#decor company in turkey

[gundogdumobilya]

[luckystarchild]

In an act of petty revenge against intolerant family, I make a point to steal our holiday traditions and haphazardly distribute them to others. Mostly gay people, but also to my unsuspecting coworkers at the company potluck.

This year I stole THE BUTTER TURKEY and also THE CREAM CHEESE APPETIZER, which I mashed up into one single holiday abomination.

What is The Cream Cheese Appetizer?

This appetizer is popular among WASPs in Central Texas. I have no idea if it's popular elsewhere or with other demographics. It has appeared, without fail, at every single family gathering I've attended since I was born. It comprises a block of cream cheese, crackers, and "pepper jelly." Pepper jelly is some kind of fruit jam with chipotle or jalapenos in it for spice. You smear the spicy-sweet jelly and cheese on a cracker and enjoy. It's good, and low effort, and looks fancier than it actually is:

Obviously this is not funny enough to bring to the potluck, however, and not specific enough to my family to count as a true theft. So:

What is The Butter Turkey?

Every year my relatives take a stick of butter (used for spreading on rolls/potatoes) and mold it by hand into the shape of a three-dimensional turkey. I guess it's supposed to be... decorative? Festive? I have no idea who started this or conceived of the idea. Either way, it's funny, and also kinda weird, so at the work potluck I decided to make a butter turkey...but with the cream cheese of the above appetizer instead of butter. Theft AND ingenuity. Love that.

So I took the cream cheese to work today, and (after thoroughly washing up) crafted my son, Cuthbert.

I love him. He has wings, a waddle, and a wonderful tail. It took just 3 minutes to make him but I will love him forever.

Now, the only kind of pepper jelly I could find at the grocery store last night was raspberry. I thought nothing of this. That sounded delicious to me. So once Cuthbert was formed, I took him happily to the appetizer table, placed him just so, and proceeded to pour the pepper jelly over his body.

Immediately I realized my mistake.

He belongs in a children's hospital.

Arranging the crackers around him did nothing to hide the bloodbath. My coworkers chuckled. A few guffawed as they stabbed his already bleeding body with a cheese knife. And all the while I muttered: The turkey is no more. He has ceased to be. He's expired and gone to meet his holiday maker. He's stiff. Bereft of life. Resting in peace. If I hadn't formed him on a plate, he'd be pushing up the daisies. His metabolic processes are now history. He's off the twig. He's kicked the bucket, shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleeding choir invisible. This is an EX-TURKEY.

But then I realized, amid the chuckles and the laughs...the raspberry was actually the right choice. The perfect choice. The ONLY choice. The raspberry pepper jelly's gory glory is what makes Cuthbert the perfect Thanksgiving mascot, because in this lurid display of violent WASP appetizer creation, Cuthbert reminds us all of the true spirit of the holiday: one of colonial violence and bloodshed.

Cuthbert, therefore, is the perfect embodiment of this holiday, and I intend to resurrect this ex-turkey every year for the rest of my life.

[imreidswifey]

A Thanksgiving Revelation

Summary: After two years of keeping his relationship a secret, Dr. Spencer Reid surprises his BAU family by bringing his stunning and kind-hearted girlfriend, Y/N, to Thanksgiving dinner at Rossi’s house. What starts as shock and curiosity quickly turns into warmth and acceptance as the team gets to know Y/N, marveling at the woman who captured their genius friend’s heart. For Spencer, it’s a night of vulnerability, love, and the merging of two important worlds.

A/n: this was so fun to make. Hope you enjoy. Please make any request that you have. 

Warnings:

Fluff and wholesome content

Mild social awkwardness (classic Spencer Reid moments)

Themes of family and found family dynamics

Light teasing and playful banter

Some mentions of insecurity (Spencer’s concerns about introducing Y/N)

———————————————————————————-

David Rossi’s house was a masterpiece of elegance, adorned with tasteful holiday decor and filled with the tantalizing aroma of roasted turkey and pumpkin pie. Thanksgiving at Rossi’s had become a BAU tradition, a rare chance for the team to relax and enjoy each other’s company without the looming shadow of their work.

Spencer Reid had arrived early, helping Rossi set up while the others trickled in. As the team chatted and sipped on wine, Spencer casually mentioned he’d be leaving to pick up his “special guest.”

“Special guest?” Emily Prentiss repeated, arching an eyebrow as she expertly poured herself a glass of red wine. “Spence, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I… uh… it’s just someone I thought you’d all like to meet,” Spencer replied, his hands fumbling nervously with the sleeves of his sweater vest.

Garcia practically pounced on him, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you saying what I think you’re saying? Are you bringing a date? A lady friend?”

Spencer’s face turned an impossible shade of crimson. “It’s not a big deal, okay? I’ll just… I’ll be back soon.” And with that, he was out the door, leaving behind a buzz of excitement and speculation.

When Spencer returned, the chatter in the living room came to an abrupt halt. Standing beside him, her hand delicately resting in his, was you. The first thing the team noticed was how undeniably stunning you were. Your features radiated an effortless beauty, and your warm smile lit up the room like the flickering glow of the Thanksgiving candles. You were dressed elegantly but casually, your outfit perfectly complementing your natural charm.

The silence stretched for just a beat too long.

“Uh, everyone, this is Y/N,” Spencer said, his voice a mixture of nerves and pride.

JJ was the first to recover, her jaw slightly agape as she smiled. “Wait… Spencer… this is who you’ve been hiding from us?”

“Hiding is a strong word,” Spencer mumbled, glancing at you apologetically.

“You didn’t even hint you had a girlfriend,” Emily chimed in, her eyes narrowing in mock accusation. “And two years? Are you serious?”

“Two years?” Derek Morgan exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up. He glanced between the two of you, his playful smirk firmly in place. “Pretty Boy, you’ve been holding out on us.”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Spencer said quickly, his cheeks flaming. “And… I didn’t want to overwhelm Y/N.”

“Overwhelm her?” Garcia interjected, standing and practically running over to greet you. “Sweetheart, you’re gorgeous! Spencer, no wonder you kept this a secret. You were worried we’d steal her away!”

You laughed, the sound soft and genuine. “I think he was more worried you’d scare me off.”

Rossi chuckled from his spot by the fireplace, raising his glass. “Smart man. We can be a lot to handle.”

As introductions were made, the team took turns gawking—not so subtly—at Spencer’s choice in a partner. It wasn’t just your beauty that captivated them; it was the way you carried yourself, with confidence and kindness, and how Spencer looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“So how did you meet?” Emily asked as the group settled around the dining table, with you seated beside Spencer.

“It was at a bookstore,” you began, glancing at Spencer. “I overheard him recommending a book to someone, and I was so intrigued that I went over to ask him about it.”

“She thought I was showing off,” Spencer interjected, a rare mischievous glint in his eye.

“Well, you were quoting entire passages and explaining the cultural significance of the author,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

“That sounds about right,” JJ said with a laugh. “Classic Spencer.”

You smiled at Spencer, your eyes softening. “But I thought it was endearing. He wasn’t showing off—he was just so passionate about it. We ended up talking for hours, and the rest is history.”

“You must have the patience of a saint,” Morgan joked. “Spencer can’t order a coffee without giving the barista a lesson on the origin of beans.”

“Oh, I love that about him,” you said, earning a chorus of “aww”s from the group. Spencer’s ears turned red again, but this time he was smiling.

As the evening wore on, the team got to know you better. You shared stories about your relationship, like how Spencer always left sticky notes with random facts on the fridge for you, or how he insisted on teaching you the basics of chess despite your protests.

“You’ve got a good one here, Y/N,” Rossi said as he handed you a slice of pumpkin pie. “I hope he knows how lucky he is.”

“I remind myself every day,” Spencer said quietly, his hand finding yours under the table.

As the night wound down, Garcia turned to you with a dreamy sigh. “Y/N, I have to say, you’re absolutely amazing. And stunning. I mean, no offense, but Spencer? How did he manage this?”

“Garcia!” Spencer groaned, hiding his face in his hands as the room erupted in laughter.

“It’s true!” she exclaimed, unapologetic. “Y/N, you’re like a movie star, and Spencer is… well, Spencer.”

You smiled, leaning closer to Spencer. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” you said, your voice warm. “He’s even more amazing than you think.”

That quiet confession silenced the room for a moment, the team exchanging soft smiles. Spencer looked at you, his hazel eyes brimming with gratitude and love.

Rossi raised his glass again. “To Spencer and Y/N—an exceptional couple. Here’s to family, in all its forms.”

As the toast echoed around the table, Spencer squeezed your hand, his heart full. For the first time, his two worlds had collided, and instead of falling apart, they’d created something beautiful—a family he could finally share you with.

[raichoose]

CHRISTMAS STARTERS!

Feel free to revise as necessary to fit your muse's speech, change pronouns, etc.

Sentences

"Did you get a tree yet?"

"Can you help me decorate the tree?"

"How are we out of garland? We always reuse it!"

"Oh, shoot! I broke an ornament!"

"Should we use the red and green lights, or the yellow lights?"

"I got a new reindeer for the yard. It lights up and moves its head."

"I got a nativity for the yard."

"Don't interrupt me! Decorating for Christmas is a delicate process!"

"Can you hold the ladder for me? I have to hang these lights up."

"Can you help me decorate the house?"

"I bought all this when it went on sale on the 26th last year. Best time to get Christmas decorations, you know?"

"Look! Reindeer candles!"

"Look! A Santa candle!"

"I'm baking cookies. Come taste the dough."

"I can't get enough of these gingerbread cookies!"

"I got new cookie cutters. Santa, trees, reindeer, snowflakes ... "

"You can't go wrong with classic sugar cookies and icing, you know."

"Want to help me decorate the cookies?"

"Should I make a ham or a turkey this year?"

"Have you finished your Christmas shopping yet?"

"I always make my presents by hand. It feels more meaningful to me."

"I have no idea what to get [NAME] for Christmas. What did you get them?"

"I hate when it snows!"

"I love when it snows!"

"What's your favorite Christmas carol?"

"Would you rather host dinner on Christmas Eve or Christmas day?"

"What do you want for Christmas?"

"Tell me what to buy you for Christmas and then forget you told me, okay?"

"I might just give everyone money this year."

"Are you okay with getting a gift card?"

"You don't need to get me anything. Your company is enough."

"Want to go sit on Santa's lap?"

"Did you write a letter to Santa?"

"I always go to mass on Christmas Eve."

"The park has a Christmas village set up! We should go!"

"I'm winning the neighborhood light contest this year! Bet on that!"

"Here. I got you reindeer antlers for the party."

"Here. I got you an elf hat for the party."

"Here. I got you a Santa hat for the party."

"No mistletoe allowed!"

"You know that's holly and not mistletoe, right?"

"I love eggnog. Wish it was around all year and not just the holidays."

"Debate time: fake tree or real tree?"

"Debate time: eggnog or apple cider?"

"Debate time: cocoa with milk or cocoa with water?"

"It's so cold out!"

"I'm going to get a fire going."

"I need to buy a few more stocking stuffers."

"If you don't stop sing-screaming Christmas carols, I'm shoving a candy cane down your throat."

"I hate Christmas music."

"I love Christmas music!"

"I'm so tired of going to Christmas parties. I just want to stay in and sleep this weekend."

"I can't wait for all the parties this year!"

"I hate peppermint, to be honest."

"I wish pumpkin spice was still around."

"Bring on the peppermint!"

"I always bake like a fiend in December."

"I made you some hot chocolate."

"I dare you to try the fruit cake."

"I bought candy canes!"

"Let's buy those gag candy canes. You know, the ones that taste like hot dogs and sardines?"

"If you don't like The Muppets Christmas Carol, are you even human?"

"Christmas is my favorite holiday."

"I hope it snows this year. I don't like a warm Christmas."

"Should I wear the red dress or the green dress to the party?"

"Christmas is about spending time with friends and family."

"Please come over on Christmas. No one should be alone, not then!"

"Wait, you mean I have to try to replace every bulb until I find the one light that's actually out?!"

"It's the most wonderful time of the year, just like that song says!"

"I'm always happier this time of year."

"I always feel melancholy this time of year."

"Merry Christmas!"

"Happy holidays!"

"Bah humbug."

Actions

Send "TREE: SELECT" for our muses to look for a Christmas tree.

Send "TREE: DECORATE" for our muses to decorate a Christmas tree.

Send "COOKIES" for our muses to bake cookies.

Send "CHEFS" for our muses to cook a Christmas dinner.

Send "CAROLS" for our muses to go caroling. (Feel free to specify a song!)

Send "HOUSE" for our muses to put up lights and other Christmas or winter decorations.

Send "LIGHTS" for our muses to go look at Christmas lights in the neighborhood.

Send "COCOA" for our muses to drink hot chocolate (on the porch, by the fireplace, etc.).

Send "SNOWMAN" for our muses to build a snowman.

Send "SNOWBALL" for our muses to have a snowball fight.

Send "SHOP" for our muses to go gift shopping.

Send "MUSIC" to listen to Christmas music with my muse. (Feel free to specify a song!)

Send "MISTLETOE" for our muses to meet under the mistletoe for a kiss.

Send "CHURCH" for our muses to go to Christmas mass.

Send "PARTY" for our muses to attend the same Christmas party.

Send "SKATE" for our muses to go ice skating.

Send "SKI" for our muses to go skiing.

Send "VILLAGE" for our muses to go on a walk through a Christmas village (at a park, a garden, etc.).

Send "WRAP" for our muses to work together to wrap presents.

Send "SLED" for our muses to go sledding.

Send "WISH" for my muse to tell yours what they hope happens in the new year.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

hello!! how about something with spencer about christmas? 🎄🎄🎄

Lovely Christmas 🎄 [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

summary: the entire team gets together to celebrate Christmas and Spencer gives you a pleasant surprise.

note: merry next Christmas everyone! I hope you like it:)

Christmas, time to celebrate, give and receive. All that advertising in the stores worked to the point that you really felt a certain warmth on the holiday, despite the low degrees of the Virginia climate.

The team members, at Penelope's initiative, had agreed to have a small meeting to celebrate Christmas Eve this year, due to the uncertainty of not knowing how many Christmases you had left as a team because of everything chaotic that had happened lately. Mainly also because you had never celebrated that date together.

Everyone was there, the little ones, the older ones, some old members of the team, the new ones, husbands, wives, friends... in short, it was a big party. Of course Dave had offered his house to host the event and you, without complaint, had agreed. He had probably hired someone to do it, but the house was decorated masterfully, with lights, trees, Christmas boots, a life-size dancing Santa and even the white snow bathing the entire patio that could be seen from the glass doors. That's why Rossi couldn't be prouder, being the best of hosts as he always was.

You were euphoric about everything and you didn't even know where you should start enjoying. On the one hand, there was the opportunity to talk to friends from work that I hadn't seen in years, on the other hand, you could spend time with the kids and hug little baby Morgan, and last but not least, you could drink punch and hot chocolate in the company of the group that had gathered in that area. You decided on that option and very soon you were chatting friendly with Aaron and Emily.

“Jack wants a video game console for Christmas and I told him that only if he behaved well Santa could bring it, although I have a feeling that only one of us is pretending that he exists” he was telling you, laughing, when suddenly someone interrupted him.

“Jeez, it's freezing outside,” the voice, quite familiar to you, complained.

It was Spencer, who had just arrived with rosy cheeks, snowflakes scattered in his hair, his purple scarf and an ugly sweater that had gingerbread men all over it. He looked simply adorable.

“Reid!” you said happily, walking over to give him a hug which he gladly reciprocated. “Do you want me to serve you a cup of chocolate?”

“Oh, I would love you even more if you did that,” he replied, grinning at you from ear to ear with those gorgeous white teeth.

Being with all your friends makes you very happy, but there is one friend in particular who completely lights up your world. That's Spencer, and he was doing it right then.

“Here you go, handsome,” you murmured playfully, while you placed a full cup between his recently ungloved hands. He sighed as he took a sip of the drink and looked at you gratefully.

He joined in without any difficulty and soon the two of you were laughing at the story Emily was telling you, close enough to each other to be considered friendly. That's how it was always with him, despite his obvious fear of germs, he didn't mind being around you, much less when you laughed and leaned against his side a little or when you were telling a story and you constantly touched him. It felt natural to him, only when it came to you.

Rossi served turkey for all of you, one that you knew he had prepared because of the peculiar flavor and Italian ingredients. You had sat in front of Spencer and thanks to that you could see all his expressions during dinner, which were pure happiness. Seeing him happy made you happy too, as if you were infected with a delicious disease.

And suddenly you found yourself staring at him for too long and making jokes just to make him smile, as if he was the only one there with you.

During dinner you shared anecdotes, as always, Penny handed out candy to children and adults, the former members talked about how their new job was going and among all that it very soon became almost midnight.

Some sadness and surprise-filled your chest when Spencer announced that he would be the first to leave.

“I'm going to visit my mom,” he had explained, because you remembered that Diana was now in a health center that was only an hour away. No one dared to hold him back when they found out his reason and there were only a few goodbye hugs.

However, you told the man that you would walk him to the door and as you did so you pulled one of the bags on the floor with you. You stopped under the door frame, which could be seen from the small living room where the group had moved after dinner, and then you spoke.

“Drive carefully, okay?” was the first thing you said, lovingly adjusting the scarf that he was wearing around his neck. “And call me when you get there.”

“I will do it, calm down”

“Before you go, I want to give you something,” you murmured softly. You took out two decorated packages from your bag, one purple and the other pink “One is for you and the other is for your mother. Wish her a Merry Christmas from me”

“Y/N,” he said, sounding touched by what you were offering him. It was clear that what he had in his hands were books and he felt a tug in his heart when he thought that you had gotten one for his mother “I didn't bring you anything, I'm so sorry.”

“That doesn't matter, Spence,” you responded affectionately “It's just a detail, but I hope you like it.”

The man was about to respond when a whistle caught the attention of both of you and when you looked in the direction of the room you noticed that everyone had their eyes on you.

“Tough luck, lovebirds,” Morgan laughed and for a second you didn't understand what was funny about it. But when he pointed his finger at a spot above your head, then you understood.

There was mistletoe there, and you and Spencer were right under it.

“It's tradition,” Rossi began to say, when if he knew that you would refuse, “You can't break it”

“Did you know that the meaning of mistletoe can be found in the culture of the Celts? According to some stories, the druids used it in their spells and even to resurrect the dead, according to some legends of which we have evidence and records in different sources. Furthermore, magical powers are attributed to the plant because it doesn’t come from the sky or the earth, since the roots are neither in the ground nor held in the air: the mistletoe is maintained thanks to the deciduous tree that it parasitizes”

You giggled childishly as you listened to Spencer speak, probably to calm your nerves at the thought of having to kiss him, and he didn't even notice because he was so excited to share that bit of knowledge he had for the occasion.

“And that's why you have to kiss her, Reid! Legend says that if a woman is kissed under the mistletoe, she will be able to find the love of her life. And who knows, maybe our poor Y/N already needs some luck in that area”

You wanted to kill JJ for saying that, but at the same time you couldn't think about anything but what he would do. You didn't even know if he would dare to kiss you in front of all your coworkers and you wouldn't blame him if he didn't, after all you were just friends.

"Would it bother you?" he asked quietly. He didn't look the least bit nervous and that really made you nervous.

“Do you really want to kiss me?”

“Well, it's tradition,” he murmured, shrugging, while he smiled at you calmly. Apparently this hadn't affected him like it did you.

“Okay, then it’s… it’s okay.”

You would have liked to say the words more calmly, but you couldn't, and the little confidence you had left disappeared when Spencer raised one of his hands to cup your cheek and planted a kiss on your lips. It was a gentle kiss, sweet and short, but it made you shiver completely.

Honestly, no one expected you two to actually kiss, that's why when he pulled away from you the whole room was completely silent. You were shocked, they were shocked.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he said, carefully caressing the skin of your face with his hand that was still holding it.

You made a superhuman effort to find your voice.

"Merry Christmas too"

He gave you one last caress and then said goodbye to the rest, waving his hand happily; they responded a little less enthusiastically, probably due to astonishment. The door closed, but you stood, staring into space as you tried to process what had just happened.

“Someone help the poor woman, it looks like she is going to have a heart attack”

Nobody, absolutely nobody, expected a comment like that coming from Aaron Hotchner and perhaps that was what made the moment a thousand times funnier.

“Did Reid really kiss you? I hope we aren’t experiencing a collective hallucination.”

“He didn't even hesitate! That's my boy"

“Everyone shut up,” you said finally, feeling all your blood pooling in your cheeks as you walked back to the living room “I don't think any of you want to be knocked out by a federal agent on Christmas Eve”

They laughed and eventually so did you. Reid wrote you a message when he arrived with his mother and you smiled as you remembered the kiss he had given you, the one that, without a doubt just as the legend said, led you to find the love of your life.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14 @spencerslove @instabull @rhiannonhippiegirl @r-3dlips @missabsey @olivia’s-25

[mangoshorthand]

A Hargreeves Christmas Carol | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader | Ch. 1

SUMMARY: Luther is the sort of idiot who goes around with a 'Merry Christmas' and a goofy smile on his lips. In your opinion, he should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. Who better to teach you the error of your ways than Luther's brother, the man who holds the power of Christmases Past, Present, and Yet to Come in the palm of his hand? Info/Announcement Post

Chapter One (Rated G-T, 3.4k words)

Marley's Ghost

Luther was annoying to begin with, there was no doubt whatsoever about that. Despite this, you developed a grudging friendship with him over the years, based mainly on the fact he was impossible to spurn. 

He was a regular in your little bar, and his good moods were completely unflappable. No matter how surly and taciturn you might be with him on a bad day, he always greeted you like his best friend the next time you saw him. In this fashion, his company became gradually bearable to you over the years you knew him, and you learned to welcome his bright-eyed, towering figure with no bad grace.

“Hey!” he said, cheerfully, as he bounced through the door early on Christmas Eve, bringing with him a blast of cold air from the slush-filled streets outside. 

You looked up at him and nodded, suppressing a roll of your eyes at his appearance. He was wearing a luxuriant velvet Santa hat and an obnoxious Christmas sweater depicting gingerbread houses, elves, and snowflakes in lurid colors particularly offensive to the eye.

Long ago, you’d concluded that the holidays were for idiots, and, although you liked him, Luther more than qualified. 

Yes, you’d decorated the bar, but as sparsely as it was possible to get away with: few coloured lights here and there and some limp tinsel around the window frames, but that was it. When your employee Robbie tried timidly to introduce a Christmas tree, that bullshit was in the dumpster out back before a half hour had passed.

“Merry Christmas,” Luther said, beaming, “happy holidays, and happy New Year!”

“Merry Christmas, Luther.” Robbie replied, looking up from serving another customer to give him a wave, which Luther returned gleefully. 

“Enough with that bullshit already,” you grumbled, filling him a glass of his usual beer/

“Christmas?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief, “Bullshit? Surely you don’t mean that?”

“Sure I do,” you said, setting his beer down on the bar in front of him and holding out your hand expectantly, “I don’t see what’s particularly ‘merry’ about it. It’s just some commercialised holiday. Idiots going into debt just to buy their kid the latest trash.”

Luther frowned and pulled out a bill.

“I don’t see why it shouldn’t be merry.” he said, though sounding a little disquieted, “You own this place, right? You must see people coming in to celebrate all the time. That sort of happiness is infectious. It must at least make you happy to see other people happy?”

You just scoffed and turned away, busying yourself about the bar taps. 

“Come on,” Luther called after you, in a conciliatory tone, “are you annoyed with me?”

You were, but when you turned back to him, you tried to keep your tone light. 

“Do you have any idea how shit it is working a bar at Christmas? The only thing that makes it worth it is the extra money. People make a mess, they make a lot of noise, they get drunk and they sing. They fuck you up the ass with a candy cane, shove a holly jolly dick in your mouth and expect you to just smile through it.”

There was a moment of silence while Luther absorbed this colorful language, and then he spoke again. 

“I guess you got a point. Customer service at Christmas has gotta be hard. But the day itself is fun, right? It’s a time for family. It’s a time to show people that you care about them”

You let out a loud “pfft.”

“If I’m anywhere on Christmas day, it’s as far away from my family as it’s possible to be. I’ll be at home alone, thank god.”

Luther looked at you, and you found yourself even more irritated by the expression of sympathy in his blue eyes.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, genuinely, “everyone should be with someone they care about on Christmas, even if they don’t celebrate.”

You let out another sound of derision, and Luther looked briefly down at the bar.

“Christmas can make people kinder,” he said, quietly, “and I know they should be kind all year round, but it reminds people to be more open hearted. Peace and goodwill to all men, y'know? And so, yeah, Christmas is commercialised and stuff, but it’s a reminder to love one another and appreciate the people around us. And in this world, I think that’s important.”

As he gave this speech, his voice became more confident, and by the end he was sitting up straighter on his bar stool, looking at you with earnestness that did nothing to improve your mood. 

“Well said Luther,” piped up Robbie, enthusiastically, giving him a little round of applause. 

You shot him a look, and he quickly stopped and went back to cleaning the bar. 

“Bullshit,” you said again, dismissing his sickly speech.

But Luther was undeterred.

“Listen,” he continued, gently, “I’m spending Christmas with my family. It’s low key, and we all bring guests. I’m cooking, and there’s enough to feed twenty. The way I see it, the more the merrier.”

Your nostrils flared. Was he really doing what you thought he was doing?

“I like you,” he said, “you remind me of Five. You remember Five, right?”

You nodded tightly. You more than remembered Five. Over the years he visited the bar with Luther and occasionally alone. You had to admit you found him…intriguing. You’d decided some time ago that you were done with men, but that didn’t mean you didn’t occasionally stop to enjoy the view. 

You and he shared the same cynical sense of humor, and though he wasn’t exactly friendly, he was polite, tipped well, flirted like a pro, and was easy enough on the eye that his occasional acerbic comments were interesting rather than irritating. 

“Five’s a grumpy asshole too,” Luther continued, “but he and I both know what it’s like to be alone. It can break you, and I don’t want to see that happen to you. Why don’t you drop in on us tomorrow?”

He paused here, smiling winningly and giving you time to answer. He looked so much like a gleeful puppy that you half expected him to let his tongue loll out and start panting with excitement. 

But your just-restrained anger had broken its bounds; your face felt flushed, and his canine expression did nothing but prod the angry hound inside of you, raising your hackles.

“Come over,” he said, cajolingly, a hopeful expression starting on his face, “We won’t sing until we get really drunk, and I promise nobody will threaten to sodomise you with a candy cane.” 

He paused and then amended his last statement:

“I can almost promise you nobody will threaten to sodomise you with a candy cane. But come anyway.”

Your lips tightened. You weren’t some charity case. When you finally got the words out, you spoke with low, dangerous emphasis. 

“I think I’d rather see you in hell than see you for Christmas.”

Luther looked hurt, but you didn’t care. Who was he to come into your bar, and lecture you about family and kindness and all that sentimental bullshit. He had no idea. You felt your fists clenching at your sides, and when you continued, your shaking voice got louder with every word:

“What makes you think I want to spend time with you and your weird-ass family?”

“I was just trying to be a friend to you.” Luther said, crestfallen.

“I don’t need friends!” you cried, furious now, “You seriously have to grow up, Luther. Grown-ups don’t believe in Santa Claus, and grown-ups don’t think one day playing nice around a Christmas tree means jack shit. So why not keep all your Christmas shit to yourself and mind your own goddamn business?”

Luther blinked, cut to the quick, and you began to polish the bar in a determined sort of way. 

“Why are you pushing me away?” he asked.

You didn’t answer, so Luther stood, leaving half his beer on the bar.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he said, wounded, but dignified, “I can see now that Christmas doesn’t mean to you what it means to me. But still, I hope you have a good day, whether you celebrate or not.”

You didn’t answer him, pretending to be intent on your work, and his hulking figure retreated, leaving the bar with a quick, sad wave to Robbie. 

You ignored Robbie’s reproachful looks and continued about your business, counting down the hours to closing time when you could get home and get away from all the idiot revellers. 

Meanwhile, the snow thickened outside, and the sky darkened rapidly. It was already a cold day, with thick, portentous clouds, but the evening was bitter, and the night even more so; harsh and biting. 

The Christmas eve party goers were wrapped in layers upon layers of clothing, but even the most stout of them thinned out as the night wore on, scared off by the wind and snowstorm, no doubt fearful of getting stranded in the city if the bad weather persisted.

By the time you closed up, there was nobody there to throw out. All was quiet and still but for the wilting tinsel shifting minutely in the tiny draft at the window frame. The bar was deserted - as dead as a doornail, you might say.

Robbie left as soon as you gave him the nod, head bowed, holding onto his scarf for dear life as it whirled and bucked in the wind that threatened at every moment to tear it from his neck. 

When the door blew closed behind him with an abrupt, wall-shaking slam, you were totally alone. 

The bar was part of an old city block, and thus odd noises were audible in your apartment above at the best of times. As bad as the weather was that night, you could hear strange grindings and creakings as soon as you mounted the stairs. 

The back of your neck prickled, warning you of who knew what, even as you told yourself firmly not to be so ridiculous. 

You shivered, wishing very much that you’d gotten around to changing the light bulb in the windowless stairwell, meaning that you were in full dark as you made your way haltingly up the stairs. 

The stairs were old too: wooden, uneven and whining in protest with every step. Though you weren’t usually one for superstition or hyperbole, your mind couldn’t help but dwell upon the sounds: they sounded increasingly like the wails of desperate, neglected children as you progressed higher and higher towards the top landing. 

At that moment, with your hand at last on the doorknob, there was a strange frisson in the air, something that was half sound and half sensation. 

And your blood ran cold.

This sound was unlike any that could be the result of bad weather on an old building. It was a zap and a crack, and it made all the hairs on your arms stand on end, like the few seconds of eerie anticipation before a lightning strike. 

You froze, suddenly wary of what might be inside. Very slowly, you pressed your ear to the door and listened, yet heard nothing but the wind’s ambient noise.

“Pull yourself together,” you chided yourself under your breath. 

You unlocked and opened the door quietly and hurriedly, not daring to flick on lights in case it alerted an intruder to your presence. Indeed, you found the living space within quiet and empty to the eye, lit slightly by the street lamps outside.

You even checked behind the door, just to reassure yourself that there was nobody lurking behind it.There was nobody there, of course: no sound but for the rushing wind whistling down the street, and no sign that anything might be amiss. 

No sign but that creeping sensation on the back of your neck, of course. 

You sighed, frustrated with your own silliness. 

Still, unable to shake that feeling, you carefully, soundlessly picked up the baseball bat you kept behind your coat stand and crept from living room, to bathroom, to bedroom, just to prove to yourself that you were just being foolish. You even looked behind the couch, behind the shower curtain and under the bed, just for good measure. 

At one point, you gave a violent start at what sounded like an electric whoosh as you stood in front of the wardrobe, but when you opened the door with the bat raised, there was nothing inside that shouldn’t be there.

But there was a smell, you thought. A whiff of something vaguely familiar, and then it was gone. The smell of mint or eucalyptus lingering in the air. 

Again, there was that creeping sensation at the back of your neck, flesh needling, as if you were being…

As if you were being watched.

You whirled around, but again the room and doorway were perfectly empty, and no sound suggested the presence of anybody but yourself and the ceaseless wind outside. 

“It’s nothing but the smell of bullshit,” you muttered to yourself, dismissively. 

When you were finally satisfied that your apartment was indeed quiet and still, you double locked the front door, even putting it on the chain, a precaution you didn’t usually take.

Slightly comforted by this, you moved into the living room to unwind before bed, sat down on the couch, and turned on the TV, reaching likewise to turn on a lamp beside you. 

And then, in the glow from the TV, you saw him.

As large as life, there was a man sitting in the darkest corner of your living room. 

He was well dressed, wearing a three piece suit and a grim expression. But for his very solid appearance, you might have believed he was a ghost, lit as he was in an unearthly hue by the TV’s blue light, throwing his face into a strange distortion of light and shadow. 

You opened your mouth to scream, but before sound could come out, he vanished and reappeared above you, clapping one hand over your mouth with one hand and grabbing your wrists with the other, looking down at you from beneath heavy brows, his strong jaw working with the effort of keeping your flailing hands contained. 

It was then that you recognised him. 

“Fiph?” you cried, muffled from behind his hand, “whadafu?”

It was Five himself. 

He raised his eyebrows, handsome jaw angled upwards. It was an unspoken question: can you be quiet?”

You nodded, and he took his hand away from your mouth. 

“What the fuck, Five?”

And there it was: a waft of mint and eucalyptus that at once explained why it smelled familiar, as well as the noise from your wardrobe. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” you shrieked, panicked again, and he quickly clamped his hand back over your mouth.

“I’m here to talk. Keep your goddamn voice down and turn on that lamp. I can’t see for shit.”

Your whole arm trembling, you turned on the lamp beside you, and Five’s face was lit in a more natural glow.

As always when confronted with Five, you couldn’t help but notice his appearance: his clear, smooth skin; his noble, expressive brow; his intelligent green eyes, shaded by hair and reflecting the lamplight. His long fingers were hooked around your jaw, and you could feel the warmth of his palm against your lips. 

It was this that made you stop trembling.

Sensing this, he removed his hand again, and when you didn’t scream, he sat down on the other end of the couch. Before he settled, he reached back to the armchair he’d just vacated to pull a briefcase across the carpet so that it rested against his feet. 

“What do you want with me?” you asked, half anger, half fear.

“Much,” Five said, simply. 

You stared at him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, surveying you with those eyes, holding yours with quiet authority. 

“You might say I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” he said, “You’ve fucked up.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, half angry, half afraid.

“Well,” he said, settling his hands on his top leg, “I never told you this, but I work for an organization that handles the timeline, and its raison d'être is to make sure that everything happens as it’s supposed to. That’s why I have this briefcase,” he said, tapping it with his foot, “it allows me to travel back and forth in time, and fix fuck ups like yours. 

“I thought you could already travel in time,” you said, “isn’t that, like, your whole thing?”

There was a flicker of annoyance on his face then, and you were glad to see it: it was evidence that you’d pricked his ego, and it was enough to make him seem a little less intimidating.

“I do have natural time travel ability,” he said, carefully, struggling to maintain the almost professional air he’d adopted, “but the briefcase allows me to be precise.”

“So, basically, you suck at time travel without your security blanket?” you said, pressing your advantage. 

Nobody broke into your home and got away without being taken down a peg or two. 

Five scowled, and you felt a brief sense of triumph as he continued. 

“Oh, because you’re so good at time travel?” he snapped, sarcasm dripping from his words.

“No,” you said, causticly, “I own a bar. It’s not exactly in the job description. But if I couldn't make you decent Manhattan without clinging to a recipe book, you might start to think I’m under-qualified.”

Five’s scowl deepened, and even though this should theoretically make him more frightening, it didn’t: it further levelled the playing field.

“As pleasant as this little back and forth is,” he said with a hint of his old flirtation, we’re getting off the point. Little actions can have far-reaching consequences. For example, you spoil one manchild’s Christmas spirit, and then boom, we could have nuclear armageddon on our hands.”

“What?” you asked, taken aback.

“Yep,” he said, seriously, “you’d be amazed how even the most insignificant events can fuck the future beyond all recognition. And, that’s exactly what happened with your angry little diatribe to my brother.”

As you took a couple of seconds to absorb this, Five leaned towards you fractionally, his eyes regaining more of that lost authority.  

You looked back at him, and the air grew heavy at the moment your eyes connected. You felt like a fish on a hook in the pull of his gaze, the sound of wind outside coming into greater prominence in that single, suspended moment. 

There was another bolt of electricity, another raising of the hairs on the back of your neck. Though this time it wasn’t caused by you sensing Five’s power. 

Well, not his superpower, at least. 

Five glanced away and cleared his throat, and the spell was broken. Your mind became a fraction less cloudy and, in doing so, butted against a roadblock in his credibility.

“This is bullshit!” you cried, incredulously “Seriously, an armageddon?”

 Five shrugged.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Actions have consequences, and they snowball. Time is chaos, and one wrong move can fuck up everything.”

You shook your head in denial.

“Do you really expect me to believe that not playing at some sickly, cloying, Christmas with your clown car of a family causes nuclear armageddon?”

Five sighed exasperatedly. 

“Why is it so hard for you to just play nice?” he said, voice betraying annoyance for the first time, “why the hell have you got your panties in such a bunch around Christmas, anyway?”

And then his mouth twitched, and he let out a little chuckle.

“Though I admit that ‘clown car’ is a good description.”

You ignored this, as well as his prying questions and folded your arms defiantly. 

“Fine,” he said, with a hint of smugness, “you don’t have to tell me.”

He reached down to the floor and fiddled with his briefcase, and then grabbed your elbow before you could protest.

 “I guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

His hand tightened on your arm and, in a fizz of static, you were both gone, leaving no trace but the echo of your scream in the empty apartment.

Read Chapter Two >> I FEED OFF COMMENTS AND REBLOGS YUM YUM YUM

Marley's Ghost (left) and The Ghosts of Departed Usurers, or, The Phantoms. (right) Both by John Leech, 1843 in Dickens's A Christmas Carol, first edition (1843).

Dickens' A Christmas Carol full text available here.

Read it! It's a much better than this, and you can see how many lines I stole verbatim or clumsily referenced. If you haven't guessed, 'bullshit' is this Scrooge!Reader's 'bah humbug'.😊 Dividers used in this series by @bernardsbendystraws (garland) and @strangergraphics (lights)

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage, @kaybreezy3000 (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Paranoid, paranoid, paranoid

Things feel out of order

Look and look around, I'm not sure of

Pair of paranoia, no

I can feel it in my aura…"

Tyler the Creator—"Noid"

Life in New Orleans dragged to a crawl for Celeste. Pure drudgery.

With Terry gone, colors didn't look as bright in the world. Food lacked taste and texture. Getting out of bed in the morning took prayers and innate willpower. Her mother sent over aromatic herbal bath salts to soak her body in. Grand-mère left Tupperware sealed containers of sausage gumbo, or fried chicken wings on her stoop that Celeste found after work at night. She acted like an addict suffering from withdrawals. Micah said she might be anemic. She thought about making a doctor's appointment.

Lighting candles and praying didn't make her feel better. Bargaining with lower-tiered saints didn't either. She spent her lonely nights sitting on her stoop chain smoking and drinking more rum punches than usual. The trilling of insects and the calls of nightbirds kept her company until she became numb and crawled into a cold bed.

Dark dreams rattled the peace of her sleep and Celeste often woke up in a sweat, paranoid that she was being watched by some unknown entity in her bedroom or outside her French doors. Her dreams were of a macabre nature with visions of walking in the French Quarter at night, or traipsing along the riverfront at sunset hearing the flapping of large wings behind her back. Terry never appeared in those nightscapes, although she caught glimpses of a shadow slithering across the ground, trying to catch up with her running footsteps. His voice called out to her, and she'd wake up hoping for daylight so she wouldn't have to lie awake for hours waiting for the sun to burn away the eerie webbing of terror that entrapped her every evening.

The worst night happened when sleep paralysis took over her body, and she swore evil shape-shifting shadows crept along the ceiling trying to steal her breath. Eventually, she could wiggle her toes and fingers and slowly regain control of her limbs. On those nights, she missed Terry's enormous body spooned around her, protecting her from the bogeyman.

To his credit, Terry called and left her messages, not completely dumping their connection cold turkey. However, he always chose times when he knew she'd be at work and unable to speak. He still professed his love for her, but he wasn't coming back soon. She left him a voicemail asking for his address, willing to make the drive up to see him, even if it had to be a quick turnaround trip. He never gave it to her.

Long summer days took over. The southern heat rolled in, and so did the start of hurricane season.

An oppressive heatwave layered itself all over Louisiana, and no matter how many cool showers she took, her body sweated buckets in the sauna-like atmosphere. The weather didn't stop her from walking or riding her bike around her neighborhood. She forced herself to stay active, visiting her grandparents more often, and attending random brunches Joyce pulled together.

Nothing filled the void of Terry, though. Eventually, his calls and text messages thinned down to an occasional heart emoji.

On a rare two days off, back-to-back, Celeste slept in and ate leftover pizza. She pulled her locs back into a high pigtail and prepared for a long meditative walk to the French Market to meet up with Joyce and some new people she didn't know. No more moping about Terry. Life had to go on and there were other fish in the Mississippi River. Blah, blah, blah.

Wiping her face with a cool washcloth, she painted on shimmery orange lipstick and added a few gold hair decorations to her locs. She broke out the lime-green summer dress and clear jelly sandals that always made her feel pretty and summery.

Locking her cottage door and the iron security door, she waved to a neighbor across the street and headed north, her feet automatically walking her toward the B&B Terry stayed at. Walking past the property, she looked at the playful statues on the roofs and stopped.

The gargoyle statue was no longer curled behind the big dragon figure. Celeste paced back and forth, craning her neck to see if the glare of sunlight prevented her from seeing it. No, it was definitely gone. She pulled out her smartphone and swiped the screen until she came to her photo gallery. When she looked at the image on her phone, it reminded her of how unsightly the statue had been compared to all the other goofy figures displayed on the roof. Maybe the owners came to their senses and realized the thing didn't match the whimsical vibe they tried to cultivate.

She carried on her merry little way and entered the Quarter, wishing she'd thought to bring an umbrella for the direct sunlight burning her skin. Passing by one of the many historic hotels, she glanced up to see a sight on a wall that knocked her breath short.

A stone-gray gargoyle fixture clung to the side of a sweltering red brick wall holding out the head of a gorgon…Medusa. The face of the creature looked exactly like the one on the B&B . Celeste walked past that part of the Quarter too many times and knew for a fact no gargoyle statue had ever been there before. She snapped a picture of it and hurried along to her brunch meet up.

She forgot about the gargoyle until two hours later when her entourage of seven window-shopped, and she glimpsed a different, more ferocious-looking gargoyle statue peering down from the roof of a boutique shoe store. Its six-foot wide flint-gray wings cast a shadow across the sidewalk. The outstretched clawed hand looked ready to snatch pedestrians off the street. Celeste shivered and nausea overtook her stomach. Acid churned in the back of her throat and she almost vomited her lunch special onto her sandals.

"Duchess, what's wrong?" Joyce asked.

She pointed at the statue.

"That was never there before."

Joyce stared at it. Celeste pulled out her phone and showed her the other gargoyle.

"This one I found on the side of a hotel. Another just like it was a few blocks from my house. It seems weird to me. I feel like I've been seeing a lot of weird shit lately."

Celeste rubbed her stomach and burped. A sour taste coated her tongue.

"I don't feel so good."

"Do you need to sit down?"

"Yeah."

The group pitched themselves up at a dueling pianos bar to get Celeste off her feet. Everyone ordered frozen mango margarita drinks except for her. She went to the public restroom and hung her head over the toilet. The sickness passed, and she used the sink to rinse away the sweat on her face.

Feeling better, she returned to her group and settled in for chit-chat and getting to know a man that Joyce brought for her to meet. The sun went down and the heat dropped by two measly degrees. She snacked on creamy artichoke dip and pita chips, listening to all the lively conversations around her until she noticed a man staring at her from the main bar. His dark skin gleamed with good genetics, and his dashing eyes zoned in on her quickly. She thought he was flirting, but his direct gaze came off predatory.

Glancing around, she pretended to take an interest in the active street life as the Quarter came alive for another night of debauchery. On the corner, a striking Black woman with a bald head and gothic make-up watched her. Her black painted lips peeled back into a slick smile and Celeste's intuition kicked in, warning her that something wasn't right about the woman. Her entire focus was on Celeste, just like the man at the…

Shit!

Celeste blinked, and the man at the bar moved toward her with a disjointed stroll. His movement reminded her of glitches in video games she played as a teen, when the operating system hadn't quite worked out the kinks. Unnatural. From the corner of her eye, she caught the slow track of a dark-brown beauty who smiled in a way that chilled Celeste in her gut. It was the smile of something trying its best to look…human. The parts of Celeste's skin that Terry once bit flared with a sharp stabbing of pain, the bruised nerve-endings waking up all the way. Her body wasn't right all over.

"I have to go, it's late," Celeste yelped.

She leapt to her feet and hugged Joyce.

"Wait, we can give you a ride to your place after we finish the rest of these appetizers," Joyce said.

"No…it's okay. I have to go to work in the morning."

"I thought you had the day off from both jobs."

Celeste shook her head and threw a ten-dollar bill on the table to help with tips. She brushed past the disappointed blind date and tried to hide herself within the crush of bodies milling around the party atmosphere. Her heart almost stopped when the strange man and woman from the bar followed her.

She ran like she was doing the fifty-yard dash in tenth grade, her legs stretching out to move her ass far.

Home.

She needed to get home, lock her doors, and hide.

Her emotions caught in her throat. Something was wrong with the world she lived in. Ever since Terry came into her life, she'd overlooked strange occurrences because she was caught up in the exhilaration of new romance and new dick. She'd ignored all the weirdness, because she didn't want to connect it to Terry. Now she even wondered about the missing white guys, Carl and Jacob. Terry did physically assault them and afterward, they went missing. The coincidence of them all interacting together nagged at her subconscious.

"What the fuck is going on?" she screeched when two twin gargoyle statues overlooked the roof of a picturesque townhouse filled with three-stories of revelers drinking and shouting down at passersby. Gargoyles were not a thing in New Orleans. It wasn't even Halloween season yet.

Celeste glanced over her shoulder to track any other weirdos following her. It looked like she lost them in the packed narrow streets. She double-backed and headed up to Rampart to bypass the Quarter completely. Flagging a taxi, she jumped in and gave directions to her house. She ducked down in the backseat and pretended to check her phone.

"Night, Miss," the older Haitian driver said.

"Mèsi," she said.

"Ou ayisyen?"

"Non, Black Creole from here," she said.

"Mwen wè…but we are kouzen, oui?"

"Oui," Celeste said.

"Are you okay?"

He looked at her closely from the rearview mirror.

"Um…I'm fine. Goodnight."

She paid in cash from some money Terry left behind and darted to her front door. Jamming the key in both door locks, she twisted them open and ran inside. She turned off the living room track lights that were on a timer and fled to her bedroom.

Sweating and panting from the exertion, Celeste sat on her bed in the dark and waited for her heart to stop pounding. After an hour of sitting, she went to the restroom, and showered for bed. Her smartphone lit up with a text from Allen, the guy Joyce fixed her up with. He left his number and told her to call him whenever she wanted to hang out.

She checked the inside lock and security bolt on her front door and back. The sour taste of liquid rose in her throat and she rushed to the sink in the kitchen and vomited up pita chips and the artichoke dip that looked like beige slurry. She rinsed her mouth and wiped her lips just as a loud pounding on the front door started.

The hell?

She peeked around the corner of her kitchen. Dark figures moved outside the colored, frosted glass panels of the top half of the front door, even though her porch light was off. The corner streetlight flickered on.

Her stomach tightened, and she held her breath, afraid that whoever was outside could hear her breathing. She stood completely still and waited. The pounding started again.

"Hello?" a female voice said. "I'm a cousin of Terry's. He wanted me to bring you something."

The lie rang hollow, but Celeste's heart softened at the sound of her lover's name. She pushed her back against a living room wall hidden by a bookcase, determined to ignore the person until they went away.

"Celeste? My name is Dominique. I'm here on vacation and Terry asked me to drop off a gift. I'm saving him thirty dollars by bringing it myself instead of him mailing it."

Dominique's voice sounded sweet and very country.

"He's coming down to see you in a few days and he wanted to give you this. I think it's a fancy dress. He said you looked real pretty at Durand's the last time you were in a dress."

Celeste lingered near the bookcase, but she stepped further into the living room. Only Terry and her friends knew about Durand's.

"You know what? I'll just leave it on the porch. Sorry I came here so late. I dropped by earlier, but you weren't home, and I didn't want anyone to steal it if I left it behind."

Celeste crept another few inches toward the front door. She lifted her cell phone out of her purse and kept the police number on her screen. The cell phone still listed it under Freddie's name as "Freddie/Work". Dominique banged on the security door again.

"Just leave it on the porch, please," Celeste called out, annoyed by the intrusion, her finger hovering above the police contact.

"No problem," Dominique said.

She heard movement and footsteps walking away. Waiting for an hour quietly, she finally cracked open the front door and kept the security door locked.

No package.

She looked down at the bottom step and still didn't see any box or bundle. Glancing at Freddie's police number, she debated about calling him.

"Hello, Celeste."

She dropped her phone on the floor, cracking the screen. The strange man from the piano bar stood at the top of her stoop, his dark, foreboding eyes mesmerizing her to the point of her falling into a dazed stupor. Behind him, one step down, was the Black goth and the dark brown beauty with the uncanny valley smile. Two other Black women in dark clothing waited on the sidewalk, watching her with sinister eyes.

The man smiled, revealing platinum grills. The dark brown of his eyes faded into silver orbs that enchanted her with their strange ethereal glow.

"We don't mean to frighten you," he hissed, his nostrils flaring and sniffing at her from behind the iron security door.

The women also inhaled deeply and licked their lips, staring at her throat.

"What the fuck do you want?" she said.

"This bitch talkin' spicy, Deacon," the Goth said.

The man tutted at Celeste, shaking his head.

"No, no, no…that's not how you speak to The Deacon, my sweet sustenance. We're here to ask you about Terry."

"What about him?"

"Where is he?"

"I don't know."

The man pounded the frame of the iron door. Celeste jumped and stepped back.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Duchess!" he shouted.

He turned his head away as if to gain control of his emotions. His lips curled into a deceptive smile.

"How do you know me? Who sent you here?" she asked.

"Let us in, Celeste," the Goth said.

"Yesss…invite us inside and we can…talk. Open the door," The Deacon said.

His silver, unblinking eyes held her in place, and the colors around his towering frame drained away. When he spoke again, his voice echoed inside her head, reminding her of the way Terry invaded her thoughts…read her mind. The canine teeth of the platinum grills elongated, becoming wolfish and frightening. Fangs.

"Let us come inside…"

The four menacing women dropped the façade of humanness, their fangs exposed and dripping with saliva. Celeste's security door had wide enough gaps to reach an arm inside, but The Deacon didn't grab her through the openings.

It occurred to her that the door was a barrier they couldn't cross without her permission. As long as she didn't verbally consent to letting them in, she was safe on the inside. But if she stepped out...they would feast.

"I smell him all over you…inside of you…open this door so we can speak of my brother without eyes upon us."

Celeste raised her left hand and flicked on her porch light. The bulb didn't emit UV rays, but it improved her visibility and momentarily distracted them... long enough for a shadow to stretch across her doorway.

Celeste gasped and touched her cheek. It felt like Terry's hand had stroked her skin with the warmth from his palm.

"Fucking bastard!" The Deacon shrieked.

He glanced back at the others.

"His sentinel is here...watching over her," The Deacon said.

He slammed both of his palms on the two middle bars of the security door.

"He will come back here for you, and when he does, we'll be waiting. Tell him he can't hide from us forever."

The Goth woman sniffed the air and bared her fangs at The Deacon.

"The Old Ones are near. We have to go!" the Goth yelled.

The Deacon glared at Celeste and her eyes watered. She blinked once and the strangers at her door vanished like they were never there. Her body swayed and the sound of loud flapping wings above her cottage rang in her ears. Something landed with a thud on top of her roof and walked across it with heavy footsteps. She slammed the front door shut and locked it again, cocking her ear toward the ceiling, listening for whatever new monstrosity awaited her.

Luckily, it didn't stay long. She stood staring at her ceiling with bated breath and a thundering heart rate. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled with familiar urgency. She turned around and looked at her French doors.

Terry's shadow darkened the curtains.

She walked with slow, trance-like steps toward the French doors and stared at the outline of his body behind the thin drapes.

"Are you there?" she asked.

Her voice sounded so weak and helpless.

The shadow didn't answer, and Terry's voice didn't go into her mind. That shit had been real. The first time it happened at the dive bar, she thought she had been drunk, horny, and imagining him talking inside her head. The dawning realization of what he truly was terrified her. Behind those drapes was proof of an abomination to humankind.

And she let it into her home.

Slept with it.

Let it feed from her, thinking it was some fetish kink. Just some deep hickeys and love bites that got his rocks off.

Fucking hell.

She whimpered and held her hands in a prayer position against her lips.

"Are you here with me… Terry?"

She reached for the doorknobs and unlocked them, flinging both doors wide open.

A sleek black cat sprinted across her small courtyard and leapt onto the neighbor's fence, blending into the darkness and out of sight.

Chapter 10 HERE.

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[cursedonyx]

HL Christmas Headcanons

🎄❄️🎄

Sebastian Sallow

Sebastian enjoys Christmas quite a lot, though it often comes with some melancholy for him. He has fond but faint memories of his parents around this time of year, and he mostly remembers cosy reds and warm fires and the scent of nutmeg and marshmallow. He remembers feeling safe, loved, and excited. Of course, that changed when he and Anne went to live with Solomon – their days became colder, hugs less frequent, affection rarely given from their irascible guardian. Christmas was celebrated in the Sallow’s cottage, but it wasn’t the same.

However, when Sebastian and Anne went to Hogwarts, they elected to stay at the castle for that first year, to keep Ominis company. Solomon spent his first Christmas in six years alone, and it made him rethink things. Not by a lot, but just enough to make the effort to throw up a bit of tinsel and get some turkey for supper, to gift each of the three children a small, inexpensive bauble that showed he tried without having to go to too much effort. Anne found this gesture deeply endearing, but Sebastian wasn’t so easily convinced, knowing that an another argument was just around the corner. Whenever he can, he takes the opportunity to make a big thing out of Christmas, eating too much at dinner, buying presents he can’t really afford so his sister and best friend have lovely things to open, singing carols at the top of his voice and hilariously out of tune.

Sebastian wants this time of year to be special, memorable, and important, something to look forward to when things get too dark. Even after fifth year, when his friendship with Ominis is strained and Anne isn’t talking to him and Solomon is dead, he still tries. He decorates the cottage how he feels it should be decorated, he cuts down a tree by himself and hauls it in, agonising over each and every detail to make sure it’s perfect. He buys presents for everyone – Ominis, Anne, all his classmates, and you, of course. It doesn’t matter if he’s barely spoken to someone, even the teachers get a little gift, even if it’s just a small bar of Honeydukes’ chocolate. Sebastian needs this time of year to be special, to help him remember that there is still some good in the world, that he is still capable of love, and being loved.

And sometimes, just as he's about to drift off to sleep, he smells the faint scent of nutmeg and marshmallow, and his dreams are soft and warm.

Ominis Gaunt

For Ominis, Christmas was just another time of year. His parents considered it a very muggle tradition, and as such eschewed typical celebratory activities. However, that didn't stop them trying to outdo other noble families in terms of the most expensive gifts to each other (which the Gaunts promptly sold, hoping their fellow purebloods didn't notice they'd spent less on their gifts and enchanted them). Decorations mean nothing to Ominis, they simply serve to be an annoyance if suddenly there’s a bloody tree in the middle of the floor that wasn’t there yesterday, tinsel to trip over and baubles to slip on. But when he was very small, Noctua told him about Christmas, old Saint Nick, the elves, and more, whispering stories of fantasy to him and gifting him small, thoughtful things that set his imagination alight, thinking such things couldn't be real. Of course, that stopped when she vanished, and Ominis didn’t dare raise the subject with his parents for fears of reprisal.

So, it was quite the shock when Hogwarts became abundantly festive during his first year, his new friends’ enthusiasm alien to him. He had no desire to return home unless he absolutely had to, and he was touched when Anne and Sebastian decided to stay with him. Over that holiday, Ominis’ opinions began to shift, and he secretly came to love the sound of carols, the smell of peppermint and pine, the subtle shift in the air that brought with it kindness and joy, things that had been all too rare for him.

Ominis isn’t really one for giving or receiving gifts, being of the opinion that there’s usually some kind of string attached, an unspoken, expected favour to be called upon at a later date. As such, Ominis is incredibly selective about who he accepts presents from, and who he gifts them to. Anne, Sebastian and you would receive small things that to the average outsider seem like afterthoughts – a bracelet made of glass beads, a copy of a children's book, a series of different kinds of flowers dried and pressed and enchanted to last. Those he doesn’t know well or doesn't trust will be gifted far more extravagant things, which seems very odd to those that don’t know Ominis.

But those that do know him know that these ‘last minute’ or ‘thoughtless’ presents are actually representations of how well Ominis knows his friends. Anne had been gushing for months about this particular bracelet, wishing she had one just like it. Sebastian had been bemoaning how his favourite copy of Beedle’s Tales had fallen to bits because he’d read it so much, and as for the flowers… Ominis is well versed in floriography, and there will be a message in there, just for you.

The extravagant gifts for family and newcomers to his friendship circle is an insurance policy to make sure he is in no way indebted. Ominis can’t stand being in debt to anyone, especially at Christmas.

Garreth Weasley

Christmas for Garreth is a huge event. It’s a time filled with laughter, happiness, enthusiasm, excitement… everything Christmas should be. He never spends it at Hogwarts, preferring to go home and be with his family, where it’s always loud and full of smells of cooking, where everyone is so tightly packed together you can’t turn around without bumping into another Weasley.

He is enthusiastic about everything to do with Christmas, from the presents to the decorations to the cooking to the dinner itself. The Weasleys have several small family traditions that could be missed if you’ve just come into the family or have never experienced a Weasley Christmas before – things like always taking a sip of liquor before you start to eat, because Garreth’s granddad once made a joke about ‘whetting the appetite’ and baby Garreth took this literally, grabbing his grandad’s whisky. Another tradition is how the Weasley children will pile into their parents’ bedroom, no matter their age, and all sit on the bed to open their stockings before they all go downstairs together to open the presents under the tree.

Though the Weasleys aren’t well off by any means, each of them tends to have their family and Christmas in mind for most of the year, and will always be on the lookout for little bargains, trinkets, and special offers they can snaffle to hoard until the end of the year. It’s important to them that they have lots of things to open, even if it’s individually wrapped pieces of a puzzle set or chocolate hamper or artistic kit. It makes everyone feel like there’s more to go around, and that just for one day, they can forget about their nearly-empty Gringotts Vault.

Garreth himself is absurdly generous, and he’ll happily do favours and odd jobs for people if that means he can earn a little extra gold so he can make Christmas a bit more special for his family and friends. He happily opens his home to you if you ever express the slightest interest in a Weasley Christmas. If you attend, you’ll feel like part of the family in no time at all.

[moralesmilesanhour]

'cold turkey' but i rewrote it - part two!

summary: the festivities have begun! but you forgot the drinks. whoops. wc: 2k+ a/n: I almost cut this short at like a thousand words but I knew in my SPIRIIITT that I wanted to add more twists and turns to this thing. It's a bit rushed but let's just say I'm very glad I did! if you feel like it: comment your favorite holiday-related dishes :) part one part two

“Traffic was nuts today,” your older sister Alanna sighed as she hauled a carton full of cans of soda over to the kitchen. She looked up and saw Miles, who smiled and gave her a quick wave. “Oh my god, Miles?”

“One and only,” he replied. “Been a minute, ain’t it?”

The woman set the carton down on the floor. “When did you get so big? You're taller than me!”

Miles shrugged. “Growth spurt.”

“Alright then, nice seeing you,” Alanna turned and joined you on the couch with that glint in her eye and smirk that appeared only when she was scheming. “He’s mad cute now, right?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, “ ‘Lana, no. Not happening.”

“Come on, I’ve seen the niggas you been with and he’s literally your type–”

“Can you lower your voice? He’s right there!” you yell-whispered. 

You craned your neck to see if Miles was listening. His head was down, all focus seemingly directed towards cooking beans. 

You turned back towards Alanna. “Anyway, he’s Jeff’s kid. I don’t want beef with Jeff or his mama if we break up. They literally live around the corner, do you know how awkward that’s gonna be?”

“So pessimistic,” Alanna’s lips were upturned into a pout. “How you just met him and you already imagining the breakup?”

“I’m being realisti–”

“The beans are done!” Miles’ voice interrupted. 

You called out, “That’s great, thank you so much! I’ll see you later this evening?”

He emerged from the kitchen and began to put on his sneakers. “Yup, lookin’ forward to it,” he stood up and made direct eye contact with you as he smiled. “Good luck with med school.”

With that, Miles grabbed his jacket off of the hook by the entrance, and left.

Your sister watched the door shut behind him with a satisfied grin. “He likes you.”

“No he don’t,” you retorted, keeping your eyes glued to your socks. “You want him to like me.”

The image of fluttering lashes and the scar on his cheek returned to you. How Alanna could tell even without her knowing about that little encounter was a mystery.

“Well, either way, do what you want,” she rose from the couch with a sigh of resignation. “I’m just saying he seems sweet. Now, help me decorate, and I’ll let you make the playlist after.”

You perked up at the thought of having DJ privileges and hopped to your feet. “You got it!”

-

Only half an hour had passed since relatives and family friends began trickling in, but you were already exhausted. One more inescapable hug and barrage of questioning, and you swore you’d have a breakdown. 

Ding dong!

“I’ll get it!” you announced, narrowly escaping being accosted by one of your aunts as you made a beeline for the door.

It was Miles again, this time with company.

“Welcome back,” you greeted Miles and stepped back to open the door wider. “Hey Mr. and Mrs. Morales!”

“Y/N! It’s been so long, tú eres tan guapa!” Rio Morales briefly took both of your hands in hers before entering, tugging Miles along with her.

Jefferson Morales was the last to go inside. His warm smile was a stark contrast to his wide, imposing frame. “I see Miles didn’t burn your kitchen down,” he laughed heartily. “He wasn’t too much trouble?”

Not in the way you were expecting.

You shook her head politely, “No, not at all! He even helped me finish dinner.”

Jefferson’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, that’s good to hear. We really appreciate the invite.”

“No problem,” you nodded as you shut the door.

“Y/N!” Alanna rushed up to you not a moment later, looking mildly panicked. “Do you remember where you put the drinks? The alcoholic ones, I mean.”

Your eyes widened. “Fuck, I think I forgot to buy them.”

“...Now, your mother was going to nursing school at the time, so she had to…”

Jefferson’s deep voice carried over the music, catching Alanna’s attention. He stood near the tin of mac and cheese telling a story that–judging by the look on Miles’ face–he had told several times before.

That same smirk from before spread across her lips. ‘Do what you want’, sure, but a little helpful push wouldn’t hurt.

“Miles, do you wanna help out Y/N again? She forgot to go out and buy drinks.”

He perked up, relief written all over his face. “Yeah, it’s no problem! I’ll drive her.”

You narrowed your eyes at your sister, but didn’t push back. “That’s cool with me. I’ll go get my sweater.”

-

You squeezed your fingers nervously as Miles turned the key and brought the car roaring to life. 

What could you possibly say to him? ‘Hey, so we almost kissed earlier. Thoughts on that?’ 

“What kinda drinks y’all need?” his voice ripped you away from your thoughts as he pulled onto the road. 

You didn’t answer, your eyes fixated on the motion of his hands spinning the wheel.

“Y/N?”

You blinked.

“Huh?”

“What kind of drinks are we looking for?”

“Oh, um, wine and cider and shit,” you waved a hand in the air, “Stuff that goes with turkey.”

“Cool.”

The ride was quiet, largely because you were busy racking your brain trying to think of something–anything–to fill the silence with. You’d already asked about school, and you knew Miles’ parents. But what about him?

He stopped at a red light, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

“So what do you do, like, outside of school?”

You winced. Small talk was not your forte.

Miles didn’t seem to mind though, appearing deep in thought before he answered, “I draw, when I got the time. Sing a little on the side.”

“I believe you. You look like you have a nice voice.”

An impish smile played on his lips. “Is that your way of saying I’m cute?”

“I…” the words were trapped in your throat. Part of you didn’t want to tell him the truth outright, but he was smiling at you and the sparkle in his eyes made you feel funny. 

“Maybe. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So there’s a low, but non-zero chance.”

You snorted, “Alright, physics major. The light’s green.”

“Oh, shit. Thanks.” Miles focused his attention back onto the road and continued driving.

You didn’t say anything more for the remainder of the ride, but he caught you staring at him every now and then through the rear view mirror, curiosity written on your face.

Soon enough, he pulled over in front of the supermarket.

“Think you’ll find ‘stuff that goes with turkey’ in here?”

“I hope so,” you laughed, unbuckling your seat belt, “My sister’s gonna put me in the dirt if I don’t.”

“Well, good luck!”

Miles unlocked the door, and you set out on your mission.

Luckily, it only took you about twenty minutes to locate a bottle of moscato and some hard apple cider. Just as he saw you emerge from the double doors, though, a familiar buzzing in the back of his head tipped him off.

Really? On Thanksgiving?

A man wearing an inconspicuous black ski mask and hoodie stood waiting by the entrance, ready to strike. 

“Yo, empty your pocke–”

Miles swung into action the moment he spotted the gleam of a firearm.

You yelped as a string of white web shot out from seemingly nowhere and yanked the gun from your assailant’s hands. 

“It’s the holidays! C’mon, man!” 

“Spider-Man?” Your jaw dropped at the sight of the masked hero. 

He was perched on top of a low building right next to the supermarket, only his white eyes and the bright red streaks lining his suit visible in the pitch-black of night.

“At your service, ma’am!” 

With a quick salute, he was gone as suddenly as he’d appeared. Like, literally gone. You didn’t see him leave.

You let out a deep exhale and made your way back to Miles’ car, but you couldn’t see him in the window. A pit began to form in your stomach, until a voice made you jump.

“Hey, you alright?”

It was Miles, who had somehow appeared at your side without a sound. He was out of breath, leaning his elbow on the side of the vehicle for support.

Your eyes narrowed. “I’m…fine. Are you okay? Where’d you go?”

“Bathroom,” he lied. He pointed towards the bags you were holding. “Need help with those?”

You handed them over without a second thought. “Definitely. You know this nigga almost robbed me outside the store just now? Then, right as he’s about to pull a gun on me, guess who shows up?”

Miles grinned knowingly. “Spider-Man?”

“Showed up quick as hell! Even on Thanksgiving, can you imagine?”

“Crazy.”

He opened the door to the passenger’s side for you to get in. 

“Thanks.”

Miles did a slight bow, allowing you to catch a flash of red and black peeking out from beneath his jacket. You had assumed that he was wearing a turtleneck at first, but upon closer inspection–

“At your service,” he said with a grin before making his way over to the driver’s seat.

As you shut the door, Spider-Man’s voice returned to you.

At your service, ma’am.

The rest of the way home, you replayed both sentences in your head, alternating between the two and replaying the night’s events.

Miles had just so happened to reappear mere seconds after Spider-Man had said the words. They even shared an accent. You considered the absurd possibility for a moment; the police chief’s son being the masked vigilante would make quite the headline, almost poetic in its irony. 

Too poetic.

But just as you were about to let it go, Miles went over a speedbump, causing a jolt that made something begin to slip out from his jacket’s right pocket.

Black, red and white.

You pondered how to broach the subject once he pulled up in front of your house, when a lightbulb went off in your head.

Reaching over to the red button that released your seatbelt, you pressed it halfway, over and over again.

“Miles, I think my seatbelt’s stuck. Help me out?”

Miles removed his own with a click. “Sure, lemme see.”

He leaned over and reached the passenger’s seat with ease. His breath hit the side of your neck as he moved closer, making your heart rate quicken, but you maintained focus.

What mattered was that he was in close quarters. You had to see the suit.

“Got it,” Miles said once he released your not-actually-stuck seatbelt. “You’re free–”

Before he could move any further, you grabbed the collar of his jacket and unzipped it halfway.

“I knew it!”

The look of sheer terror on Miles’ face sealed the deal. Here was Spider-Man, in all of his glory.

“Are you…gonna…tell anyone?” 

His voice was hushed as he spoke. Almost small. You looked into those round, glassy eyes and felt a wave of guilt. 

“I–no, of course not,” you shook your head. “I just…I needed to be sure.”

He relaxed, some of the humor returning to his face. “And now that you’re sure?”

A cheeky grin spread across your lips.

“I guess I should thank you.”

You tugged at his collar one more time and brought his lips crashing against yours.

After getting over the initial surprise, Miles brought a hand up to caress one side of your face and deepen the kiss. Your other hand reached up and brushed the cold metal of one of his stud earrings before you snaked your arm around his neck.

Miles was the first to pull away, zipping his jacket back up.

“I don’t think I can stay in this position for that long,” he smiled. “We gotta get back inside with these drinks.”

You sighed, head still pounding with adrenaline. “You’re right, let’s get outta here.”

By the time you made it up the steps, Alanna was already holding the door open. She gave your face a good once-over and stifled a laugh.

“Did you two have fun on your little adventure?”

You took one of the bags from Miles and held it up like a trophy. “Yup, mission accomplished.”

“That’s not what I meant, baby,” she gestured towards her lips and mouthed “your lip gloss.”

Your eyes widened as she snickered, and let the two of you in. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll fix it in the bathroom. Hurry up!”

A few makeup wipes and a liner touch-up later, you emerged from the bathroom just in time for dinner.

Out of all the chairs strewn about the living room, you ended up seated between Miles and Jefferson. The former kept quiet, save for the occasional joke or wink thrown in your direction. Jefferson kept inquiring about your studies, which would then bounce back to Miles’ studies, which Miles then would somehow deflect back to you. Any and all conversation with Jeff became awkward, considering you had just made out with his son.

The party ending felt like a weight lifted off of your shoulders.

You stood at the entrance, waving goodbye to the steady stream of guests as their conversations stretched on, even from their cars. The Morales family were the last to leave.

After his parents went down the steps, Miles stopped in front of the door.

“Hey,” he smiled and tilted his head.

“Hey. You ready to go? I’m not letting you stay the night,” you teased.

“Wasn’t planning to, I promise. I just wanted to ask…” 

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “When are you goin’ back to campus?”

“Monday.”

Miles winced, “Damn.”

“I know, I literally gotta start packing to-night! It’s a nightmare!”

“In that case,” he took out his phone, and held it out to you gingerly. “Can we keep in touch?”

You accepted the offer, rapidly entering your digits and saving them under your name. “Worried about me spilling your secret identity?”

“Absolutely. I gotta keep an eye on you from now on. Like witness protection, but backwards–”

“Miles, vamos!” Rio called out from a distance.

“I’m coming, mami!” he replied before turning back to you. “See you winter break?”

You planted a kiss on his cheek. “Maybe. Non-zero chance.”

"I'll take it."

[robo-writing]

Celebrating Thanksgiving

Description: You should’ve known that celebrating the holidays with Johnny would lead to this.

Tags: John “Soap” MacTavish/Reader, no use of y/n, AFAB pronouns/genitalia

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Authors note: yeah I wrote this in 45 minutes with no editing this stupid scottish man gives me life-threatening brainworms, sorry

Celebrating the holidays with Johnny is always a spectacle in the best kind of way. You never found yourself to be overly excited when the holidays came around, mostly just treating it like another day, but that all changed when a certain blue-eyed Scotsman came barreling into your life.

Suddenly you found yourself anticipating the days when it’s just you and Johnny enjoying each other’s company.

You could spend the rest of your life in this moment and never grow tired, from putting up early Christmas decorations to cooking dinner, the latter of which you were currently occupied with as Johnny set the table.

“Smells like heaven in there lovie!” He says from down the hall. Like clockwork you can feel him take up space behind you, watching you diligently as you prepare for dinner.

“I’m not letting you have a taste Johnny,” you reply, holding in a laugh when you feel him pout against your cheek. “Wait until I’m done, then you can eat as much as you want.”

You should know by now to be more careful with your words, especially when you know how insatiable Johnny can be. “Now hen, it feels like you aren’t talking about the food.”

“Johnny.”

His hands find their way to your hips, holding you gently as he kisses your neck. “Just saying, the turkey isn’t the only thing that has to get stuffed tonight.”

“Jesus Christ,” you laugh, turning around to witness his shit-eating grin. “I think that’s the worst joke you’ve ever told me.”

“Gimme a couple days, ‘m sure I’ll think of something worse.”

God awful joke aside, you’d be a liar if you said the idea wasn’t intriguing, and the way he’s looking at you is definitely not helping.

“I can see it in your eyes hen, come now,” he kisses at your face, once, twice, before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. “You’ve been at the stove all day, let’s take a break—promise I’ll make you feel good.”

That’s not a promise you’ve ever known Johnny to break, so when he drags you down to the nearest couch and sits between your legs, you happily let him.

Legs dangling on his shoulders, licking at his lips as he pulls your pants down and grins wide when he sees you exposed and waiting, not taking a second to hesitate before he’s face first into your pussy. Immediately it’s as if a weight has been taken off your shoulders, the stress of preparing for the holidays melting away and slowly being replaced by the pleasure that is Johnny’s greedy mouth against your sex. He laps at your cunt like it’s his job, moving against you until his face turns red and his chin is soaked in your juices.

“Christ, didn’t even need to prep you huh?” He mutters between kisses. “Like she’s made for me, huh bonnie?”

His eyes flutter shut when you tug his face closer, nose deep as he eats you out. Johnny treats your pussy like it’s royalty, talks you through your orgasm when your legs close tight around his head and goes right back to devouring you the second your legs stop shaking.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got ya—she’s begging me for it you know, she’s just waiting for me to put my mouth back on ‘er—“

He puts his thumb right on your clit, watches as your pussy twitches with each rub, mesmerized at the view. “See bonnie? She wants me so badly, she’s gaggin’ fer it, needy little cunt she is.”

You’re so dazed that you can barely register his belt being undone to free his aching cock, thrusting against the cushions with barely any care to his own pleasure so long as his mouth is filled with your taste. You nearly cry from how long he keeps you like this, whimpering for a break that he doesn’t give you.

You beg, heels digging into his back as tears build up in your eyes. You can only take so much pleasure before your first reaction is to pull away, an idea Johnny doesn’t entertain before he pulls you back down and holds you firm.

“Oh no hen, don’t run now, not when your pussy’s practically calling my name—she needs me y’know? Don’t try to take her away from me.“ he rambles before diving back in to explore your pussy. The way he talks to you, or your pussy rather, it’s like an addiction he can’t quit.

He spits into your wetness, spreading the mess with his tongue before going back to whispering praise between your legs with a reverence unheard of. “She’s so wet fer me, so fucking delicious—I bet she can take another one, yeah? Yeah, I think she can—“

As he wrings another orgasm from you, you question whether or not the two of you will even make it to the dining table this thanksgiving.

[roguishcat]

WIP Sunday

Thank you so much for tagging me earlier this week @xxnashiraxx, @busy-baker, @inkymoonbunny!💕

A little snippet from 'Conversations with a vampire' part 7/10. Set pre-game, mostly child Tav pestering befriending Astarion.

“My, my... What mischief did she get up to tonight?” Mamzell Amira looked at him carrying Tav with thinly veiled interest.

The woman was dripping in jewels, fine fabric whispering tantalizingly against skin as she lifted her hand to grasp Tav’s chin. Turning the girl’s head sideways, she appraised her appearance before letting go.

“Thank you for bringing her back. You may enter,” she said pointedly, giving him a pointed look.

Their eyes locked and Astarion scowled.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be so sensitive that you feel offended at being given orders,” she raised an eyebrow and cocked a hip, shifting her stance gracefully.  “Come. We have some things to discuss.”

Astarion did not want to follow the woman, especially when her words sounded more like a command than a request. He has had enough of that in the past 200 years, being compelled to do Cazador’s bidding. Instead, Astarion told himself that he chose to follow her through a concealed entrance that was clearly not meant for the clientele.

They walked down a narrow, winding corridor. Wood creaked underneath their boots and unlike the areas where clients were entertained, there was no plush carpet to swallow up the sound of their steps. They turned once, then once more. There were no guests, just servants and staff in various states of undress that hurried past quickly. Perfume mixed with the scent of sweat. Giggles, sighs and groans revibrated all around them, creating an atmosphere where inhibition is replaced with uninhibited expression of debauchery. Anything for coin. Every fantasy was possible within these rooms as long as one could afford it.

Amira stopped in front of a door, unlocking it swiftly and beckoning for Astarion to follow before closing the door behind him. He felt power and saw the door glow. Arcane lock. No way out unless she permitted it.

The elf gave the room a cursory glance. It was pleasantly decorated and seemed like a personal space, where she would relax rather than receive company. One could even call it cosy.

Astarion was just about to set Tav down gently on the plush sofa when a servant appeared and plucked Tav out of his arms as if she weighed nothing, whisking her away. Magic hummed and the servant was gone.

“Sit, let me have a look at you,” Amira lowered herself to a half recline on a chaise longue, motioning for him to sit in the chair across from her.

She appraised him unabashedly in a way a butcher would look at a prized turkey and clicked her tongue.

“You are a looker. It’s no wonder that she follows you around like a little lovesick pup. She never spoke of you, of course. She never tells anyone anything. But I have my sources,” she said casually, pouring herself some wine into a beautifully crafted gold goblet.

No pressure tags 💖: @clazberryk, @preciouslittlebhaalbae, @lanafofana,

@khywren, @verbenaa, @obsessedwhyyes,

@cinnamontails-ff, @marlowethebard,

@honeybee-bard,

@orangekittyenergy,

@silent-words, @funniestbitchinfaerun,

[gundogdumobilya]

Mercan Bedroom Set has a modern and stylish design. The hood is enriched with stitching details. Nightstands placed next to the bed; night lights provide an ideal space for activities such as reading or watching television.

The wardrobe and dresser, which are the other parts of the bedroom set, are designed using membrane material. There is enough space in the closet to keep your clothes neat and clean. Also, the drawers in the dresser are the perfect place to store your various personal items.

[cockdestroyer32]

it's rotten work.

peter b. parker x fem!reader

word count: 2615

summary: Peter's been a wreck after his divorce with MJ. Thankfully, you're there to look after him.

aka me just fantasizing about taking care of peter b. parker when he needed it and giving him the love he so very deserves.

a/n: yeah I write abt this loser now

Two months. That’s how long it’s been since Peter and MJ’s divorce. Two months of countless pizza orders and late-night fast food trips. You tried your best, of course, most days making lunch and dinner for Peter, but it still wouldn’t help his insurmountable need to shove oily fries drenched in high amounts of salt down his throat. Though he would gladly take them. His hand finding yours on the table, giving you a knowing look with his sad, tired eyes that you’d gotten used to seeing so damn often on him. His own way of a thank you. Two months of coming home to Peter’s place to find him sprawled out on his couch, his head lying on his own arm and still wearing shoes. The TV would be on playing the most random channel. He’d be staring at it, but if you turned it off he wouldn’t even blink. Two months of trying your best to be there for him.

You were still getting used to the new apartment. For as long as you could remember, Peter and MJ lived in the same house for the past 15 years. You’d gotten used to it. It was nice. Two stories, wooden floors, big dining room. They’d have Thanksgivings there, it was almost a tradition. The turkey was served and everyone gathered around, talking and laughing about nothing. Peter was happy then, at least most of the time.

This apartment was none of that. It was way smaller, one small cube covering kitchen, living room and bedroom, with a room to the left including the tiny bathroom- which has a bathtub? You never quite understood that, what is it with Americans and putting bathtubs in their already tiny bathrooms?- not to mention it was unkept. The dishes practically overflowing, two pizza boxes, one awkwardly thrown to the counter, not even closed, its gaping mouth allowing you to spy the damp spots the hot pizza left on the cardboard box, and the other shoved inside the trash, which was also nearly overflowing. A barely-eaten cereal bowl rested on the sad excuse of a dining table, some colorful circles creeping out of the white liquid. It was more milk than cereal. And both ingredients also stood there, not put back on their respective places. 

Peter does not have enough money to just waste perfectly good milk. 

You grab the carton and open the refrigerator, the light illuminating the kitchen/living room/bedroom area. God, even the refrigerator was sad. An already open can of soda standing lonely to the side, feeling unsafe on the grids of the shelf, a container of cheese at the top, four eggs to the side, and untouched lettuce to the middle. You place the milk inside, now making company to the lonely soda, and shut the refrigerator door, making your way back to the couch. As you do you pass by the wall of the apartment that includes Peter’s attempt at decorating, one only possible after much pleading by you that the place might feel more like home if he did so. 

They were pictures. Pictures on the wall. Four to be specific. All taped to the wall with double-sided tape. They were all scattered like corn and asymmetrical. How and why did he manage to do that? You don’t know. Was it awful? Yes. 

But you were still excited when you’d shown up to his place and found them there. 

This was only a fraction of the pictures he had back in his place with MJ. Their old living room had once been full of pictures of them and the memories they made together. But these were the ones he took and remained. The middle picture was one of you and Peter, back when you traveled to Barbados. You stood behind him, hugging him with one arm from behind, your chin resting on his shoulder as you both smiled at the camera. The one to the side was a picture he took of you on your birthday, you wore one of those birthday headbands, a huge smile spreading across your face as you saw one of your other friends bringing you your cake. It was slightly blurry, not one you’d usually have on your wall but beautiful regardless. When you’d seen that picture, your finger reached out to touch it, surprised it was there, and you turned around to look at Peter, who refused to look at you, clearly embarrassed. The third one is a picture of May, 2 years before she died, her grey hair perfectly framing her smiling face, and the fourth one of Peter and May, sitting on her couch, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and his head on hers.

Peter sits on the couch, his ankles extended out, looking like he wanted to trip someone. He wore the same grey sweatpants he always wore, and his sweatshirt was stained. The bags under his eyes were prominent, and his eyebrows were furrowed. His gaze was fixated on the TV, but he actually seemed to be paying attention this time, so that’s progress…right?

You threw your body on the couch beside his, letting out a sigh and looking at the screen. He was watching a documentary on…pandas? You don’t comment on it. Or on his stained shirt. Or on the cereal bowl. Or on the milk. You just stare at the TV.

“I’m fine,” He says, his voice raspy.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

You don’t reply. He’s used to you asking the same question, and you’re used to hearing the same answer. You both know he’s not fine, that he hasn’t been fine in a while, but that there’s not much you can do but let time pass, to let the wound heal as best as it can, leaving only a scar, that at least won’t sting as much anymore. You know Peter. You’ve known him for years. You know his moods, you know what makes him laugh, what makes him angry, his mannerisms and what they mean, his favorite foods, his favorite flavor of cake…you know when he needs love. 

Except for on days like this. On days where he’s grumpy and barely speaks at all. Days where his arms are crossed and he’s always tapping his foot. Sometimes he just wants to be left alone, sometimes he wants as much physical affection as possible. You don’t know. 

So, you leave a hint.

You place your hand next to his on the couch- they have always been so rough, so calloused, yet always felt nice- and you lift your pinky, it grazing across the back of his hand. Up, and down. You do that once before stopping it at the bottom of his hand, just next to his pinky. If he wants to take it, he can take it, if not, he doesn’t have do anything. 

You feel the back of his hand being taken away from the tip of your finger, before his palm finds yours and he entwines your fingers together, giving your hand a light squeeze. Yours is smaller than his, and certainly softer. You don’t look at each other, you don’t have to. You keep your eyes on the panda eating bamboo and feel his thumb caress the side of your hand. 

If that wasn’t clear, it’s been a rough two months. And you’ve been there for rough months. You were there for when Peter and MJ would have tough arguments, for when being Spider-Man started being just a little too much for him, for when he couldn’t save everyone, for when Aunt May died. But this? This was bad. Almost as much as May’s death. He just…fell into a hole. And you don’t blame him either. He’d been married to Mary Jane for fifteen years. Fifteen years. Having to separate from someone you spent more than a decade with must be one of the hardest things ever, and you couldn’t exactly say you understood.

It wasn’t all bad though. One time, you decided to watch a movie together. You let Peter choose the movie. Horror. You were never quite used to it, but were you gonna say no to him? No, and he knew it. About 40 minutes in, there was a scene where the main character was inspecting his house after having heard a strange noise. He walks around for a while, letting the tension build until suddenly the monster rises behind him. It’d been about 11pm at that point and you let out a loud yelp, followed by your hand slapping over your mouth as you realize what you did. You did a slow turn towards Peter, finding his eyebrows raised and his mouth slightly agape, before he burst out into laughter. The sound rang through your ears like your favorite song. God, it’d been so long since you heard that laugh. If you knew it’d happen you’d grabbed your phone and started recording it immediately. But at that point it’d been enough, and you couldn’t help but start laughing too.

Now, you feel Peter’s grip slowly loosening on yours and you turn your head towards him. His eyes are closed, and his eyebrows are more relaxed now, though he’s not asleep just yet. From this angle you could perfectly see his roman nose, the bridge sticking out in all of its wonder, and the little bend to the side, where he’d broken it so many times his healing factors had just given up. He hated it. You always loved it, and he knew it. You leaned in slightly.

“Pete…” You whisper, “Pete, let’s get you to bed.”

He murmured some nonsense. A chuckle leaves your lips and you reach for his arm.

“Pete, if you wanna sleep we gotta get you to bed, come on.”

“O…kay…” You get up from the couch and place both hands on his arms, motioning for him to get up. When he does he rests his head on yours, and you drape your arm over his shoulder, leading him to his bed. He drops his body on it and oh he looks adorable. His arms curved in front of him almost in a praying motion, and his knees slightly bent. You notice his shoes are still on and reach to take them off, he doesn’t even move as you do so, and you set them down neatly on the floor. You know what’s next, you’ve gotten used to it: you crawl on the bed beside him, and wrap an arm around him from behind, the other creeping from under his body so you can hug him properly. You bury your face on his shoulder and squeeze him tight, your legs lying just behind his. 

Peter likes being the little spoon. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if it was born out of an extreme need to receive the physical affection he lost after his divorce. Those thoughts are quickly brushed off but everlasting, you probably shouldn’t be thinking about that. This happens every night now, to the point Peter doesn’t sleep without you anymore. If you take too long to crawl into bed, he tells you in a groggy voice, “Come hereeeee…”

One time you got up in the middle of the night to drink some water, and in comes Peter, wearing his grey pajama shirt, rubbing his eyes as he sleepily asks you, “Why'd you go?”

The first time you fell asleep cuddled together was a little over a month ago. Peter’d been quiet that entire day and you left him alone, figuring he just wanted time for his thoughts, until eventually you lifted a gentle hand, resting it against his shoulder as you asked, “You alright? Wanna talk?” And a few minutes later you found yourself holding a sobbing Peter, his hands desperately clutching to your back as you rubbed his, his face pressed against your chest as his own heaved. Wet trailings ran down your body and made your shirt damp, trailings that’d grow salty and sticky on your skin, but that’d you pay no attention to. 

You don’t even know how long that lasted, you just held him for as long as he needed, until his weeping subsided and the sobs were replaced only by the shuddering breaths one gets after crying so desperately. Then even those went away, Peter’s breath completely evened out and calm. You noticed he was heavier in your arms, and whispered his name as you leaned your head down, looking for his face, only to be met with one of a sleeping Peter. His lashes were wet and eyes were shut and relaxed, as if he hadn’t just had a full breakdown in your arms. You stayed like this for a moment, wondering if he’d wake up, and knowing you didn’t have the heart to do it. Eventually you leaned back on the couch, your back resting against it as your head was placed awkwardly on its stiff arm. He slid down on your body a bit as you did, his face now at your stomach, and he tightened his grip and pressed his nose into your skin. You still don’t know if he remembered he did that.

And now Peter has you climbing into bed beside him every night, trying your best to envelop his body with yours even though your frame is much tinier.

You turn your head to him as you feel him shift and take a breath.

“I wanna…be big spoon…” You can barely make out the words due to his raspy mumbling, and before you could even process them, Peter was turning around and grabbing your arm, flipping you on your side as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. Tight as if to ensure you wouldn’t try to escape his grip.

Woah. Is this what MJ felt every night when she was with Peter? Again, probably not something you should be thinking about, but still. This? This comfortable? 

If you were MJ you would have never given up on this. Ever. No matter what.

God, he’s strong. I mean, you knew he was strong, he’s Spider-Man for crying out loud. But you’d never thought about how that came into play in moments like this, where he could wrap his arms around you with such a firm yet tender grip that it felt like absolutely nothing could tear you two apart.

Though you were still quite a bit frozen. Peter had never done that before. This was new and sudden. And slowly you could feel that information seep back into Peter’s presumably more awake mind as well, with the way he turned his head slowly to the left, and his body straightened and stiffened on your back.

“Uhh, is this okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” You replied. He was probably awake right now, mortified by his own actions but too comfortable and scared to pull away. And so were you. So you placed your hand on his arm, and gently ran it back and forth, telling him you really were okay with this, and if anything you wanted him to keep it up. His body remained frozen for at least 3 seconds until he lifted his arm from under your hand, and placed his palm over it, enlacing your fingers together. He pressed your arm in the front of your body and buried his nose in your neck. It sent a few shivers down your spine, you won’t lie. But you just took a deep breath and toughed it out, closing your eyes as well and relaxing. His breath on your neck slowly lulled you to sleep.

Hopefully, this is your new night routine.

[wavypotatochips]

Hey girl, love your writings especially the Mbappe's ones. So maybe can I request one for him where he and the reader go shopping for their new home together and have the best time? Thank youuuu

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐞 | 𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐛𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Kylian Mbappe x Female Reader

Word Count : 2.2k

𝘈𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦: My allergies have been terrible this week, and I've been sneezing so much that I've been getting headaches, so instead of writing 3-4 request , I was only able to write 2 this week c': hopefully my writing is still good c': ANYWAYSSSS This is my favorite gif of Mbappe- he is such a cutie patootie. Thank you so much for requesting!! I Hope you like how I represent your idea ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚!!

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN, currently covered in college work so as of now uploads will mainly be on weekends. Thank you for your patience c’: ♥

It's a beautiful Saturday morning, and you wake up feeling excited for the day ahead. Today, you and your boyfriend Kylian are going shopping for items to decorate your new house. You and Kylian recently bought a house together and you are both eager to make your home feel more comfortable and homely. You know that Kylian will be waking up soon, and you want to surprise him with a delicious breakfast. You head to the kitchen to see what ingredients you have on hand. As you start rummaging through the fridge, you notice that you have some eggs, cheese, and bacon. Perfect! You decide to make an omelet and bacon for the two of you. You take out a frying pan and place it on the stove, turning the heat to medium-high. You start cooking the bacon in a separate pan, savoring the sound and smell of it sizzling. As the bacon cooks, you start preparing the omelet. You crack four eggs into a bowl and whisk them together. You then add a pinch of salt, pepper, and some shredded cheese to the eggs, and stir everything together. Once the bacon is cooked to your liking, you take it out of the pan and place it on a plate lined with paper towels. You then pour the egg mixture into the frying pan and start cooking the omelet. You wait for a few minutes until the bottom of the omelet starts to set, then fold it in half with a spatula.

As the omelet continues to cook, Kylian enters the kitchen with a sleepy smile on his face. "Good morning, love," he says, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek, wrapping his arms around you. "Good morning, sleepyhead," you reply, grinning at him. "I'm making breakfast for us." Kylian's eyes light up at the sight of the bacon and omelet. "It smells amazing," he says, kissing your temple once more before sitting down at the table. You place the omelet and bacon on a plate, along with some buttered toast, and bring it over to the table. You both start eating, enjoying the delicious meal and each other's company.

“So I was thinking we could go to the new Plaza a couple minutes from here and stop at Ikea maybe for furniture stuff,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee. 

"And we should also get some plants for the balcony." Kylian says, taking a bite of the omelet. "This is so good, baby. You're an amazing cook." You smile at the compliment and decide to tease him a little.

"Thanks Babe. Please keep in mind that I'm the only one who is permitted to cook due to what happened the last time."

You wink at him and take another mouthful while he glares at you. The last time Kylian attempted to surprise you with supper, he accidentally burned the turkey in the oven, and when you got home, the whole house was smoking.

He jokingly whines, "Hey it was a one time thing, I'm a new man now," making you laugh. After finishing breakfast, you both clean up the kitchen together, feeling grateful for this moment of shared domesticity. You know that cooking and eating together is one of the many ways you show love and care for each other, and you feel happy knowing that you have each other to share these small but meaningful moments with. After breakfast, you and your boyfriend Kylian get ready to go shopping for items for your house. As you both start getting dressed, you realize you haven't really discussed what you're going to wear.

You turn to Kylian and ask, "Hey, what are you planning on wearing?." Kylian laughs, "I don't know……. I know the weather is nice outside so maybe we can wear white and navy?" He is aware that you inquired about his outfit because you frequently tried to coordinate with him; he thinks it's cute. You nod in agreement, "Okay, that sounds good to me! I'll put on my white jean shorts and that navy polo shirt I got."

Kylian smiles, "You are going to look so beautiful." You both finish getting dressed and head out the door, making sure to grab your phone and wallet. As you walk to the car, Kylian asks, "What stores are we hitting up first?" You reply, "I was thinking we should start with the home goods store" Kylian nods, "That's a good idea. We need some new plates and glasses."

As you drive to the store, you discuss what styles and colors you want to go for with the new home items. Kylian suggests getting some brighter colors to liven up the space, while you suggest sticking to more neutral tones for a classic look.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and wait patiently in the car as Kylian gets out and walks around the car to unlock your door. You could have easily just opened the door yourself, but Kylian dislikes it when you do it since he likes to act like a "gentleman." As  you watch him open the door, you smile and say, "Thank you, handsome." "Anything for m'lady," he says in a strange accent as he smiles and winks at you. This makes you laugh. After you lock the car, you grasp his hand and start to walk together.

As you and your boyfriend Kylian walk into the home goods store, you feel a sense of excitement and anticipation bubbling up inside you. You've been dreaming of decorating your new home together ever since you moved in a few weeks ago, and now you finally have the chance to make it a reality. Kylian takes your hand as you wander down the first aisle, his eyes scanning the shelves for inspiration. "What do you think about this?" he asks, holding up a set of brightly patterned throw pillows.

You take a closer look, running your fingers over the soft fabric. "I like them," you say, "but I think maybe something a little more neutral would be better. We don't want the living room to be too busy." Kylian nods in agreement and sets the pillows back on the shelf. "Good point. What about these curtains?" he asks, pointing to a set of deep blue panels. You consider them for a moment, picturing them hanging in your front window.

"I like the color, but I think we should go for something a little more lightweight. We want to let in as much natural light as possible." Kylian nods again and continues down the aisle, his eyes scanning the shelves for more inspiration. As you follow him, you catch sight of a set of silver candlesticks, their delicate curves glinting in the fluorescent light. "Oh, those are beautiful," you say, reaching out to pick them up. Kylian turns back to you, his eyes lighting up as he sees the candlesticks in your hands.

"Yes! Those would look great on our dining room table. We could get some white taper candles to go with them." You could tell that Kylian is enjoying this just as much as you do. You smile, nodding in agreement and set the candlesticks in your basket, feeling a sense of satisfaction as you do. This is what it's like to make a home together, you think to yourself. To build a space that's uniquely yours, that reflects your personality and your style. As you and Kylian continue to wander through the store, your basket gradually filling up with pillows, curtains, and other household items, you feel a sense of contentment settling over you. This is where you're meant to be, you realize. With Kylian, in this new home that you're building together.

To avoid having to carry the bags around continually after checking out, you and Kylian take the luggage to the car before returning to the shopping center and entering a different store. Kylian wastes no time in heading over to the men's section, his eyes scanning the shelves for something that catches his eye. "What about this?" he asks, holding up a bright red button-down shirt.

You take a look and give him a sly grin. "You'd definitely stand out in that," you tease.

Kylian rolls his eyes, but you can tell he's enjoying the banter. "Okay, okay, what about this?" he says, holding up a more subdued navy blue polo shirt.

"That's more like it," you say, giving him a nod of approval.

As Kylian continues to peruse the men's section, you head over to the women's side of the store, your eyes scanning the shelves for something that catches your eye. You pick out a few items and make your way to the fitting rooms, where Kylian is waiting for you.

"How does this look?" you ask, stepping out in a flowy floral dress. 

Kylian's eyes light up as he sees you. "Wow, you look amazing," he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. You can feel a flush rising to your cheeks as you spin around, admiring yourself in the mirror. "You think so?" you say, feeling a sudden surge of confidence.

Kylian nods emphatically. "Definitely. You should get it." As you continue to try on different outfits, you and Kylian trade opinions and jokes, enjoying each other's company and the fun of trying on new clothes. By the time you're ready to check out, your arms are full of bags and your hearts are full of joy. As you walk out of the store, Kylian takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. "As much as I love shopping with you, I would love some frozen yogurt in my stomach," he says, a wide smile spreading across his face as he nudges his head towards the nearby froyo. You nod in agreement, “Oh my gosh yes I haven't had frozen yogurt in so long!,” you happily say. The brightly lit store with colorful toppings and various flavors of yogurt make you feel happy and cheerful. Kylian heads straight to the toppings bar, and you follow suit, picking up a cup and filling it with your favorite flavor of yogurt. Kylian piles on the toppings, from chocolate chips to fresh strawberries to whipped cream.

"Looks like someone has a sweet tooth," you tease, grinning at him.

Kylian chuckles, "You know it."

As you both settle down at a table, you can't help but feel grateful for moments like this. Simple moments where you can enjoy each other's company and have fun. Kylian takes a spoonful of yogurt and looks over at you, his eyes shining with mischief. "I have an idea," he says.

"What's that?" you ask, intrigued.

"We should have a taste test. We'll try each other's yogurt cups and see who has the better combination of toppings," Kylian suggests.

You laugh, "Oh, it's on."

For the next few minutes, you both take turns trying each other's yogurt and ranking them. The chocolate chips and strawberries combination was your favorite, and Kylian loved the gummy bears and sprinkles on top of yours. As you finish up your yogurt, you both feel a sense of joy and playfulness. You enjoy being with each other and having fun together.

"I would say our shopping trip has been successful," you say, feeling grateful for the day spent with him.

Kylian grins, "It definitely has been. I love spending time with you, every moment with you is special."

As you both head out of the store, hand in hand, you can't help but feel grateful for the love and happiness in your life. Moments like this, no matter how simple, will always be cherished.

Later at night, you sink down onto your bed with a contented sigh, feeling tired but happy after a day spent with your boyfriend Kylian. Even though you promised to stay up and wait for Kylian to finish his shower, the exhaustion was starting to get to you.

You can't help but smile as you think back to the fun you had shopping for clothes and new furniture together. As you kick off your house slippers and snuggle under the covers, you replay the day's events in your mind. You remember how Kylian had helped you pick out the perfect outfit. You remember how you had found the perfect accent pillow for your living room, and how Kylian had been there to give his opinion and help you choose the right one.But what you remember most is the laughter and joy you shared together. The silly moments of trying on outrageous outfits, the playful banter as you compared your decorating styles, and how could you forget about the delicious frozen yogurt. As you close your eyes, you feel a sense of gratitude wash over you. You are grateful for Kylian and the love and companionship he brings into your life. You are grateful for the fun you had today and the memories you created together. And you are grateful for the quiet moment of reflection before you drift off to sleep. You snuggle deeper into your pillows and blankets, feeling your body relax as you let go of the day's stresses. You are ready to rest, to recharge, and to wake up tomorrow feeling refreshed and ready for whatever comes your way.

With a smile on your face and a warm feeling in your heart, you drift off to sleep, knowing that no matter what tomorrow brings, you and Kylian will face it together, with laughter and love in your hearts.

[madelineserenity]

Matron (& Reaper Nurses) Headcanons

for fredthemosquito :D

Matron & Reaper Nurses

• Whenever there's a calm evening at the hospital, the nurses will sit together next to Matron with cups of tea. Sometimes they'll talk about their day or have a laugh together, other times they'll sit in peace and quiet, where the only noises that can be heard are the clinking of teacups being returned to their saucers, and the shifting of paper bags being lifted slightly for a sip. Matron has a large cup that she can hold properly; the Gold Watchers insisted on having it made for her. Other than that, it looks the same as the rest of the cups, white with gold trim and light blue flowers. She'll hand it down to the nurses to have her tea made, then they'll return it to her. She usually has chamomile.

• She can't play board games properly (her hands are too large to pick up small tokens or dice) but one of the nurses will play for her, sitting next to her desk so they can hear each other clearly. She makes the decisions, the nurse rolls dice and moves pieces across the boards, and reads cards out to her. She enjoys playing games very much, even if it's in an unconventional fashion, but sometimes she wishes she could join in "properly" and roll her own dice.

• She can be harsh on them - she runs a tight ship - but deep down she loves them very much. She's just not the greatest at showing it, as like them, she's been hurt by men she thought loved her. Spending small moments with them or just sitting at her desk, having a one-on-one with a nurse about their pasts and their trauma, is where it shows best.

• They're a massive help. She actually wouldn't be able to run the hospital without them. They bring her painkillers for her back pain, help her wash up in the evenings, bring her healthy food and drinks, keep her company, and even after all the decades they've been together, never mention cigarettes or smoke around her. They refuse to fuel or reignite the addiction she had in life. She still thinks about them occasionally, but they've become more of an old habit now rather than an addiction. In the past, when they did come up, they refused to supply her. Going cold turkey so suddenly did a huge number on her, but they took care of her and continue to do so today.

Matron

• Massive, MASSIVE sweet tooth. Even though the nurses help her monitor her slowly (and safely) decreasing weight, they know to never not replace her cut rock candy when she runs out. She can and will lose it. (she likes the fruit kinds best but she's also not opposed to a humbug once in a while)

(unrelated but this is the stuff that's available to me and OHHHH my goddd it's so good. i don't even like cherry flavoured things usually but even they have surpassed my expectations)

• She'd like to take up knitting or crochet to keep her hands busy, but she's not sure how to get started, especially with the issue of having large hands.

• She loves painting her nails, even though her gloves conceal them when they're done. It makes her feel pretty and confident in her new body, which she often feels insecure in because of her size and having to wheel around. Most of the time she wears soft pinks and nude shades, although a glittery light pink is also fun.

• Really enjoys organising birthday parties for the nurses, although none of them remember their old birthdays, so they just go with the day they became a nurse. It helps her express love for her found family, but she also loves thinking about "Would she want streamers around? I know she's a grown mature woman who likes keeping things neat but surely she'd love waking up to streamers around just for her..." She loves it so much she'll start planning months in advance if there isn't another one coming up soon.

• She can't travel around most of the hospital due to her size, but you can bet your ass she'll be near-yelling "I NEED MORE" at a poor nurse standing there with a box full of streamers while she decorates her hall. For once, being tall is actually very useful.

• She loves rainy weather. She can't see it (no windows) but she loves the sound of rain hitting a roof somewhere in the hospital. She does NOT like hail, very intense rain, or heavy winds. The loud noises make her anxious, although being told what they are helps a lot. She especially hates wind that throw tree branches at walls.

• If she were to watch a sad movie or read a sad book with the nurses, she will be the first one to start crying. Her tough exterior hides and protects a sensitive woman inside. It starts dissipating when she's with the nurses and there's no-one and nothing else to bother her (e.g. a mortal)

[farewellstarstuff]

Christmas, Marley Warriors🎄

Modern university au

small headcanons about the Marley warriors, who are stuck in a uni dorm for the Christmas holidays

warnings: fluff, a bit of humorous, found family trop and the main one: all this is just ideas, you can add smth

characters: Reiner, Berthold, Marcel

wc: 800

Reiner

Asked to go for the Christmas tree

The one that he found looks as bad as possible

Reiner decorates it badly too

He doesn’t understand at all why he is being forced to do this

Is the person who will start celebrating in the morning (in the company of himself)

He is not a fan of loud parties at all, but always stays until the very end

Will say "thanks" for the food a million times

He will fight with Marcel because of the Christmas tree and the decoration that was hung in the wrong place

Everyone joked about how he looks like Santa

Secretly watching Christmas cartoon episodes and rereading old children's fairy tales

He gives the cutest gifts because they remind of childhood

He was puzzling over what to give Annie, but she left the dorm a couple of days before Christmas

He will lie that he is not upset

Initiator of ice rink trips, snowball fights and other activities

He just doesn't want to be alone for the holidays

Brings everyone a cup of coffee with marshmallows in the morning after the holiday (where did he get the marshmallows from btw?)

The cutest among all, even when he drinks

Bertholdt

Doesn’t attach importance of the holiday

Can even say that he doesn’t celebrate at all

He is forced to put up a Christmas tree because he is the tallest and can fix the highest branches

He also hangs garlands, decorations, etc

He hangs out with everyone purely out of politeness

And also because Reiner asked

The one who won't get out of the phone even while eating

He prepared a gift only for Reiner, which later regretted, because everyone else had prepared at least small gifts for him

No, he didn't cry because Reiner gave him his childhood dream - a radio–controlled car (nonono)

A man who can't be torn away from the TV screen because his favorite Christmas movie is on there

He quotes the Grinch more often than he would like

When it's his turn to say wishes, he gets scared, lost in words, and eventually Reiner finishes for him

The first one goes to sleep

He will remember this Christmas as the most awkward in his life

Better than the holiday itself – the day after it

He and Reiner just watch movies all day, laugh at silly jokes and don't leave the room most of the time

Bertholdt is not sad at all because Annie decided at the last moment to celebrate without them (he spent the whole evening in chat with her, but did not dare to write anything more than "merry Christmas")

And, yeah, he definitely pull his phone away after it

Marcel

Another cooking king

His turkey is the best in everyone's life

His joy from the upcoming holiday is enough for three

Signs greeting cards for everyone by hand

If there were children in the company, he would spend most of the day with them, telling them legends and stories

He always remembers how, as a child, he and Porco could not share the toy train that was presented to them

He gets bored of sitting in one place, so he runs around the dorm

If someone needs help, he is the first to do it

Help put up a Christmas tree, find decorations among the boxes, help with cooking, with table setting – it's all him

Thinks he knows more about the holiday than anyone else. As a result, he argues with Colt to the point of circles in front of his eyes about this

Doesn’t admit, but loses. Colt knows more

He has a pair of stupid Christmas socks that he wears once a year for the holiday

A headband with deer antlers is part of his outfit

Porco mocks him because of this, Marcel is angry

Minor quarrels between them are constant, but against the background of this headband are endless

Is touched by the gift from Pieck for Porco more than Porco himself

He loves surprises, so he sulks at his brother for just giving him what he asked for

He offered Porco to dress in the same Christmas pajamas, but he refused

Has a collage of his favorite characters from Christmas cartoons on his phone wallpapers

first part with other characters here