#grandpa's stash

[lbseedco]

The Moonshine Ghost Train - lb seed co.

The Moonshine Ghost Train strain by LB Seed Co is a potent hybrid with a unique blend of genetics. Known for its high THC content, this strain offers a powerful, cerebral high accompanied by calming body relaxation. Its lineage combines the best traits of Moonshine Haze and Ghost Train Haze, resulting in a flavor profile rich in citrus, pine, and earthy notes.

[looking-with-you]

Smokin @ the lake (slightly different vibe)

[fisheito]

based on @winterdesu's comment..... ON THE COSPLAY POST (The snipao won. I thought about it😐)

[fretbored34]

* may contain pics of grandpa's porn 'stache

[marypsue]

In my stints in fandom for The Lost Boys, I've noticed that (for obvious reasons) it tends to attract people for whom the boys are wish fulfilment. And like, that's so fair, I respect literally all of you people, but also, I think I've reached a point in my life where I can comfortably admit that the real wish fulfilment in that movie is Grandpa.

[flamesleafsjetscanes]

by some miracle i am not hungover thank you alcohol gods

[antennatoheaven]

my sister showed our grandparents my art account when i made a separate one my family can follow and now i'm considering burning it all down to the ground and moving my art instagram

[coquelicoq]

[ID: Panels from chapter 96 of Natsume's Book of Friends. Isamu says, "Once you were born, things got so busy. And Grandpa started to get sick...in my loneliness, I forgot all about it." In a flashback to Isamu's childhood, their grandfather shows Isamu a bookcase and says "Isamu...there's a secret cabinet behind this bookcase. You can't get to it by yourself. You have to work with someone else to move this bookcase. Okay. Let's hide the present for the new baby in this secret place." /end ID]

[ID adapted from alt: Pages from chapter 115 of the Natsume's Book of Friends manga. Natsume kneels on a ladder to look through a small hole in a mask near the ceiling. Natori asks, "Can you see anything?" Natsume says, "It's fitted with a lens. The perspective is narrow…is it a picture? I see a white camellia flower." Natori, who's standing near a mirror, says, "White camellia…of course! That mirror must be visible from there. And…the mirror reflects the next room over. A wooden tile mural of white camellia on the wall…All the flowers look the same." He touches one of the flowers in the mural. Natsume says, "The eye only sees one. That one!" Natori says, "This flower…" as he pushes on it, and exclaims when it clicks. He says, "It becomes a handle when you push it in. A hidden cubby unique to this house…" /end ID]

so natori on purpose went to his uncle's house and put himself under the thrall of a youkai because he thought that the house held a secret that could possibly help natsume with the book of friends. as a failsafe he asked natsume to come snap him out of it if he wasn't able to break free, which natsume was happy to do. natsume then insisted on staying to help natori look for the house's secret (not knowing what natori wanted it for), and in the end the secret was hidden in such a way that it could only be found by two people working in concert - one to touch the wall, and one to look through the mask and tell them when they were in the right area. aw. the power of friendship! they really have come so far.

[samar-arijjj]

Once I was on the bus home and this freshman sitting next to me looking really sad so I asked him why he was so upset and he told me that his grandpa shot himself. But like, I thought he said his grandpa shat himself so I started laughing. So, uh, moral of the story is don’t laugh. Ever.

[katytrailcreations]

Glenn in Uniform/Inez'sClippings

Glenn in Uniform/Inez’sClippings

Page 72 Mon. Aug. 17, 1942~~~ Glenn left again to be examined for the army and was accepted. He came home early Wed. morning, Aug. 19th. Ruth stayed with me while he was gone. He was given a furlough of 2 weeks before going back, during which time we had a sale Sept. 1, 1942~~~ Glenn left for Jefferson Barracks on the train, at Sedalia. His mother & dad, Erma Lee, Ruth & I went with him to…

[jadeoru]

shame marathon! - iwaizumi x reader

after begrudgingly agreeing to see the minions movie with his friends, he hoped no one would see him in this state: dressed in small denim overalls, with yellow face paint sloppily smeared all over his face.

unfortunately for him, the person serving him popcorn was exactly his type.

warnings: minions. this is so stupid lmao, iwa dressed like a minion, terrible jokes, deadpool is awesome, awkwardness, cursing, terrible flirting, clu declared this silly and whimsical!!, fluff! wc: 2.8k

a/n: this is entirely self indulgent i work in a cinema and was overwhelmed by the amount of grown people dressed as minions LMAO ^__^

Iwaizumi had never felt true shame until now. His denim overalls were far too small for him, so he walked cautiously - scared that if he flexed his biceps even slightly, the buttons would pop off. He regretted every action he made that led him to this moment. Embarrassment heated his face as he watched his friends enthusiastically hide their candy stash in their pockets. They looked ridiculous: sporting the same overalls as he was. At least theirs actually fit them. Their faces were poorly painted yellow, and some of them (Bokuto and Hinata) even went as far as to wear goggles. He buried his hands in his pockets, silently hoping that even by only covering his hands, somehow, magically, the rest of him would be hidden too. With a tap on the shoulder, his shame was quickly put on hold, now focusing on his yellow best friend, Oikawa.

“Oh come on grandpa, lighten up. Would it kill you to have fun?” He nudged him with his elbow, and Iwaizumi groaned in response. “Why are we even seeing this movie? We’re grown fucking adults! This is- this is ridiculous!” He released one hand from the security of his pocket, running it through his hair, trying to wipe away the sweat that had formed. “Excuse you! Minions is a cinematic fucking masterpiece. I will not let the fact that I'm an adult get in the way of enjoying art!” Bokuto chirped in, his expressive face wonderfully displaying the excitement that surged through him. Iwaizumi’s voice decreased in volume, a clear sign of giving up. “Did we have to go out in public like this? Why couldn’t we have just, i don’t know, stayed home?” as much as he tried to persuade his socially fearless friends to just go home, to spare him the embarrassment of someone he knew seeing him in this state: dressed like a fucking minion, nothing he said would change their mind. “Because it’s funny! And imagine the look on kids’ faces when they see a whole group of minions pulling up to the movie!” It was Hinata's turn to convince him now, flexing his muscles in a half-hearted manner as he spoke, trying to ease iwaizumi’s woes. He wasn’t having any of it. “We shouldn’t be there anyways! It’s a kids movie!” he waved his hands in the air, exasperated, desperate to help his friends realise how utterly ridiculous they were.

Did they fear nothing? Was social anxiety a foreign concept to them? Kuroo slung his arm around his shoulder, a lazy grin stretched onto his face. “Dude, the minion costume isn’t gonna kill you. Plus, we’re all wearing one too so you aren’t alone. Quit complaining and have fun, loser.” He wiggled Kuroo off of him and rolled his eyes. “I agreed to do this when I was high! Now that I have a clear mind, obviously I don't want to do this! You guys totally took advantage of me!” His friends slowly inched further from the car as his complaining progressed. By the looks of it, he had about one minute to convince everyone to just go home, otherwise they’d already be inside the cinema.

Oikawa looked at him from over his shoulder, waving him over to catch up with them. “I’m sorry that your post-nut clarity is biting you in the ass right now, but quit being a wimp! You’re the big strong hunk of the group, you’re supposed to be fearless! Imagine what the ladies would think if they knew you were scared of minions!” his teasing words caused his anger to overpower his shame, quickly speed walking to catch up with everyone. “I’m not scared of the fucking minions!” he shouted at Oikawa, who’s head was turned away from him, holding in a laugh at how ridiculous his once-terrifying best friend looked. The whole group looked like a bunch of jaundiced babies. Everyone struggled to contain their laughter. Before he knew it, they were at the doors of the cinema. “Come on!” Hinata shouted, shoving everyone, including Iwaizumi, through the doors; not giving him a single second to turn around and make a run for it.

Trying to bury his shame, he let out a groan. Looking to his left, both Bokuto and Hinata were bouncing with excitement; their eyes scanned the prices of popcorn. As he thought of it, he realised their personalities were eerily similar to the minion’s. Now that they looked the part, he realised this was the closest he’d get to seeing the real thing. He smiled at that. Okay, maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe he should just have fun. With his hands on his hips, and that small smile on his face, he inserted himself back into the conversation his friends were having.

“Ew. you look terrifying when you smile.” Oikawa laughed, immediately making his newly found confidence plummet. “Fuck you! You don’t look so hot yourself, shittykawa.” He could feel the vein on his forehead throbbing with annoyance. “Not true! I make a gorgeous minion! I’m like Bob, the cute one!” He winked, Shoyo quickly jumped in. “Nuh uh! I wanna be Bob! He’s the little one right? I meet all of the Bob criteria!” Kuroo let out a laugh, “Sorry Oikawa, Hinata is way more of a Bob than you are. You’re definitely a Stuart.” Iwaizumi could’ve sworn he saw Oikawa’s eye twitching at that comment. He slowly turned his head to face Kuroo, giving him the nastiest dirty look he’d ever seen. “Tetsurou, with all due respect, I hope you wake up in the morning and there are fucking skid marks in your bed.” Oikawa spat his words at Kuroo as if they left a bad taste in his mouth. He hit him in the chest with his finger, poking him repeatedly to add to his threat. “Clearly you haven’t done your research before you showed up today because I am literally Bob in human form!” Oikawa whined. Iwaizumi let out a cackle that quickly silenced the group. “He’s right, you are absolutely a Stuart.” he spoke through laughter. Oikawa looked at him with betrayal in his eyes. “Well if I’m Stuart, then that makes you Kevin.” Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? I’m not Kevin.” Bokuto chuckled, “You are absolutely Kevin!” his eyebrows furrowed, “How?” He got a smile in response. “Well, for starters you have an abnormally stretched head, you’re a know-it-all, and you take care of everyone. Face it bro, you’re Kevin the minion!” Iwaizumi gritted his teeth. “What’s wrong with my head? It’s shaped completely normally, prick!” he shouted, garnering the attention of the surrounding children. “It’s definitely Kevin shaped!” Whatever. 

He scoffed, not wanting to lose any more brain cells from this conversation than he already had. He looked at his watch. 9:21pm. 9 minutes until the movie started. “Let’s just get our tickets and get this over with.” He mumbled, catching a glimpse of himself in the reflection of his watch: his yellow face in all of its glory. Oikawa stopped him before he could begin walking, taking a step in front of him. “Not without popcorn! We can’t watch a movie without popcorn!” He yelled dramatically, more people around them started staring. Iwaizumi wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “Let’s get your stupid popcorn then.” he grumbled, placing a firm hand on his friend’s wrist, Oikawa quickly yanked it away. “Can you just get it for us? I wanna take pictures of us before the movie starts!” He smiled, pulling his phone out and fixing his hair in front of the camera. “So you’re gonna make me talk to the staff on my own? While I look like this?” he huffed, staring at him with irritance. “Trust me this is not your worst look, Iwa. Remember your bowl cut phas-” he cut him off with a nudge to the back, bumping him forward with his elbow. “Shut up! Fine, I'll go. What kind of popcorn are we getting?” He massaged his temple with his fingers in an attempt to soothe the headache that was forming. “Butter!” Hinata shouted, Kuroo nodding behind him. “Gross! Get salted!” Bokuto shouted back, sticking his tongue out; feigning disgust. Oikawa, the tie-breaker, looked at Iwaizumi with shrugged shoulders. “Just get one of each, I’ll pay you back.” Iwaizumi glanced at his watch again. 5 minutes until the trailers started. “Whatever.” he muttered under his breath, quickly turning on his heels and making his way towards the counter.

He was so focused on being fast and time-efficient he almost forgot that he was dressed up like a minion. He almost forgot how stupid he looked. And as he reached the counter, a line quickly forming behind him; leaving him with no chance to flee,

He saw you.

In front of him, stirring nacho cheese with your back facing him, he watched in silence. Maybe it was the shame of seeing your reaction to his current state, but he was nervous. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and stuffed his hands into his pockets once more, fingers fidgeting with his money.

“Uh, excuse me?” he spoke politely, but loudly, trying to catch your attention. You turned around to face him and god, he felt as if his body was set on fire. Embarrassment washed over him like a wave as you jumped slightly at the unexpected sight. “Oh! Sorry!” you smiled, amused by the man in front of you. “What can I do for you?” His fists clenched, and with white knuckles he regrettably made the realisation that you might’ve been the most gorgeous person he had ever seen. For fuck’s sake. Of all times to meet a person like you, it just had to be when he was dressed up like a fool. With yellow fucking face paint, and tiny overalls. He felt guilty for just looking at you.

“Um- could I get 2 medium popcorns?” he cleared his throat, trying to make his voice sound deeper, to make up for, well, what was happening on his face. “One salt, and one butter. Please.” He avoided eye contact. If he could be grateful for one thing in that moment, it was that the yellow paint concealed his blush. “Coming right up!” He could hear the slight chuckle in your voice, trying desperately not to laugh at a customer. “Nice outfit by the way. Let me guess, you’re seeing longlegs?” You joked, grabbing a popcorn bucket and shovelling the plain popcorn into it. Iwaizumi laughed - a lot harder than he should have. Was he laughing with nervousness? Were you just so pretty he couldn’t help himself? Were you laughing with or at him? A thick cloud of questions circled in his mind like a cyclone. But the sound of your laughter fading quickly calmed it down. “How’d you know?” he attempted to joke back. He spoke through a smile, gritted teeth trying to hide the embarrassment that danced on the tip of his tongue.

You laughed again, walking further from the counter to add butter to the popcorn. You hummed to a melody only you could hear in your mind, knees bending up and down in a subtle dance. You turned back to face him again, handing him the now buttered popcorn.

“Are they with you?” you asked, pointing at his minion friends behind him, who were dancing as Oikawa recorded them. He rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately yeah. This was their idea. You have no idea how embarrassing this is.” he spoke quieter, causing you to lean in closer to listen, grabbing another empty popcorn bucket. “I don’t think it’s embarrassing. If anything, it’s cute! This job gets boring really easily so seeing people dressed up like you just makes my day!” You weren’t looking at him while you spoke, partly because you weren’t capable of making eye contact after calling him cute, and also because you needed to focus on making sure the popcorn actually landed in the bucket.

He gulped, suddenly way too aware of his sweaty palms. Was he going to make it out of this interaction alive? He doubted it. Honestly, he didn’t care. He was just glad you were talking to him; treating him normally. As if he wasn’t currently about to sweat the yellow off of his face. Noticing the silence that formed around you, he continued the small talk. “So.. You uh, you work in a cinema right? You a big fan of movies?” He straightened his back, flexing his height. His face almost scrunched up with disgust at how pathetic he sounded. You mixed the salt into the popcorn as you spoke. “Honestly, I'm more of a fan of older stuff. Nowadays people just don’t make movies like they used to. Ah- Except for minions, of course.” You winked at him, unaware of how you almost made his heart stop. “I’ve been meaning to see the new Deadpool too, actually.” you spoke at the perfect pace for him to process and cherish each syllable that left your lips. Oh god, he really was pathetic.

Grabbing onto the second popcorn bucket you handed him, he struggled to mirror your smile. “I love deadpool!” He lied. He had never seen a single Deadpool movie in his life. Hopefully you wouldn’t quiz him on his plot knowledge. You smiled again, “It’s so funny!” He nodded in response, not trusting whatever lies would come out of his mouth. You typed something into the register, and then told him his total. He forgot about that. Trying to balance the popcorn, he reached into his pockets and pulled his money out, handing it to you with shaky hands. You thanked him and placed it neatly into the register.

Before you could utter your classic ‘Have a nice day!’ he spoke up again. “Hey uh. How about we see the new Deadpool movie together sometime? - when you’re free of course.” He clutched the popcorn buckets for support; stability. Like if you said no, he could retreat inside of them and hide away forever. Had he misread the whole situation? Did you actually hate him and feel repulsed by the sight of him? He hoped he was wrong. You totally liked him too, right? You leaned forward onto the counter, almost close enough to feel the breath that escaped his lips. “Are you asking me on a date? Am I getting asked out by a minion?” you asked, a teasing lilt in your tone. He cleared his throat, almost choking on his spit in the process. He was so embarrassed it hurt. “Do you want me to?” He choked out - His desperate expression matched his voice. You giggled, holding your chin in your palm. “Maybe I do.”

He almost dropped the popcorn after hearing those words fall from your lips. This time, his smile was natural; wide enough to make his eyes squint. “Awesome! So uh.. When are you free?” he asked, getting lost in your gaze in the most cliché way possible. Your eye contact broke as you acknowledged the long line that had accumulated behind him. Where did these people come from? With a sigh, you looked back at him. “Sorry, would you mind if we planned this later? I need to get back to my job.” You spoke sweetly, pretending to gag at the thought of working another hour. “I could give you my number?” you asked, with a hopeful glint in your eye.

He never said yes faster in his life.

Grabbing a ballpoint pen from your pocket, you wrote your phone number down on a napkin and neatly folded it up, handing it to him. He eagerly grabbed it, placing it in his pocket. He muttered a shy thank you, to which you nodded. “See you later, minion boy.” you joked, the smirk on your face was decorated with cheeks that were hot to the touch. His eyes widened as he realised, he hasn’t even told you his name. “Oh, it’s Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi Hajime.” He almost forgot his own name. You introduced yourself in return. Was it possible to fall in love with names? Because nothing had ever sounded better to him in his life.

“See ya.” he said, repeating your name. It rolled off his tongue like a fluent language. You winked, “Later, Iwa.”

You texted him later that night, when the both of you were at home. You were free tomorrow, and there was a Deadpool screening at 10am. He had to pull an all-nighter that night to:

One: watch the deadpool movies,

Two: plan how he was going to talk to you,

And three: come up with witty jokes that would make you laugh.

He hoped you would like normal him more than the minion version.

[lbseedco]

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[e-vay]

The Shadora Horde is known for wiping out every house’s stash of candy because there are just so many of them and they’re just such cuties! Grandpa!Sonic and Grandma!Amy come along for Trick-or-Treat-ing, too!

Aurora and Shadow are Princess Buttercup and Westley from Princess Bride. Sonic and Amy are Ken and Barbie

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

[empress-simps]

Tulips & Moony

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem! Reader CW: Sirius and Remus' banter and language (around 700 words) Summary: Remus tries to crochet you a tulip. Note: Hi darlings! I hope you like this mini fic; I love to crochet so why not make a fic out of it, right? Also, my uni's third term is about to end so I'll have more time to finish my WIPs! Hope you enjoy!

Remus loves knitted things— he considers the “unfashionable” grandpa sweaters that Sirius always complains about to be his prized possessions, not forgetting to mention how he’s got every neutral and earthy tones of cardigans arranged neatly in his trunk.

Yes, Remus is an avid fan of those things, but he doesn't really express any interest in making them from scratch.

So, imagine Sirius' surprise walking in on Remus who’s red in the face as he fumbles with a ball of yarn.

“Now Moony, when did you suddenly become a grandma?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow at the poor bloke who’s struggling looping a yarn.

“Since he learned Y/n loves to crochet.” James quipped from his bed, eating a chocolate frog that he most likely stole from Remus’ stash who was too busy to notice.

“He’s been at it for a good hm… three hours or so?” Peter shrugs, working on his charms essay in the corner of the room and trying to block out the strings of curses Remus grumbles out every now and then.

“Can you all be quiet? I’m trying to concentrate, you sods.” The werewolf grumbled, furrowing his brows and sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth in concentration. The sight was quite amusing. James lets out a laugh, getting off his bed. “Alright then, I’m getting quite tired watching you fail miserably,” Remus grunted, “Yeah, go bother someone else.”

Sirius plopped next to Remus, looking closely at his creation. “That’s a nice square you got there, Moony.” He hummed, nodding in approval at the wonky shape.

“It’s a bloody circle, you git.”

Sirius didn’t even try to stifle his laugh, “What are you trying to make anyway?”

“A tulip.”

“Doesn’t look like one though.”

“Thanks Pads, really. You’re such a great friend.” Remus rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he repeats a certain stitch a couple of times. “Geez Moony, that’s alright now.”

“No, it’s not, the stitch looks weird and much looser than the others,” Remus complained.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, “You call that a stitch? Doesn’t look like it.”

"Yeah, the next time you'll see Poppy is because of the stitches you're gonna get because of me-"

Safe to say they both were kicked out to the common room by a very annoyed Wormtail.

It took about a week full of wonky, weirdly shaped tulips, and sleepless nights for Remus to successfully make a single red tulip.

Remus gripped the wrapped tulip tightly, the familiar feeling of nervousness eating up his system seeing you with your friend hanging out in the corner of the common room. He was pulled out of his thoughts by James showing him lightly.

“Look, now’s your chance, Moony.”

Sure enough, your friend left you on one of the couches to go Godric knows where, Remus didn’t really care that much if he’s honest. He even silently thanked your friend as his feet lead him to where you’re sitting. “Oh, Remus!” You looked up to see his tall frame, standing quickly as you could and offering him a smile. “Hi.” He grinned nervously before stretching his arm out that’s holding the crocheted Tulip to you, albeit a bit awkwardly but you on the other hand, find it endearing. “Erm… Is it for me?” You asked, chuckling nervously. “Ah, yeah! I made it, I heard you like to crochet so…” He trails off, scratching the back of his neck as blush dusted his cheeks. He saw how your eyes lit up, and your smile widening as you gently took it from his hand. “Woah…” You let out a soft gasp, examining the flower carefully. “Since when did you learn how to crochet?” “Just last week,” “Just last week?! Remus, you are gifted. I couldn’t even make something remotely similar when I was a month in crocheting.” You told him, hugging it close to your cheeks. “Thank you, Remus.” You smiled shyly, going on your tippy toes to place a kiss on his cheek before waving shyly to him and heading off to girls’ dormitory, leaving Remus who was still trying to process what just happened.

“Another one? I’ve already told you leather is much better!” Sirius threw his hands up in the air, entering their room to see Remus smiling to himself as he wore the cardigan you crocheted for him. “I wouldn’t say that if I were you, Pads.” Peter looked up from his and James’ game of exploding snap. “Why? It’s not fashionable!” “It’s made by Y/N, you wanker. Now shut your mouth before I hex you out of this room.”

[mortalityplays]

looooook what my friend the anarchist grandpa gave me 😭

we had a conversation like a month and a half ago where he found out I'm into indie comics and diy zines, and told me he had this whole stash of stuff I'd probably find interesting. today I turned up to hang out for the first time since I was AWOL for so long with covid, and when he heard I was coming he'd brought this trove of 90s and early 00s uk music and culture zines for me. AND a Hunt Emerson mini that he sent away for. I'm genuinely beside myself.

[jo-harrington]

You don't have time for Christmas.

Work and home and this friend in a crisis.

Work and home and, let's be honest, probably work again.

And before you know it, it's December 20th and you don't even have any decorations up. Barely anyone does. The neighborhoods that are usually lit up with lights and figurines enough to rival the Griswolds are noticably dark this year.

What holiday? What festivity? It's wake up and hustle and lay in bed in a dreamless sleep. Then wake up to do it all again.

You are a cog in a machine.

You don't know how to voice these things, your displeasure, the secret yearning for the pomp and circumstance and childhood whimsy for the holiday season that's tucked somewhere deep inside your weary body. You can't bring yourself to indulge in it.

You're tired.

You glance down the card aisle at the grocery store but don't stop to grab any for friends. You pick up a bag of peanut butter bells for your candy jar at work but then second guess it at the checkout. Gifts are bought with as much care as you could, but you can't even bother to wrap them as prettily as you usually would.

You can try again for Valentine's. Chocolate hearts with the crispy rice inside and roses for your coworkers. Something.

But this year, you don't have time for Christmas.

And he notices.

It starts with cookies.

He likes to bake--started with boxed cake mix and then you bought him a handheld torch one year so he could try his hand at creme brûlée after he watched a little too much Jacques Pepin on PBS--so it's not anything suspicious. No ulterior motives detected.

Only he's dug up the little handwritten notebook full of your grandma's favorite recipes. Grandpa's handwriting because he wrote it while she dictated. Cookies he's never tasted before himself but seemed to have nailed exactly the way she made them. The love he poured into the treats matched hers exactly.

He brings you a plate and a cup of cocoa when you come home and collapse on the couch.

You cry when you eat them. And he lets you.

Then he digs out the tree from the garage.

The one-car garage that you pay extra for doesn't fit either of your vehicles but fits all your crap. You both vow to clean up at some point and never do. He slogs through the boxes of old band tees that don't fit him and kitchen crap that you don't miss or really need, to get to the plastic 6 ft tree that used to have stickers to note which bough went in what slot but those are long gone.

He spends hours figuring it out and decorating it, and imagine your surprise when you come home to an otherwise-dark apartment illuminated by the fat, colorful incandescent bulbs that you're sure he spent a significant amount of time untangling. You'd both given up last year and went without lights. But there they are.

"What?" you drop your bag by the door. "What is this?"

"I dunno," he grins proudly. "Thought it would be nice. Get in the Christmas spirit. Saved the star for you to put on top if you want."

And you did. You wanted it so bad. Ever since you were a kid, you were the one to put the star on top of the tree.

After it's up, you marvel at the special care he's taken with the important ornaments. Fragile little wooden ones from your grandma, popsicle stick frames with baby pictures of both of you, a macaroni snowman that he gave his mom once-upon-a-time that his uncle had stashed away, and then a fancy hallmark one you got the year you moved in together.

They all have special places on the tree and tell a story of your lives, separate and then together.

You both lay under the tree that night, staring up at the glittering lights as you hold hands.

Finally it's Christmas Eve. Which to him really meant nothing, but to you meant the world. Christmas Days were spent with individual families but Christmas Eves of old meant a big dinner and time spent with your cousins and It's a Wonderful Life on the TV.

It's a tradition that got put to the wayside as everyone got too old and too tired. As you started getting scheduled to work, like this year. And it's almost worse this year, as you've done a stretch of you-can't-remember-how-many days, that you even turned down an invitation for the two of you from your mom for a small dinner with her.

You're exhausted by the time you get home and, more than anything, you're looking forward to the day off tomorrow.

Not the holiday. The day off.

Still, you remember to bring in the handful of gifts from their hiding place in your trunk. You don't really do gifts between the two of you anymore. Nothing big at least. Just a cheesy little thing. Something fun, not something serious. But you did a little more this year than you usually would--all of the OT you'd clocked for one, and too many things you saw that you knew would make him smile for another.

You try to tip toe into the house as quietly as possible so you can throw the boxes under the tree and shower but he's vigilant. He's been at the stove cooking for a while, and he greets you at the door as you shut it behind you.

"I thought we said no big gifts," he admonishes you and snatches the boxes from your hands. The wrapping paper isn't festive--just brown craft paper you stole borrowed from work since you wrapped on your lunch--but you managed to slap on some red and green bows from the drugstore that you grabbed the other day.

"They're not big," you explained. "I promise."

"Well neither are mine," he winked.

You slap a hand against his chest and then give him a kiss in greeting and thanks.

"One better be the RC racer I wanted when I was nine," he mutters against your lips.

"Hmmm, you're just gonna have to wait," you tell him. "And no shaking the boxes.

You're almost a little ticked off'; one of them is the RC racer.

You kick off your shoes as the smell finally hits you.

Dinner.

Thick and savory and fragrant.

Some kind of fish and roasted potatoes and the starchiness of a pasta and the tang of its sauce.

Recipes, again, taken from your grandma's little notebook. They stir something deep inside of you. That yearning you never voiced.

The weariness that's been slowly building within you finally comes to a head when you make it to the kitchen and see the pots and pans and two plates already portioned out.

An ice cold beer for him, and a Shirley temple, extra cherries, for you.

"Remember when you told me," he comes up behind you and his arms snake around your midsection, "that you and your cousins would sneak extra maraschino cherries from the fridge when your gram wasn't looking. And then she went to go get them for the pistachio salad and they were gone."

Your knees shake and you practically collapse against him.

"Speaking of which, there is a pistachio salad in the fridge for dessert."

"Why?" you sniff.

"Because that's actually my favorite, so sorry to your grandma's tiramisu." He pecks a kiss to the side of your head and rocks you back and forth. "But if you want to make that for New Year's Eve, I won't say no."

"No," you let out a watery laugh. "Why are you so good to me, why did you do all of this?"

"Because I know it's been a hard few weeks. Few months." You can feel him shrug. "Fuck, it's been hard for me too but...I know this is one of your favorite parts of the year and you just...haven't been in the spirit for it. So whatever I could do to make it happen for you..."

You turn in his arms and bury your face in his shoulder, in his neck, so he doesn't see your tears. Again. Worse this time as you begin to shake from your sobs. He shushes you, runs a hand over your back, and leaves kiss after kiss against your head.

"Baby, I'll do anything for you," he tells you, voice thick with emotion. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy," you whine against his skin. "I'm so...so happy."

"Good."

"Thank you," you repeat it over and over again until it feels like you're empty of all the void and indifference that have filled you for the past few months are gone. In their place just...love and gratitude for him.

"Merry Christmas baby. I love you."

"I love you too, Merry Christmas."