birth to them all at once.

Leona: *cackles* Idiot—

Malleus: ...

Silver: No wonder Granny is able to cook dishes everyday for so many people.

Kalim: And while knitting!

Vil: Kalim, I don't see you wearing your dorm uniform these past few weeks until now. How come?

Kalim: Granny's sweaters are quite comfy.

Vil: ...

Vil: *looks at the sweater he's wearing* You don't mind even if it has a flower embroidery on it?

Kalim: Oh? This one? She was supposed to give it to you but Epel mentioned that you don't like sweaters.

Vil: ...

Vil: It is tacky. Epel did the right thing mentioning it to her.

Silver: ...

Silver: Vil, you look disappointed.

Vil: I'm not.

Epel: Why am I being grounded?!

Pomefiore students: You did something.

Epel: AND WHAT?!!

Rook: Epel is confused why you have grounded him.

Vil: He did something.

Rook: And what is it, Roi du Poison?

Vil: *his sweater came to mind*

Vil: He should realize it himself.

Rook: *who knows* I see. *chuckles*

Grandma MC: *knitting Vil a cardigan*

Grandma MC: Oh... *chuckles* This one will look definitely perfect on him.

*the cardigan has Vil's signature colors*

Grim: What if he doesn't like it?

Grandma MC: Then I'll make a new one, of course. *smiles*

[is-the-thing-actually-jewish]

are Hanukkah sweaters a Jewish thing? i've seen them before but 90% of the time, they're people trying to make christmas displays more "inclusive." so are they legit Jewish or no?

Rating: Capitalism.

Hanukkah sweaters are a prime example of what I previously characterized as "capitalism's tendency to tepidly repackage any Christmas symbols in literally or metaphorically blue-and-silver wrapping paper to appeal to a Jewish market." As the "ugly sweater" phenomenon has grown more popular, retailers saw an excellent opportunity to widen their market by having "Hanukkah" versions.

That said, there's a wide range of Hanukkah sweaters out there, some of which are more problematic than others. Ones that are literally just recolored Christmas designs with a couple Jewish-y things tacked on, like this "Shalom Gnome" design or this "Oy to the World" design are more problematic than enthusiastically tacky designed-from-the-beginning-to-be-Jewish ones. The former says "Hanukkah! It's Christmas for Jews! Jews! They're just Christians without Santa or Jesus!" while the latter says, "Oh, you're going to walk around with an eyesore sweater full of tinsel and actual little jingle bells as though anyone could possibly forget that it's Christmas season in this country? I see you, I see you, and I'm just going to casually wear this sweater with a menorah and candles that actually light up because Judaism rocks, that's why."

Then there's a whole genre of Hanukkah sweaters with, let's say, more adult content, and people's mileage may greatly vary on how they feel about them. Personally, I find the ones riffing off more secular aspects of the holiday to be largely harmless, such as this "You Spin Me Right Round, Baby" design with dreidels. On the other hand, while some may find it amusingly subversive, I find ones making fun of the religious part of the holiday (i.e., the actual hanukkiah/menorah) to be in poor taste at best. There are a plethora of "let's get lit" Hanukkah sweaters like this one that genuinely annoy me. (For one thing, Hanukkah isn't even a drinking holiday! If you want a drinking holiday, we actually have those but Hanukkah isn't it!) Ones like this that make it into a creepy pick-up line actively disgust me. And this "gelt digger" one is genuinely antisemetic, given the stereotypes about Jews and money.

I would be remiss not to mention what I personally think is the best of the Hanukkah sweater subgenres: animal puns. My fiance owns this Meowzel Tov sweater with a truly garish design. What does "mazel tov" have to do with Hanukkah, you may ask? Absolutely nothing, but hey, cats! Can't be upset about Jewish cats! Similarly, llamas? Not Jewish at all! But Happy Llamakka? Okay, cute pun, cute graphic, I'm reluctantly charmed. Your Menorasaurus would not be kosher for actual use as the candles are all different heights, but you know what, that actually makes me smile.

So, basically: If you get joy out of being loudly Jewish during a season where everything is yelling about Christianity all the time, go ahead and wear your ridiculous ugly sweater to the company party. Just take a close look at the design to make sure it's not actually full of Christmas trees, not pretending something extremely Christmas is Jewish because it's a pun now, doesn't use Charedi men as a cartoon stand-in for anyone Jewish, and doesn't makes being Jewish primarily about not being Christian.

In sum: RIP my browser history, I'm going to be getting such terrible ads for the next several weeks. Click the links at your own risk.

~Mod Leora

[wanderingwriter87]

"I dunno, Al...seems like a bit much. Even for you." "Oh, don't give me that look. Just because you don't get to choose your wardrobe -" "Hey, I happen to think this girl has pretty good taste. I think I'll wear the red dress tonight - with the off-white pumps." "Ugh. You're hopeless." "You're the one in a tacky sweater!" "Tacky!" "Yeah, tacky. I said it." "I'll have you know Tina thinks it's serving." "Serving what?" "Like I said. You're hopeless." "Fine, which one would you wear, then?" "The green. It really brings out your eyes."

photo manip gift for @bashir-my-beloved-my-beloved featuring al calavicci, a vintage sweater pattern photoshoot, and me finding out that quantum leap takes place in 2022 and crumbling to dust instantly

[veinnamay]

SCREAM 1996 CHRISTMAS ⋆⁺₊❅ HEAD CANNONS

~~~

Stu Macher ;

1. Christmas Enthusiast : He LOVES Christmas. He just loves the stupid activities and dressing up, gets him all giddy n’ shit. He’s planning ahead of time, for sure.

2. Decorations : He thrives on the chaos of tangled lights, gaudy decorations, and tinsel literally everywhere. His house probably looks like a Christmas explosion. Mismatched lights, tacky inflatables in the yard, and a tree that's way too big for the living room. His parents are rarely home, so it’s mostly Stu going unhinged with the decorations.

3. Mariah Carey : She’s #1 on his Spotify Wrapped and it’s only during Christmas. “ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOUU 😫” in early November and thinks it’s hilarious when people groan.

4. Holiday Pranks : Christmas to Stu isn't just about cheer—it’s also about mischief. He takes great joy in rigging holiday decorations to spook people or pull minor pranks. For examples , hiding fake spiders in stockings, rearranging the Nativity scene so the wise men are doing something unholy, jump-scaring friends by hiding behind the Christmas tree (likely breaking some ornaments in the process).

5. Stu- Style Gifts : Stu’s gifts are… unpredictable. He either goes way too far with a gift or gives something so ridiculous it makes no sense.

6. Parties, Parties, Parties : Stu’s house is the spot for Christmas parties. His parents are gone (again), so he throws some wild, poorly planned rager every year, where half the school shows up. There’s spiked eggnog and mistletoe hung in places that make it impossible to walk around without Stu cackling at the awkward encounters.

7. Secretly Sentimental : While Stu acts like Christmas is just an excuse for mayhem, he’s more sentimental than he lets on. Maybe he has a few childhood traditions he still clings to. He never really talks about family during the holidays, but part of him probably wishes they were there—even if he’ll never admit it out loud. Billy might catch on to this, but Stu brushes it off with a joke.

8. “Fashion” : You know Stu owns at least one horrible Christmas sweater and he wears it proudly. Bonus points if it lights up or has bells that jingle when he moves. He pairs it with ridiculous Santa hats or reindeer antlers just to commit to the bit.

9. Snow Shenanigans : If Woodsboro ever gets snow (unlikely, but let’s pretend), Stu turns it into a full-contact sport. Snowball fights are war to him, and he’s the guy who’ll tackle you into a snowdrift with no warning. He also absolutely builds creepy snowmen that look like they’re straight out of a horror movie. Coal for eyes? Nah—Stu uses ketchup for fake blood.

10. Christmas Horror Marathons : Stu hosts a “Holiday Horror Night” with his friends, obviously pushing movies like Black Christmas, Gremlins, or Silent Night, Deadly Night onto everyone. He gets way too hyped for the kills and spends the whole time quoting lines or spoiling jump scares for others. Billy’s there, quiet but amused, and they probably end up arguing over which Christmas-themed kill is the best.

11. Mistletoe : Stu 100% uses mistletoe as an excuse to be flirty and ridiculous. He’s the guy who’ll hold it over someone’s head dramatically and grin, “Rules are rules.” He probably teases Tatum with it constantly. For Billy? He jokingly tries it once, fully expecting Billy to roll his eyes or shove him away—but Stu never does stuff like that without seeing how far he can push it.

12. Last-Minute Christmas Shoppings : Stu is the king of procrastination. He’s the guy panic-buying at the mall on Christmas Eve, grabbing whatever random stuff he can find and trying to pass it off as thoughtful. Somehow, it’s still charming because Stu can talk his way out of anything.

(I frickin love this guy!!)

Billy Loomis ;

1. Christmas Is Just Another Day (On the Surface) : Billy doesn’t care much for Christmas. Or at least, that’s what he says. He’s the guy who shrugs when people ask about his holiday plans, dismissing it as “a capitalist cash-grab” Emo ass. Deep down, though, the holidays bring up complicated feelings. Maybe he’s got memories from when he was little. Now, Christmas feels hollow, and he avoids thinking about it.

2. Quiet Observer at Parties : If Stu drags him to a Christmas party (which he absolutely does), Billy’s the guy hanging out on the outskirts, leaning against a wall with a beer, laughing while watching everyone act like idiots.

3. More Parties : He’ll scoff at the cheesy decorations and roll his eyes at the loud Christmas music, but part of him enjoys being there—especially if Stu is in his element. Seeing Stu acting like a maniac entertains him more than he lets on.

4. Mouthy lmfao : He’s got a sharp tongue when it comes to party games. “Secret Santa? Let me guess—another pair of socks?”

5. Billy’s Family Situation : Christmas at the Loomis house is strained and quiet. It’s probably just him and his dad at this point, sitting through an awkward dinner while his dad barely acknowledges him. The house feels cold and undecorated. Maybe there’s a tree because it’s expected, but it’s sad-looking and thrown together. Billy doesn’t care to fix it. There’s definitely no talk of Billy’s mom—she’s the unspoken shadow hovering over everything during the holidays. But before, she definitely was what kept it festive around the house. So to avoid all this, he probably sticks around Stu’s (mainly) or Sidney’s. (I could go on.)

6. Thoughtful (But Hidden) Gift-Giver : Billy’s not one for flashy gift-giving. He doesn’t like the act of Christmas, but he’s surprisingly thoughtful when it comes to people he cares about.

7. A Christmas Horror Purist : If Billy does anything “festive,” it’s in line with his love of horror. He’ll sit through Black Christmas or Silent Night, Deadly Night with a smirk, analyzing the kills and quietly enjoying the darker takes on the holiday. If Stu ropes him into one of his Christmas horror marathons, Billy pretends to find Stu’s antics annoying, but he’s secretly comfortable there. Sitting in the dark with Stu, watching bloodied Santas and creepy phone calls, is the closest he gets to enjoying the season. (I might write a fanfic… so cutesy!!)

8. Avoiding Sentimentality : Billy hates anything overly sentimental about Christmas. Carolers? He shuts the door in their faces. Sappy movies like It’s a Wonderful Life? He’ll turn it off with a scoff. He acts like he’s above all that emotional nonsense. The truth? It’s not that he doesn’t feel—he just doesn’t know what to do with those feelings. Seeing happy families or romanticized versions of Christmas stirs something painful in him, so he buries it under his usual indifference.

9. Quiet Late Nights : On Christmas Eve, when everything’s still, Billy probably stays up late, sitting in the dark with just the glow of the sad Christmas tree. Maybe he’s watching a movie or absentmindedly flipping through a horror magazine. It’s one of those rare moments where he lets himself just be—away from people, away from expectations. If Stu calls him during one of these moments, Billy picks up, though he sounds more subdued. Stu probably makes some joke to lighten the mood, and Billy half-smiles, even if Stu can’t see it.

10. Snow and Billy Don’t Mix : If Woodsboro ever gets snow, Billy’s not running out to play in it. He finds it annoying and cold, muttering about how it’s just going to turn into slush. Stu probably tackles him into the snow anyway, and Billy reacts with mock irritation. If no one’s looking, though, he might just throw a snowball back—dead-on, with a precision Stu wasn’t expecting.

11. Subtle Possessiveness (?) During the Holidays : Christmas heightens Billy’s possessive tendencies, especially with Stu. Stu’s family isn’t around, but there’s no way they’d be gone for December. They’d have to have some kind of family time, and that would occupy some of Stu’s time. If he’s busy with family or distracted by other friends, Billy subtly bugs him. And Stu knows why, like he has to pick up on it. Why Billy’s suddenly spending all his time there instead of at home. He needs to feel in control when everything else feels unstable.

12. Small Moments of Vulnerability : Billy has little cracks around the holidays where the mask slips. He’ll never admit it, but there’s a part of him that misses the idea of Christmas—before everything got so screwed up.

He rejects the holiday on the surface, but underneath, there’s a lot of unprocessed pain and buried nostalgia. If anyone manages to pull him out of his isolation (looking at you, Stu), it’s on Billy’s terms—subtle moments that let him feel like he’s in control, even during the most chaotic time of year.

Tatum Riley :

1. The Undisputed Holiday It-Girl : Tatum owns Christmas. She’s the person who looks flawless in every holiday photo, decked out in the perfect cozy-chic sweater and effortlessly styled hair. She has a holiday vibe straight out of a 90s teen rom-com—think shiny lip gloss, cute earmuffs, and a playful attitude. She’s the first to make fun of tacky Christmas aesthetics while also pulling them off way too well. Candy-cane-striped everything? On anyone else, it’s cringe. On Tatum? Iconic.

2. Gift-Giving Is Her Love Language : Tatum is an *amazing* gift-giver. She actually listens when people talk about what they like, so her presents always hit the mark.

3. The Queen of Christmas Parties : Tatum is the life of every Christmas party. She’s loud, confident, and has a drink in her hand while dragging Sid onto the dance floor.

4. Competitive Christmas Games : She’s the person forcing everyone into ugly sweater contests or leading a group to spike the punch. She’s not afraid to throw down in a snowball fight either—she’s got a competitive streak a mile wide.

5. Rom-Com Vibes with Dewey : Tatum adores Christmas lights and winter dates—bonus points if it’s with Dewey. She teases him relentlessly for being a “corny good guy,” but secretly, she loves it. Picture Tatum dragging Dewey to look at Christmas lights around Woodsboro, bundled up in his oversized jacket while pretending not to be freezing. Dewey probably surprises her with little gestures—a hot chocolate, a cheesy snow globe—and while she teases him, she keeps everything he gives her.

6. Holiday Movie Queen : Tatum doesn’t have time for Billy and Stu’s horror-only movie marathons. She’s a rom-com and classics kind of girl during the holidays. Think Home Alone, The Santa Clause, or Love Actually. If Sidney’s around, they’re probably curled up under blankets with mugs of cocoa, Tatum shouting advice at the characters like they can hear her. “JUST KISS HIM, GOD!”

7. A Little Bit of a Christmas Diva : Tatum has no patience for half-hearted holiday cheer. If you’re going to celebrate, you better commit. Randy tries to show up to a party in a lame sweater? Tatum throws glitter on him. “Fixed it.” She’s not above calling out people who ruin the vibe—“Billy, you look like you’re at a funeral. Smile for once.”

8. Big Sister Energy : Tatum takes care of her people during the holidays. If Sid’s feeling down, Tatum’s the first to drag her out of the house for some Christmas shopping or convince her to bake cookies. She’s protective over everyone in her circle, and if she senses anything off, she’s quick to step in, even if it means starting a fight.

9. The Perfect Christmas Aesthetic : Tatum’s house is straight out of a magazine. Her mom decorates tastefully, so it’s all classy lights, a Pinterest-perfect tree, and cozy candles. Tatum sneaks in her own touches—like obnoxiously large stockings or candy canes in every room—just to “spice it up.” She’s probably got an entire drawer full of cute Christmas pajamas she’d never let anyone see. (Except Sid. Grandma pajama solidarity lol.)

10. Holiday Shopper : Tatum takes Christmas shopping seriously and has zero patience for slow walkers, long lines, or rude shoppers. Picture her standing in line with Sidney, dramatically and loudly, complaining about how insane people get over 50% off toasters. “I’ll start throwing elbows if I have to.” She’s got a keen eye for sales, though, and somehow leaves the mall with bags full of the perfect gifts.

11. Snow Day Enthusiast : If Woodsboro ever sees snow, Tatum is all in. She’s the one dragging Sidney outside to build snowmen and start snowball fights. She’ll tackle Stu just to prove she can take him down, and she’ll pelt Randy with ice-packed snowballs until he admits defeat. She’s not afraid to ruin her hair for a little fun, and she’ll laugh louder than anyone when she inevitably faceplants into a snowbank.

Tatum is Christmas cheer—loud, confident, and unapologetically herself. She thrives in the chaos of the season.

Sidney Prescott ;

1. A Quiet, Nostalgic Christmas : Sidney’s Christmases are about tradition and simplicity. Her mom loved the holidays, so the season is bittersweet for her—full of fond memories that now carry a tinge of sadness. She keeps certain family traditions alive, like baking cookies from her mom’s old recipe book or watching It’s a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve. It’s her way of feeling close to Maureen, even when it hurts.

2. Decorations : Her house is decorated modestly—a real tree with mismatched ornaments collected over the years, white lights, and handmade decorations from childhood. It's cozy and nostalgic, much like Sidney herself.

3. The Thoughtful Gift-Giver : Sidney puts a lot of heart into her gifts. She’s not flashy about it, but everything she gives is meaningful and personal.

4. Holiday Overwhelm : Big, chaotic Christmas parties (especially Stu’s) can be overwhelming for Sidney. She’s social and kind, but crowds and noise drain her, so she gravitates toward quiet corners or one-on-one conversations. Tatum usually drags her into the chaos, and Sidney goes along with it, laughing as Tatum forces her into a ridiculous ugly sweater.

5. Her Relationship with Snow : If Woodsboro gets snow, Sidney’s the one who finds the quiet beauty in it. She’ll go for long walks alone, listening to the soft crunch of snow under her boots and watching the way the world feels still and peaceful. Tatum probably pulls her into a snowball fight, breaking the mood, and Sid doesn’t mind—she ends up laughing so hard she forgets why she was sad in the first place. Also, she’s great at building snowmen but pretends to hate getting her gloves wet.

6. Holiday Movie Nights : Sidney loves classic Christmas movies—It’s a Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street, A Charlie Brown Christmas. They’re a comfort to her, reminders of watching with her mom as a kid. When Tatum insists on a rom-com binge or Stu demands horror marathons, Sidney humors them but eventually pulls the “it’s my turn” card. No one argues when Sid wants a quiet movie night—it’s like an unspoken rule that she gets what she needs.

7. Baking as Therapy : Sidney bakes during the holidays because it’s calming and makes the house smell like warmth. She’s not a natural Martha Stewart, but she’s determined to follow her mom’s recipes. Tatum helps, but mostly just to steal cookie dough and call it “quality control.” Sid rolls her eyes and lets her. Stu once tried to mess with the cookies (extra salt, no sugar), and Sidney nearly smacked him with a spatula.

8. Thoughtful Holiday Traditions : Sidney has a habit of sending out handwritten Christmas cards, even to people who don’t expect them. It’s her quiet way of staying connected and letting people know she cares. She hangs onto sentimental items, like ornaments her mom gave her or gifts from friends, no matter how silly. Her Christmas decorations tell a story—every piece means something.

9. Sidney at Stu’s Chaotic Parties : Sidney shows up to Stu’s Christmas parties because of Tatum—and because Billy wants her there—but she’s always the one quietly making sure things don’t go completely off the rails. She’s the responsible one who pulls Randy out of trouble or stops Stu from lighting the fireplace "just to see what happens.” If things get overwhelming, Sidney slips outside for air. She doesn’t like people noticing when she needs space, but sometimes Tatum finds her anyway.

10. Christmas Eve Emotions : Christmas Eve is the hardest night for Sid. It’s quiet, and the weight of her family memories hits her hardest. She’ll light a candle for her mom or sit by the tree with a blanket, staring at the lights and letting herself feel it. She doesn’t talk about it with anyone, but Tatum knows—and always calls her to check in, even if Sid insists she’s fine.

11. Her Presence as the Heart of the Group : Sidney is the grounding presence during the chaos of the holidays. She’s the one who brings balance to the group—where Tatum brings the energy and Stu brings the chaos, Sid brings the quiet warmth. She’s kind to everyone, and she’s the first to notice if someone else is having a hard time. She checks in on people without being asked, always putting others before herself.

Sidney’s Christmas is a mix of quiet reflection, warmth, and bittersweet nostalgia. She finds comfort in traditions and small moments, even as the holidays remind her of what she’s lost.

(And you know Tatum, Stu, and Randy would all conspire to make sure Sid gets at least one night of unfiltered fun, whether she likes it or not.)

Randy Meeks ;

1. The Movie Marathon Master : Randy treats Christmas like it’s his personal Super Bowl of Movie Marathons. Forget rom-coms and heartfelt dramas—Randy is the guy forcing everyone to sit through holiday-themed horror movies and classics only he thinks are cool. "Black Christmas" and "Gremlins" are his obvious go-tos. He insists on a double-feature tradition: "Home Alone" (a kid’s revenge fantasy) followed by Silent Night, Deadly Night. “See? Christmas movies are about trauma. I rest my case.”

2. The Guy Who Buys Movie-Themed Gifts : Randy is the friend who gets everyone gifts that reflect his interests but are tailored just enough to show he does care:

3. The Ultimate Stocking Stuffer Guy : Randy is broke, let’s be honest, but he kills it with stocking stuffers. Think movie trivia cards, candy shaped like film reels, and weird novelty gifts he finds at a discount store. He probably throws in a mix of heartfelt and ridiculous: a mixtape he made (with “curated” Christmas songs) alongside a rubber reindeer nose.

4. His Family’s Christmas Is Pure Chaos : Randy’s house is loud, messy, and filled with younger cousins running wild. Picture mismatched stockings, a blinking rainbow-light tree that definitely flickers ominously, and a TV that’s always blasting movies or video games. His mom probably throws a huge family dinner, and Randy sneaks bites of food out of the kitchen early because “survival instincts.”

5. Crashes Stu’s Parties and Doesn’t Leave : Randy always shows up to Stu’s Christmas parties uninvited, arms full of movies and snacks. He immediately makes himself at home and starts trying to "educate" everyone on film history. “Did you know Tim Burton pitched The Nightmare Before Christmas in the 80s and got rejected? Hollywood is so stupid sometimes.”

6. He’s the guy debating movie plot holes at 2 a.m. and accidentally falling asleep on the couch under a pile of coats.

7. Awkward Around Mistletoe : Randy gets so flustered if someone catches him under the mistletoe. He’s the guy who turns red, starts stammering, and makes an awful joke to deflect. Tatum totally uses this to mess with him, dragging Sidney into it to really make Randy panic.

8. Obsessive About Gift Wrap Themes : For someone so unorganized in life, Randy gets weirdly intense about his gift-wrapping. He picks a theme every year—like movie tickets, old newspaper clippings, or comic book pages—and insists it’s “art.”

9. Sentimental Moments Slip Through : Beneath all the jokes and movie references, Randy’s a sentimental guy. He gets a little reflective during the holidays, especially with his friends. He’ll quietly check in on Sidney, asking if she’s okay around the holidays. He knows she’s hurting, even if she doesn’t say it. Randy probably ends up making a heartfelt toast at Stu’s party that starts funny and somehow turns emotional: “I know I joke a lot, but, like, we’re lucky, you know? To have each other. Even you, Stu.”

10. “The Dude with the Camera” : Randy is constantly capturing holiday chaos on a camcorder or Polaroid camera. He insists he’s “documenting the memories,” but really, he just loves having receipts of everyone acting ridiculous. Stu trying to juggle Christmas ornaments? Captured. Tatum pelting Randy with a snowball mid-monologue? Immortalized.

Randy’s Christmas is loud, nerdy, and sprinkled with chaotic energy. He’s the guy who shows up unannounced, stays way too long, and somehow makes the holidays brighter with his awkward charm and endless movie knowledge. Beneath all his silliness, though, there’s a big heart—he just hides it behind jokes and VHS tapes.

(And you know Randy would have a special “Christmas Movie Survival Guide” prepared for the group, complete with rules like, “Rule #1: Never trust a killer Santa.”)

[jestarcana]

Had the wonderful opportunity to work with @whoalookingcooljoker (@rosegardenlake on AO3) for @onedayakeshuake! Leftover sales are upon us, so be sure to grab a copy if you missed out 💜

Fic : ☆ Twice as Old and Four Times as Weary ☆

[ Leftover sales ]

And full-view of the background for the last piece under the cut, as well as a bonus doodle page!

I decided to give Akira a big ol' tacky holiday sweater in the end, but the bottom design notes for his scarf and Akechi's outfit still apply! I decided to have them both wear kitty-themed outfits to match.

[gunaerystargarygun]

The brain worms continue to infest my brain.

Posted on Ao3, but posting here as well: Here's my contribution to the Stan x Reader genre.

Tags: Vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, porn with mild plot, c'mon you guys know me at this point.

Know When to Fold 'Em

"Thanks for all your help, you're doin great, dood!" Soos's voice is full of pride, contentment as you hand over small zipped bag, the profits of the day. You smile, giving a slight shrug of your shoulders. "Soos, you've told me that every day for the past two years."

"And I mean it every time! Can't imagine runnin' this place without ya," he beams at you, his crooked smile making your own smile grow a little larger. Despite him being a few years younger than you, he makes a fantastic boss. "Can't believe Mr. Pines thought you was gonna be useless when I hired ya."

Well, that makes the smile drop.

You met Mr. Pines, well, both Mr. Pines when you got a job here at the shack, cashier and handyperson. A little odd, yes, but you needed the job and for a tourist trap? The place paid well enough, you could afford a small house and just about everything else you needed. You tap your foot, pressing your lips together. "Soos, not that I don't appreciate the words of encouragement, but you don't have to be up here." You throw a thumb over your shoulder and gesture to the shack. "I'm sure Melody could use your help with the baby."

"You sure? I feel kinda bad leavin' you here with all the clean up and restocking." Just as you're about to assure him that you're more than capable of restocking bobble heads and putting out minimally designed bumper stickers, the doorbell chimes and another voice breaks in. "Don't worry about it, Soos. I'll make sure everything gets put back in its place." The old Mr. Mystery poses in front of you. He stands tall, a rather tacky Hawaiian shirt with luau girls and surfboards plastered on it, a pair of khakis completing the look. He stretches his arms out in a flourish, making his entrance more grand.

You roll your eyes slightly, it's the same every time he comes into the shack, which...has been quite a lot, recently. "I haven't had a complaint once," you remark as Stanley begins to look around the place.

"That's cause Soos is too nice of a boss," he says, running his finger along the underside of the checkout counter. "See all this dust? Unbelievable!" He sticks out a finger towards your face, which you squint at.

"There's nothing there."

"To the untrained eye, maybe! This place may as well be covered in mud." You grumble an unhappy sound before Soos speaks up again. "Ah c'mon, Mr. Pines, they're a great worker!" Soos' arm comes around you in a one sided hug, squeezing you tight against his side. "Say, you been around a lot." Soos relaxes his grip on you, which lets you take in a deep breath. "You miss runnin' the shack?"

"What? No, no." He waves a hand dismissively. "Just makin' sure my life's work is still up and runnin', you know. Plus, the kids loved this place."

That was true. You had the pleasure of meeting the twins at the start of this summer. The girl, Mabel, was charming as all get out - she even made you a sweater, which you promised to wear in the colder months. The young boy, Dipper? A little surly. You swore he was running tests on when you weren't looking, or was trying to, anyway. At least by the end of the summer, whatever anxiety he had about you seemed to wash away.

"Okay! I'm gonna trust this place to yous guys. Lock up!" Soos waves his goodbyes, disappearing from the gift shop and somewhere into the house.

"I can handle this, you know?" You make your way to the small storage closet, taking out a box and ripping it open.

"I'm sure you can," he shrugs his shoulders. "Just makin' sure you do it right." Stanley then makes his way behind the register and takes a seat. You stand, blinking.

"What?" He asks.

"Aren't you going to help?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm not helpin' like that. I'm supervisin' ya," he laughs, slapping his own knee before propping them up on the counter.

You don't know why you expected anything different. You've known Stanley for the better part of two years and while he certainly has his redeeming qualities, being extra helpful isn't one of them. You sigh, and begin unpacking the restocks.

To your surprise, Stan is the one who strikes up the conversation. It's simple questions at first, how the shack has been, the types of tourists that've been coming around, and how Soos has been running the place. Whenever you think you finish with an answer, he probes for me, and you notice, his eyes stay on you a large majority of the time.

You feel your face flush a little with that.

Finally, the restocking is done, and you get the broom. Minimal housekeeping; the weather has been dry, so no mud. "You got any plans tonight?" The question catches you off guard, making you turn completely around to face Stan.

"Uh, other than eating a frozen pizza? No. Why?"

"Wanna play a couple round of cards?" He stuffs his hands in his khaki pockets, shrugging, as if he doesn't care how you answer the question. The way he shifts his attention to the floor, however, makes you think otherwise. "Ford's out on a nature hike, or whatever it is that nerds do in the woods, so I got no plans myself."

"Sure." You answer. "Sounds like fun, and beats eating the pizza alone."

By the look of quick surprise, he clearly wasn't expecting you to say yes. He shrugs it off fast enough, shooting a finger gun at you. "Perfect! What's the address? I'll be over at seven." You grab a pen and paper, scribbling it down and passing it over.

Huh, this'll be the first time he sees your house. You think that you better clean up a little bit, not that you think he'd particularly care, but still.

It takes very little to actually clean up your house. A few stray pieces of clothing that make it to the hamper (you missed each time you threw it in, but who's here to see?) and washing a few of the dishes. Just as you finish putting the pizza in, there's a knock at your door.

You hurry up, stopping at the mirror in the hallway just before the door, and look at yourself. You smooth out your shirt, nodding and opening the door.

Stanley stands on your porch with a twelve pack in one hand and two bottles of liquor, held precariously by the neck, in the other. He's still in the same outfit from earlier, but the top few buttons are undone. Were they like that earlier? "Figured it'd be impolite if I only brought it for myself," he shrugs the pack in his arm a little, the bottles clinking together. He glances around. "Nice place."

"Thanks," you say, stepping to the side and letting him in. "Just set it on the table." You watch as he strides through your house, the pack of alcohol landing with a thump while the bottles settle down nicely. He pulls out a chair, easing into it as he props up a foot on one of his knees. The way he leans against the table...

"Where's the cards?" You clear your throat, sliding out a chair across from him and taking a seat. You need something else to distract you.

"Right here," he sticks a hand in his pocket and pulls out a rather beat-up-looking deck of cards and slaps them on the table. "You shuffle, or me?" You eye the cards for a moment, reaching out and grabbing the deck.

"I will." The cards are pleasantly worn, and you can't help but wonder how much use these things have gotten. "Go easy on me? Been a while since I played."

"First rounds are on me," he nods. "Don't try and pull the wool over my eyes." He playfully points an accusatory finger at you.

"I know, I know." You cut the deck, shuffling them thoroughly before dealing them out.

It's...pleasant. You didn't expect it to be unpleasant, to be fair, but aside from the one off times of drinking, there's a handful of times when the two of you have been alone together. Stan takes the time to tell you a wild tale of when he was a "much younger buck,"  when he managed to steal a shipment of some undisclosed items from a smuggler. It's amusing, even if it isn't real. You can never tell with him.

Eventually, the oven dings and the pizza is ready. It's served, and you bring two glasses out as well. Before the beer, Stan reaches for the liquor and twists off the cap. "Want one?" You press your lips together, thinking for a moment.

"Hit me." It's a guesstimate on how much a shot would be. Or maybe two.

Either way, you wait until Stan pours his before clinking your glasses together and downing it. Whiskey may not be your go-to, especially when it's warm, but the burn in your throat has a familiar comfort. You cough a little, shaking your head and nodding. "Strong." You comment.

"That's the point." He says. Stan sticks out his hand, wiggling his fingers as a sign to hand the cards over. You do, still reeling from the shot as you fish out a bottle of beer. It goes down much easier than the whiskey.

You try very hard to not stare at his hands, but it's difficult. It wasn't something you noticed immediately, but Stan's hands are.... big. Large. Pretty much every synonym for big is how you would describe them, and you vaguely recall the one time you touched them as you passed him something in the shop. They were rough, calloused, but also incredibly warm.

You're not drunk enough to blame that thought on the alcohol right now, so you just push it from your mind as he deals the cards.

Once again, things go back to being pleasant. You nurse your beer as the cards continue to get played, one bottle quickly multiplying between the two of you, along with the cash piling in the center of the table. The conversation steers to him telling you about the adventures he had with the Twins, an endearing tone in his voice that you can't help but smile at. The pizza gets devoured, and when you glance up to the clock, you realize that it's almost eleven o'clock. Have you really been here this long?

That's when it clicks in your alcohol muddled brain.

Stan is lonely. He's been in the shop almost every day for the past week, since the twins left, and even before then, he and the twins were around quite a bit. It would make sense, he went from being around them, his brother, Soos's family, and you for almost three months straight. You look down at the cards, your focus fading for a moment before he speaks.

"Think I mighta run you outta money," he gestures to the table. Your attention turns to it and yeah, there's a decent pile of cash on it. You're pretty sure there's also monopoly money in there, but you're a little too drunk to really notice. "Got anything else to bet?" You think for a moment, tapping the table.

"M'clothes." You answer, plainly. He stares at you.

"Uh, didn't quite catch that?"

"M'CLOTHES." You say it in a louder tone, making sure he can hear it this time. "S'all I got, I'm not up for bettin' my appliances." You point at the blender that sits atop the counter.

"C'mon," he rubs at the back of his neck. "That'd involve me takin' my clothes off too, you don't wanna see that."

"What if I told you that's why I suggested it?" holy shit, why are you saying this? Why are you suddenly so bold, what the hell is in this drink?

"I'd tell ya, you should stop teasin' an old man." You grab the deck of cards, shuffling them in the absolutely worst way ever before slamming them back on the table and pushing them over to him. "Deal 'em."

"You're too drunk for this." The rather sincere reply catches you off guard.

"No, I'm not." You say, stern in your rebuttal. "Look." You jump to your feet, a little wobbly, and begin putting one foot in front of the other, walking a line in the linoleum of your kitchen. While you're not walking perfectly straight, you're doing better than expected. You think so, anyway. "See? I'm f-" just as you're about to finish your sentence, you perform the miraculous feat of tripping over air. You fall a freshly logged tree.

You expect to crash to the floor in the most painful crash since the last time you went to the roller rink, but you never meet the ground. Slowly, you open your eyes, staring up at him. You must have spun in your fall, his hands tucked under your armpits. "What were you sayin' about bein sober enough?" Oh, he's so fucking smug about this.

"I trip on nothin' all the time, drinkin' doesn't have anything to do with this." you weakly shrug your hands, but this close, you catch the smell on him. Mixed with the alcohol, you can catch the scent of cigar smoke, but something faintly woodsy and earthy. It takes everything in you to not sniff at the air. "Uh-huh." he chuckles.

There's a brief moment of silence that passes over the two of you. He doesn't make a move to pull you up, but you're not making a move to get up, either. Instead, you raise a hand and gently press it against his cheek. "You're handsome." You mumble.

"Oh, you're fuckin' wasted."

That makes you twist in his grip. You manage to push yourself to your knees, putting your face just a few inches away from his. "Stop talkin' like I don't mean it."

"You don't mean it."

"I mean this." You grab the sides of his tacky Hawaiian shirt and pull him forward. Your lips crash against his, not realizing how hard you pulled him into you. The scrape of his stubble burns against your chin, a slight shiver running through you. There's the faint taste of tobacco that lingers on him, the chapped skin of his lips. It isn't how you expected this to happen, but to be quite frank, you didn't think this was ever going to happen.

It's only a moment later that you realize he hasn't made a move to kiss you back. He hasn't done anything. You quickly pull back, embarrassed. Why did you do that? God, you're never drinking again. You're not even an alcoholic, and you're planning to go to a 12 step program the second you get sober enough to drive. Your mind races - where else could you move? Maybe the Arctic, right? That's far enough way, that way you c-

You're actually not even far away from him before his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against his broad chest. You squeak in surprise, hands resting on his thick thighs as he deepens the kiss.

Even through the clothes, he's hot, almost like a furnace. He's burning against you, and this kiss. It makes you dizzy, head spinning. There's a hunger in the kiss, a desperation that you don't think you've ever felt when you kissed other people. His hand holds a tight grip on you, squeezing your side, and you practically melt right into him.

It's a little awkward at first before you two manage to change your positions; neither one of you is keen on breaking the kiss. Eventually, you end up sitting on his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, he sits on the kitchen floor. Shifting, you can feel the hardness of his cock beneath the fabric of the khakis.

Your hands reach for the hem of your shirt. They don't make it far, Stan's hands gripping your wrist. He's somehow even stronger than you expected, your stomach flipping at the pressure. He breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours, panting. You're expecting him to say something filthy, something that's going to make you squirm in his lap.

"Say your alphabet," is what he says instead.

What.

"What?" You ask.

"Say your alphabet," he repeats. "Not sleepin' with ya if you're not in the right state of mind."

"I walked, didn't I?"

"You fell."

Okay, fair enough.

So, you recite your alphabet. It's deliberate, and it's not too slow to cause any concern. As soon as you finish, he releases your wrists and grabs your shirt. It's the fastest your shirt has ever been removed, Stan's face immediately between your tits as soon as he's able. The stubble scratches as your skin, laughing slightly as he plants kisses against your chest. His hands reach around to your back, and you expect him to have trouble with it.

It's off before you can even blink.

"You're suspiciously good at that," you say.

"Aww, you jealous?" He laughs, sliding the bra off and tossing it somewhere behind him. "Don't worry, ain't nobody else gettin' the treatment you are."

"That's what you tell m-" you're cut off, Stan's tongue flicking against your nipple.

"Sayin' somethin', sweetheart?" He glances up, not giving you a chance to speak before he presses his mouth against your left nipple. You grab his shoulders, squirming against him as his tongue swirls around the hardened flesh. One arm wraps around your waist, grinding you against him while his free hand finds your other breast, kneading the flesh in his hand.

Your body feels like it's on fire under his touch. He plays with how much pressure he can put on you, rolling a nipple between his fingers while he sucks mercilessly on your other. Sweat beads on your brow, bucking against him while whimpering sounds escape you. "C'mon, sweetheart." He takes his mouth away from you, the cold air assaulting wet flesh. He playfully bucks his hips up, his cock grinding against you for just a moment. "Wanna hear what a good job I'm doin," he changes the arm that holds you against him, his other hand rising and brushing against the spit slickened skin.

Between the cold and his rough, calloused hand, you feel like you're already on the edge. "You aren't done already, are ya?"

"N-no," you mumble, tilting your head back and moaning as his mouth closes around the other nipple. Judging from the way his tongue flicks against your skin, he certainly appreciates the reaction. The way he sucks against your skin is greedy, teeth nipping at the skin. You're going to have bruises, you've accepted that. Your hands move from his shoulders to his hair, running through the gray, surprisingly soft, hair.

Using everything you can muster, you grind yourself against him. He groans against your skin, the grip on your skin tightening. He pulls away from you with an obscene sound, the words practically a growl in his throat. "Where's the bed?"

"Down the hall, last door on the right."

He gives pause for a moment, thinking. "Too far." He decides, aloud. Before you can process what he says, you're suddenly scooped up. You wrap your arms around him, tits bouncing as he hoists you around him. You leave the kitchen, and in a few feet, you're tossed unceremoniously on the couch. Your hands find the button of your jeans, getting them half way down your thighs before Stan takes over. They're off before you can even blink, Stan settling between your thighs. He picks one up, hooking your leg over his shoulder while he presses a thumb against your soaked panties.

You're already trembling, and your entire body jumps as he presses his thumb against your clit, rotating it in small painfully slow circles. He leans over you, grinning. "You want somethin'?"

"You know what I want," you breathe, fingers gripping the couch cushion.

"'Fraid I don't, sweetheart. You're gonna have to tell me." He lets up on the pressure, eliciting a whine from you. "I want your fingers," you reach out, gently touching his arm.

He's happy to comply. "Wasn't so hard, was it?" There's that smug fuckin' tone in his voice again. You expect him to pull off your underwear, but it doesn't seem like he's patient enough for that. Instead, he pulls them to the side, his middle and ring fingers sliding up and down against your wet cunt.

"W-wait!" You sit up some as he presses against you. "It's, uh..." you clear your throat. "It's been a while." You feel almost embarrassed to admit it, but with how thick his fingers are, and two of them? You don't wanna run the risk of getting hurt. He pauses, offering just the middle one to you in compromise. You make a face, and he laughs before he raises the finger to his mouth. He presses it against his tongue before dipping it back between your thighs. "Don't think that would've been an issue," you murmur as you feel him begin to slide into you.

You tilt your face against the couch arm, moaning as he buries the finger inside of you. "Bein' careful doesn't hurt," that's true, and you do honestly appreciate the sentiment. He moves his hand in a steady rhythm, the other hand keeping your legs spread apart. You bite your lip, and after a few minutes, he judges that you're ready for another and adds the ringer finger inside of you.

It's thick, and stretches you in the best possible way. "Feels good, don't it?" He leans over you, his face just a few inches away from yours. You don't know why it slips out - maybe you lapse back into what you were taught when you were younger. "Y-yes, sir." You pant the words out.

Stan's fingers stutter for just a moment before he thrusts them back into you, a moan immediately muffled by his lips against yours. He curls his fingers in the same way as before, the way that made your body shake like a leaf in his hand. "Like the way that sounds comin' outta you," he says the words against your neck, pressing kisses against your rapid pulse.

You can't handle it anymore. "Stanley," your voice teeters on the edge of breaking, fingers twisting in the Hawaiian shirt fabric. "F-fuck, Stanley, I-I.." the words die in your throat as he suddenly removes his fingers from your cunt. "W-what?" The words come out a whine, grabbing the shirt tighter and moving your hips to try and find his hand. "Stan," you groan.

"I can't have you all tired out before we get to the good stuff," he tells you. His hands move to the belt, making quick work of it. He slips off the khakis, positioning himself between your legs again before pressing the shaft of his cock against you, sliding against the slickness. You look between your legs, the head of his cock dipping in against your cunt before his hand tilts it up, bumping against your overly sensitive clit.

You're dizzy, just like before. Your head swims, biting your lip as he teases you constantly, angling himself and barely pushing himself in before pulling out. "You're lookin' desperate, sweetheart." He does a poor job of concealing his own desire, unable to take his eyes off your body. "Fuck, you're drippin'." He grins at you. "Still got it, huh?"

You suddenly brace your arms against his shoulders, pushing him back against the couch and straddling his lap. "You talk too much," the words come out in one rushed breath as you reach between your legs and grab the base of his cock, holding him steady as you bury him inside of you. A stifled moan escapes you as your body adjusts to his size. One hand grabs your waist, stilling any movement you might make, while the other grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "You alright?" You nod your head, your lips slightly pursed from how he squeezes your face.

"Good," he breathes, releasing your face. His hand drops to your chest, holding your breast. As soon as you roll your hips forward, Stan can't keep his mouth shut. "Shit, fuck," his eyes are half-lidded, head resting against the back of the couch as you ride him. "You're tight as a fuckin drum, and hotter than hell." You smile, bracing your hands against the couch as you snap your hips forward, rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Both of his hands are on your tits, thumb brushing over the nipples. "Perfect," he mumbles out. Sweat beads across your body, Stan's hand eventually traveling downwards and finding your clit again. The moan rips from your throat as the calloused finger pads press against you, an almost aggressive rub against you - but it's exactly what your body wants. "There ya are," he practically purrs the words out as you lean down.

Your lips catch his, sloppy kisses without much care, as long as you can kiss him. Your burning in every sense of the word, body and nerves as Stan grabs your ass, timing your movements with his own thrusts. He somehow manages to go even deeper inside of you, each thrust sending another wave of pleasure through you. "Stanley!" His name is barely above a whisper as he suddenly pushes you back against the cushions, back on top of you.

He takes a leg, hiking it over his shoulder and leaning over you, your body curling slightly. His pace is merciless, whatever words you had before devolving into incoherent moans of pleasure as they spill from your lips. It's when the orgasm wrecks your body that you swear to God, you see literal stars in your vision as you cum. Your body tenses, nails digging into his forearms so hard that you're a little worried you may draw blood. Stanley, somehow, has enough sense to pull himself from you, his cock sliding against you before he cums.

Thick, milky ropes land on your stomach and tits as he slows his thrusts, breathing heavily before slumping down over you. You're catching your own breath, a hand raising to his back and gently running up and down the now sweat soaked shirt.

"You good?" He asks, his voice somehow hoarser than before.

You can't really respond, offering a thumbs up in response.

"Huh, fucked you so good you lost the ability to talk huh?" Weakly, and playfully, you slap him.

"Asshole." He snorts, removing himself from you and sitting back against the couch. He looks at you. Then the mess on you. "Where's your shower?"

"Bathroom, which is in the bedroom." You yawn. Stan picks the boxes out of his khakis, sliding them on before bending beside you. "Put yer arms around me," you stare at him a moment. "C'mon, before I change my mind." You do as he says, looping your arms around his neck as his hands slide under your sweaty body, hoisting you up.

"Not too much for you, is it, old man?" You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"I can still drop you, ya know?"

"Mhmm." You mumblr. He feigns the drop, your grip tightening on him.

"Gotcha." He winks at you, but at this point, you're too tired to really fight back. Stan manages to open the door to your room and find the bathroom, setting you on the closed toilet. He reaches into the shower, turning the knobs and keeping his hand in for a moment. "You want it on the hotter or colder side?"

"Uh, hotter." The question catches you off guard.

"Figures, every woman wants it hot as hell." He adjusts the knob behind the curtain, taking it back and shaking off the water. "What?" He asks, raising a brow as you make a face at him.

"Just, uh..." again, you're trying to avoid sounding like an asshole. "Didn't expect aftercare?

"I may be a lot of things, and one of those things may be an asshole, but I'm not that big of an asshole." He sets his hands on his hips and you can't help but snort a giggle. "Up." he tells you, offering an arm. You stand on wobbly legs, leaning against him.

"Not sure how this is gonna work." You admit. "Kinda feel like a newborn deer."

"I'm gonna help you," he says. "Also, get a new metaphor."

"That's a simile."

"Oh, look at me, I paid attention in English." He mocks in a joking tone. "Just.. stand here." You do as your told, watching as he unbuttons his top and shakes it off, revealing the sweat covered girdle that's still wrapped around his waist. "You kept that on the whole time?" That's...kind of impressive.

"Done a lot more uncomfortable things, sweetheart." He says. He drops the girdle on your bathroom floor, gesturing for you to get in the shower. You do, Stan offering his arm for support as he follows you in shortly after. He keeps an arm around you, just below your breasts, in case you slip.

It does make you feel safe. You take the washcloth, soaping it up and slowly begin to scrub your body. The hot water feels amazing on your tired body, breathing in the smell of your soap and shampoo. When you're happily scrubbed, you turn in Stan's arms. "Your turn." You say.

"What?"

"You need to get clean too," you tell him. You don't let him protest, reaching over to your shampoo and squirting a pump into your palm and scrubbing it onto his scalp. There may have been a moment of protest, but it falls off quickly. His eyes shut, letting you work as you comb through his thinning hair. You take a few steps back, turning as carefully as you can so that he's under the stream of water. You work diligently, ensuring all the soap is off before you apply the conditioner and repeat it. He's strangely quiet the entire time, and yet you notice, he's relaxed. It's the first time you think you've ever seen his body this loose.

You grab the washcloth again, soaping it up again before pressing it against his chest. Now that there's no risk of soap in his eyes, Stan cracks one of his eyes open and looks down at you. "You're sweet, y'know?"

"Mhm." You hum in response.

"Seriously," he says. His thumb and forefinger catch your chin, tilting you up to meet his gaze. He leans down, the kiss tender, soft.

There's no intent behind it than affection. Somehow, it makes you feel hotter than what happened in the kitchen. You know you have the dopiest smile on your face, but at the moment, you don't care. You drag the rag over his body, his stomach, everywhere you can as he holds you close to him. When he's finally rinsed, he turns off the shower and carefully helps you step out. A few towels later, you're dry, warm, and exhausted.

You have a few oversized t-shirts that you used to clean the house in, and you manage to find one that fits Stan. There's no way he's making it home tonight. In your own pajamas, you climb into bed as Stan sits on the side of it. "Oh this thing is way comfier than your couch, no offense." He tests the springs, looking at you. "Maybe next time we'll make it to the bed."

"I'll hold you to that," you laugh. "Not tonight, though."

"What a shame," he winks. "You, uh, actually fine with me sleeping in here?" You're getting comfortable beneath the sheets, resting your head on the pillow.

"Stan," you start. "You were literally inside me. You can sleep next to me."

"You'd be surprised how often those two things don't go hand in hand," he remarks off-handedly. Your face creases in worry, about to sit up before he reaches out and pushes you back down. "Story for another day." He pulls the sheets back, sliding in beside you and staring up at the ceiling. A shiver runs through you, scooting closer to him and hooking a leg over his. He raises an arm, putting it behind you so that you're able to rest your head against his chest. "Don't get used to this," you know he doesn't mean a word of that.

"Goodnight, Stan." You stretch, placing a kiss on his cheek. You settle back down, shutting your eyes.

Gently, you feel the ghost of a kiss on the top of your head. "Goodnight."

You fall asleep to his heartbeat, something you think you'd enjoy getting used to

[midnight-mourning]

Holiday Party

❄️❄️Midnight's DCA December Day 31❄️❄️

We did it! 31 requests in 31 days. My goodness. And what a fun one to cap us off too. I was hoping for a holiday party one as i had a few ideas in mind, hope you all enjoy and also, be on the look out for one more thing sometime tonight :)

Prompt: Christmas party at the plex, bonus for mistletoe shenanigans, andddd moon has a Santa hat lmao I can ask her for more details if you need!! ^^

Word Count: 1726

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"Sun! You have to hold still!" You laugh as he fidgets again. "You're going to end up ripping it and we don't have time to get a new one. 

You're attempting to help him put on a Christmas sweater, working against the laws of physics to get the thin neck around his too-big head. You're almost there, but he keeps moving around, as he always does when he's really excited like this. 

His rays pop out just a tad before they react again, voice slightly muffled by the sweater. "I know, I know! I'm sorry, I can't help it, Sunshine!"

"We're almost there, just a little more... there!" The sweater finally makes it over his head, and you see his smiling face once more. 

He jumps up, and adjust the sweater a little before standing proud, hands on his hips. "Well, how do I look?"

"Oh, very handsome." You put a hand to your chest. "The green really matches your eyes."

"Why thank you~" He says, and you both giggle. 

You look around for the antlers, snatching them up and handing them to him. "It's a bummer Moon won't let you wear the nose."

"You know him, always a downer." Sun fixes the headband on his head, you'd made it just for him so that it'd fit well. "At least he's wearing the hat."

You look around for your bag, grabbing it and slinging it onto your shoulder. "Very true, he'll look out of place if he doesn't."

There was a Christmas party tonight at the Plex, and anyone and everyone was going. That included yourself, the Daycare Attendant, and the other animatronics. It was going to be a night filled with fun and good times, and you were more than excited about it. Especially since this was your first holiday season with Sun & Moon as your partners.

"Ready to go?" You ask, as Sun makes the final adjustments to his head gear. 

"Just one thing left!" He bends down to your level, and out of nowhere, pulls out another pair of antlers, situating them on your head. "There! Now we match."

You giggle, and stand on your tip toes to give him a quick kiss. "Thank you. Now come on! We're going to end up being late, and we'll never hear the end of it from Freddy, bless his heart."

Sun's rays flutter and he nods quickly, grabbing your hand and taking the lead as you exit the Daycare. 

The entire Plex is decorated to the nines in decorations, but not in a tacky, corporate way like you'd expect. It's festive, but not overbearing. You can't help but admire it as you walk through. 

When you arrive to the West arcade, you find it's just the same, all sorts of wreaths, tinsel, and more are strung up all along the walls and railings. There's a massive tree situated next to the DJ, who grooves along to holiday music, he's also dressed up. A stovetop hat on his head and a giant fake corncob pip in between his teeth. You wonder who helped him with that one. 

You see the other animatronics are all dressed up as different holiday characters too. Freddy is playing the part of Santa, Chica's an elf, Monty makes you laugh with his Grinch costume, and Roxy looks fabulous as the Sugar Plum Fairy. They too, express disappointment that Sun's missing his red nose, but compliment your outfits nonetheless. 

The night proceeds exactly as you expect. You chat and catch up with coworkers you haven't seen in a while—ones you worked closely with prior to the Daycare—and Sun visits with his friends. You dance and sing along to different Christmas songs, DJ Music Man even dims the lights every so often so Moon is able to participate too. He gets many compliments on his red hat, and he merely mumbles 'thank you' in response. 

"It's true, it suits you well." You comment as another person walks by. 

The two of you are slow dancing to an older song, one you can't think of the name of currently. 

Moon tsks, looking down to you. "I'd believe you better if you weren't smiling so much, Star."

"It's true!" You laugh as he spins you. "You know I wouldn't lie to you."

He hums. "I suppose that's true. You're a terrible liar."

"Hey now, it's Christmas, be a little more considerate, yeah?"

Moon dips you, leaning in so your foreheads touch. "Considerate of what? Your bad lying skills or your feelings?"

"Both you jerk!" You swat at him as he chuckles. 

The sound of giggling a bit behind you, beyond the edge of the dancefloor distracts him momentarily, looking away from you. 

"What's that they're doing over there?"

You tilt your head back to look, and you see an upside down couple kissing under mistletoe that one of them is holding up, your heart drops to your stomach. Oh no. 

You swallow, looking upright again with a sheepish smile. "Well, funnily enough, you know that 'me being a terrible liar' thing we were just talking about?" You laugh nervously as his eyes narrow. "I uh, may have been doing a better job than you think."

It hadn't meant to happen, rather, it was a slip up that you just never corrected. Mainly, because you knew if either Sun or Moon knew what mistletoe stood for in relation to Christmas, they may go a bit, wild with it, to put it lightly. So, you just, never told them what it represented, skirting around the topic and saying something like 'it's just something you put up for the holidays'. 

You'd done this in the hopes that one day you could bring it up causally—preferably long after Christmas so they couldn't retaliate—and things would be much easier on you. 

Now though, you've been caught, and you quickly realize they're not going to let you off easy with this one. Your face and ears burn as you mumble out your explanation, and before you've even finished Moon is marching you over to the couple, politely asks them where they found the dubious little herb, and drags you along to retrieve his own. 

Once he does, you're forced to sit at a nearby table, in a quiet corner of the party, and are subjected to several kisses. Then, once you think it's over and you're free. Moon walks over to DJ Music Man, and to your horror you realize he's asking the bot to turn up the lights. 

Moon's expression is cat-like as he wiggles his fingers goodbye to you, Sun appearing in his place. He takes a moment to reapply his antlers, then whips to face you, eyes nothing but devious crescents as he waves cheerfully to you, walking back. 

"Oh lord I'm not strong enough for this." Your head goes into the table, feeling completely and utterly embarrassed. You're thankful now that someone spiked the eggnog, meaning no one is really paying attention to your little table in the corner. 

Unfortunately for you, not everyone at this party has the ability to drink eggnog, liquor-infused or not. 

There's a clink as something is set down on the table in front of you. A glass of punch you realize. You look up and to your right and see Chica's standing there, whistling as she glances to the side. 

She glances over at you briefly. "Thought you could use something to cool you down. Your internal temperature is reading as feverish, hot stuff. There's nothing in it, I didn't think you'd want that."

"You'd be right." You snatch up the drink, downing it in one go. You gasp when you finish, wiping your mouth. "Thank you."

She winks. "Anytime. Now go get 'em tiger! Freddy can only distract him for so long."

Your face starts burning again, and turning back you see that Sun is indeed currently talking to Freddy. He's still got the friendly demeanor he always has, but you can see how impatiently he's tapping his foot. Based on how happy Freddy is, you're guessing he has absolutely no idea he was sent as sabotage. 

"Right. Thank you." You stand up suddenly, chair squeaking as you do. Chica laughs, clapping you on the back before you walk off. 

When Sun sees you approach, he snatches up his opportunity. "Ah, there they are! Sorry to cut things short, Freddy, but I was promised another dance."

"Of course! No worries my friend." Freddy waves as Sun starts to lead you away again, barely able to say goodbye. "Have fun you two!"

Sun turns to call back to him. "Don't worry! We will." 

You gulp. 

As opposed to another private corner, Sun leads you up one of the staff stairwells. You're going up to the catwalks, you realize as you step out onto the platform, high above the party. It's a little quieter up here, but still just as lovely. You walk out to roughly the middle, Sun sitting down with you facing him in his lap after a moment. 

"This is, um, quite the scenery change." You say, glancing around. 

Sun tilts his head, tone as mischievous as ever. "I thought the change would be good, since it's not as easy to hide away. And you do seem oh so flustered."

"That's so not fair." You say as he kisses you. "This is exactly why I didn't tell you! I knew this was going to be the result."

Another kiss. "You don't seem to be complaining."

"Well no, I'm benefiting from it a great deal. Complaining is the antithesis of what I want currently."

Sun laughs at that, and you do as well, wrapping your arms around his neck as you initiate a kiss this time. 

"I've had a lot of fun tonight, you know. I'm glad we got to do this."

Sun's arms wraps around your back, encircling you in a warm hug. "We are too. I love you, Sunshine. Merry Christmas."

"I love you too." A kiss to his cheek. "Both of you. Merry Christmas."

You spend a large remainder of the rest of the party in each other's arms. And you would have gotten away with it too, had you not forgotten to wipe Sun's faceplate off, covered in bright red kisses marks from the lip gloss you'd worn. 

Totally worth it. 

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Thank you for the request @ccccaptain-clownyyy!! As i said i was hoping for a holiday party one, glad I got to do it to finish us out :)

Thanks for reading!

Masterpost link

Tag list (if you would like added, see this post for more info, you can also dm me!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay

[fierymiasma]

ꕥYou Look Better In Greenꕥ//Sebastian x MC

NOW WITH PART 2: And You Look Fetching in Yellow

Summary: In which Sebastian sees the new transfer student wearing someone else's scarf and proceeds to absolutely lose it.

Word Count: 1.5k

|| Masterlist || AO3 ||

Ever since the new 5th year joined Hogwarts and knocked Sebastian on his ass (while stealing his heart at the same time), Sebastian developed a new morning ritual.  He would arrive, as late as possible as usual, to breakfast, plop down on the empty spot that Ominis had so nicely saved for him, listen to Imelda prattle on about some boring Quidditch news, and sigh and longingly stare over at the Hufflepuff table.

It was always something different every day, much to Sebastian's delight.  Sometimes she would wear the most eccentric outfit, a clashing cacophony of mismatched colors that only she could pull off while being the most gorgeous witch in Hogwarts.  Sometimes she would arrive late, wiping the sleep from her eyes, tired from their shared late night misadventures.

This morning Sebastian was unlucky.  Sitting directly across from Poppy, she was obscured from Sebastian's gaze.

Even more unlucky, Imelda Reyes decided she had permission to sit next to him.

"Did you see what the new Hufflepuff was wearing today, Sebastian?"  Imelda teased.

Ugh.  "No, why should I care?  It's not like I spend my mornings just ogling her."

"Of course not."  Imelda said breezily.  "It's only been the talk of the entire school.  Surprised you were the last to hear about it, what with you practically drooling over her every morning."

Ominis snorted into his porridge.

"I have no idea what you're on about.  What she does doesn't concern me in the slightly."  Sebastian lied like the lying liar he was.

Imelda shrugged.  "Oh, that's a shame.  And here I was about to bring you the news that your favorite Hufflepuff is most definitely off the market now.  Looks like someone got to her before you did."

"WHAT?"  Sebastian bellowed.

Imelda grinned.  "See for yourself, pretty boy."

Playing right into her trap, Sebastian stood up, now blatantly searching for the Hufflepuff.  He was able to angle his view around Poppy.  A part of him was excited to see what ridiculous set outfit she was wearing today.  Sebastian didn't see what the fuss was all about.  Nothing unusual, her usual Hufflepuff robes, a grey sweater, and-

-And a Red and Yellow Gryffindor scarf.  

His mind went blank.  The usual bustling of voices in the Great Hall silenced themselves.  Sebastian could feel the heat erupt in the back of his eyes.  His wand shot dangerous hot sparks, itching for a fight.

Who, in Salazar Slytherin's name, gave her that?

She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf in front of the whole damn school.  Anyone who was anyone knew what that meant.  Why, it was practically a front page advertisement on the Daily Prophet!  Wearing another House's apparel meant you were seeing someone.  Off the market.  No longer available.  Every other day you would see a Ravenclaw girl wear a new black and yellow tie.  A Slytherin showing off their newly acquired blue coat.  It was a possessive silly schoolboy thing, but if you were an eligible bachelor or bachelorette, you wore your gifted scarf with pride.

Who in Merlin's name would claim what was rightfully his?  Who would be daft enough?

He didn't even register that his body was moving, until he was halfway across the Great Hall, making a beeline straight towards the Hufflepuff table.

"Morning."  He greeted Poppy and the new transfer student stiffly, interrupting their conversation.

"Oh Sebastian!  Good morning!  Did you have any of the strawberry tarts?  They're especially good today!"  She beamed behind the offending Gryffindor scarf that was around her neck.

"Who gave you that?"

"Oh, well, I'm pretty sure the House elves make the tarts from scratch and then they sort of apparate it up here.  I'm actually not quite sure how their magic-"

"Who gave you that tacky thing?  Was it Garreth?  Prewett?  I always knew that weasel was up to no good.  I should remind him o-"

She looked at him in alarmed confusion.  "What on earth are you talking about Sebastian?"

Sebastian felt his jaw clench.  So, she had no idea.  Of course she wouldn't.  She was a new transfer student, immensely popular and with half the school falling over themselves fawning over her.  It had to Prewett.  Only that sniveling bastard was underhanded enough to trick Sebastian's Hufflepuff into something so nefarious.  Practically broadcasting to the whole school that they were dating.  Gryffindor chivalry indeed, taking advantage of someone like that.  He bet all Prewett had to do is go up to her with his big, ugly nose and manipulate her into wearing that disgusting thing.

"Your scarf," he spat.  "Who gave it to you?"

Her eyes darted at Poppy who gave her a bewildered shrug.  She blinked in confusion, almost as if she forgot she was wearing it.  "Oh, this?  It's so cozy and warm, isn't it?  I think it really matches with my complexion!"

Sebastian could practically feel his back molar crack.

She continued, unaware of the inner storm brewing inside of Sebastian.  "Natty and I were out at Hogsmeade and got caught in the rain.  My poor scarf got soaked, and I haven't had a chance to learn the drying charm yet.  She was nice enough to lend me hers instead!"

He deflated, wand dropping into his pocket; fight forgotten.  "Ah…Natty…the other…transfer"  Of course.  It wasn't that long ago that Natty transferred and was learning all the nuances of the social intertwining of a different country much less Hogwarts social etiquette.  Probably thought all of this was silly anyway.

"Is something the matter, Sebastian?"  She leaned over placing her gentle hand on his forehead.  "You're awfully red.  You're practically burning up!"

Poppy tried to hide her laughter behind her hands.  

Sebastian's blush was so strong it practically hid all the freckles on his face.  Arms flapping around, he pushed away her hand from his forehead.  "Never mind me.  It's a miracle you didn't get sick wearing that silly thing.  If you really needed an extra scarf you should have come straight to me."

He started undoing his own warm green and silver scarf.  And with the most nonchalance and charm he could muster, he gently wrapped it around his Hufflepuff's neck.  Green and silver framed her rising blush so nicely.  Something deep in his stomach purred possessively in approval.

"There.  All better.  Those colors match you better anyway.  Red and yellow look awful on you."  He flushed.  "Not that you ever look awful.  You look fantastic.  One of-No, the best looking person at Hogwarts."  His ears burned as Poppy practically howled in laughter unable to hold herself back any longer.  "Um, best looking friend at Hogwarts.  Much better than that old Ominis anyhow."

His Hufflepuff blushed, trying to hide her smile behind her newly acquired gift.  The butterflies in her stomach were practically doing flips.  "Thank you, Sebastian.  Y-you're not so bad yourself, for a Slytherin."

He nodded stiffly.  "Well, if you ever need any more just ask me.  Slytherin is a good look on you."  He wasn't sure what to do now that his mission was complete.  "Um, don't ask Ominis though.  He…um…he hates it when people borrow his clothes.  Gets all particular about his things.  Just come to me whenever you need anything."

Her eyes swam in amusement, and she brought Sebastian's scarf closer to her face, inhaling the rich dark scent left behind.  A rich oak wood, some warm-scented cologne, and a slight musk that was undeniably Sebastian.  Her eyes never left his gaze as she gauged his reaction.  "Oh, how lucky, that I am friends with the most charitable Slytherin I know.  It's nice to know that my friends are so concerned about me."

Sebastian's knees felt weak.  He mustered up the energy to croak out, "Well, it's not all charity.  It's nice having friends in my debt."

She got closer to him, in the mood for something a bit more daring.  "Well, I would hate to always be in your debt.  There must be some way to repay you."

His mouth gaped open.  For once, the manipulative, charming Slytherin was at a lost for words.

"How about I treat my favorite Slytherin to some Butterbeer?  My treat?  I have to start paying back some of that debt somehow."

Sebastian's mouth was dry.  "If I have nothing better to do, I suppose I'll join you.  It's not like I'm doing anything."  (Ominis wouldn't mind getting ditched.)

"It's a date then."  Sebastian choked at her words.  "7'oclock.  Three Broomsticks.  I'll see you then."

Sebastian nodded stiffly and promptly marched himself to the Slytherin table, a bit bewildered as to what just occurred.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Poppy's laughter finally subsided, as she finally got a moment's rest to wipe the tears away from her eyes.  "Blimey, I can't believe that worked.  I knew borrowing Natty's scarf was a brilliant move."

The other girl smiled, gently packing away the old scarf borrowed from Natty back into her bags, right on top of her very own and very dry Yellow and black scarf that was secretly tucked away.  "What can I say Poppy?  Sometimes to catch a Slytherin you got to think like a Slytherin."

Part 2

AO3: fierymiasma