#don’t care much for holidays but felt this was appropriate

[whaliiwatching]

holidays

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - Story Setup and Character Info

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Full text transcriptions under the read more:

Hometown was once a quiet, largely rural community…until, as often happens, much larger powers decided to move in. An expanding empire takes over the land around the small community, and the old town is now surrounded by a rapidly growing fortress and city. A more threatening military presence is felt, and poverty quickly creeps in as the expanding empire takes advantage of the residents still in Hometown. 

[Image of a smaller, more rural Hometown with a much larger city and fortress walls behind it]

While the younger generation at least attempts to adapt to all the changes, the older generation deeply resents this intrusion into their old home. Many of the elders, including Asgore and Toriel Dreemurr, Father Alvin, Mayor Holiday and her husband Rudolph, form their own tight-knit group that soon spirals into a cult.They’re a small community with no means of standing up to an empire’s armies. But, there’s always been old whispers of things far more powerful and terrible…old gods and strange horrors that hail from a Dark World parallel to their own. The cult focuses their attention specifically on tales of a Dark Prince, a goatlike entity made of fire and shadow that can pacify any enemy. Surely, if they can gain the favor of something so dark and powerful, they’ll have a means of driving away all of these intruders and restoring Hometown to the way it used to be.

However, as everyone knows, trying to call up old gods demands sacrifices. Mayor Holiday, having gotten the group together, tries to take the brunt of this duty and first sacrifices her daughter, December. However, it seems to be a botched ritual, and nothing useful results from it, leaving the Mayor extremely bitter. The other elders are tasked with picking up vagrants or other troublemakers to try and successfully complete this ritual, but none seem to work. 

Unwilling to offer up their own dutiful son, Asriel, the Dreemurrs instead adopt an orphan from the poverty-stricken streets of the encroaching city: Kris. However, they find that upon adopting them, Asriel quickly forms a close bond with Kris. Asriel, like most of the younger generation, is unaware of his parents and grandparents’ intentions. Kris is not easy to take care of sometimes…they have weird interests, aren’t very clean, and are often disobedient. Despite this, Toriel and Asgore find Kris growing on them, too. The thought of sacrificing them gets harder and harder to swallow. [Image of Kris and a human Asriel hanging out together and talking while Asriel sits at a writing desk. Toriel and Asgore look on the both of them from a nearby doorway.] However, the other elders start to pressure them, questioning why they’re so intent on keeping this weird orphan around. Aren’t they a symbol of everything going wrong with their little community, and with this invading modern future? Toriel continues to put it off, using the excuse that she is doing extensive research to make sure that they finally do this ritual correctly. While she is indeed conducting research, she also knows that they can’t do anything with Kris as long as Asriel is around with them. 

However, when Asriel is offered an extended stay at the city’s new university to get advanced training as a scholar, the Dreemurrs don’t have an excuse anymore. At the other elders’ behest to do what’s necessary for the good of the town, they decide to conduct the ritual with Kris. The cult brings Kris to an underground shelter in the woods outside town, with Kris none the wiser about their intentions until they are incapacitated and unable to escape.  Toriel’s extensive research pays off, and Kris is appropriately sacrificed to the Dark Prince. The ritual causes them to vanish from this plane, seemingly dead…but there’s still no sign of the old god they were trying to summon. 

[Image of Asgore, Toriel and other older townsfolk, dressed in various goat or deer masks and robes, with Asgore carrying Kris towards an altar.]

The Dreemurrs are distraught at this seeming failure, after they worked so hard to ensure that they did this right. The remaining elders double down, though, insisting that they have to keep trying. Asriel returns from his training, and is devastated to find his sibling missing. Toriel and Asgore, unable to admit what they did, lie to Asriel and say that Kris had a huge argument and left home on their own. Asriel vows to search for them and bring them back home, and while his parents try to dissuade him from this, they’re unsuccessful. 

[Image of Asriel stepping out the door of his home, a large backpack slung over his shoulder, and waving off Toriel and Asgore in the foreground. They stay indoors while he heads out into the world.]

Meanwhile, unknown to anyone in the Light World, the ritual was actually successful, and transported Kris to the Dark World…right into the home of Ralsei, the very Dark Prince they were trying to reach! Ralsei is delighted to finally have an actual human from the Light World visit him! Sure, he’s heard about all those previous sacrifices, but they never actually got to him. The Dark World and the afterlife aren’t really the same place, after all. [Image of Kris floating down into a new Dark World, where Dark Prince Ralsei stands next to a large cauldron and welcomes them.]

Kris, however, is infuriated and despondent…they’ve already had a very hard life as an orphan, and now just when it seemed like they had a new family they could trust, that trust was broken by adults who once again threw them away for their own purposes. Ralsei, ever cheerful, assures them that they must be here for a reason…and that he has a means for them to not only return to the Light World, but get retribution for what’s happened to them and their Hometown. 

[Image of the silhouettes of many large eldritch beasts: Susie, Noelle, Berdly and Catti.]

The Dark World is full of eldritch beasts, strange demons and old gods, after all. He can grant them the forbidden knowledge and ability to speak to and even command these eldritch beasts. Once they form a strong enough bond with the beasts, and make it through the bound gods that may bar the way, they can bring them back to the world of light…and command them to do whatever Kris would like to the people living there. However, such power and ability comes at a high cost…Kris’s human soul. 

[Image of Kris giving their soul to Ralsei; the soul emanates a red glow between them.]

Kris, seeing little other option and not feeling much attachment to their humanity anyway, agrees and sells their soul to the Dark Prince Ralsei. Ralsei excitedly promises that he’ll take extra good care of their soul, and that he’ll accompany them as they befriend the eldritch beasts lurking in the Dark World. This arrangement certainly has some other benefits for Kris, too…in addition to this forbidden knowledge, Ralsei’s control over their soul grants them a degree of invulnerability. If Kris dies or is somehow psychologically destroyed, Ralsei can use it to revive them completely. 

[Image of Kris, now decked out with armor and a sword, standing on a cliffside looking out over the Dark World. Ralsei stands nearby.]

Ralsei gives Kris suitable armor and weaponry for this venture, and the two set out into a vast Dark Realm of strange horrors, lost cities and twisting paths in search of new friends and a means back to the Light World. While Kris is unsure about this journey at first, Ralsei is all smiles, excited for them to gain some friendships that they clearly desperately need! Of course, he’s excited for other reasons, too…those cultists have been calling out to him for such a long time, and now with Kris’s human soul, he can finally enter the Light World. Kris can forge the bonds they’ve been lacking, Ralsei and the eldritch beasts they find will finally have access to the human world, and the people clamoring for terrible things to happen will get exactly what they asked for. How could that not be a happy ending?

[lesservillain]

vi. for you, there'll be no more crying

summary: things change between you and eddie for the better cw: SMUT, unprotected piv, a fight with rick, eddie recounts what happened to him last year a/n: it's happening!!!!

It’s been almost a month since you’ve seen Eddie Munson.

As you lay in bed after a long day of clinicals, your fingertips and toes still cold from the January snow nipping at them in your school uniform. The blizzard that hit at the beginning of the week left several feet of snow all across Indiana, leaving an appropriate setting for the way you’ve been feeling as of late.

Because you should be at the Munson’s today. You should have been at the Munson’s just about every day since the last time you saw them. But, unexpectedly, you’d been told that you wouldn’t be needed anymore, at least for a little while. It wasn’t a reassuring statement in the least. 

You’d took it as maybe just a couple of days, but as February draws closer, you’re starting to feel as if you’d never see your two favorite men ever again.

You didn’t know for sure, but you had a feeling as to why you’d been asked not to come back. It was…embarrassing to think about. You’ve been kicking yourself ever since it happened. 

That night on new years when you and Eddie kissed. Accident or not, it felt like the fireworks outside were going off behind your eyelids. Never have you ever felt so…so…connected to someone just from a kiss. And you were certain by the way Eddie was looking at you that he was feeling it, too.

But, now…Maybe he wasn’t red from enjoyment. Maybe it was from disgust.

You didn’t get much time to dwell on it, though. Because immediately after the phone rang, police chief Hopper calling for Eddie. It scared you to see Eddie’s face drop the way it did. You had a sinking feeling it had to do with Wayne. But when Eddie asked you to take him home right away, it left you confused. 

He wouldn’t tell you anything. Not even budging a little bit. 

“It’s not bout Wayne. He’s fine.” 

That’s the extent of information that you were given.

The next day is when Wayne called, reluctantly telling you that you didn’t need to come out for a while. They were having family issues and Wayne was going to be home to take care of him, so you didn’t have to bother with them.

You tried to argue. Tried to tell them that you would come out just to cook and keep them company if need be, but Wayne was insistent that you don’t make the drive out. At least not until they tell you it’s okay. You finally agreed, but it didn’t feel good. Especially since it didn’t make sense.

Eddie and Wayne made it very clear that they didn’t have any family in town. Eddie might have some grandparents in Tennessee, but they’re on his moms side of the family and they’d not heard from them in years. So what kind of family emergency could it possibly be?

After thinking it through, you’ve come to the conclusion that the phone call from Hopper was unrelated and that Eddie was just using it as an excuse to get rid of you. 

The kiss was clearly too much for him. It had you wondering if there were times where you’d been too unprofessional. Maybe you were supposed to decline their invitations to come over for holidays. They were just being nice asking you to come over, they didn’t actually mean it.

It was even worse when you called on Wayne’s birthday last week. No one answered, so you just left a voicemail, hoping for but not getting a call back. 

And, to top it all off, your clinicals were being held at Hawkins General. Their short staff made the need for help greater than any of the other hospitals around right now, so a lot of the workers there were working past their limits. You’d only just started this week and already felt like you were busting your ass.

The experience you had taking care of Eddie was definitely a help when it came to being more of a help than a hindrance. The patients seemed to really like you, too, which made you feel a little better. Still, you couldn’t help but wish that you were going straight to the Munson’s instead of having to drive all the way home to an empty house after a long day.

Tonya was correct in her suspicions when it came to Charles proposing, so she’d been spending more time with him at his house than at your shared home. It made sense, and you were happy for her. But you still missed having her around to cry on, especially when you were feeling this down.

As you drifted off to sleep, you decided that you were tired of feeling like this. You were going to go to the Munson’s home tomorrow after your clinicals. Even if they turned you away, you wanted to at least apologize for making Eddie feel uncomfortable. You wouldn't be able to go on if you didn’t.

‘If you’re lost, you can look, and you will find mee~” 

You belt Cyndi Lauper as you turn into the entrance of the Munson driveway. You were a little suspicious at the amount of tire tracks that seemed to be going up and down the snowy driveway. Maybe the boys had been coming over to see Eddie?

A sports car you’d not seen before sat in the driveway, taking the spot next to where Wayne normally parks his truck. But it was gone. Wayne wasn’t home, but someone else was here? 

You pulled into Wayne’s spot and threw your car in park. You were getting angrier with each new question you had bubbling up in your head. You walked around to the unfamiliar car, trying to see inside, but it was too dark and the windows were too tinted to see in.

The sound of the front door opening drew your attention, and you almost started yelling then and there when none other than Reefer Rick himself, illuminated by the porch light, stepped off the porch and peered around to see who was there.

“Well hello, nurse,” he called out, putting a cigarette to his lips and lighting it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You round the cars, stomping up to him, the sound of snow crunching under your white sneakers.

“Woah, woah, calm down,” he throws his hands up, the smoke billowing from his lips above your head. “I’m just here to hang out with Eddie while Wayne’s workin’--”

“Wayne’s at work?” You can feel tears starting to form. This is exactly what you didn’t want to happen. “Why--,” you sniffle, “Why didn’t he ask me to come out and stay with Eddie?”

“Um, that is because…-Oh! It was, like super, short notice.” He says, nodding unconvincingly. “Yeah, they just really needed him and, uh, he just didn’t think you’d be able to make it out tonight, ya know?”

“Bullshit.”

He looks at you wide eyed, “Wh-what?”

“That’s bullshit, Rick.” You stand your ground, giving him a look that could kill. But he only grew agitated, nostrils flaring as he towered over you.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re thinking you’re going to get for coming out here, but they don’t need you anymore.”

The words hit you like an arrow to the chest. All of your suspicions were right, but you…you just couldn’t accept it from him.

“I want to hear that from Eddie.”

“Tough luck,” Rick says, taking another drag. 

“I don’t need your permission to talk to him.”

“You do when he said he specifically doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

The tears fall, but you remain resolute regardless.

“I’m going to talk to him--hey!” You went to walk around him, but he stepped in front of you to prevent you from going any further. You tried it again, and he only moved once more.

“Damn it, just move!”

“I’m not moving,” he says sternly.

“What is this really about, Rick?” He reels back with disbelief. 

“What are you talking about?” He says, sounding exacerbated. “I’m trying to keep my friend safe and you wont take a hint? Is that what you want me to say?”

“Keep him safe? Safe from what?” You match his confused energy.

“From you!”

“ME?!” You’re pushed over your limit at this point. “Don’t even fucking try it, Rick. I’ll call you out for filth.”

“Do it then! I’d love to hear what you could possibly have to say about me!”

“Okay! How about the fact that Eddie used to be your biggest dealer? And that I know you’ve been trying to get him to deal for you again?”

“Wh-what? Are you actually insane?!”

“I’m not the insane one here! The man is in a fucking wheelchair! I know you bring your drugs over here, I’ve seen them in his sock drawer.”

“Yeah, because he smokes it himself! How the fuck do you think he’s been getting by without his pain meds, dumbass!”

Ricks words took you back. You knew Eddie wasn’t taking his pain medication anymore, but you thought he was doing okay without it. You didn’t realize it was because he was using weed to feel better.

“I’ve also not been selling it to him. I’ve just been giving him what I can so that the guy above me doesn’t notice. I actually never needed Eddie to sell for me, I’ve just been trying to help the guy out!”

“Oh, don’t try and get all high and mighty. Eddie may not realize it but I know that you have money. Probably from your mommy and daddy.”

Rick is quiet for a moment, the tips of his ears red under the porch light. You knew you’d got him with how long it took for him to respond.

“Listen,” he finally says, his tone much more serious. “Maybe I do have access to money in one way or another, but I’m not going to flaunt it in front of my friend when I know him and Wayne have struggled to keep the lights on. Eddie’s been like a brother to me since he started pestering me as a freshman, and I’ve done what I can to help them out. Things that only stay between Wayne and I, that Eddie doesn’t even know about, if you catch my drift.”

Your eyes go wide and you nod. The feelings you’ve had towards Rick up to this point should make you not believe him, but something about his shift in demeanor has you wanting to be convinced that he’s telling the truth.

“So if you’re understanding where I’m coming from, I think that you should know what I’m going to ask you to do.”

Your head cocks to the side in genuine confusion.

“No, in fact I don’t know. Please tell me.”

Rick rolls his eyes, taking a step closer so that he can speak to you more hushed.

“C’mon, don’t make me do this. Be the better person and just go.”

“Rick, I honest to god don’t have a clue what the fuck you’re talking about. Speak to me in something other than vague threats please.”

He scoffs, leaning down to be at your level. 

“If I give you a check to leave here and never come back, will that satiate your needs?”

You blink hard, trying your best to comprehend whatever bullshit Rick is going on about.

“Rick,” you say with a sharp exhale, “I don’t know why you think I would ever want any of your money or why you think you could pay me enough to stay away from Eddie. But, I’m going to say this only once. I am not interested.”

Rick straightens up, head rolling back in frustration.

“I can’t believe you. Do you, like, get off on taking things from people who are suffering or something?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m not taking anything from anyone!”

“Oh, so you’re meaning to tell me that you’ve just been taking care of Eddie for free this whole time? That Wayne hasn’t been working to keep you around? And now that Eddie doesn’t need you, you’ve come here to try and convince him that he’s still sick so that you can keep getting a check.”

You feel like you’re going insane listening to Rick spout off the made up bullshit that he was spewing at you.

“No! Rick, have you ever even talked to Eddie?! I’ve not taken a single dime from the Munson’s in the last five months that I’ve known them! I was taking care of Eddie through a volunteer program through my school! And when that ended, I agreed to keep taking care of Eddie until he really didn’t need me anymore!”

Rick shakes his head, reeling as he pieces through everything you’ve just told him. It’s quiet for a moment between you two.

“So you’ve really not taken any money from Wayne?”

“No, I have not. Unless you count the times he’s made me food, or bought us all take out. But I don’t ask him to, he always insists.”

His head drops, foot kicking from underneath him.

“Look, I think that we’ve both been…under the wrong impression about each other. I don’t want anything to happen to the Munson’s and I think you don’t want anything to happen to them either.”

“So…we’re on the same page then?” You nod, and Rick laughs. “Well, I’ll be the first to say sorry then. I really thought you were trying to get the little money that they have.”

“And I thought you were trying to get Eddie back into dealing. I’m sorry for thinking that of you.”

“I guess…we’re cool then?”

“I guess so.”

“Cool, well, listen, I know you probably came here to see Eddie. But, I don’t think he would want you to be here right now.”

You frown, unhappy to hear that Rick is still trying to get rid of you.

“I’m sure that he doesn’t, but I really need to talk to him. I just want to clear the air with him and then if he wants nothing to do with me after that…”

“Mmmm, I don’t know what air needs clearing, but Eddie’s being going through some stuff of his own right now. I don’t think its about not wanting to see you…more like he doesn’t want to get you into what he’s got going on.”

You were growing more frustrated with how vague Rick was being. So, instead of wasting more time, you decide to rush past him, heading straight for the front door. But, he didn’t try to stop you. Instead he stood in place, taking a drag of his cigarette as he watches you walk through the front door.

Once inside, you’re greeted by the low hum of music playing from the radio in Eddie’s room, as well as the low murmur of conversation between Eddie and what sounded like Dustin.

Walking down the hall, you stand by the door and peer into the room. Eddie is sitting on the edge of his bed and Dustin is sitting in his chair. They look like they’re looking over a map of some sort and you wonder if it’s one they made for their D and D campaign. 

Your eyes scan over Eddie as he talks. Ever so animated as he points things out, while Dustin, just as animated, retorts something back. He looked a little rougher since the last time you saw him. His hair needed some TLC and the dark circles under his eyes made you wonder if he was getting enough sleep. It pained you to think he was having night terrors without you around to comfort him.

After a moment you decide to knock on the door, causing both boys heads to whip around to face you. Dustin smiles upon seeing you, a kneejerk reaction that he has anytime he’s not seen you for a while. Eddie’s reaction isn’t as sweet, his eyes practically bugging out of his head when he realizes that it’s you in his doorway.

“What are you doing here?” He asks coldly. He didn’t seem at all happy to see you and it hurt.

“I’m here to see you, Eddie.” You take a step inside his room, but Eddie reaches a hand out to stop you.

“You need to leave. Now.” He says in a tone that he’s never spoken with you before. You feel tears starting to well up in your eyes, but you do your best to hold them back.

“No,” you say firmly, “Eddie, we need to talk.”

“I know,” he says with a sigh, hand running through his tangled hair. “I know, but…I promise you that we’ll talk, it just can’t be today.”

“Why not?” You feel that you’re borderline petulant sounding, but you don’t know if you can wait any longer now that he’s here in front of you.

“Tonight…just isn’t a good night.”

The sound of the phone ringing catches you off guard. Dustin jumps up from Eddie’s chair and bolts past you to the kitchen. His weird behavior and Eddie’s resistance have you feeling on edge.

“Is everything okay?” You ask concerned.

“Honestly, not really,” Eddie says exasperated. “That’s why I need you to go. I really can’t risk you being here with what’s going on.”

“Eddie, it sounds like you’ve gotten yourself into something dangerous. Does Rick have something to do with--”

“No, it’s nothing to do with Rick. Well, he’s involved now, but he didn’t have to be. But, you’re right, it is dangerous. That’s why you need to go home. I promise you that if everything goes how it’s supposed to, I will call you tomorrow and we can talk about whatever it is that you want to talk about.”

“Whatever it is that I want to talk about? Eddie, what I want to talk about has been eating me alive for the last month. I’ve been worried sick about you, you know.”

“And I’m so sorry, but I really need one more night to get what is going on taken care of and then I’ll--”

“EDDIE! SHE’S UP! THEY SAID SHE’S UP!”

Eddie moves himself into his chair so quickly that you almost miss it. He starts to roll toward you and you side step out of the way to let him pass. Dustin is standing in the living room and Rick was standing at the entry way chewing on his thumb nail.

“I gotta get over there, like, now,” Dustin says in frustration.

“Absolutely not,” Eddie says, pointing at Dustin.

“I’ll take you,” Rick says, pulling his keys from his pocket.

“Rick, no--”

“Eddie, they need me! Just wait here and keep playing your music! I’ll be fine!”

“Dustin, you know what almost happened to me! There’s no way I’m letting you go and get yourself killed!”

“I’m not going to be killed! We know what we need to do to stop him, and they’re going to need me there to make sure that everything goes smoothly. They’re fighting a boss without any support!

“Then I’m going, too!”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Rick says, waving his hands. “I can’t fit your wheelchair in my trunk anyway. 

“Fucking damn it,” Eddie curses, hands banging against the armrests of his wheelchair. 

“She’s already here, you might as well tell her what’s been going on now,” Dustin says motioning towards you.

“That would really be appreciated!” You say with exhaustion, more confused now than ever.

“Alright, kid, get your shit and let’s go,” Rick says opening the front door. Dustin rushes into the kitchen and grabs a duffel bag with a baseball bat handle sticking out of the zipper.

Just as Dustin is about to run out the door, he stops. Turning to face you, he pauses for a moment.

“Whatever you do, don’t answer the door.”

And with that, he leaves. Only you and Eddie remain.

It’s quiet after you hear Rick take off in his car besides the sound of music still coming from Eddie’s room. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Eddie finally takes a deep breath, letting it out before finally speaking.

“Do you still have cassettes in your car?”

The question throws you for a moment, but you nod in response.

“Yeah, I have a few. Why?”

“Go get your favorite one and bring it back in here.”

You didn’t understand why he would ask you to do this, but his serious tone made you take the few steps towards the door. The frigid air hits you once again as you run out to your car. Rummaging through the cassettes you have, you pull out Rumors and run back into the house. 

“What is all of this about, Eddie?” You ask. You walk up to him and the takes the cassette from your hand, smirking when he sees what it is.

“You and Wayne and your tastes in music.” 

It made you happy to see him smile. It’s felt like eons since you’ve last seen it. 

Eddie wordlessly rolls down the hall and you follow behind him. You watch as he pops out the cassette and places it in the case. It’s the one you got him for Christmas. He then replaces it in the player with your Rumors cassette and presses play. Once Second Hand News begins to play, he finally looks at you directly. Your name leaves his lips with a slight shakiness.

“There’s something going on that I really didn’t want you to be involved with. Something that…frankly, I don’t know if you’re even going to believe me when I tell you.”

“Try me,” you say, sitting down on his bed, giving him your full attention.

“Okay, so,” he starts, his hands already fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. “You know how I’ve been telling you bits and pieces about what happened to me last year?” You nod. “Well, I’ve sort of been…well, not really lying. But maybe only telling you half truths.”

Eddie then proceeds to tell you what actually happened to him last year. He tells you about an alternate dimension that exists under ours, that is an almost identical copy of what our world looks like. 

“Well, I’ve really only seen Hawkins, so I can’t say it’s the same everywhere. But, it’s a carbon copy of this town frozen in time.”

“Frozen in time?” You ask.

“Yeah, it’s stuck on the day that Will went missing a few years ago.”

“Will went missing?”

“Back in ‘83. It was this big thing where he went missing, then they found his body, but it wasn’t actually his body. Then he came back and people started calling him Zombie Boy.”

“Okay,” is all you can say as you try and wrap your head around that logic.

“When Will was missing, he was actually in the Upside Down. They were able to get him back, thanks to El.”

“El? Like Jane?” You’d heard the guys call her El before. Eddie nods.

“She has these, like, super powers. Kinda like The Force in Star Wars.”

“So she can lift people with her mind?”

“People, objects, and I guess she has a mind power where she can track people down. I think she used it to help them find Will.”

“How is that even possible?” You feel like Eddie’s barely scratched the surface and you already can barely grasp what he’s told you.

“The government and some experiments that happened a few years ago. They had a lab here in town that was destroyed in the earthquake. Which wasn’t a normal quake, by the way. It was caused by Vecna.”

“Who-na?”

Eddie continues telling you about the events leading up to what happened to him. He fills you in on a monster called the Mind Flayer, about how El lost her powers, then got them back. About how Will is somehow connected to this Upside Down place because of his time there, and how he can sense the presence of it.

“Then…” Eddie stops talking for a moment, looking a bit distraught as he collects his thoughts. “Then…um, one night, last year, there was this girl I went to school with. Her name was Chrissy.”

“Was?” You question. Eddie nods solemnly.

“She, um, asked me to sell her some drugs. I didn’t have on me what she wanted, so I brought her…brought her back to the trailer. It was just me and her, Wayne had already gone to work. I was looking for the drugs she wanted aaaand, uuuh, while I was gone…”

You can see Eddie becoming more uncomfortable as he talks. It breaks your heart to see him like this.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Eddie,” you tell him, hoping that maybe if he skips whatever happened that it would make him less uneasy.

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head, “I-I haven’t really, um, really gotten to talk about it since it happened. I feel like if I do then…” Eddie takes a moment to compost himself, eyes full of tears when he tilts his head up.

“She, um, she was acting weird. Just, standing there, not responding to me. Then, boom.” Eddie lifts his hand up, mimicking it hitting against something above it. “She’s suddenly on the ceiling. As if something was pulling her up by strings. Then her arms and legs…they snapped in ways that aren’t natural. The sounds,” Eddie puts his hands over his ears and leans forwards, eyes wide on the floor. “Then her eyes just popped into her skull. And her jaw…”

“Eddie, it’s okay,” you say rubbing his back as he starts to sob. You pull him closer to you until his head is resting in your lap. You can feel his tears soaking your thighs, but you only continue to rub soothing circles into his back. 

“You don’t have to tell me anymore, Eddie. I don’t think you’re ready to relive this.”

His head shoots up from your lap, his face wet with tears, eyes rimmed red. He sniffles as he takes his shirt and wipes his face with it.

“It’s fine, I got this,” he says with a rasp. “That was the worst of it. Um, after that, I just totally freaked out and ran. I wasn’t even thinking straight until I pulled up to Rick’s place. That’s when I realized what happened and…what was going to happen to me. I already didn’t have a good reputation in this town, and I knew if I called the cops after I left…shit even if I hadn’t left, they would have arrested me on the spot.”

Eddie tells you about what happened over the few days he was at Rick’s. About how Dustin, Max, Robin, and Steve found him there and they all explained to him what he told you. How if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes he wouldn’t have believed them.

He then tells you about the manhunt for him. How a group of boys, one of them being Chrissy’s boyfriend, found him and one of those boys ended up being killed the same way Chrissy had. That made three people total that had been killed by Vecna at that point, and apparently he only needed to kill four.

“Who was his fourth victim?” You ask. Eddie blinks and looks up at you.

“Max was supposed to be.”

Eddie tells you everything. He tells you about Max’s visions and her almost being killed in front of Lucas. How El managed to keep her from dying and that’s how she ended up in the coma she’s in now.

It makes you think about how you’d been taking care of her. Did her mom know this is what happened to her? Or was she just as in the dark about it as you and everyone else was. 

You understood why Lucas felt that he couldn’t leave her side. You would probably do the same if you were in his shoes.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie. That must be an awful thing to live with.” You were referring to survivors guilt. You knew Eddie had to have been feeling it this whole time, but you didn’t know the context that made it’s severity make sense.

“I’m trying to deal with it. Honestly…you’ve made me feel a lot better. When Dustin or the guys try to cheer me up, it feels like they’re pitying me. But you…”

You take one of his hands in yours and smile. He looks at you bashfully before adverting his gaze once again. As you hold his hand, you feel the scars that adorn them.

“Eddie,” you say quietly, “What happened to you?”

Eddie remains still, almost tense. There was a long pause before he finally spoke again.

“You know how it’s hard for me to listen to that one Metallica song?”

“The puppet one?”

He nods.

“Yeah, you said it had bad memories.”

“That night, the same night that that happened to Max, we were in the Upside Down. It was Dustin and I, left in charge of creating a distraction so that Steve and Nancy and Robin could get to the big boss. So, I took my guitar from down there and played that song. 

“I’d been practicing it every day since I got the album, so I knew that I needed to play it and make it count. I felt so bad ass playing it, too. And, the best part is that it worked. We were able to get all those fucking bats to come to us.”

Eddie was looking past you, recalling that night in his head.

“They swarmed us. Dustin and I were able to get back into the trailer where we thought we were safe. But, those fucks were still able to get in. We took them down, and Dustin wanted to leave…But I was too stubborn.

“Instead of doing the right thing and going with Dustin, I tried to play the hero and wanted to make more of a distraction for the others. So I…ran out there and I tried to fight off hundreds of these bats by myself.”

You gasp, your hand coming to your mouth as you connect the dots.

“Needless to say they made a snack out of me,” Eddie says gesturing to himself. “I was sure I was a gonner, too. I blacked out and everything. Woke up a few days later in a busy hospital where I didn’t receive the best care in the world. But, I was also handcuffed to the bed considering I was still the number one suspect in the murders.”

“Wait, so even though you came in barely alive they still thought you were a murderer?”

“Yep. And, get this, Jason, Chrissy’s boyfriend, he died in the earthquake. His aunt works at the hospital as a nurse. She obviously doesn’t like me, and I don’t blame her. She tried to kill me.”

“What?! How?”

“Apparently she was going to give me like a lethal amount of some kind of narcotic in my IV. But Wayne caught her at the last minute when he came to visit me.”

“And that’s why you were so weary of me.”

Eddie nods, giving you a coy smile. “Sorry about that…”

“Eddie you don’t need to be sorry about any of that. If I had known, I would have done things totally differently--”

“But I’m glad you didn’t. Instead of treating me like a charity case, you treated me like human being despite my shitty attitude. Who knows if we would have gotten to this point if you had known.”

This point. That could mean a myriad of things, but you try not to think about why you came here and instead focus back to the present. 

“Wow. That is…a lot.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, “I know that most of it sounds like some kind of fantasy, and I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me.”

“Why would you lie to me?”

Eddie looks at you with surprise.

“You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“Eddie, obviously you’re quite upset about all of this. I don’t think you’re that good of an actor to fake it.”

“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he says with a sigh of relief. “I thought you would have told me to shut up before I could get everything out.”

“You really think that way about me?”

“No, god no,” he says waving his hands, taking yours back in his grip once he’s done, “I just wouldn’t have blamed you if you did.”

“So, I’m guessing that the radio silence from you the last few weeks is because something is happening again?”

“Yes. Do you remember when we were at Grant’s place on New Years?”

Your cheeks go hot and you nod.

“Well, when Hopper called, he told me that something happened to Max that night. Apparently she levitated off of the bed and told Lucas that Vecna would be coming soon.”

You reel back, taken aback at the visual you had in your head of that happening. “No one at the hospital said anything about that.”

“That's because only Lucas and Max’s mom saw it happen. Nearly gave the poor woman a heart attack.”

“I bet it did,” you say thinking about Max’s poor, tired mom.

“Ever since we’ve all been on high alert in case something else happens. But nothing with Max has happened.”

“Has anything happened to you?”

There’s a quiet moment again. Eddie’s thumb rubs circles into the back of your hand as he takes his time to respond.

“I’ve been…having those dreams. But they’ve been more vivid than before. He…he talks to me.”

“Who talks to you?”

“Vecna.”

“The bad guy from the Upside Down has been talking to you?”

Eddie nods. “He told me that I was lucky to get out alive, that he was going to make sure that didn’t happen again.”

A wave of nausea washed over you. Eddie was in real, genuine danger and there’s a possibility that you might not have ever seen him again if you hadn’t come out tonight. How could you even live with yourself if that had been the case?

“Well,” you say after a moment, “That’s not going to happen. Not while I’m around.”

Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. “I just told you I have a target on my back and your first thought isn’t to run?”

“Hell no! I’m not leaving your side ever again at this point.”

Eddie brings a hand to his face, head tilting back. He plays it off as frustration but he’s trying to hide how red his cheeks are from your words. But when he says your name in a whiny tone to punctuate his actual frustration, you suspect he’s going to protest you staying.

“Please don’t make me leave,” you say before he can get another word out. He peeks at you through his fingers, a sad puppy like look on your face as you plead with him. “If I have to be honest with you to get you to let me stay I will be.”

“What do you mean by that?” He says, running his hand down his face so he can look at you properly.

You take a deep breath in and release it.

“Eddie, what I’ve been wanting to talk about…I just, I can’t keep my mind off of you. And, not just in the way I’ve been worried about you…” You bite your lip. “Ever since New Years…when we..you know.”

“When we…”

“Kissed.” 

Eddie really blushes now, and you become acutely aware of how your hand is still holding his.

“Ye-yeah, I’ve been…wanting to talk with you about that, too.”

“I want to apologize.”

Sitting up straight, he looks at you like you have two heads. “What do you need to apologize for?”

“That kiss, it was inappropriate. At first it felt like it was just an accident, but the more I’ve been able to think about it the last few weeks…The more I realized that I didn’t want it to be one. And that made me think that you must have felt that way, too. Which was why I thought you stopped having me come over.”

“No, nope, not at all,” Eddie says, waving his hand dismissively. “Honestly, I’ve barely been able to think about that. Not because I don’t want to, but, well, you know, with everything going on.”

“Well, that makes me feel better, kinda. Obviously I’d rather you be mad at me than in danger from a supernatural being, but I’m glad you’re not upset with me at all.”

“I don’t think I could ever be mad at you.” The gooey tone he says those words make you feel like melting into a little puddle on the floor. “I also wouldn’t take back what happened. Because I don’t regret it. Unless you didn’t want it to happen. Then I’ll do my best to forget.”

“You really don’t regret it?”

Eddie shakes his head. “If nothing else, I think that if I died right now that I’d be happy to have had at least that with you.”

You feel your heart beating in your chest. Eddie and you look at each other, the tension thick as both of your true feelings start to surface for the first time like this. You swallow thickly, and Eddie’s eyes shift down. They land on your lips, then back to your eyes. 

The string snaps, and you both lean into each other, lips colliding together is a passionate kiss. His hands hold your face in place, yours go straight for his hair, letting your fingers get caught up in his tangled mane. Your lips move in sync as you take each others breath away. 

The fireworks from New Years make an appearance in your minds eye once more. But this time, they’re raging more than ever, amplified by the warmth that floods your body as you have this moment with Eddie. All the worries you had fly out the window as he hold you, kissing you with just as much feverence as you have for him.

The moment you pull away from each other feels like being ripped away from a fire in the dead of winter. But Eddie’s face remains close to yours looking at you wildly, a huge grin on display.

“Wow,” he says with a breathy chuckle. 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes still closed as you feel a heat starting to burn within you. They remain lidded even with you open them, taking in Eddie’s features up close as he looks at you with a childish wonder.

You can’t help but lean into him again. Letting your lips barely touch as you peck him once, twice. The third time lingers, and you feel the heat of his breath blowing from his nose against your cheeks. You open him up with your mouth, letting yourself into his as your tongue slips inside. There’s some hesitance on his part, but he does his best to match your pace, tongues doing a sloppy dance between you. 

As the kiss intensifies, you place your hands on Eddie’s shoulders, pushing him back gently until you’re barely on the bed anymore. You close it with another peck or two, his eyes closed as he chases you. You slide down until your knees hit the push of his carpet and that’s when Eddie opens his eyes. He watches your every move as you place a delicate hand on either knee, pushing his thighs apart until you’re properly wedged between them.

“Wh-what are you…?” Eddie trails of, still wanting to make sure you’re doing what he thinks you’re doing. Your hands move slowly as they run up his thighs until they reach his hips, then you move them back down at the same pace.

“What do you want me to do, Eddie?” You ask, voice smooth as silk as you look up at him. 

“Holy fuck,” Eddie huffs, voice shaky. You lay your head on his thigh, looking up at him, and Eddie swears you have a sparkle in your eyes.

“I can do whatever you want me to, you know,” you say with a smile. “If there’s a possibility you might die, might as well make it a night to remember.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, and it makes you a little nervous. But he couldn’t help it. He was going through every scenario that he’d ever jerked off to with you in it. He was getting so hard that he didn’t know how he was going to be able to keep his cool.

But his silence worried you. Did you come off too strong? 

“Eddie? Do you want me to stop?”

Eddie suddenly snaps back into it, shaking his head wildly. 

“No, please don’t!” He absentmindedly grabs your hand and places it on his hard cock. You gasp, feeling him through his sleep pants. 

“This is what you do to me, you know. And not just now. There’s been so many times where I’ve imagined this happening. But, I gotta say, nothing I’ve imagined has come close to the real thing.”

You eat up his words and they go straight to your core.

“You’ve thought about me?” You ask genuinely.

“I can’t think of anything else but you,” he says lowly. Too bashfully for the mood you’re trying to set. You want him to know he can be open with you, that he doesn’t have to think he isn’t worthy of you.

You adjust your hand so that you’re holding onto his cock and start rubbing him through his pants. Eddie makes little noises in response to your touch that tell you he’s liking it. 

“Can I--” You start, but Eddie cuts you off.

“You can do whatever you want,” He says breathily.

“I don’t want to do anything you don’t like though,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes.

“As long as it’s you I’ll like it.”

With that, you let your fingers curl around the hem of his sweats and tug. Eddie lifts himself up a bit so give some slack and you take advantage of it. You pull his sweats down enough that his cock springs free, smacking against his stomach.

You’ve seen his cock briefly before, but to see it now in all it’s glory was a lot. It was as big as you expected it to be, and thick, too. You reached out your hand, wrapping it around him and begin stroking him. His cock jumps in your touch.

Eddies hands are gripping his wheelchair. He can’t believe this is happening to him. He’s never had anyone touch him like this before and the fact that you’re the first to do this was driving him crazy. Every move felt better than he could have even imagined. 

He watched in awe as you adjusted yourself, your lips hovering over him as you fucking spit on his cock and rub it in. He feels like he could bust right there, but he does his best to keep calm. The last thing he wants is to embarrass himself by cumming too fast.

But you’re testing his resilience when you take him into your mouth.

“Oh, holy fuck,” he moans as you get as much of him in as you can. With your hand on the base you start bobbing up and down on him, doing your best to open up for him as you take him to the back of your throat over and over. 

Eddie’s hands fly to your head. You hesitate for a moment, but when you see up to see the way he’s looking at you, you keep going. Pulling yourself from him, you take your tongue and lick him from base to top, swirling it around his head before going back in for the kill. You open up your throat and take him until your can feel your nose rubbing against hair.

“Haaaaa, oh my god,” he chokes out, his grip on your head getting tighter out of reflex. You hold it for as long as you can, trying your best to hold your breath until you just can’t anymore. You pull off of him again, looking up at him to get his reaction. 

“Was that good?” You ask as you stroke him.

“Is the sky blue?” He can’t even believe you’re asking. You smile and lean down to wrap your lips around his tip. You work around it with your tongue as you keep pumping. Eddie grabs the arms of his chair again and his hips buck, putting him further into your mouth. You cough a bit, unprepared for that much of him all at once.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, his hands framing your face. “Are you okay?”

You smile and nod, “Yeah, it’s okay. You’re just so big, Eddie. I can’t take you like that if I’m not ready.”

Eddie’s face is like a tomato from your words. You calling saying he’s big does a little something to his ego that he’s going to keep in his mind for the rest of his life. He leans down and kisses you, taking the lead with his new found confidence. You can feel him guiding you up from the floor with his hands, and you stand until you’re the one leaning down to him.

Eddie suddenly pulls away, locking the brakes of his chair. He places a hand on either arm and pushes himself up so that he’s towering over you, your bodies brushing against each other as he teeters on his leg. Out of instinct you grab him by his waist to hold him up. 

But Eddie has other plans. He maneuvers his body, shifting his weight so that he’s pushing against you. This causes you to fall back until you land on the bed, bringing Eddie down with you. Before he can crush you under him, Eddie braces his hands on either side of you, propping himself up so that he’s hovering over you, his knee on the bed between your legs.

Now you’re the one blushing, taken aback by such a smooth move by him. He’s so close to you, his hair curtaining around you so that all you can focus on is his face. Which is looking at you like he also can’t believe that he just pulled that off. 

“Hi,” you say when he doesn’t say anything.

“Hi, sweetheart” he says with a classic Eddie chuckle.

You reach up to kiss him again and he melts into it, allowing some of his body to relax into you. It doesn’t take long for things to heat up again, but Eddie doesn’t seem like he’s able to make another move while holding himself up. So you take the opportunity to reach between you and grab him again.

Eddie breaks away and curses, looking at you with a lust filled gaze. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks, taking you by surprise.

“Of course,” you say, tickled at the prospect. 

Eddie shifts onto his side, and the two of you adjust until you’re laying next to each other. He looks at you up and down and raises his hand. But he freezes before he does anything.

“Wh-where should I touch?” He asks you. You think he’s joking at first but you realize very quickly that he’s not.

“Eddie…have you ever done this before?”

His hand drops, eyes looking away from you in embarrassment. 

“Oh, Eddie,” you coo, brushing his hair out of his face. “It’s okay if you haven’t. I just didn’t know.” He looks at you out of the corner of his eye and smiles. It’s still embarrassing, but he should have known you wouldn’t judge him. “Do you want me to show you?”

Eddie’s ears perk up.

“Please?”

You take his hand and guide him to the bottom of your shirt. Gently, you move his hand until it’s under the fabric. The tips of his fingers skim your skin as you raise his hand higher, higher, until it’s touching the cup of your bra. You leave it there and move your shirt up the rest of the way so that your chest is on display.

His eyes are bugging out of his head. Eddie’s seen boobs before. He’d say he’s a pretty big fan of them. But he’s never seen them this up close and personal before. He snaps back to reality when he hears you giggling.

As Eddie ogles your chest, you arch your back and reach around to unclasp your bra. If he’s this amazed covered up, you can only imagine how he’s going to react once he sees the whole picture. Once it’s loose, you pick up Eddie’s hand and remove it, tossing it to the other side of the bed. 

“Woah,” he says in awe, eyes blinking rapidly. Your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling at him.

Bringing his hand back down, you place it on your breast, giving him a small squeeze to let him know he can do as he wants. Eddie gets the hint and immediately begins playing with you in his hand. He needs at you, feeling you in palms and with his fingers. He lets yous nipple get caught between two of them and gives a gentle pinch that has you gasping.

“Did that feel good?” He questions, and you nod in response. He likes this answer and tries to do it more, experimenting a bit with pressures and feeling them more. Most of it felt good. Honestly you were more turned on by his fascination than anything. Most guys barely pay attention to your body during sex, but Eddie’s inexperience seemed to be benefiting you.

It’s when Eddie takes it to the next step that you start to feel genuinely turned on. 

He moves, letting himself get closer to you until his face is right at your breast. He looks up at you with those big brown eyes, pupils blown out so that they’re almost block, and takes your nipple into his mouth. You can feel the sensation all the way down to your toes as he sucks and licks you. Eddie’s shifts himself so that he can fondle your other breast while he continues working on you.

It becomes too much and not enough all at once and you desperately just want Eddie to touch you in other places. So you take his hand once again, gentle around his scars, and bring it down to the waistband of your jeans. Eddie looks at you, tit still in his mouth, waiting to see what you do next. So you unbutton your pants and wiggle them down as best as you can. Eddie’s head whips around to watch, suddenly very interested in what you’ve got going on.

When you’ve gotten them off, your panties on full display for him, Eddie feels like he’s won the lottery. The reality of everything suddenly sets in that this is actually happening and he’s pretty sure he’s never been so hard in his life. He lets you move his hand down, over the fabric until his hand is where your legs meet. They feel damp to the touch, and Eddie can barely compute that you’re wet. Because of him.

“Do you want me to show you?”

Eddie smacks his lips, still staring at where his hand is touching you. He’s watched porn before, so he thinks he can figure it out. His hand moves from yours and he runs two fingers down your clothed slit, getting a feel of you before he does anything else. 

He’s trying to keep himself aware of any movements you make as he continues to feel you. He knows there’s a sweet spot hiding somewhere, he just needs to find it. After a minute he gets frustrated decides to take the plunge. He pulls your panties to the side and repeats what he was doing before.

The sudden gasp you make when he brushes over a certain spot has him celebrating internally. He focuses on what he’s pretty sure is your clit, making small circles with the pads of his fingers. The reaction you give him has him elated, your smalls huffs and moans making him feel like the king of the world. And he did it all by himself!

You were shocked that Eddie was able to make you feel so good so quickly. It was hard to believe he’s never done it before, but you couldn’t think about that as he tended to you. Eddie was so zoned in to what he was doing, and you found it so endearing, but you wanted more. 

Bringing yourself forward, you took his face in your hand and turned it, planting a kiss on his lips. He only faltered for a moment, taken by surprise by you, but quickly returned to your needs. 

“Eddie,” you breathed against his lips, “feels so good. Need more.”

Oh shit, is this it?

Eddie thought quickly about how he was going to do this. He didn’t know if he would be able to hold himself up on his bad leg. But he would try for you if it’s what he needed to do. He pulled his hand from between your legs and shifted up until he was on one knee, only using his thigh to keep himself balanced. 

When his shirt was pulled from over his head, and you couldn’t help but stare. Eddie had started doing some exercises recently to rebuild his strength, push ups, lifting small weights, and it was starting to pay off. And the little trail of hair from his cock to his belly button had you drooling. 

Eddie caught you staring and smiled down at you.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Maybe next time,” you tease back, and Eddie almost jumps with joy. You hadn’t even done the deed yet and you were already talking about a next time? Maybe Vecna had gotten him in his sleep and this is what his heaven is. He wouldn’t complain if it was.

Eddie does some moving, and you help by opening your legs up for him. He looks at your exposed pussy and just about passes out from the sight. No porn star could compare to the sight of you laying before him, in full view for him to take in.

“Take a picture,” you say, laughing at the trance he seems to be in.

“Sorry,” he blushes. He grabs the sides of your panties and pulls them down until they’re just another piece of clothing on his floor. 

He takes a note from a porno he’s watched and runs his fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness before bringing his hand to his cock and pumping it. The sight of it has you feeling hotter than before, a lump forming in your stomach from the little bit he’s touched you already.

Eddie looks like he’s about to take the dive when you stop him.

“Eddie, do you have any condoms?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, a wave of devastation washing over him.

“I did…but they got destroyed when the trailer did,” he said, as if he didn’t know those condoms wouldn’t have done any good even if he did have them.

“Oh, um, that’s okay,” you say. “Just make sure you pull out. Okay?”

Eddie salutes you, “Scouts honor.”

“Didn’t take you for a scout,” you say jokingly. Eddie simply shrugs and strokes himself a few more times.

Eddie does his best to situate himself, leaning over you with one hand and one leg, using his thigh for support. Before you know it he’s lining himself up at your entrance. The anticipation is palpable as the head of his cock just a thrust away from being inside of you.

Taking a breath, Eddie looks at you.

“You sure you want to do this?” 

You can’t help but laugh at the position you’re in for him to ask you that.

“Yes, Eddie, I promise.”

He chuckles, “Okay, well, here goes nothing. Let me know if I do something wrong.”

“Just don’t go in all at once,” you tell him. “Go slow, please.” Eddie aches at how sweet you sound pleading with him.

He takes another breath and goes for it. He pushes himself past the threshold until the tip was all the way in before pulling back out again. He does this a few times, inching in a little more with each thrust until he’s halfway in and already feeling like he’s going to cum.

The stretch is delicious. You didn’t mean for him to go this slow, but you don’t want to discourage him so you let him go at his own pace.

By the time Eddie is almost all the way in his fists are already gripping his bedsheets. It’s indescribable how amazing you feel around him, and it feels like a tidal wave of emotions is on the horizon. But Eddie is determined not to make things weird by crying right now, so instead he looks at you, trying to gauge how you’re feeling about all of this.

Wrong move.

Because the slack jawed, lidded eyed expression you were giving him only made things worse. And then you go and smile at him! Come on!

“You can go faster now,” you say to him after a few slow thrusts. Eddie nods and starts moving a little more, doing his best to get a good rhythm with only one leg. But you take your leg and position it around his thigh, giving him a little more stability which he greatly appreciates.

At his new pace each thrust felt heaven. The way he hits that spot so effortlessly due to his size has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. The room is filled with moans, curses, and Eddie’s name here and there.

He leans in closer to you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. He’s breathing heavy into your ear, little gasps and hisses coming from him as he continues to roll his hips into you.

After a few minutes of bliss, you start to feel a wobbling on either side of you. Eddie’s arms look like they’re about to give out at any second. You thought about it for a moment until an idea popped into your head.

“Eddie,” you huff, getting his attention. He stops, looking at you with a slightly scared expression.

“Y-yeah?”

“Do you trust me?”

He nods, and you take your legs and wrap them around him. With one swift movement, you roll your bodies until you’re sitting on top of him in the bed. The new angle is intense with him sitting so snug inside of you. 

The look on Eddie’s face is pure surprise, eyes wide with shock.

“This okay for you?” You ask, and he nods once more. “Good.”

You lean forward, letting your hand run up his stomach to his chest. Then you start to move, going up and down slowly a few times before giving one thrust that had him cursing under his breath. After getting the reaction you want you start to bounce on him, giving him quite the show as you do. You bring his hands to your chest once more to let him feel you up as you milk him for all he’s worth.

“You feel so good, Eddie,” you say to him. Eddie looks at you like you hung the moon.

“Y-yeah?” He stutters.

“So good,” you reassure him.

“Oh god, don’t talk like that,” he says, covering his face with his hands.

“Why not?” you ask, switching from bouncing to rolling your hips as you lay chest to chest with him.

“Jesus christ. Because if you talk like that then I’m gonna come, and I don’t wanna come yet.”

“You can come, Eddie. I want you to,” you say in a sweet tone.

“But you haven’t yet,” he whines. It touches you that he’s worried about making you cum.

“It’s okay if I don’t. This is for you, not me,” you say, caressing his face. But he shakes his head.

“No, want to make you come, too. Don’t wanna be like those assholes who don’t make girls cum.”

“Awe, Eddie, that fact that you even care means you’re not like that. But…” You take his hand, bringing his thumb to your clit. “If you really want to make me come, do what you were doing before.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, getting started. The combination was delicious as you started to roll your hips again. 

It didn’t take long for you to feel like you were on the edge with Eddie’s help. The knot was forming in your stomach once again and you chased that high by grinding down on him, letting his cock hit you right in that sweet spot over and over.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so close,” you say, moving on instinct with what feels good. 

Eddie felt like he had front row seats to the best show of his life as he watched you start to come undone on top of him. That deep pit feeling that he’s been trying to ignore was becoming too much for him to stave off for much longer. He was doing his best to try and hold it in because he really wanted to watch you cum on his cock. But every movement you made chipped away at him.

“Shit, oh my god,” you say just before you hit your peak. One more good roll of your hips and the knot inside you snaps. The feeling is intense, and you vision goes blurry as you come hard.

Eddie is losing his mind watching you. The way your pussy is spasming around him is too much for him to handle and he’s suddenly cumming as well.

“Oh, fuck!” He shouts, holding onto your hips as he spills inside of you.

It takes a moment for the both of you to come down and realize what happened. You hop off of him quickly, almost falling off the bed with how shaky your legs were. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you say, jogging into the bathroom to take care of the mess Eddie made.

“I’m so sorry,” he calls to you from the bed. “I-I didn’t mean to!”

Eddie was panicking. He knew he fucked up and there was no way you were going to do this with him ever again now. You might never even speak to him again after what he did.

“Eddie, it’s fine,” you say from the bathroom. “I’ll just clean up really quick and we should be okay. I think my period is due soon anyway.”

He wasn’t really sure what that meant, but the fact you weren’t yelling it him was enough to help him calm down at least a little bit. He sat up fully in the bed and looked down at himself. The lower half of his body where you were was soaking wet, evidence of what the two of you had just done. It hits him like a freight train that you had sex with him. And he made you come? He felt like he was on top of the world.

After cleaning yourself up, you sheepishly reentered Eddie’s bedroom. You had just had sex with him, but you were feeling a little bashful about being naked in front of him. But the way he was looking at you made you feel like you could be covered in mud and he’d still be happy to see you.

“Do you want to take a shower?”

“..and she picked out the venue,” you say as you brush out Eddie’s hair. “I think she wants to do like a mint green and a light orange. Maybe some white or silver or something like that, too.”

“I’m assuming you’re going to be the maiden of honor or whatever it’s called?” Eddie asks, looking at you in the bathroom mirror.

“No, her sister is, but I’m going to be a bridesmaid. I hope she has us wear green dresses instead of orange.”

“I think you would look really pretty in orange.”

You blush, sneaking a peak at him in the mirror. He’s had a grin plastered on his face since you two got in the shower. Even now he’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful painting in a museum.

“Thanks,” you say softly, finishing the last few knots in his hair. “There, good as new.”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, looking at himself in the mirror, “It fees way better already. I don’t know how I thought I was going to be able to manage this long without you.”

“I guess that means you can’t get rid of me, huh?” You say, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Good thing I didn’t plan on it.”

Warmth flooded your whole body at his words. It felt so good to get your feelings off your chest with him. Of course Tonya was right that he liked you. When he told you that he’d been pining for you for a while, you felt like kicking yourself for never seeing the signs.

You bend down to press a kiss to the crown of his head. His smile grew even wider as you did, the apples of his cheek dusted with a hint of pink. He couldn’t believe that this was even happening to him. How did he manage to get the most perfect girl in the world to like him? Certainly wasn’t his looks, nor his personality. Maybe you were just crazy and taking a chance on him. Whatever your reason, he doesn’t plan on doing anything to mess it up.

“Do you think Dustin and the gang are okay?” You ask suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Shit, I almost forgot,” Eddie says, suddenly anxious again. “The phone didn’t ring while we were…you know.”

“Not that I heard. Is that a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily,” he says, turning his chair to look at you, “But I was hoping that one of them would call once things are settled down.”

“Can I ask you something?” You say after a beat.

“Of course.”

“Why did Dustin say not to answer the door?”

“Vecna, he’s…doing this weird thing with them. Apparently Nancy slipped into a trance and went to answer the door to their house and it ended up being a trap. She had some scary visions I guess and now she’s petrified to open a door. Jonathan’s been staying with her so she’s not alone.”

“That’s Mike’s sister, right? Has Mike had any visions?”

“Not Mike, but I guess Lucas has been seeing things, too. So we’re just trying to be cautious.”

“What does Wayne think about all of this?”

Eddie chuckles, shifting in his chair. 

“He’s always been a believer in the supernatural, so it didn’t take much to convince him of whats been going on. It’s the only reason he hasn’t asked you to come out here instead of Rick. Which, he’s not been doing too bad taking care of me, so don’t be too hard on him.”

“I think Rick and I are cool now,” you say with a smile.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Eddie starts, “Because I actually needed to ask you something.”

“What’s up?” You ask curiously.

“So, I was going to ask you to go with me as my plus one, just in case I needed help But now…I guess I want to ask you if you wanted to go with me to Rick’s wedding. Not just as my plus one, but as my…”

“As your what?” You ask with a teasing lit.

“As my date,” he says, eyes cast down so he doesn’t have to watch you if you reject him.

“Awe, are you asking me on a date?” You ask.

“Maybeeee…”

“Eddie, of course I’ll go. I’d have gone no matter what, but I’ll especially go as your date.” You reach your hand out for him to take. He looks at it, then up at you before taking your hand in his. He brings is to his lips and places little kisses on your knuckles.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to say yes because of what we did.”

“Eddie, I told you I like you. I’m sure it must be had to think that considering how down on yourself you are, but I really, really do like you. Want to date you, if you want to.”

“So, if everything goes well tonight…maybe we can, like, go see a movie or something?”

“I would love to. We can go to the one close to my house. Oh, maybe we can even double date with Tonya and Charles. She’s been dying to meet you.”

“She has?” He asks, surprised to hear that anyone wants to meet him.

“Yes. She’s the one whose been trying to tell me that you like me for months now.”

The two of you laugh and carry on, eventually heading out to the living room. The two of you get comfortable on the couch after deciding on a movie to watch and popping it into the VHS player. Everything is going well, the two of you stealing little kisses here and there, until about 20 minutes into the movie.

The both of you jump when you hear it. It feels like your heart is beating a million beats per second. You almost think that you imagined it, until you looked over at Eddie, who seemed just as distressed as you.

And then it happens again. 

Another knock at the door.

thanks for reading!

[malum-forev]

If you still have Receiving/ giving a gift available, could you please write about Avenger Bucky receiving a gift from reader, for Christmas or his birthday? But he totally doesn’t expect it and gets all emotional cause he hasn’t received a gift in decades and doesn’t know what to do with the whole thing.

Yes yes yeeesss this is such a great ideaaa <3

*

“This is stupid.” Bucky grumbled.

“What’s stupid is that you waited until December 24th to buy your Secret Santa a gift!” Sam said, dodging the thousands of people roaming the streets of New York. 

“I didn’t think the gift exchange would actually amount to anything.” Bucky groaned. “I thought we would be sent away on a mission!”

“I don’t care what your excuse for procrastination is! I just want you to buy your Secret Santa something.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know what-“

Sam covered his ears. “La, la, la, la. I’m not listening, don’t want any spoilers.”

“I want to be put back in the cryostasis chamber.” Bucky sighed dramatically.

-- 

Bucky stretched the neck of the uncomfortable wool sweater someone on the team had forced them to wear. The itchy fabric made his skin red. Whoever started the ugly sweater tradition should be sentenced to life in jail. Bucky thought. 

“Will you stop acting like a toddler, we’re supposed to be the adults here.” Sam spoke from the edge of his mouth to not attract any more attention. 

“I’m not acting like a child, I’m acting like a senile old man. This is the appropriate way for me to act seeing as I’m over a hundred years old.” Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, immediately regretting the action as he pressed the disgusting fabric against his chest. 

“Okay! Bucky’s turn!” Sam yelled, not wanting to bare another second of his friend’s complaining, pushing Bucky to the middle of the circle. All of the agents’ eyes were on him. 

Bucky never really celebrated Christmas, back in the 40’s it was common for families to celebrate it but ever since he got out of the ice he- well let’s just say The Winter Soldier didn’t really have time for holiday shopping. 

“I got-“ Bucky cleared his throat nervously. “Ryan as my Secret Santa so, here’s a knife.”

The room got eerily silent as they all watched Bucky take out an unpackaged knife from one of his pockets. 

Sam facepalmed himself. 

“Thanks Sarge.” Ryan awkwardly smiled. 

“I sharpened that myself.” Bucky said proudly. 

“Let’s move on!” Sam said, this was more painful than he’d ever imagined. “Who got the cyborg as Secret Santa?”

Again, silence met everyone. The agents looked at each other but no one stepped up.

“It’s fine,” Bucky forced a small smile. “I withdrew my name from the bowl. I didn’t need anything.”

Scattered chatter was whispered before they continued with the gifts. 

Bucky looked down at his watch an hour later, how much longer would he have to put up with this?

The double doors opened loudly and in you came. You quickly said your hello’s to a couple of your friends and walked straight towards Bucky. With a big smile on your face and a small bag in your hand. 

Bucky gulped as you approached him. 

“Merry Christmas Sarge.” You beamed, his brain was trying to process your words. Bucky felt like he’d never heard someone call him that, and no one should ever try to top it because it would never compare to how the word Sarge sounded coming out of your lips. 

“Me-Merry Christmas.” Bucky stuttered. 

“I’m your Secret Santa.” His eyes widened but it seemed like his reaction only made you happier. “I saw you pulling your name out  when everyone left so, I decided to pick it up for myself. I hope you like your gift.”

You were truly the human form of sunshine. He thought.

“C’mon, open it. I need to know if you liked it.” You pushed the bag closer to him. 

Bucky took it by the handles and peeked inside. It was a book.

He saw how you nervously fidgeted. 

“When I got recruited, I researched about you- well both of you, Sam and yourself. God this is embarrassing.” You fumbled with your words. “Anyways, I read that your favorite book was The Hobbit so, I tracked down a first edition copy since well, it’s been edited since it came out and I thought it would be nice for you to have something from back when you first were alive- not alive because well- Oh god, it was stupid right? Giving you a book? You probably don’t even have time to read-“

Bucky cut you off by wrapping his strong arms against your frame. 

“This is the most amazing gift I’ve ever received.” He mumbled against your hair. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.” You squeaked.

“This is incredible.” Bucky whispered, not knowing if he could get any other words out without his voice cracking. No one had ever done something as special as this for him.

“You made Barnes smile!” Sam laughed, patting Bucky on the back. “You should get a medal for things like that.”

This one's short and sweet! Hope you like it!

Hi hiiii This is part of my 1k Celebration, if you like this please be sure to look at the Bingo Card and ask for a prompt! Love y'all <;33

And you can find the Bingo master list and what prompts are still available here!

*Any gifs posted are not my own and I give the artist full credit.

[yuri-is-online]

Well, since you are feeling festive and so am I, could I have request a fic with Ortho? Just doing a little holiday decorating or some other tradition with a homesick prefect? I don’t know, I just imagine Ortho to be the type to be interested in holiday traditions from another world. Thanks!

Oh hell yeah this slaps. Originally I was going to write about tree decorating but then I had a thought and I didn't want the fic to come off as me info dumping for however many words. I hope this is something like what you had in mind, and happy holidays!

notes: they/them used for Yuu, Ortho is the main focus here but the other first years are mentioned, Yuu and Ortho decide to play Santa. I would absolutely love to hear about any personal holiday traditions of yours, dear reader, as I think those are always very interesting. As always, other fic can be found on my masterlist here.

Christmas. Ortho had searched multiple websites, data banks, and even online journals to see if he could find any mention of such a word outside of the few instances he has heard it muttered by the prefect. He initially thought his searches weren't bearing fruit because Yuu pronounced it several different ways (Chrimis, Crisis, Chrysler???) but he has ultimately concluded those were likely jokes based off of their tone of voice.

That had been what finally made him ask, not even his brother liked laughing at his jokes alone.

"Oh that's one of the big winter holidays in my world." You had told him, trying to sound matter of fact but unable to hide the way your voice cracks with the strain of your homesickness. "I made the mistake of trying to remember a nursery rhyme while Grim was around and ended up telling him about Christmas stockings and now he wants one."

And now you have to explain the concept to him, but with much less pressure as Ortho listens carefully with growing excitement.

"Putting presents in socks! That's really silly but I suppose that there are some holidays here you might find really weird too huh?" Ortho can also see why Grim would be so excited about this particular tradition, a gift (in a sock or no) that has the potential to be made up entirely of candy, fruits, and other foodstuffs sounds very much like him. "So do we just need to find Grim some socks he fits in? You already have a fireplace to hang it on... or are you thinking about giving Grim coal?"

“Well-”  It had crossed your mind.  “Sometimes adults give chocolate that’s shaped like coal but that’s not really what’s bothering me.  You don’t usually use socks for this, you make these really big fake socks.  I wanted to make one for Grim, but while I was thinking about how I wanted to decorate it I sort of… thought it would be nice to make stockings for the others, y’know like Ace and Deuce and maaaybe Jack, but then I would need to explain it to them and I don’t want to do that.”

“Oh that’s easy, we just won’t.”  Ortho laughs and takes your hand to eagerly drag you towards Sam’s before you can question just what he means by “we.”   ~~~~ "Operation sock jaw is a go." Ortho mimics rubbing his hands together gleefully, his lab wear feeling deeply out of place in the unofficial official Ramshackle craft room. A small pile of carefully picked out fabrics and season appropriate accents are neatly folded at the corner of the table as you carefully trace out what you think resembles a pattern for a Christmas stocking as Ortho carefully watches.

"You have really good aesthetic tastes," you nod as you look over the drawings Ortho had provided "this one really matches Ace's clown vibes."

"I'm glad you like it!" He laughs. "I figured a harlequin pattern in Heartslabyul colors suited him perfectly! Deuce was a bit harder to figure out... I didn't just want to slap a playing card on it and call it a day. Jack was a bit easier with how often he searches for information on cacti and succulent care. Oh I can cut the cacti out of the felt if you like?"

"With scissors?" You tentatively ask, not entirely sure how your dorm would hold up if he decides to break out the lasers. But the suggestion seems to flatter Ortho rather than annoy him.

"Oh that'd be fun! I've never really had the need to use normie tools before, this will be just like..." his voice briefly trails off as he looks down at the scissors. You wonder if he is capable of zoning out, being a robot and all, but decide that isn't too far out of the realm of possibility as his next words come out in a stutter. "Hey Yuu, does this sort of feel like an anime to you?" It's not too unexpected a question for Ortho to ask, so you look down at your crafts and really try to think about an answer.

"I guess so?" You gently place the pieces you have cut for Ace's stocking down so you can look out at the snow blanketing the world outside your window. The scene isn't too different than one you might see in your world on a card. But then again- "There's a lot of tropes associated with Christmas in anime, there's an entire genre of weird rom com movies about it, so yeah I guess making crafts like this with you does sort of feel like something I would see in an anime?"

"I thought so!" Ortho happily begins to carefully cut the felt with the scissors, mimicking what he had seen you do with the little tuna fish for Grim's stocking earlier. "That makes me glad, if something is a common enough for people to fantasize about it in an anime, then it has to be really important to the people of your world. And yet no matter where I search I will never be able to find data about it in mine!"

"Doesn't that annoy you a little?" It would stress you, does stress you how familiar and yet distant Twisted Wonderland's traditions are to your own. But the smile Ortho gives you is one of such genuine excitement you feel at least a little of that stress fall away.

"It scared me at first, but then when I got my soul I realized that it meant I had a really good excuse to keep talking to you. More data is never a bad thing! You could give me and my brother ideas for a truly unique game or show, so please, tell me everything you can remember about your world. I'll make sure it's remembered." He means every word he says. It's enough to make you cry.

"Alright, but just remember you asked for it. Where to start?"

[honeysmoonn]

i’ve got you

warnings: christmas in november lol! fluff, implied fem!reader but i guess this could be gender neutral, curtis!reader, dal feelings like a bad boyfriend if you squint, implied relationship, jazzy mentioned!!! rushed and NOT proof read!

a/n: i put up my christmas tree today so i’m feeling very much in the spirit for the holidays!!

the gentle glow of the christmas lights casted a particularly beautiful light on you and everything else it touched, so dallas thought. he watched you delicately hang up stockings along the fireplace with each of your brothers and your names stitched onto the patched socks.

the brunet was sat comfortably on the couch with his legs propped up on the coffee table as you finished putting the finishing touches to the beaming christmas tree and making sure every small decoration was angled in the perfect way that made it seem like the house was straight out of a christmas movie. you paused, giving dallas a look. “why don’t you help, now?” you knew dallas didn’t liked holidays. in fact, there were few popular things he liked. you called him stubborn for not wanting to like things everyone else liked, but he insisted it was just because he didn’t like them.

“i ain’t about all this christmas shit.” he waved off your request while taking a drag of his cigarette that was hanging loosely in his ring laced hand.

you sighed, as much convincing as it took, dallas was still the most stubborn man you had ever met. your eyes landed on the record player sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, hardly no one used the old thing anymore, everyone being too busy with the changing seasons to stop and appreciate music like you wished.

right now, the entire world seemed quiet. and that made you antsy, dallas could tell. “why don’t ya play some music, pretty girl?” he offered with a shrug that tried to tell you that he didn’t really care. you knew he did though. so you gently walked over to the record player and dug through the almost too tall pile of records sitting on the floor. your hands grazed over nearly every single record before finding what you were looking for.

see, even if dallas didn’t like christmas, you did.

the soft sound of the intro elvis presleys rendition of ‘i’ll be home for christmas’ began playing through the living room. your eyes remained on the spinning vinyl as the song continued, imagining snow falling into the ground outside your house in some sort of christmas miracle fashion. dallas watched you with interest, he knew you liked music, but this much seemed strange to him.

after a few moments, it was dallas’ turn to become antsy. his hands began to itch as the seconds passed where his hands weren’t on you. he whistled once, causing you to turn your head around with a questioning look. “come here, girl. i miss ya.” a smile crept onto your face at his sudden act of affection as you made your way onto the couch next to him.

his hands found their place on your body, one around your shoulder and one gently tracing the inside on your thigh. your head rested on his shoulder as the song neared it’s end. so you spoke:

“what do you want for christmas?” you asked innocently. dallas paused for a moment, thinking of an appropriate answer.

see, his love language for you might have been gift giving (he loved spoiling his girl) but for himself… it seemed weird. he felt guilty receiving gifts from someone he knew was almost too good for him.

now from your side, you wanted to feel your boyfriend feel as much appreciated as he made you feel.

“i don’t need anything, doll.” dallas sighed after a few beats of silence passed. “i’ve got you.” he pressed a soft kiss to your hairline as you smiled.

“you’re so sappy.” you teased, causing dallas to gently pinch your side, sending you jolting closer to him with a soft laugh. “but really… you think jazzy needs a sibling?”

“jesus christ, doll, no!”

[nookishposts]

Shift

These days, our home is full of unabashed joy.

There are stories that change one life, two, and then like a pebble dropped into a puddle, a concentric reaction that spreads like an embrace.

I have the honour of sharing in such a story.

On our 3rd date nearly 15 years ago, my Beloved told me that she’d had a child as a teenager and he was adopted out, for all of the best reasons. When that boy turned 16, she contacted the adoption agency and made certain that her contact information was up to date so that should he ever choose to find her, he could. About 2 years ago, through an online ancestry forum, he did.

We were sitting in the living room, engaged in separate projects when I heard a sharp intake of breath and glanced up to see an expression on her face that I had never seen before and would struggle to name. A curious light came into her eyes as she looked at me and then back to the computer screen in front of her, awed, disbelieving, cautiously hopeful. “ Let me read you something” she said in the softest voice.

The email was from a then 36-year old man on the West Coast, who had come across a version of the full name he knew had been given at birth. He wanted to ask the author of the ancestry tree also bearing the same uncommon surname if she could possibly provide information about his biological mother. My Beloved had to gather herself for a little while before daring to answer him. We found out a little later that this note was his first actual enquiry. He had no way of knowing that it would be the only one he’d ever need. He gave his adopted name and we quickly found his photo on a social media platform. The image left no doubt in our minds that he was her son. The resemblance was undeniable.

As the genetic connection was confirmed through emails and photos, reality hit with a psychological sledgehammer. My Beloved spun quietly in a decades-old, echoing maelstrom of  shame. It all came flooding back; the shock of unexpected pregnancy all but suffocated by  layers of  judgement from the Church, divorced parents whose opinions and advice were polar opposites, disinterest from the young father of the child, and fears for the future of the child himself. They had 10 days together in hospital following the C-section, before choices were given and documents signed. And then came the years of not knowing, of hoping for the best.

The first thing he told her was: “ don’t worry, I have had a good life”.  A kindness for which she was grateful.

They agreed to stick with emails. To go slowly. To take the soaring, treacherously uncertain mountain of emotions one careful step at a time. So many questions. He and his partner had a child. A 2 year old girl. My Beloved, younger than me by 5 years, was also at least biologically, an instant  grandmother. It was almost too much. So much that my Beloved retreated into the relative safety of her brain and away from me and the rest of the World. So much that I called her sister, who’d been present with their own mother for the birth, to come to see her, as I was unnerved and at sea about how to be supportive. It took time.

On a whim, I contacted her son and asked if he felt ready for a video call on Christmas Eve. I assured him my Beloved knew nothing about the request and he was free to say no without repercussion. When he said yes, I asked him to define the parameters that would be most appropriate for him. We were sitting by the light of our xmas tree on Dec 24th when my phone rang with a video connection. I said a very brief hello and then handed the phone over saying “ it’s for you”. To watch the two of them see themselves in one another’s face was breath-stopping. They read one another well beyond whatever words they actually spoke. He introduced his partner and her mother, and the just-turned 3 year old little girl who would prove to be both a buffer and a prism through which the call could safely continue. There were no tears, no effusive holiday greetings, just a few minutes polite conversation unsuccessfully masking the overwhelm on both sides. 

There was a period of many months when there was little contact between them, both mother and son being introverts by nature, especially when communicating feelings.  Luckily, neither myself nor his partner have that quirk; she and I became weekly online pen pals. News of another child on the way delighted us. My Beloved began knitting up a storm and sent a parcel to her grandchild containing a gorgeous warm sweater with kite shaped buttons, and a Minnie Mouse toque complete with sparkles and a bow knitted from red yarn left in her own mother’s sewing kit.  Four generations connected in a little knitted hat. There was also a newborn sized fox outfit. We received a video of the grand unveiling ending in a shy “thank you” and a kiss blown from the palm of a 3 year old. 

It took a full year before my Beloved began to tell her story beyond her siblings, who already knew. Each time, the telling became a little lighter, a little more enthusiastic, even daring to be joyful. A little boy was born, and his biological grandmother continued knitting adorable baby clothes. Professional photos were arranged and we finally got to see them all together, a little family of four, swaddled in cuddles no less genuine for having been posed.

It took another year before we arranged to meet, face to face. 

The trip was going to be full of benchmarks. We hadn’t had a proper vacation in 4 years. It would require a 5 hour flight and I am not a happy flyer. But my job was to provide a safe zone and a soft landing for my Beloved, whatever the reunion might bring. So, she found a direct flight, paid extra for  bulkhead seats and I worked on negotiating with my claustrophobia-motion-sickness plane willies.

I watched trepidation gather in my Beloved like breathless uneasiness before a storm. On the plane, we held hands and exchanged wordless glances. Even the sheer magnificence of the mountains below, and the turbulence of flying over wildfires were not quite enough to distract us. We took only carry on baggage. Upon landing in Abbotsford Saturday morning,we met the practicalities of car rental, reaching accommodations in Vancouver, adjusting to a time change and establishing a plan. A bit of time to ourselves, we visited Granville Island,the only parking spot available happened to be right outside a yarn store of course. We visited a few shops and picked out hand-puppets for the kids. We stuck our toes in the Pacific Ocean thus completing a circumnavigation together of the North American continent: Miami, Churchill, Halifax and Vancouver in that order.Had some great sushi at Nobu. Met some wonderful cousins for brunch on Sunday and watched their faces split with delighted amazement as my Beloved explained why we had really come to BC. On Monday we undertook one of the best drives in Canada;  Sea to Sky running from Vancouver to Whistler. My neck hurt from craning it in every direction and I quickly ran out of “Wows”. Crisp, clean, salty air. Variations in landscape from sand to sage to snow. Crystalline cascades, trees springing impossibly from sheer rock faces, posted warnings about black bears and bungee jumping locations. We wandered, bodies and minds as present as we could recall being in a very long time. Stood wordlessly at mesmerising  lookouts, remembering for a moment just how vast the World really is. A quirky little bistro provided an awesome lunch. On the way back down we picked up a hitchhiker returning from the other side of the mountains with a huge pack full of sage bundles to sell, earning ferry money en route to her home on a fibreglass boat tethered to an island. We made certain she had what she needed.

Beloved and I have reached a place in our lives where words aren’t always necessary; we can feel a shift in the energy of the other, let the unasked questions answer for themselves all in good time. We don’t always get it right, but our next steps would be bigger than any mountain we’d travelled so far and we wanted to tread carefully. We checked into our reservation at Harrison Hot Springs, 20 minutes outside of Chilliwack where we would be meeting the next day, with my Beloved’s son and his family, for a picnic.  

We pulled into the parking lot on a sunny, breezy Tuesday afternoon, laden with toys and snacks. We saw him watch us arrive, dip his head and take a long deep breath. His partner waited nearby, one eye on the kids and the other sending him strength. My Beloved took her own deep breath and stepped out of the car. There were no tears, no drama, just quick hugs and introductions. His partner and I , social media pen pals for months, went off to amuse the kids, leaving our two introverts to fend for themselves. They sat at a table, profiles nearly identical, with shy, mirror-image smiles. Most of that initial conversation remains between them, but after about 40 minutes, we joined them and laid out a picnic of strawberries, peas, meat and cheese, salties and sweets. The 4 year old watched my Beloved very carefully, knowing that this was the lady who sent all the knitted goodies and having been told that Daddy grew in her belly as she had grown in her own Mummy’s tummy. She seemed to recognise some kind of connection from the moment they met and I got to watch it grow before my very eyes. The picnic lasted about 3 and a half hours, until the kids were worn out, all 4 adults having taken turns feeding and herding them, little walk-away pauses to digest lunch and reality. 38 years worth. 

We made plans for them to visit us Wed afternoon at the resort, so the kids could play in the family pool. When they arrived, it was with the announcement that they had booked a room too. Struggles involving other family health matters had been going on for some time and they decided it would be good to take a little break. We were ecstatic.  Swimming, supper, bedtime routines with the wee ones, and breakfast Thursday morning. More than we ever could have asked for. The kids wanted one more swim, and as checkout time grew closer, they decided they would like to stay one more night. I cannot begin to describe the natural-ness of it all. Its hard to hold anything back  when everybody is in a bathing suit, relaxing in warm mineral waters, surrounded by mountains and sunshine. It was joyful. No raised voices, no tantrums, no helicoptering, no judgements, no resentments, nothing but relief and gratitude. Another supper, another bedtime routine, one more breakfast together and suddenly we stood with packed vehicles in the roundabout in front on the hotel on Friday morning. We had a date with my Beloved’s stepmom 4 hours away, but would be back for the 4 year olds dance recital on Saturday morning. Hugs all around, my Beloved and her boy saving one another for last. It was a little too quick and his partner asked that they do it again so she could take a photo. So they embraced again, but this time, he settled right in, my Beloved allowed herself to be held and they took their sweet wordless time letting go. It was magical. 

We drove through the Fraser River Valley inland to Salmon Arm, temperatures climbing way too fast to properly acclimate. Stepmom made a lovely supper while we had an excellent catch-up, and after a few brief hours of fitful sleep, we hit the Coquihalla just after sunrise,over the mountains back to Chilliwack. We made it with moments to spare and as the first group of dancers hit the stage in their sparkly little costumes to the strains of Purple People Eater, I cried my eyes out. We’d been asked several times how we wanted the kids to address us and had answered that our first names were enough, but they insisted we choose a family moniker. I had promised we would discuss it in the car en route to the recital. Neither of us felt comfortable with Nana, Nanny, Granny, but decided that Grandma would be okay. Watching that little girl in the spotlight, it hit me that I had accepted a key role in her and her brother’s life. Baby number 3 is due in November. My maternal grandmother had meant the world to me. I realised with a joyful jolt that I had a lot to live up to, and that’s when the tears finally came. My Beloved was similarly glassy-eyed and smiling fit to bust. We held hands. The solid reality of family-forward settled on us like a quilt sewn of sunshine stuffed with stardust. (Take that Hallmark!)

Our tiny dancer was pooped after her two performances and desperately needed a nap. So did we. And we’d be flying home the next morning. That alone was more than I was ready to consider. I kept glancing at my Beloved, her face radiant and shifting with a kalidescope of emotion. She seemed to me deeply satisfied in one way, deeply longing in another. She grinned back at me watching her and said “I’m just processing”. We had one more evening to spend. Negotiating by text, we picked up sushi on the way to their home, as you do when your  granddaughter expresses a desire for miso soup.

There were bubbles and water slides on the porch after supper. The showing off of toys and bedrooms, the reading of stories in silly Disney voices, an avalanche of Minnie Mouse stuffies,  and still more dancing in the living room. Mr 15-month old had charmed us from the first and continued his steady stream of ready entertainment, blowing kisses on the run and never missing a trick. Both kids are really smart and happy in themselves, a testament to how they’ve been parented. The final leave-taking was as awkward as it could be when nobody wants it to happen at all. No matter how well the wounds have healed, taking  bandages off is always painful. My Beloved and her son were the last of course. She softly said to him “You are such a good man” and he beamed.

We had just made it back to our hotel room when my phone rang. Our granddaughter wanted to call, even though she didn’t know what words she wanted to use. For us, the wanting was enough. Early the next morning as we packed, there came a 6 second video of her laying in her pile of Minnies, blowing one last kiss and whispering “I miss you”.

My Beloved and I agree that this was the trip of a lifetime and we are not the same people we were when we flew out. Our perspectives have shifted in ways we could not have anticipated. The last of her shame is behind her because he has not a shred of judgement in his heart. A lifeline has re-woven, with vital new strands to bolster those so long buried by time and circumstance. Love-driven choices will always prevail. 

[highfears]

you find a plastic takeaway container, decorated in sweet little holiday themed doodles done in permanent marker. inside are home-made shortbread cookies, shaped like stars, snowmen and christmas trees, all decorated appropriately with sprinkles and edible glitter. attached is a hand-written note, on special winter-themed paper bought from cupid’s, written in blue sparkly gel pen:

“ dear arne/finn/geo/scott, this year, just like the last, has been incredibly tough on us all. i hope that despite this, you find a little bit of happiness in the holiday season. here are some cookies i made all by myself ! i hope you like them and that they lift your spirits a little bit. 楽しい休日, happy holidays, xo momoko noguchi ! ”

arne berman receives the gift;

it makes his day. he doesn’t know momoko very well, but she quickly becomes one of his favorite people in shrike heights. her kindness touches him. he sticks the note onto his refrigerator and he stares at it for a long time. she’s made his holiday season. 

finn dunne receives the gift;

the unexpected gift leaves him feeling positive and uplifted, which is very much needed at such a hard time. he immediately starts to eat a cookie, and it perfectly hits the spot. he tells donnie to remind him to serenade momoko with a thank you ballad next time he spots her working at karaoke dokie.

geo oliva receives the gift;

he feels like this year has been harder than tough, but knows no one has the ability to articulate the true extent of the pain inflicted on them. he knows that momoko has also felt such pain. he cries for so many reasons, but most of all, because momoko’s gesture - particularly as it’s given despite her own pain - reminds him so much of something flora would do, too.

scott laurence receives the gift;

gifts don’t always touch his heart and soul. his parents love to give gifts to try to both better each other and to compensate for their lack of real care an affection towards their son. momoko’s gift feels so very different. her note is sweet, concise, and accurate. her cookies are delicious. it makes scott feel seen, but better yet, it makes him feel cared for. 

[thetriggeredhappy]

yeah, no worries, i’m aware!

the short answer is that within human rights conversations (in particular in regards to conversations about jewish issues, both culturally and politically) we might occasionally hear the term “dogwhistles”, generally talking about how hate groups and extremists, knowing that overt hate speech or direct discussions of their goal of eradication and suppression will be met with the normal and appropriate level of disgust and rejection by the general populace, will code their language and/or try to find ways to subtly nod to their fellow extremeists without breaking TOS on any given platform or alerting the other people around them to the insidious shit they’re trying to pull off. this is widely known to be A Thing That Hate Groups Do in our cultural sphere, which has the unfortunate but understandable and inevitable side effect of making people very suspicious whenever people are unclear or fail to be specific and vocal about the things they stand for and believe in. this is a case where i’m concerned that it’s possible the person asking was trying to gently field where i stand on a few issues right now.

the long answer is long.

to get into that long answer and elaborate a little more on why i feel the need to be more specific now than i might have been previously, i started writing Taking Shots, oh, i dunno, six years ago? 2018 or so? if this is the first anyone is hearing of it, yes, antisemitism and fascism in general have been a problem in the internet sphere of culture for quite some time. i decided i wanted to include a few discussions of diversity in Taking Shots peripherally to flesh out the world more since i had the option of adding in so much flavor text with a setting we don’t explore at all in the comics or source material, and having sniper and spy as central characters in a context that’s already talking about religion (the christmas special) felt like a good time to organically explore these conversations about judaism and religion and spirituality and holidays and that sort of thing.

and now the year is 2024 and the vibe in the room is going to be a little bit different when i have the jewish characters talking about their culture and opinions on traditions, because there’s going to be the question in the back of some readers’ minds of, “oh, god, i hope this isn’t a zionist dogwhistle”.

this is something i earnestly think about a lot. there’s a point where i most likely won’t be bothered if someone chooses to interpret me in bad faith. i’m aware that the person who sees me writing spy and sniper shaking hands and going “being jewish is great! we have a beautiful and diverse culture!” and starts telling the newspaper that i think the palestinian genocide is fun and cool is, in the kindest interpretation possible, deeply misguided about how to help other people, and that their opinion is misinformed. but that doesn’t let me off the hook and mean i can just sort of… back away slowly to avoid anyone ever possibly getting mad at me. i value my integrity, and i value how my actions (or inaction) and words (or silence) impact people.

i think that there’s nuance, and i understand that i need to exist somewhere on the gradient between “making a banner that lists all the hot button topics and a few extra ones and my stances on all of them so people don’t have to worry about me being one of The Bad People and a pinned post where i read every individual hate group i can think of the riot act and tell them to leave me alone” or “so vague and avoidant about world issues or politics or current events, so completely allergic to the idea of talking about things that might sort me into either Minority or Oppressor, that it comes across as dogwhistle-y and deeply suspicious because it clearly takes a lot of work that could instead be put into caring about these things”. i’m also not interested in making this space one that i use for social justice and awareness, and i don’t think anyone else is interested in that being what i do here either. there are other people perfectly qualified to do that work and maintain those spaces, and they do. someone who wants to engage with short essays or articles about human dignity will likely find themselves doing that, and not here where i do my thing. because that’s not really what we do here.

the thing i do here is write stories and make art. in a lot of those stories and art, i engage with these social justice discussions by framing things with compassion and empathy. my earnest hope is that a reader in good faith would be able to gather my stances on topics, diversity in particular, by reading the things i’ve made and seeing the way i conduct myself and the way i engage with other people. i’m not scared of being direct, or of sharing my opinion outside of the stuff i make, but i’m aware that it’s a different metric entirely by which to judge people, to see what they say in defense of themselves rather than in what they do, what they make, what they clearly care about when their moral character isn’t the topic of discussion.

i limit what i do here by a pretty wide margin. in my life offline, i engage plenty with humanitarian issues. probably the one most identifiable to people around me is environmentalism, but there are others, these things tend to be intersectional. i try to contribute to causes in ways outside of media influence and ‘raising awareness’ in whatever metric you might use for that. this space is just a different thing, to me.

but it is important to be transparent. it is important that the vulnerable people engaging with the things i make can do so without being nervous that i have ill intentions.

nuance. i dunno. i don’t think there’s a singular correct answer. i think there’s instead a series of choices we all make, over and over, where we’re always trying to do what we think is the right thing.

refusing to be vulnerable enough to share my earnest opinion on this feels, itself, like bad faith engagement. i want to have enough integrity and accountability to overcome that sometimes. this is a conversation i know i’m going to keep having every single day and every single time i make something and share it with people and i’m not scared of that.

i don’t ever want to reach the point where i need to share huge swathes of my personal life and identity to ‘justify’ my ‘right’ to have conversations about [insert culture or minority status or identity here]. i don’t even really love sharing things like my specific gender identity markers or first name or age, for (again) personal reasons. at a certain point there needs to be good faith engagement from the viewer as well.

none of this was even the question.

i wanted to specify my stance on palestine since i’m aware that it’s inevitably going to come up sometime soon once i start having the characters talk about jewish culture since that’s at the forefront of a lot of people’s minds. i’m aware that it’s probably over-cautious, i’m fine with taking the risk that i come across as clumsy. i’m specifying less because i’m worried about bad faith interpretation and more because, even if i’ve explicitly mentioned my stance on antisemitism, it’s still probably been a while, and fascism is a persistent, creeping thing that needs to be chased away actively with a broom and a spray bottle.

thank you for your concern. i hope this has helped.

Hello! I really liked the recent chapter you posted. I'm excited to see more :]

Do you mind elaborating on Spy's jewishness? It's a very fun headcanon and I'd like to learn what you think about it ^_^

sure! first of all 🍉🍉🍉 to be clear

sniper and spy are the only two who i’ve explicitly stated as jewish within the text, i think, and likely the only two for whom it’s going to come up super frequently, but i also do think that tony’s wife theresa is jewish, as is collin’s wife lily, and i don’t think any singular one of them is the classic Monolith To Represent An Entire Culture Singularly.

i imagine spy was somewhat heavier on tradition for himself, more orthodox, follows kosher, that sort of thing, and that if his family were still physically present enough to be part of his life they would be absolutely flabbergasted that he married an irish catholic woman and even more flabbergasted at how chill she is about it. i imagine spy is a pretty private guy but went out of his way to stay in contact with the judeo-french community in boston. this would’ve been around, like, ~1940 or so? the O’Connell family i always believed to be closer to South End, which was historically a cultural hub in the city. him being part of espionage efforts as a teen throughout the 20s means that he had a pretty unusual immigrant experience for that reason, but i thought it was more interesting to sort of keep spy more grounded in reality compared to the team fortressing of the rest of the peripheral landscape. some of the older boys who remember when spy was around remember how hard spy and ma worked to celebrate the holidays for both catholic traditions and french jewish traditions, and archie for example has tried to pass that on to his own kids as well.

sniper meanwhile i have grounded as kind of the ‘my family is jewish but um y’know not in the way that people hate’ brand ‘palatable immigrant or different culture trying not to take up space in a place that is not necessarily friendly to outsiders’ story. his mum and dad were the only jewish people in their relatively small community by the time sniper was a young boy and they really did try to keep up traditions, but it’s hard when you have no outside support to help reinforce that stuff. sniper has a (relatable) internal sense of being both an outsider to the predominant culture while also not feeling confident enough in it being ‘his culture’ to make any claims for himself. i imagine that if he could meet some of spy’s old buddies in boston and connect a little more with the diaspora he would be able to start feeling more of that pride and connection, but as it is he’s caught between dodging antisemitism and denying a culture that does matter to him but in a way that’s difficult to verbalize and not often asked about.

i think spy and sniper might bicker about it at times in later chapters, next chapter in particular. scout’s ma is definitely going to make at least one more comment about scout getting married to a nice jewish boy though. that trope in media about east coasters is just too much of a staple to pass up.

[stewardofningishzida]

Real-Life Funny Story 5: Christmas Crafts

TRIGGER WARNING: Blood, minor injury

I know this story is a bit late for Christmas, but I thought it might be mildly amusing. This moment is precisely why I am no longer involved with Christmas crafting projects. When it rains, it pours, I suppose.

I was a teenager when this happened. Mom and I did Christmas crafting projects every year and she loved it. I, being an impatient kid who would rather be reading or playing video games, didn’t particularly care for crafting projects at this time of my life. However, I did them to humor my mother because I didn’t want her to be upset around Christmas.

That year, back in the early to mid 2000’s, we were making little catnip mice out of old socks for our four cats and then some holiday-themed felt mice with candy cane tails to display around the house. As crafters may know, felt can be a royal pain to work with. For those who don’t know, it stretches and distorts easily and doesn’t like to cooperate when cut. Also, if you decide to wash it, then there’s a decent chance it’ll shrink when it dries. So, it’s pretty much guaranteed to throw off any hope of accurate measurements and even if you trace an outline of the shape you want to cut out, good luck. Yes, there are different types of felt and some can be stiff or floppy, but we had just some standard floppy felt from a fabric store.

After making the catnip mice without a problem, we moved onto the felt mice for human decorations. I had measured the appropriate size for the mouse (ha ha ha) and traced an outline for its body. So, then I went after the felt with a pair of scissors. However, despite the effort, the stupid fabric wouldn’t cut properly. I tried again and it just got stuck in the hinge of the scissors. Irritated, I pulled them free and tried to give the scissors a “head start” by stabbing a blade of them through the stubborn material. It wouldn’t go through. Getting progressively more frustrated, I jammed the blade into the felt harder and pushed, only for the blade to go through the felt AND my index finger. I saw it go through and promptly pulled the blade out on impulse. Blood started spurting all over the felt. Thankfully, it was already colored red, I suppose…

I got up quickly and went to the bathroom, taking out a first aid kit with my non-bloodied hand and turning on the faucet for cold water. Mom was panicking and so I sent her to get me an ice pack since the cold would help slow the bleeding. I promptly cleaned the wound and saw the skin on the tip of my finger flapping. However, we were out in the middle of nowhere and again, my mother doesn’t like doctors. So, I wrapped the finger in gauze and medical tape, holding the tip on securely. Then, I put the ice pack on and took slow, deep breaths to calm myself. Whenever the blood soaked through, I replaced the bandages. After a short while, maybe 10-15 minutes, I managed to get the bleeding to slow down to the point it no longer soaked through. Then, I made sure everything was secure and we cleaned the craft area up.

The cats got their cute little sock catnip mice and I told Mom to just finish making the felt mice. She did in the end and I put in their candy cane tails using my good hand. It took a while for the finger to heal, but I kept it clean and thankfully everything was okay. It left a scar on my left index finger for years, but that has long since faded.

Morals of the story: If you’re frustrated, maybe take a break to calm down for a bit before potentially doing something stupid. Also, if you or someone else has something impaling a body part, do NOT pull it out. Leave it in and go see a doctor. The object is most likely plugging the wound and pulling it out will make the person bleed even more than they already are.

[fatedevour]

♢  —    @bogachs​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ asked:     🎭  ─  see a christmas musical/play at the theater (sending one last)

holiday festivities starters: 

   It could be considered a CHRISTMAS MIRACLE that Dottore put up nearly no fuss to being dragged to see a Christmas play. It had been priceless to witness the expression that had unfurled like the flower of a  ceroid cacti (and just as rarely too) on Pantalone’s face when Dottore had agreed to attend with him on the second comment on the matter. It was such a RARE expression, to see catch Pantalone OFFGUARD and openly shocked. A few seconds felt like several minutes worth of indulgence as red eyes noted every aspect of that pure and UNSUFFOCATED shock. Even if he recovered with collected grace, Dottore had still been able to see the unveiled emotions splayed before his eyes.

   Of course, there was always the chance that Dottore would EVADE when the time came to actually participate. No doubt such logic was a key factor in Pantalone’s speedy recover (other than his skill). Dottore agreed NOW but that didn’t mean Dottore would agree THEN. And yet when the time came, Dottore had already set ASIDE his current task and was readying himself in his room when Delta had informed Pantalone of Prime’s lack of presence in the lab. Shame HE hadn’t gotten to see the reaction, but Dottore as an identity had.

   Dottore was a SELFISH man, this was an undisputed fact. He could convince himself this was for his OWN enjoyment of throwing Pantalone off his rhythm. But that wasn’t the FULL scope of the truth. Dottore didn’t particularly BOTHER with celebrations of such nature. In youth he’d never been allowed to participate in the village traditions, barred from the village till the time of celebrations were past lest the ‘demon’ ruin the festivities. In the Akademiya - well he’d been close to NONE and they gave him the same stares as the villagers once had. Thus his experience was NEAR TO NONE beyond what he happened to observe. But....It was about indulgences, wasn’t it? Not that Pantalone wasn’t SPOILED ROTTEN as it was by himself and occasionally Dottore, but....He could do this much. (  And it might reap some nice rewards.  )  

   “  Are you planning to just wait there all night, Vincent?  “  Dottore remarks with a low tone into Pantalone’s ear as he silently approaches Pantalone from behind in the hallway. His usual attire had been traded for something more appropriate for the sake of attending a performance, though there were still the trademark colors of Dottore, the hidden symbols and extra flairs to the outfit. But he did not part from the habit of a MASK other than to trade it for something more fitting of the fashion, allowing red eyes to be viewed like the younger segments. Normally Dottore didn’t CARE for these ABSURD details of fashion versus evening fasion and the likes. But for the sake of INDULGING Pantalone in his own silent expression of the holiday spirit, he’d catered more to his tastes.

   Dottore slides one hand into Pantalone’s gloved hand, familiar with the sensation of all the rings that settle against his hold like armor.  “  We don’t want to be late, after all.  “  Two, three hours. He’d sat through WORSE things than a performance while at the Akademiya. He could indulge him. JUST this once, next time he’d reject it without hesitation as he typically did. For now, he flashes a SHARP smile towards Pantalone, red eyes a CALM storm that shine with a KNOWING, SCHEMING look. Though his vain little banker would no doubt bask in the pampering, Dottore could ENJOY throwing him off his usual perfect rhythm. Like reservations after the performance. 

[writingwithcolor]

Thanksgiving/Day of Mourning

Last year, I made a very quick, basic post about thanksgiving: Indigenous Day of Mourning aka Thanksgiving. if you want the sources for what I’m about to say, check there.

This post will be about why you cannot just go “fuck the pilgrims, we deserve a harvest festival no matter the origin” or anything else that tries to sanitize the holiday.

You Are Still On Stolen Land

As a result, you are still actively profiting off the genocide the pilgrims committed.

I don’t care how educated about racial issues you profess you are. I don’t care how you behave the other 364 days of the year. If you try to distance yourself from the origins of Thanksgiving simply because it makes you uncomfortable to see the blood under the tablecloth, you’re not practised in sitting with actually being anti-racist. You know what to say, but you don’t practice what you preach.

You Are Eating Our Food

Pumpkins/squash, beans, turkey, cranberries, potatoes, corn, sweet potatoes, pecans, maple syrup?

Those are all Native American foods that we taught you how to grow and harvest.

You wouldn’t have any of your traditional Thanksgiving foods without us. The ideal meal of Thanksgiving is ripped right from Indigenous practices and cannot be separated from it.

The fact that these foods have been taken out of Indigenous hands and appropriated by colonizers as the bounties they somehow deserve for landing here is a tragedy, and people need to remember where their food comes from and who had been growing it for thousands of years.

You Had So Much Because Of Massacre

Thanksgiving became an annual tradition after 700 Pequot men, women, children, and elders were killed, freeing up acres of land that colonizers promptly took over. The sheer amount of extra acreage that colonizers had because of their genocide contributed to the excess of food experienced during Thanksgiving. That land had been structured to support more people originally.

Colonizers had never, ever, deserved that much food. They were taking more than they needed, not leaving much behind for the animals that depended on a balance to be held with humans. They took far more than was needed, throwing the balance off in nature.

Maybe I’m reaching. But I think that if you suddenly had 700 less people in the area, after all of the growing and planting for the total population had been done, you’d have excess food? Or even before the growing, you’d have land set up to support 700, that I’d assume you’d still use, when you were a much smaller population?

Sit With Your Own Grief

If this makes you feel bad and that you shouldn’t celebrate Thanksgiving? Sit with that.

I’m not telling you that you have to give up Thanksgiving traditions. I’m telling you that you cannot divorce them from Indigenous people.

You are giving thanks for our massacre. You are giving thanks for stealing so much from us that you had this excess.

Yes, you can need a break; yes, you can need time with family and friends. None of this is inherently bad.

It’s not even bad to eat local food from Turtle Island! Part of having a sustainable diet is eating locally, in time with the seasons.

But remember, it is Indigenous people who first gave this to you—and then you stole far more than you ever needed from us, killing us to get what you felt you deserved.

Do not divorce Thanksgiving from Indigenous people for your own comfort.

We are still here. We must live with the aftermath of colonizers stealing from us every single day.

If you feel this way hearing about our history, imagine what we feel like living it.

Donate to a local org/Indigenous person this Thanksgiving

I (again) don’t have the spoons to compile a list of vetted charities, but look for local tribe language revival programs, COVID relief funds, and activism around the Indian Child Welfare Act currently in front of the Supreme Court.

Pay reparations for what you have taken, and remember. It is also Indigenous Day of Mourning.

Indigenous people, drop your links below.

~Lesya

[bethansfandoms]

kisses under the mistletoe and how they came to happen pretty please with a cherry on top? 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 thank you bethan!

"James, what are you doing?"

James practically jumped out of his skin as he turned to look at Remus. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes, desperately."

"I just thought the place needed a bit of decoration!"

Remus looked around at the common room and frowned. "You're hanging mistletoe outside the stairs to the boys dormitory."

"Your point?"

Remus shook his head in bemusement. "No point, just thought it was a bit weird, is all."

He heard James mutter something under his breath but didn't quite catch it.

"Why are you hanging mistletoe outside the boys dormitories?" Peter asked as he stepped through the portrait hole.

James threw his arms up in a fit of frustration. "Just... the place wasn't looking very Christmas-y and Gryffindor tower is throwing the Christmas party later!"

Remus looked over to the large Christmas tree in he corner of the room but refrained from pointing it out.

A party the night before the Christmas holidays began was a bit of an unspoken rule in Gryfindoor tower. The Prewett twins had started it, but once they had left the marauders had taken it upon themselves to keep it up.

Remus didn’t overly care for them, the common room was simply not big enough to comfortably hold all of Gryfindoor at the same time and it usually got too hot and too noisy for Remus’ liking.

He did, however, enjoy seeing his friends have fun. He was also quite partial to mulled wine he knew Marlene was planning to provide somehow.

“Hoping of catching a boy under the mistletoe or...” Lily asked as she entered the common room. James threw his arms up in frustration. “Screw all of you.”

At seven o’clock, Remus was placed in charge of casting the appropriate silencing charms and by half past seven the party was in full swing.

Marlene had indeed managed to provide mulled wine and Sirius had created a playlist which Remus had counted as having Elton John’s ‘step into Christmas’ on it three times already.

Lily, obviously feeling some qualm due to her head girl position, took on the role of making sure nobody under the age of sixteen was drinking alcohol because whilst most people were underage, a line had to be drawn somewhere.

“May I have this dance?”

Remus turned to see Sirius, clearly a little drunk, extending an arm. “You want to dance with me to Feliz Navidad?”

“Problem?”

Remus sighed and put down his drink. “Fine, whatever.” There were so many people jumping around already that he decided joining them wouldn’t make him too self conscious as presumably nobody would pay him much notice. 

What he had not expected was for Sirius to place his hands on Remus’ waist. “What’re you doing?” Remus shouted over the music.

“Dancing!” Sirius shouted back.

“You can’t slow dance to this song!”

“You can if you’re drunk enough. Lighten up Moony, it’s almost Christmas!”

Remus sighed. “You’re insane.” 

“I’m sure something slower will come on in a minute if you’d prefer that.” He held up a hand and as the song finished, listening to see what would play next. When ‘step into Christmas’ came on again, he whooped and placed his right hand on Remus’ shoulder blade. “Remus! I love this song!”

“I know, it’s come on four times now.”

Sirius, once again, failed to acknowledge that the song was far too quick to try and waltz to and took one of Remus’ hands, attempting to move them gracefully which was made difficult by the sea of people, the fact that he was drunk, and the fact that Remus couldn’t dance.

“Are you waltzing?” Remus turned his head to see Peter, drink in hand, watching them in amusement.

“Don’t ask,” Remus replied, flushing slightly. “His idea, obviously.”

Peter just shrugged and walked away to sit on the sofa. Remus looked around the room to see if anybody else was actually watching. He was sure they weren’t, but in that moment it felt like every eye on the room was on him.

“Moony?”Remus turned his face back to Sirius. “You’re worrying.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Sirius sing-songed. 

Remus rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, just... worried people are watching, you know?”

“So what if they are, hm?”

Remus opened and closed his mouth a few times. “I don’t... I don’t know?”

Sirius removed his hand from Remus’ shoulder blade but kept hold of his hand. “Come on, then.” Remus let himself be pulled out of the crowd and towards the dormitory stairs. “Less people here. Shall we?”

“This playlist really is not the appropriate tempo for—” He broke off as he heard the opening bars to Joni Mitchell’s ‘River’.

“Oh yes!” Sirius enthused. “I added this one for you! I know you love her.”

“My mum loves her, not me,” Remus corrected.

Sirius scoffed. “I think we’re good enough friends for me to know that’s bullshit.”

Remus gave him a half smile before letting himself be led in a waltz again. He couldn’t help but think it was an incredibly strange way to be spending a common room party, slow dancing to a Christmas playlist concealed by the wall of the dormitory stairway.

When the song ended and something upbeat and festive Remus didn’t recognise came on, Sirius kept them twirling and Remus finally voiced his thoughts. “Why aren’t you dancing with a girl, hm?”

Sirius stopped and stood upright, suddenly appearing far more sober. “Would you rather I was?”

“I didn’t say that, I just asked why you weren’t.”

“Because it’s a Gryffindor party and out of the four girls in our year, Lily is clearly about four seconds away from agreeing to go out with James, Dorcas and Marlene appear to be dancing together, I’m pretty sure Mary has fallen asleep on the sofa, and despite what people may think maybe I don’t want to dance with a girl.”

He suddenly straightened even further, apparently recognising what he’d said, and let go of Remus entirely. “Hey,” Remus said softly. “It’s s okay.”

Sirius held eye contact with him and Remus could practically see the way his head was working around his thoughts. “I didn’t— What if isn’t?”

Remus had no idea what he meant by that, and so he just shrugged and repeated himself. “It’s okay.”

Sirius opened his mouth to reply but his eyes suddenly darted towards the ceiling. “Since when has that been here?” he asked, and Remus followed his eye-line before remembering.

“James was hanging it up earlier. Im not sure why.”

“Remus, I didn’t know that. I didn’t— that isn’t why I took you over here I could see you were getting anxious and I thought, oh, this will be out of eyeshot and—”

“Sirius,” he laughed. “It’s okay. I didn’t think that.”

“You’d have every right to,” he muttered, “I just told you I’d rather dance with you than a girl and then pointed out mistletoe it’s coming on a bit fucking strong if you ask me.”

“Well…” Remus started, “actually, how drunk are you right now?”

“Honestly, not very…”

“Okay.” Remus ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. “I’d rather dance with you too, then. Than a girl, I mean.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Remus lifted his eyes to the ceiling and then back to Sirius. “Hey, we don’t actually have to… you know.”

“And refuse Christmas tradition on the day before the Christmas holidays?”

Remus felt his heart speed up a little. “Well, you raise a good point.”

Sirius placed a hand on his face, giving him time to change his mind. When he didn’t, he closed the gap between their lips and kissed him, and Remus had never been so thankful for James Potter’s weird decoration ideas.

“Ohhhh,” Lily said under her breath. “Is that why you put mistletoe there? You knew they’d go up to the dormitory together?”

James scoffed, “Obviously.”

[frogtanii]

iwaizumi was... overwhelmed, to say the least.

the past few days had been such a whirlwind of change that hajime could barely properly process, much less appropriately react to it all, so he behaved much like a zombie, saying yes when prompted, signing papers when told, and packing up what was his entire life for the past 11 months.

wow. iwaizumi collapsed on his bed as he scanned his now barren bedroom. he’d been here for almost a year and yet, all his belongings were in boxes within a couple of days.

hajime couldn’t keep the disbelieving chuckle from escaping his chest as he leaned back on his bed, dark brown eyes trained on the ceiling.

it felt like he’d spent such a large chunk of his life trapped in this house, under the foot of the woman who he thought he’d marry but in reality, he’d been in little leagues longer than he’d been in love.

iwaizumi scoffed and rolled his eyes. yeah, “in love”. it’d been about a week since his whole life started to unravel and he had hardly seen, let alone spoken to meiko throughout that entire time.

over text, she’d sworn up and down that she loved and cared about him but as she passed by him packing his things a few days ago, she’d barely spared him a second glance.

hajime wasn’t going to lie. it hurt. he’d opened his heart up to her, something he didn’t do easily, and she’d taken his trust and used it to twist him into her weapon.

he always believed he was stronger than this — he’d never forget his mother telling him so when he was younger. he had fallen and scraped his knee yet he refused to cry to keep from upsetting his mom. iwaizumi existed to live up to what his mother thought of him but here he was, completely enveloped in meiko’s shit, doing her dirty work and following her bidding like some mutt.

god, toorū was right. he really was her bitch.

“i could hear you thinking from down the hall, iwa-chan.” speak of the devil...

oikawa stood at his doorway, leaning against the frame with a posture that seemed relaxed at first glance but if you looked a little closer, you’d notice the tenseness in his shoulders and the tightness of his smile.

hajime quickly sat up on his bed before motioning for his old friend to enter. “uh, yeah,” he began, his voice cracking a little from disuse, “i have a lot to think about.”

the light haired brunette let out an understanding hum before wandering into the room, sharp observant eyes darting to look at all the empty walls. “looks like you’re all packed.”

“pretty much,” iwaizumi nodded before the room fell into an awkward silence, the two childhood friends completely avoiding one another’s eyes.

“look, i-“

“iwa-chan, i’m-“

they both paused for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound carrying into the hall and throughout the house.

hajime wiped a few stray tears from his eyes, shaking his head at their awkwardness. “you first, shittykawa.”

toorū gasped in halfhearted mock offense before quickly sobering up, training iwaizumi with a completely serious look. “i’m sorry and before you go on some bullshit, self sacrificing rant, you’re not the only one to blame for what happened to our friendship.”

he sighed while making his way to iwaizumi’s bed, sitting down gently beside him. “i should’ve known better, okay? i shouldn’t have let my jealousy and insecurities get in between us but i guess i got swept up in the attention, yknow? meiko is actually charming when she wants to be.”

iwaizumi nodded in agreement, knowing all too well how compelling meiko could be. the room fell into a more comfortable silence as both boys escaped into their thoughts, questions about the future of their friendship flitting throughout their minds.

“oh!” oikawa was pulled out of his own head at hajime’s exclamation, his eyes moving to observe his friend dig through his pockets to procure a thick white envelope. “here. i’d like you to give this yn.”

all toorū could do was nod, his brain short circuiting at the sight of iwaizumi’s apparent kindness to the woman he tormented for so long. “uh, what’s in it?” he ventured to ask, his soft hands toying with the sealed envelope flap.

a soft chuckle came from across the bed. “don’t be so nosy toorū, just give it to her, yeah?” oikawa rolled his eyes but obliged, the bed creaking as he stood to his feet.

“so... this is it, huh?” it was like the reality of the situation was just now sinking in — they hadn’t been close in a while but iwaizumi was still his best friend and he wasn’t quite ready to let him go.

they’d been through so much together, practically growing up together and now, they’d only see each other on holidays, if even then, and then he’d never be invited to hajime’s wedding as his best man as they’d planned and he also wouldn’t be the coolest uncle/godfather of iwa’s children and—

“fuck no,” hajime scoffed with a bright grin on his face. “thought you were gonna annoy me til the end of time shittykawa. don’t tell me you’re quitting your job now.”

the hidden meaning behind iwaizumi’s words brought tears to oikawa’s eyes and before he could stop himself, he launched his body into iwa’s arms. hajime hesitated, his hands stuttering at toorū’s sides as though he’d forgotten how to hug but the feeling passed, his arms winding around his friend’s lithe waist.

“‘m gonna miss you hajime,” oikawa’s voice came out as a broken whimper, his arms tightening around his shoulders.

iwaizumi hummed instead of responding, too afraid of his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. they stood there for a moment but the honk of the moving truck outside signaled the both of them of their limited time.

hurriedly, oikawa wiped the tears off his cheeks before waving awkwardly at iwaizumi as he left the room with a friendly, “don’t be a stranger.”

and then he was gone.

toorū finally allowed himself to collapse into sobs on his best friends empty bed, his palms pressing into his eyes as he sat there and just let himself feel.

apparently, he wasn’t crying very quietly because it took only a few moments for you to find him, your soft footsteps alerting him to your presence. oikawa scrambled to wipe away what he knew was an unattractive mixture of tears and snot as you got closer.

you were one of the last people he wanted to see him like this.

“hey,” you whispered, standing a few feet away from him. “um, i know this is probably a bad time but i just wanted to thank you for apologizing? back at the awards show?”

toorū sniffed as he looked up at you with confusion written on his face. “what? you shouldn’t thank me for apologizing. ‘s common courtesy.”

you laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “well, not always. so, thank you.” finished with your piece and not too keen on lingering where you weren’t wanted, you moved towards the door but were swiftly stopped before you got there.

“um, here. it’s from iwa-chan.” you gaped at the thick envelope oikawa was handing you before taking it and opening it, a low curse falling from your lips.

inside the package was a dense wad of cash, more money than you’d seen in months. accompanied with it was a letter, written in beautifully loopy handwriting.

you shut it quickly before oikawa could see, stuffing the envelope deep within your pocket where you could access it alone in the depths of your room.

“do you wanna come eat? last i heard, bokuto and tsumu were doing a cooking competition and i’m sure it’ll be fun to watch.” you were severely thrown off by the money and letter but you were determined to show toorū that you’d accepted his apology and were on your way to making amends.

he gave you a shy nod and trailed behind you to the kitchen, the loud sounds of fire and screaming coming from down the hall. you wanted to focus on the fun and merriment but the envelope was practically burning a hole in your pocket.

later that night, you finally got the chance to open the letter and read it, your former manager’s words bringing tears to your eyes.

dear yn,

i’m probably the last person you expected to hear from. you probably didn’t want to hear from me at all if i’m being honest and i don’t blame you. i know there is nothing i can say that could make up for what i’ve done to you but i’d like to try.

i’m sorry. those words don’t nearly express in and of themselves how truly remorseful i am but they needed to be said. there’s no excuse for how i treated you — not meiko, not my stress, absolutely nothing.

you deserved my common decency and respect and i didn’t give that to you. instead, i abused my position and made your life hell. i’ll never forgive myself for that.

uh, i bet you’re wondering what the money is? i promise i’m not trying to pay you off, it’s just all the money i’ve denied you since you moved here. i have a lot of wrongs to right and this is one of them.

sorry, i’m not very good with words but i just wanted you to know that i’m very sorry for everything that i’ve done. and i’m in no place to make demands or anything but i just wanted to ask if you’d keep an eye on oikawa for me.

he’s strong but he’s also vulnerable. he might be a pain in my ass but he’s my best friend and since i can’t keep him from drowning, i was wondering if you’d do that - not for me but for him.

anyways, this letter is shit but i suppose you get the gist. use the money for whatever you want and if you’re as unselfish as i’ve heard, you don’t owe me anything. you don’t owe me money, kindness, or forgiveness.

take care of yourself,

iwaizumi hajime

℗ poker face

so... this is it

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - soooo m back :D hopefully this is the last of my mini hiatuses!! this chapter sucked to write but i’m not mad at how it turned out?? pls let me know how i did skjdkd don’t forget to feed me <3333

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the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[waspenned]

scenes from an italian restaurant • part three • peter parker

it feels like peter’s been avoiding you as much as physically possible - not that you care, and not that you miss him. okay, maybe you miss him a little bit, but the holiday party from hell certainly will not help • 4k

warnings: more smoking, swearing, cringe, unbeta-ed 

now playing: the stranger by billy joel

part one / previous / next

a/n: we back in business boys w a little filler chapter!!! ORIGINALLY WAS GONNA BE LONGER but she was turning into a big gworl so I've split her into two n not much happens in this one but the next one is where it all kicks off B) TRUST (the other one is nearly finished!!) pls remember I have a taglist to join and my ask is always open for chatting and requests!!!

Things had been weird between you and Peter since the cupboard incident. Awkward and stilted - somehow worse than when you two were first on the closing shift together, and you’d accidentally walked in on him in the bathroom and singing to himself. He did that a lot - he’d started picking up the old Italian songs Sal would play, mumbling along under Sal’s booming voice. A few weeks ago, he confessed that he’d been learning Italian on Duolingo, and since then you’d seen him engage in a few shy conversations with the regulars - turning that usual bright pink when they complimented his accent. He was fine talking to them, to everyone, you were the only outlier.

It must be you causing the weirdness - maybe you were just projecting and overthinking stuff, and Peter was just being Peter. You felt like you owed him something after all; he’d basically stopped you from becoming a pancake on the pantry floor. It’s hard to pay something like that back; it wasn’t like he was putting himself in danger every day. Not that you didn’t have his back - in fact, it felt like you were constantly kicking out customers that got aggressive with him, coming to his rescue like a knight in shining apron. He kept saying he just had ‘one of those faces’, and that he didn’t mind being a fall guy for a customer to yell at, but you’d been defending his honour anyway. You liked standing up for him because it made you feel powerful, like you were on the same team; you two versus Manhattan. And now he was avoiding you like the plague. You hadn’t finished a crossword in weeks without his unsolicited help.

You had talked some shit about Spider-Man, maybe he was a really big fan and that's why he can barely look at you. Maybe they were even friends, and you’d been ragging on him right in front of Peter because of some weird grudge. And maybe Peter hates you now, and is gonna tell Spider-Man what you’d said. Maybe Spider-Man knows you think he’s stupid, now you really won’t have his help when you need it. You’d have to ask Peter - no, you’ll sound like an idiot. Jesus Christ, you can’t stand this fucking guy.

“Smiles, guys come on!”

The whole Joe’s crew is lined up in a row for the annual staff holiday party picture, decked out in ugly sweaters and stupid hats. Usually, it was a Christmas party, but after careful consideration of how the Joe’s staff was no longer just Catholic Italians, Sal promoted the affair to a ’non-denominational winter festivity gathering’. However, after taking all night to put up decorations, he’d clearly hit a few snags after realising very few of his decorations were appropriate for what he had in mind.

You suppose that’s how Peter ended up with a paper printout of a dreidel safety-pinned to his sweater. Sal had put it there with entirely too much intimacy, patting him on the chest and telling him over and over about how welcome he was and how he was part of the family, ‘but not in a mafia way, don’t worry!’. There were some other trinkets littered about too; your favourite Santa statue had been robbed of his hat and sleigh, demoted to just an old man wearing an odd amount of red, as well as a Rudolph figurine with his nose coloured in black. There may have been some confusion towards the end, though, as one wall was devoid of anything apart from a single sticky note reading ‘kwanzaa??’, and the nativity scene had a cherry tomato in the manger where the baby Jesus should have been. On the counter, there were a series of tea candles lined up as a mock menorah, despite the fact that Hanukkah finished well over a week ago.

“Oi, Camino, look alive!” Sal is clapping you on the back now with his large hands, snapping you out of your thoughts by gripping your shoulders and giving you a slight shake. The bells on your stupid antler headband jingle out in protest, and you shrug him off of you, scowling. Peter chuckles to himself next to you, and you snap your glare to him, eyebrows knotted something fierce.

“What, Parker?”

“Camino. It’s funny.” This fucking guy. Speaks a few words of a different language and now he thinks he can laugh at you. Asshole.

There’s a fair chance your frustration is channelling itself as anger towards him. Maybe. Perhaps.

“Yeah, keep laughing dude, he calls you Magro.” Sal had a range of nicknames for Peter; though he usually just called him some variation of ‘that guy’ or ‘the boy’, and everyone would know who he meant. The whole kitchen had been doing it for months, with the serving staff being completely oblivious until Trisha slipped up and called for him through the serving hatch, hollering for ‘the boy’ to come and take out the trash. Peter sticks out his tongue at you, and you mirror him until you’re both engaged in a rigorous battle of face-pulling.

“Hey, hey! Nice faces in my photo, okay?” Sal scolds, fiddling with his phone on the precarious tower of pans and recipe books serving as a tripod. You behave, shuffling next to each other as Sal directs the photo, herding everyone closer and closer together to fit in the frame. “I want to commemorate the first Not-Christmas party!”

You roll your eyes, already sick of the stupid bells on your head. Peter picks at the dreidel drawing beside you, tinsel wrapped uncomfortably around his neck. Sal tuts.

“Come on, Pete, don’t be shy! Get in a bit closer, they don’t bite!” He orders, waving the two of you towards the group, and you scooch awkwardly. Surely there’s no way you could get any closer to them now, but Sal seems to fancy himself an artist, hemming and hawing at the composition of the photograph. “You’re all so stiff, people! At least act like you’re friends!”

“My mouth hurts from smiling already,” Peter murmurs to you, and the fog in your mind clears a bit. Clearly, the need to complain about the staff photo outranks whatever awkwardness you had going between you previously, and you’re incredibly grateful for it. Bitching about work was incredibly familiar territory, miles more comfortable than pretending your coworker hadn’t just saved your life.

“You want to just pull a straight face?”

“No, I’m scared he’ll curse me out again. You know how scary it is to be threatened with a wheel of Parmesan?”

“That, my friend, is called a Sal Special. You should be privileged-“

“Hey!” Sal is talking again, and for a split second, you’re scared he’s got the Parmesan again. Instead, he just looks close to tearing his hair out - well, whatever’s left of it. He’s gesturing at you, squinting at the camera. “Pete, come on, put your hand on Grumpy’s shoulder or something. Everyone else is touching!”

When you look at everyone else, the difference is stark. You and Peter may as well be in different countries compared to the rest of the staff, who are all stood in a clump, arms thrown around each other for the photo. The thought of Peter touching you makes you feel a little bit sick, but you can’t quite pin down why.

“Jeez, you don’t have to look so upset about it, it’s only me,” Peter says to you, leaning close, his breath on the whorl of your ear. The sensation of it sends an almost violent shiver through your body, and before you can think about the facial expression you may have subconsciously pulled, his arm is thrown over your shoulders.

He’s warm, like the other few times you’ve touched him - the dude must run like a radiator - and you feel his hand on your arm, hooking you and pulling you in tight to him. You hate to admit how nice he smells; fresh like clean laundry, patchouli, a hint of cinnamon from helping Sal bake the cannolis you sell at the holidays. You’d had to fight the urge to make some sort of inappropriate joke when you’d seen him piping in the filling, only for him to say something along the lines of being good at ‘creaming’ and immediately get heckled by everyone else in the kitchen.

“Ah, there’s a smile! What a rare treat.” Sal teases, and you immediately drop whatever face you had been making, your lips burning from the stupid grin that had betrayed itself on your mouth. This shit was so embarrassing. You wish Peter was an incompetent idiot, or that he was just that bit more annoying so you would stop talking to him altogether, or that he was ugly - anything. Instead, you’re in the crook of his arm, pressed to the side of his rib cage.

You can feel the beat of his heart through his sweater, strong and paced against your arm. He twitches the tiniest bit, hesitates, and then apparently decides to bite the bullet.

“You look nice, by the way.” He’s back down at your ear again, and his quiet voice stirs up quite the tornado inside you, a warmth pooling in your stomach - something between comfort and shock. You mumble back to him through clenched teeth, baring them in the most begrudging smile you can muster. Sal is hurrying back towards the group, the mass of Joe’s staff squeezing together even tighter as the photo timer ticks.

“Nice?” You raise an eyebrow, jabbing the sharp of your elbow into the softness of his stomach. He barely reacts, avoiding even glancing in your direction, but there’s a rosy flush creeping out of the collar of his shirt.

“Yeah, like, uh… pretty.”

Your shocked expression will be immortalised forever on the walls of Joe’s, because that’s when the photo flash decides to blind you. You’re still blinking the echo of the bulb out of your eyesight, vision swimming, when Sal comes round, showing the photo.

God damn it - you look like a mess, and even worse, Peter looks great. Fuck this guy.

Sal is gone again before you can say anything, swept into the tide of your coworkers while Peter stands at your side, irritatingly amused, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. It was weird to see him in normal clothes, oddly intimate without the stiffly pressed trousers and aprons. And here he was, parading around in jeans and a sweater, like a normal person. Once, he’d been late and wearing a hoodie, but that was the closest he’d come to being regularly dressed. You don’t think you've ever even seen his crotch before, his apron usually tied tightly on his hips. Not that you were looking at his crotch much, Jesus.

“Get that look off your face, you smug bastard.” You’re hissing at him, and his mouth is fighting whatever expression he wants to make, flipping wildly between a smile and a feigned scowl, eyes simmering with mirth.

“I can’t wait to see it on the wall, immortalised forever.” He’s still wearing his stupid converse, you notice, squeaking beside you as you storm to the drinks table Sal has set up, and you decide you hate them. How dare he look nice? What was his problem? It’s like he wants to see you suffer, this awful imp of a man.

“Yeah, until it accidentally gets knocked off during a closing shift.” Somehow, he gets there before you and intercepts the punch bowl, filled with Sal’s infamous concoction of Campari and whatever the hell else he puts in there. It didn’t really matter what it was, because it was delicious and meant that you had no memories of these parties - usually a good thing. Peter pours himself a drink into one of the paper cups left out - Sal didn’t trust anyone drunk with glass - and you think he’s going to take a sip, before it’s held out to you.

“Destruction of diner property? You sick, sick animal.” He’s grinning away, the excitement palpable around him as he fills another cup, not noticing your face fall behind the rim of your cup, nose itching.

It had been you, hadn’t it? That day.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Your voice is low, tearing along your throat, scratching like you’d been inhaling smoke. You replace the scratching pain and the smell of ash with the bittersweet, herbaceous burn of the Campari mixture, downed in one gulp to wash it away.

“Huh?” He turns to you after replacing the ladle, barely taking a sip before seeing your empty cup, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ, you drank it already?”

“Another, barkeep!”

Peter refills the drink as you grimace, the alcohol scorching your throat. There’s music now, as Sal shuffles the playlist you’d helped him make; an odd mix of Italian opera, pop, and the most non-religious Christmas songs you could find - which was, surprisingly, not very many. It was an odd process, sitting in the office with Sal on your Sunday shift, watching him bop his head to a song he liked, only to disappointedly skip it at the first mention of Santa or Jesus. You’d tried to explain that it wasn’t that serious, but he was very committed to having the party be as inclusive as possible.

“You’d get caught if you broke the picture, anyway.” Peter’s holding the cup out at you again, barely audible over Last Christmas. Apparently this one, despite containing Christmas references, was given a pass because ‘heartbreak is universal, Camino!’. Not that you were complaining, it was a certified banger.

The two of you walk to the far wall, filled with rows and rows of staff Christmas party pictures from years back, as early as the late seventies. When you’d first joined, you’d spent hours looking at them, little snapshots of lives - the Joe’s family evolution. There was Joe himself in most of them, until the nineties, when he moved upstate to manage another diner, and Sal made his debut in the eighties, surrounded by bright colours and absolutely massive hair. You’re in a few of them, younger and brighter, smiling wide, in the old restaurant decor, before the fire meant you had to replace most things. Peter points at you, grinning, and mimes scratching your face with his fingertip.

“People would see you do it, it’s right in plain sight.”

“Not on the closing shift, it’s usually just two people to clean and tidy.” You’re both leaning against one of the tables, examining the pictures, hundreds of faces smiling back at you. In the one from last year, Sal has two fingers up behind your head, as mock bunny ears. “I’d need someone who wouldn’t rat on me.”

“Not me then?”

“The day I’m on the closing shift with you is the day we’re not friends anymore.” Hell is a special place called ‘The Closing Shift with Peter Parker’, and you hope you never have to go there. He’d probably be all upbeat and shit, disgusting. Not that you worked many of them, but when you did, you needed a sullen and sombre atmosphere with minimal talking, otherwise you would lose your mind for good. You’re a good deal into brooding, sipping at your drink, when you notice Peter hasn’t said some awful, cheesy retort; instead, he’s just looking at you, grinning away like he usually does when you mess up.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“We’re friends?” He says, and you’re groaning, trying to get away from him, but he follows close behind - like a puppy who finally got someone to play fetch. This is probably the worst moment of your life, you’d rather fall off the shelves again than have Peter Parker tailing you with that stupid, smug smile. You’re trying to shake him off, but he’s persistent, jeering at you the whole time. “We’re friends now? Want to braid each other’s hair? Where are we going, bestie?”

This was the exact opposite of what you wanted; you knew you were getting too close to this asshole and you were supposed to start icing him out, but the slippery bastard has wiggled himself back in. You say you can’t stand him, you’ve told the whole staff and even him, to his face, multiple times, but you don’t think you could imagine Joe’s without him now. Thankfully, Sal comes to your aid, calling over the music.

“Hey, Rudolph, come help me with the cannolis!” It takes you a moment to realise that he’s talking about you. It’s only when Peter flicks at the antlers on your head, tinkling the bells, that it sinks in. Helping Sal with the cannolis was the worst part of the holiday party - he was entirely too bossy and over-protective of them. It didn’t matter to you or anyone else if they got smashed or broken, everything ends up chewed up anyway, but he’s fiercely determined to protect the delicate pastry - which usually means him snapping at you that you’re not holding a tray ‘right’, even though you’re holding it the exact same way you do on the other 364 days of the year.

“Want me to help, bestie?” Peter chimes beside you, leaning into you and bumping his shoulder into yours. You swat him away, escaping his contact before someone could make a nosy comment on it. Angela, thank God, is engrossed in a heated debate with Trisha, far too invested in dishing out kitchen gossip to notice the proximity between you. She’d really ramped it up since the cupboard thing, gushing about how romantic it was that he’d saved you and completely ignoring the fact that you could have been seriously hurt. As much as you hated being compared to some sort of ridiculous lump in distress, the least she could do was ask if you were alright; she only found out because she’d seen Peter taking a glass of water to the pantry and had to be nosy.

“Go fuck yourself-”

“Hey, come on! They’ll get soggy!” Sal is shaking a pair of oven mitts at you through the service window, and you escape Peter’s friendly, eager clutches to duck under the counter flap and disappear into the kitchen.

It’s a while before you get to talk to Peter again, catching glimpses of him chatting with your coworkers and dancing around like an idiot as you bring out trays of fresh cannolis, throwing back cups of punch between trips. Sal turns into one angry bastard when he makes them, but goddamn are the cannolis worth every second of it. The trays are cleared within seconds of being set down, your coworkers becoming blood-thirsty vultures and grabbing as many as they can and stuffing them in pockets and bags. When you’re finally done, you come back out to Peter wearing some dusty fedora he must have dug out of the lost and found box, set at a jaunty angle, and he flicks the brim as you pass. There’s a cannoli in his other hand, between his fingers, and he mimes smoking it like a cigar, puffing on one end. You look around, checking the trays to see if you can snag one of the pastries before they were gone; but you think you missed the boat.

“I didn’t get one.” You frown at Peter, and you pretend to tremble your bottom lip, despite the fact that you’re actually quite disappointed.

“Yeah, ya see?” He crows, adopting an accent you can’t quite place until you realise he’s pretending to be an old-timey mobster. He’s - well, let’s just say the accent is interesting. Then, he pulls a cannoli out from behind his back, grinning as your eyes light up. “Made you a cannoli special, see?”

“Yeah, what’s special about it, slick?” You eagerly take the pastry he’s holding out to you, putting it to your mouth and pretending to take a drag, mimicking his accent. He’s delighted, a wave of excitement wracking through his body and sparking in his eyes.

“Turn it over, doll, give it a look-see.”

From the right way up, it looks like a normal cannoli, but when you turn it upside down, there’s a tiny smiley face piped in filling, flattened smooth by the bottom of the pastry resting against the tray. It was a small gesture, but it made your heart squeeze in your chest, a thrill rushing through you like a tidal wave.

“Oh, dude,” You instinctively drop the voice, and you’re ashamed of how excited you are by it, an unfamiliar heat rushing to your cheeks that flusters you entirely. It’s nice, and then you realise that even though it’s silly, you haven’t been given anything this nice in a long time. It feels different - you feel different, and it’s an awful realisation that this feeling is actually a kind of warmth towards your job. Peter must be some sort of witch. “This is so sweet, thank you. You put a lot at risk to do this.”

“I had to distract Sal fifteen times and in fifteen different ways, it was the most stressful thing I’ve ever done.” Peter’s following you again, but this time you don’t mind him accompanying you to find your phone in your jacket pocket. You want to take a picture, no matter how much it’s killing you not to absolutely inhale the thing, and no matter how much you want to keep it in a safe forever. “Worth it though, he’s so cute. He’s a bit wonky looking but I think he’s confident.”

“Really, man, thank you. I can’t wait to burn him alive with my stomach acid.” Peter poses as you hold the cannoli next to his face, snapping a photo of the two of them. They look weirdly alike. You’re busy cropping the photo, Peter watching over your shoulder when you feel him freeze beside you.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Is-“ He trails off, and when you look up at him, he’s got a finger pointed towards the ceiling. Following his gesture, you find yourself looking at a little bundle of greenery, taped to the beam above you and tied with a shoddy bow. “Is that mistletoe?”

“I believe that is just a bundle of twigs that Angela sellotaped together.” Looking around the room for her, you accidentally lock eyes with her, watching the two of you intently from the far booth. She wiggles her eyebrows at you, looks at Peter, then looks back at you. Jesus Christ. “I think she wants to kiss Sal.”

She doesn’t; you just want to get her back for all the Peter stuff.

“Really?” He’s examining it now, reaching one of his long arms up to touch it, tickling the leaves with his fingers and smoothing them between his fingertips. “Looks like mistletoe to me.”

You don’t know why, but your mind is screaming at you that this is too, too close and you need to diffuse the situation - put Peter at arm’s length. He’s standing so near, that faint, sweet smell hitting you again, and it turns your stomach over and over until you think you might throw up from sheer anxiety. It takes everything in you to not suddenly shove him away and run, and when he looks back down at you, his face wrinkles in concern. You say the first thing you can think of to diffuse the situation - only hoping that it’s not too mean.

“Well, learn to look better, dumbass.” Great.

Then Sal is calling through the hatch, elbows deep in dishwater. You instantly dread whatever he’s going to say; he’s got that tone he uses when he tells his kids off. He’s staring at the both of you, bordering on a stern glare, and then points at the leaves. 

“It’s mistletoe.”

When you look back at Peter, he’s all wide-eyed and pink again, scrambling for something to say but instead just making a few stilted noises, beginnings of sentences that trail off. You feel more eyes on you, your coworkers, and your chest feels tight, weighed down by the suddenly thick air. Peter’s chewing at his lips again, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat through the floor, vibrating through the soles of your shoes and shocking you with every raced thump.

For a second, you allow yourself to wonder what it would be like to kiss him, to touch him. How his hair feels at the nape of his neck, the softness of his lips on yours, surrounding you with the warm blend of sugar and his deodorant. You think it would be like honey, like floating, like flying away. For a second, you want to.

Pretty. That’s what he called you. He thought you were pretty. He called you pretty in front of the whole diner, in the staff picture, and now you were standing under ’mistletoe’ with your coworkers all staring at you. Waiting, like you were a show to watch. Something big and awful wells up inside of you.

Naturally, you bolt. 

“I’m going for a smoke.” You announce, loud enough for the others to hear, and the whole party clatters to an uncomfortable stop. Peter finally stills his nervous fidgeting, a heavy, shaky breath rattling through him. You’re still staring at each other, every tiny quirk of his face echoing around your mind like a cymbal, and you lower your voice, cocking your head towards the back door.

“You coming?”

There’s a beat, and then he nods.

[phoebe-delia]

Devoted to You

This is a gift for the lovely and talented @curlyy-hair-dont-care as part of the Wheel of Drarry Mini Fic Exchange! This is 1.3k of domestic fluff just for you. I was so glad to get to write for you, Ri, and I hope you enjoy this! Huge thank you to @apr1cots for the great beta and to @written-in-ash for the cheerleading. <3

‘Darlin’ you can count on me/’Till the sun dries up the sea/Until then I’ll always be/Devoted to you’

Draco grinned, holding Lily’s little hands securely in his own while she stood on his slipper-clad feet, giggling as he stepped back and forth on each foot to the easy rhythm of the song playing from the speaker.

He looked up to see Harry in the small kitchen, swaying his hips slightly as he stirred the vegetables in the pan. From this angle, Draco could see Harry’s profile, a soft contented smile on his lips. He took a deep breath, letting the smell of the chicken baking in the oven fill his senses.

It was a Friday night tradition, one Lily insisted upon every week. Harry made a family-favorite meal for dinner: cornflake chicken and green beans with almonds. After dinner, the family gathered in the living room and watched whatever age-appropriate movie suited everyone’s tastes.

Tonight, Albus had insisted upon watching Rocky II after being enraptured by the first movie. Few films were able to capture the attention of Harry and Draco’s three children, especially after the Great Frozen vs Lion King Debate of 2017, but when Harry had bought the first Rocky movie last week, the series had taken precedence on the to-watch list.

The cabin had been purchased on a whim, one of Harry’s first expenditures after an early retirement from the Auror force.

“C’mon, Draco, it’ll be fun!” Harry had said, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist from behind when he’d shown him the place for the first time. “I think this will be good for us. For the family.”

And as much as Draco was loath to admit it, Harry’d been right. They’d turned their cabin in the middle of the woods into a vacation house just big enough for comfort but still small enough to be different from home. Harry had been adamant about not adding rooms to the structure at first; the original second bedroom had already come with two sets of bunk beds that were perfect for Albus and Scorpius, and Teddy when he visited. But when Lily was born, Harry had caved and created another small bedroom and a second bathroom, just in time for the boys to become teenagers.

But he and Draco would never change the layout of the main living space, with the kitchen, living room, and dining area all laid out together in a large expanse. It allowed laughter, music, and the smell of cooking food to fill the air. It felt like an extension of the Burrow, but it was theirs. Harry was proud to have a little place to take his family to get away from the world, even if it was only for a weekend or holiday at a time.

“Ow!” Draco hissed as a small foot came down a bit too hard on his toes.

“Sorry, Papa!” Lily stilled, stepping off his feet but keeping their hands together.

“It’s alright, love,” Draco smoothed her hair reassuringly. “Why don’t you and I set the table, hm?”

With a nod, Lily darted from the living area toward the wooden table that separated it from the kitchen. Draco chuckled and followed after her, walking up to gather the silverware from the drawer next to where Harry was still cooking.

Draco felt Harry move from the stovetop and step behind Draco and toward the spice rack, allowing their bodies to brush as he moved. Harry’s hands came to rest on Draco’s hips briefly, and Draco felt a pleasant tingle travel up his spine at the warmth of Harry’s skin on his own where the hem of his t-shirt met his pajama pants.

“Dinner almost ready, love?” Draco murmured, finally gathering the forks and knives and turning to lay them where Lily had already put the placemats and napkins.

Harry nodded. “Yes, just a couple of minutes.”

“Alright,” Draco looked over at their daughter. “Lily, I’ll fetch the waters if you go and get your brothers and tell them it’s time.”

Lily grinned. “Yes, Papa!” She took a deep breath, and Draco only had a moment to cover his ears before she bellowed, “SCORPIUS, ALBUS, DINNER!!!”

There was a clang as the spoon Harry had been holding fell to the floor. “Bloody hell,” Harry blurted.

Draco sighed. “Harry, language. Lily, love, next time perhaps you could simply knock on your brothers’ bedroom door instead of giving your father and me early hearing damage, hm?”

“Sorry,” Lily shrugged, her eyes lighting up as the door to the twins’ bedroom opened.

“Nah, mate, you’re wrong about this one,” Scorpius shook his head. “His earlier albums are much better than his new stuff.”

Albus snorted. “Such bullshite.”

“Al, language,” Harry corrected sternly, earning snickers from Lily and Draco. “What?” Harry said, his hands on his hips.

Draco let out a soft chuckle and walked toward him, placing a peck on his lips and ignoring the exaggerated gagging sounds from the kids. “Where do you suppose young Al learned to use such foul language?”

“No fucking clue,” Scorpius muttered. Lily gasped and Al giggled, too slow in clasping both hands over his mouth to stifle the sound.

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. “You lot are incorrigible, every one of you.”

Lily’s nose wrinkled. “What’s incorrigible?”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Scorpius and Albus. “Do either of you know?”

Albus scoffed. “What do you take me for, a first-year?”

“No, just an idiot,” Scorpius smirked.

Albus shoved him. “Am not!”

“Are too, with your shite taste in music!”

“Language!” Harry, Draco, and Lily chorused, the two fathers exasperated and their daughter puffing out her chest with a smug pride that gave Draco a bittersweet nostalgia.

Harry, apparently noticing it too, gave Draco a light nudge, earning himself a scowl and a grumbled, “Isn’t it time for dinner, Harry?”

“Oh!” Harry startled, grabbing a clean serving spoon. “Everyone grab a plate!”

~

Draco smiled at the redhead tucked into his chest. He’d been lying on the red recliner in the living room in front of the television when, after the brief intermission to change into pajamas and brush their teeth, Lily had silently approached the chair and been let up easily to cuddle with him. Later, when the credits started to roll, Albus and Scorpius had retreated to their bedroom, and Harry was picking up empty popcorn bowls while Draco let himself be a human mattress for his sleeping daughter for just a little while longer.

He stroked her soft hair, watching the way her eyelashes fluttered in her sleep. He realized with stunning clarity that he’d never been allowed these moments of affection with his own father; he only ever got such attention from his mother in times of great distress—and when they were left alone.

When he’d become a father after the twins were born, he’d promised himself that the cold, distant Malfoy tradition of family relationships had died with Lucius. He and Harry would fill their house with love, unconditional and constant. Even when it was hard. Even when it meant fighting through his father’s words forming on his tongue. Even when he made mistakes. And even when his arm was falling asleep in the cramped recliner.

Draco had just about given up on regaining feeling in his arm and was about to try to drift off to sleep himself when Harry came up, gently running a hand through Draco’s hair.

“It’s time to come to bed, love,” Harry said softly. “D’you want me to take her?”

Draco shook his head. “I’ve got her.” He managed to stand up and only lightly rouse Lily from her slumber. Supporting her head and body carefully in his arms, Draco slowly made his way to her bedroom. He gently set her on the bed and tucked her under the covers.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Good night, darling,” he whispered into the darkness.

Lily stirred slightly but didn’t respond, burrowing into the blankets.

Draco smiled at her fondly, letting himself linger for a moment longer before making himself walk away and open the door.

“Love you, Papa,” was mumbled but still audible from Lily’s bed.

Draco’s heart swelled. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Read it on AO3!