#pass the cranberry sauce

[mentally-at-home]

[maerenee930]

it’s november 1st. my tradition of listening to linda belcher’s thanksgiving song at least once a day begins again!!

[gothamite-rambler]

Flashback: Jason Todd when he discovered one of the trainers the Al Ghul's got for him was a child trafficker

*based off a story from the book

Jason (shocked): They… were just children.

His trainer (indifferent): Don't be so dramatic; it was necessary.

Jason (seething with rage): They were just children… and you were trafficking them.

His trainer (indignant): I did what was necessary—

Jason (raising his voice, gripping a knife): THEY WERE JUST CHILDREN, AND YOU TRAFFICKED THEM!

-----------------------------------

Jason (finishing the story): And then I murdered him in cold blood. It was fun… I think I felt true euphoria that day. Oh, and I let the kids go.

Bruce (too stunned and upset to speak): …

Dick (whispering, impressed): Resist the urge to clap.

Tim (horrified): Holy crap, did you have to detail it like that?

Jason: It's not a good story if I leave out the important parts. Like the time I recounted how I beat you up and won, I had to include the part where I stabbed your hand.

Tim (exasperated): You didn't have to and you didn’t win that! You cuffed me to a chimney at the last minute and ran off! I forgive you though, but I won that fight!

Jason (coolly): Seems like a win on my side to me. Anyway, Ra's kept assigning me trainers who were pedophiles, murderers, drug dealer; people I wouldn't let a child around. They all kept rationalizing their crimes, and somehow they kept running into my knife, or getting in the path of my gun, or “accidentally” falling off a bridge. That’s all I’ll say about that.

Tim rolled his eyes, relieved that Jason hadn’t explicitly detailed those killings. Damian and Stephanie, however, had the opposite reaction and stood up, applauding.

Cass (with a blank expression): Jason?

Jason (worried): Yes?

Cass (nodding approvingly): I’ll allow it.

Jason (smiling): Thanks!

Duke: Can somebody pass the cranberry sauce? Also, can I go next? I can top Jason's story! Let’s just say I didn’t buy that katana; nah, I earned that!

Bruce sighed, covering his eyes in frustration.

Bruce: This is the weirdest fucking Thanksgiving, but at least it hasn't gotten worse—

Alfred (making it worse): Talia and Ra's are here.

Damian (pleasantly surprised): Oh, they actually showed up!

Bruce slammed his head on the table.

Dick: That means "God… Damn it!"

[he-has-risen-babygirl]

the headcanon that logan gets passed around the x-men mansion like the fucking cranberry sauce at thanksgiving dinner is canon TO ME. you don’t even understand it’s my favorite thing ever. like yes that man 100% is getting a “you up” text from everyone in the mansion. he is doing the walk of shame from room to room. the kids in the mansion are constantly woken up by the sounds of doors opening and closing. he has a little planner where he schedules appointments with each of them. he may be a slut but he’s my favorite slut okay IT WAS REAL TO ME

[gainercontent]

Eli's Thanksgiving Feast

Eli had been dreading this moment for weeks. After three months of dining hall food, late-night pizza, and chugging beers, he knew the consequences of college life were starting to show. The freshman 15. Everyone talked about it, but no one really prepared him for how quickly it could sneak up on you.

When he pulled in the driveway and saw his two older brothers tossing a frisbee in the front yard of their house, he could already see the smirks on their faces.

"Damn, Eli, you look like you’ve been hitting the dining hall more than the library," his brother Noah said, giving him a teasing once-over.

"Seriously, can't even hide it now," Micah, the middle brother, added, a laugh bubbling in his voice. He reached out to give Eli a pat on the back, but the gesture turned into a playful poke in the stomach. "You sure you're still fit to play ultimate, or are you just here for the Thanksgiving stuffing now?"

Eli tried to laugh it off, but deep down, he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He had always been the skinny one growing up, the one who could eat whatever he wanted without worrying about his weight. But college had thrown him off balance—dorm food, late-night study sessions, and the absence of his mom’s homemade cooking. It didn’t take long before he found himself snacking on pizza rolls at 2 a.m. or grabbing a double cheeseburger between classes. And now, it showed.

"You guys are ridiculous," Eli muttered, trying to change the subject. "It’s just a few pounds."

"No kidding. It's not like you can just wish it away, bro," Noah teased.

"Don’t worry, we’ll help get you back in shape… after dinner," Micah added with a smirk.

Later, at the dinner table, the teasing reached new heights. Their mom had outdone herself this year, as usual. The kitchen was filled with the familiar smell of roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, Mac and cheese, cranberry sauce, and—of course—her famous stuffing. It was the kind of meal that made Eli’s mouth water just from the smell.

"Sit down, Eli," his mom called, placing a massive plate of food in front of him. "I know you’re starving after your long drive."

"I’m not that hungry, Mom," Eli protested, eyeing the mountain of food in front of him.

"No, no," Noah chimed in, grinning. "You’ve gotta eat it all, Eli. You need the fuel. We don’t want you looking like you’re gonna float away after dinner."

Eli shot him a glare but sat down, his stomach already rumbling at the sight of all that food. Micah was already halfway through his first plate, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth with reckless abandon.

"Come on, little brother," Micah teased. "You’re not gonna let me beat you, are you?"

Eli rolled his eyes. "I’m not racing you guys."

But as the meal went on, Noah and Micah’s constant badgering wore him down.

"No way you can eat all that," Noah challenged, smirking at Eli. "Come on, show us what you've got."

"Yeah, we dare you," Micah added. "Five plates. You know you want to."

With each bite, Eli found himself getting fuller and fuller. But the challenge was too tempting to ignore. He loaded up his plate with mashed potatoes, a giant scoop of stuffing, turkey, green beans, and a spoonful of cranberry sauce. His brothers cheered him on, making exaggerated comments as he shoveled it all in, their voices getting louder the more he ate.

By the time he finished his first plate, the edges of his stomach were beginning to protest. He was full, but his brothers egged him on, urging him to keep going.

"Come on, one more plate. You can do it!" Micah shouted.

Noah chimed in. "You know the rule—no one's allowed to leave the table until they’ve finished five plates."

The competitive fire in Eli flared. He couldn’t back down. Not now. So, he loaded up a second plate, then a third. He felt the strain in his stomach with each passing bite, the tightness in his waistband beginning to feel like a constant reminder of how much he was stuffing in. But his brothers kept making comments, kept laughing, and it pushed him forward. He kept eating.

By the time he reached plate number five, Eli felt like his body was about to give up. His stomach felt like a bloated balloon, full and aching. The tightness of his jeans was becoming unbearable, and he let out an involuntary, loud burp that echoed through the room.

"Uh-oh, bro," Noah said with a grin. "Sounds like someone’s gonna pop."

Eli’s face flushed crimson, and his hand instinctively went to his waistband. He couldn’t take it anymore. He unbuttoned his jeans, letting out another long, audible burp as he tried to ease the pressure.

Micah leaned back in his chair, his grin practically splitting his face. "Dude, you seriously ate five plates. I’m impressed, but you might need a stretcher to get off that chair."

Eli laughed weakly, clutching his stomach. "I think I might just sleep here," he groaned. "Can’t move."

"Ah, don’t be a wimp," Noah said. "There’s still dessert."

Eli’s eyes widened. Dessert. He had completely forgotten. His mom had already brought out a spread of pies—pumpkin, apple, pecan, and chocolate cream.

"You guys are insane," Eli muttered, but when Noah placed a huge slice of pumpkin pie in front of him, he couldn’t say no. His stomach might have been on the brink of revolt, but dessert was a whole other beast.

The rest of the meal passed in a haze of discomfort. Eli could barely look at the food in front of him, but he forced down a few bites of pie. By the time dessert was over, he felt completely stuffed. His pants were barely holding on, and each breath felt like a labor.

Eli slumped in his chair, a hand pressed firmly against his bloated stomach. He had lost the battle—not only had he eaten way too much, but he’d also been completely outdone by his brothers’ teasing.

But despite the discomfort, there was something oddly satisfying about the whole experience. Sure, he was stuffed to the point of misery, but he had done it. He had survived five plates, countless teasing remarks, and endless jokes.

As the night wound down, his brothers gave him one last, affectionate jab.

"You’re gonna need a week to recover from that," Micah said, ruffling Eli’s hair.

"Probably a month," Noah added with a chuckle.

Eli just smiled weakly and groaned. "I think I’ll just sleep until Christmas."

And, for the first time in a long while, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

[kcrossvine-art]

Hi fellow adventurers!! Welcome to chapter 2! We're going to be attempting a nice lil fruit-focused quiche/frittata/pie thing. And yes, tomatoes are fruits.

Who says you cant eat totally normal things in a dungeon with definitely no monsters in them? 

You know what that means; Man-Eating Plant Tart!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Man-Eating Plant Tart?” YOU MIGHT ASKThe way its prepared in the show is akin to a frittata, but the crust is borrowed from quiche world.

Eggs

Whole milk

Bell peppers

Persimmons

Cherry tomatoes

Pitted green olives

Thinly sliced OR shredded sweet potatos

Salt

Pepper

In the show they use leftover hotpot stock, slime, and mashed up fruit as the batter ingredients. Fruit mush is easy to work with but I couldn't find any stand-in for slime that would cook correctly into what they made in the show, and the hotpot stock is just not thick enough to carry the base. It is too many watery ingredients at once. Needing a thickening agent, both gelatin and agar agar were tried. It was edible but the texture was… gelatinous. Regular egg and milk will serve for our purposes.

The next complication was the crust- so in the show its made with the skins of fruit, straightforward yeah? Well. You see it also has to be 1. Thick enough to bake without burning 2. Harden through cooking to be sliced and held and 3. Inedible. Lotus leaves? Plantain leaves? Really thin gourds? I couldnt find any historical basis for a savory food cooked in this method, or similar method, with an intentionally inedible crust. I could find a few dishes which used leaves as their crust, but none that hardened during cooking and even less that used fruit skin. I chose sweet potato skin for its visual match and texture. It is edible, and it is not a fruit.

I hope youll forgive me for these 2 major deviations as i wanted to keep it looking how it does in the show while also ensuring it tastes good.

AND, “what does a Man-Eating Plant Tart taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKFluffy, airy, savory, salty.

The density of the eggs is offset by the crisp fruits

And the saltiness doesnt overpower the remnant fruit-sweetness

(If you eat the crust) the sweet potato brings this nice muted, smokey, flavor

Spongecake-esque in consistency

Would pair well with cranberry or strawberry juice

Would also pair well with a mellow hot sauce?

. You can use heavy cream instead of milk for a creamier batter . Roast the fruit longer to remove more liquid if too wet (and vice versa if too dry) . Smoked paprika, pepper flakes, cumin, garlic powder, and onion powder would taste good in the mixture

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"A mixture of mashed up and cut up Man-Eating Plant fruit, slime and scorpion soup is poured into a pan lined with the flattened peel of the fruit and cooked before garnishing with some more fruit. Described as salty by the group."

From start to finish this recipe took 3-ish hours? Shredding the potatoes took the longest, so if you get them bagged itd be cut down. A very filling recipe and a good way to sneak veggies/fruits in if you have a hard time getting enough of those essential nutrients. The best advice i can give is to add salt/seasonings at every stage of the process, to build up layers. It makes a difference flavor-wise (even if its just salt). I advise against reheating if possible. The filling will make the crust soggy over time.

If you want to be closer to the cooking of the show, you could double the fruit amounts and mash them together while halving the amount of egg and milk. I hadnt tried due to budget reasons, but it should work with some finangling. I'll pass the final verdict off to you guys with how todays recipe turned out <333

What would you rate this recipe out of 10? (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Did you love it, did you hate it? What're your thoughts on what I could do better, and what would you have done instead?

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

3 Eggs

13oz whole milk

2 bell peppers

2 small persimmons

140oz cherry tomatoes

12oz pitted green olives

34oz thinly sliced OR shredded sweet potatos

Salt

Pepper

Method:

Heat oven to 420f and grease a 9-inch pie pan.

Thinly slice (or shred) your sweet potatoes and squeeze out any excess moisture. Coat in olive oil, salt and pepper.

Press sweet potato mixture evenly into and up the sides of the pie pan.

Blind bake for roughly 25 minutes or until lightly golden-brown. No worries if the edges get crisp.

Remove pie pan from oven and set aside.

Core and chop up your bell peppers and persimmons. Coat with olive oil, salt, and pepper.

Line out on a baking sheet, evenly spaced, and roast for roughly 20 minutes or until softened. (you can do this at the same time on a separate rack from the pie crust if you have room)

Remove the stems from your cherry tomatoes, and drain/dry your green olives if canned.

Bring a frying pan to medium heat with olive oil. Add the green olives and sautee until their skin texture starts dimpling. Add the cherry tomatoes and continue sauteeing for about 5 minutes or until lightly browned.

Once the bell peppers, persimmons, cherry tomatoes, and green olives are all done, set aside to cool until just above room temp.

Lower the oven temperature to 350f.

In a mixing bowl combine your eggs and milk, add salt to taste. If you want other seasonings nows a good time!

Once uniform in color and texture, add your cooked fruit. Stir until evenly distributed.

Pour mixture into the potato pie crust.

Bake for roughly 40 minutes. The filling should be mostly firm, but wiggle *slightly* when you shake the pan.

Remove from oven and let rest for roughly 15 minutes before serving.

[anaconamor]

fireplace talks - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: after a eventful holiday dinner, your boyfriend shares his most devoted love language with you by the fireplace.

wc: 1.2k | masterlist | jude’s masterlist

psa 🗣️: EEEWKK okay i literally love this idk why, it’s just so fluffy and warm, ughh… i love the holidays and bf! jude has a special place in mi corazon!! 🤍🤍

“i want to be as close as possible,” jude frowned as he fixed his position, his forehead resting on your neck as his cheek squished against your skin, feeling his heavy sigh as he finally found that spot. his arm was around you as he played with the tiny “j” necklace on you. you felt and heard his soft breaths as a silent air passed.

you both had decided to host a small holiday party in your home, for everyone to celebrate and get together. your friends, some of his teammates, and their family, it was a full house. but it was just those dinners you dreamed of as a kid, no drama just full-on getting along, with a holiday spirit.

what you most looked forward to was the fireplace to which you hadn’t used yet and waited off till tonight's dinner. it had been a funny but difficult task to do, jude struggling with the wood and its attempt to turn it on, hearing small groans and curses from time to time, when in reality all it needed was a bit of gas and old newspaper.

jude had helped you move around furniture and the dining table to fit everyone setting the table cover and its runner, in the kitchen he also helped you with slicing fruit and veggies and stirred the pots. his old rock music played in the back, grabbing you from time to time to dance and spin you as he sang.

yet during the dinner, jude and you were strangers. not intentionally, but you both tended to ensure everyone you loved and cared about felt comfortable and not left out. he did assist with setting the table with the food and extra plates. you greeted everyone as you finished a spicy sauce for the meal, took pictures, and captured core memories.

the evening went from a loud chatter to quiet conversations while drinking some hot chocolate or tea. some of you were inside, or others outside as jude liked to show off the patio he had rebuilt and constructed after moving in. you could hear the tiny kids running as the played tag or hide and seek, or colored in the coloring books you bought for them.

but now it was just you and jude, after saying goodbyes jude had moved his white couch closer to the fireplace where he felt the warmth after purposely turning down the heater. “geez, why is it so cold?” you shivered as you ran your hands over your shoulders. “Don’t know, come here, its warm,” jude said as he showed you the set up of pillows and a huge comforter.

as much as jude loved to be a big spoon, he loved being a small spoon as well, which is why he felt most safe and warm like this on top of you. the room filled with the sound of wood burning and the smell of ashes as it fumed. “you tired?” jude asked, as you had stopped scratching the back of his neck.

“not one bit,” you laughed.

“thank you for everything you did for me and our guests today, i know how much work and dedication you put in for this to be perfect,” jude spoke as he looked up and saw your eyes glow with the fireplace. “it was such a perfect evening, and we both needed it.”

“we truly did, i’m just thankful everything turned out as planned. everyone loved the spritz cranberry drinks, and the cookies you baked, but shh, they don’t have to know they're store-bought,” you motioned with your finger against your lips. jude let out a small laugh and propped himself against your chest.

“what are you thinking now?” you rolled your eyes playfully.

“what do you mean? i'm just sitting up,” jude defended.

“uh uh, you've had this look since our guest arrived and you know me, and i have to know. so tell me,” you pressed, jude shaking his head as he grinned. “i’m just extra thankful for this christmas this year… last year we were barely getting to know each other and i almost fucked that up,” jude grimaced as he scratched his head awkwardly.

it was true! jude and you had slowly distanced yourself from each other after some small miscommunication and you almost ended things because you felt like he didn’t want you anymore. but jude didn’t give up, he made sure to tell and express just how much you meant to him, and since then you’ve been inseparable.

“this year, you’re mine finally, and i get to spend my favorite holiday with you, wrapped up like this,” jude snuggled back and tickled you, hearing your burst of laughter. “i’m serious, just makes me think, this is just the start of something that will last forever,” jude whispered. “i hope you know you’re it for me. there’s no one else i want in this world if it isn't you…”

“jude…”

“i know i may not always be here, but no matter where i am, i’m yours and you’re mine. you have no idea just how much you mean and have done for me, and i don’t know how i can ever repay that. but just know that my heart belongs to you, that i love you, and that i can’t for our future together,” jude declared, from the bottom of his heart, his voice laced with shakiness.

“judeee, why do you always get sentimental with me at this time of night,” you laugh as you feel your eyes sting, your chest warm and fuzzy. “because my love language is physical touch and words of affirmations or whatever the hell you call it,” jude says, kissing your jaw.

“that and many more, hmm,” you run your hand against his back. “you know i struggle putting my words and sorting out my feelings, and i'm still learning how to communicate them, but i’m with you or without you no matter what. you’ve brought out the best of me, make me feel like the luckiest girl, and knowing that i’m with you? i just know im safe and sound from the world... i love you,” you pout, giggling when jude kisses the inner corners of you mouth.

“hmm, you love me?” jude teases.

“no i don’t actually,” you shake your head, jude tickling your side. “okay! okay! i do, i do! i love you thisss much,” you show him your pinch fingers to where jude gives you a look. “that’s not enough,” jude says. “say it, say you love me or i’ll hide your candy stash,” he warns earning a gasp from you. “you wouldn’t….”

“oh i would…”

“iloveyou…” you say stammering and quickly, not liking how he was putting you in the spot. “uh uh, i didn’t hear that right…” jude taunted further, his fingers sliding up your side. “i… love… you,” you said it clearly, jude laughing as he propped himself up and gave you a kiss that had you weak in seconds. “i love you more…”

he was perfect. your life was perfect. tonight was perfect. and in this moment it was perfect.

[queer-little-demigod]

i wish i were special - clarisse la rue

summary glory matters more to her than you do.

fic type angst/hurt

pairing clarisse la rue x fem!hades!reader

word count 1k

warnings clarisse being mean, neglect, sadness, hurt, breakup, implied su!c!de

masterlist

That evening in the Hades cabin was lonely as per usual. You sat there, feeling stupid as you stared at the black candles flickering their orange light against the silver candleabra you had so painstakingly found out from the lost-and-found (ironically).

The dinner had been set, with Clarisse's favourite pasta with meat sauce, and two glasses of cranberry juice. All for her.

It had started with shying away from your touch in public, passing a comment here and there. But over time it got harder and harder to ignore.

Why didn't you do anything, Y/n? You might be thinking.

You just couldn't bring yourself to tell her she was being shitty, because more often than not she'd dedicate a win to you. With a speech, her lips on your skin, her hands on your body.

But ever since Percy came to camp, it’s always been about glory. It’s always been about being one step ahead of that random little twelve year old who just had a bout of good luck (in Clarisse’s opinion) and killed a Minotaur on his first monster encounter?

It was obviously more than that, too, but it still hurt the same.

It hurt even more that you had planned this date all by yourself, when she knew what a problem attachment and intimacy was to you, and she just didn’t show up.

You had poured your heart and soul into this, a way to show her how much you love her. A way to show her that you cared and weren’t just some unemotional Hades kid like everyone else thought you were. You actually wanted to show that you were different from everyone, not just the girls, because your godly parent, for the last eight years, had dictated how people saw you. How they assumed you were.

You gave up after a while, and lay back in your bed, staring at the ceiling after blowing out the candles on the little desk you made a makeshift dinner table.

‘What did I do wrong?’ Was your only question. ‘Was she tired of me?’ ‘Am I too much for her?’ ‘Is it because I’m a Hades kid?’

Little by little, you felt your heart break. Like a sculptor’s stone being chipped away bit by bit to make a painful masterpiece. You loathed having such a godly parent, you wished with all your might that things were different.

That maybe you were still special to her.

The next day, she came up to you with excitement. “Y/n, baby guess what—“

You didn’t want to hear it. Your whole body screamed at you to leave that situation, to walk away, make her feel shitty the way she made you feel shitty.

But you just couldn't.

You thought it would mzke you too vengeful, thought it would potray you as petty. It was just a missed date, she could've been busy, she forgot to tell you.

Intentional or not, it still hurt.

"That's amazing," you smiled tightly, resisting the urge to slide out of her touch as she swung an arm across your shoulders.

You loved her, but why did her touch feel like it was knives dragging down your skin? Why did it feel like she was not your girlfriend, but an outsider? An outsider who was trying to touch you.

She was just a stranger wearing your lover's face.

Three days later, it happened again.

You sat at the campfire alone, feeling far too shy to talk to the other campers, noticing how they shuffled away from you or formed such close-knit groups that you were physically excluded as well. How they whispered and stopped when you came. You saw it all. It sucked.

But what sucked the most was Clarisse not saying a single thing against it. How she, too, stayed with her group, not bothering to include you in any way whatsoever.

Your mind raced. Did you do something wrong again? Why was she doing this?

You saw that unlike usual, she didn't come to you in the evening to stargaze or just talk. She was at the training grounds. Again.

You understood that the battlefield was her temple, her spear her idol, the battlecry her prayer, but you also wished that you were as special to her as you once were.

You were a battlefield, but just the aftermath. The battlefield when it was littered with bodies, blood clumping up the soil and the air hanging heavy with the stench of death.

But you wanted more. You wanted something different.

You wanted to be the battlefield she was so devoted to. You wanted to be the spear she was with every evening, you wanted to hear the loving prayers she whispered to her spear once she finished her training.

Was it the loving prayers you wanted or the sound of her voice in that sweet tone once again? The tone which held all the adoration the world of war could offer, all the gentleness a child of the fierce battle could provide.

You wished you were special.

"Clarisse, you wanna hang out this evening?" You asked her again the following night.

"Can't," she said after ushering her friends away. Atleast she still valued private conversation.

"Why not?"

"I'm busy,"

"Doing what?"

"Why do you need to know?"

The way she snapped that last sentence, it made something in your heart ache. She knew you hated it when she snapped at you. She knew that you did feel lonely.

She knew it all.

You stared at the ground and sighed softly, "I don't,"

"Exactly," she scoffed. "Stop being so clingy, Y/n."

Clingy? Were you...was this her actual thought? Every time she said she loved it when you spent time with her...was it a lie? A petty lie sold to the naive, lonely Hades kid?

"Sorry," you shrugged, "I'll stop asking," you punctuated your sentence by turning around and walking off.

Why didn't she call back for you?

Why didn't she run after you?

Why weren't you special?

The next week went by the same. She would say she'd show up, she wouldn't, you'd ask, you'd be insulted. Over and over and over again.

One night, after you had spent another evening alone, you took a deep breath in and tapped on her shoulder, stating firmly, "We need to talk, Clarisse."

She was shocked. Shocked by the fact that you used her full name. You never used her full name. Ever.

You felt your palms sweat, your mind race, and your whole body almost seize up with nerves.

"Look, I get that you want glory in the upcoming capture the flag, you want glory at camp, you want glory in some quest or the other," you firmly stated. "But is glory worth more than me?"

A small, amused smile spread over her lips. "Is someone jealous?"

"Don't fucking tease me," you snapped, having had enough. "I'm not jealous, I'm--I'm angry. I hate being angry, but I especially hate being angry at you."

"Me? What did I do?"

An incredulous laugh escaped your lips. "What did--what did you do? How about we focus on what you didn't do?"

"Didn't--? Get to the point!"

"So you don't remember the missed dates, forgotten evenings, times where I wanted to talk but you called me--" You inhaled deeply, keeping yourself from bursting into tears. "You called me clingy or annoying or attention-seeking. I have ignored your shitty treatment for far too long Clarisse!"

Your heart ached as you saw her deadpan expression, her emotionless gaze. You felt your throat close up. You were in the middle of the ocean, salt water filling your lungs, stealing the breath out of them.

"I think you're overthinking it," she shrugged.

The water vanished. Now all that remained was fire. A new fire that coursed through your normally cold veins, that made you see red. It took everything in you not to punch her in the face.

"Really? You said that I was special," you snarled, glaring at her. "You said you'll never leave me alone, you'll never make me believe the bad thoughts in my head, and now I see that it's exactly what you do!"

Her silence is what hurt the most. She wasn't denying it, she wasn't apologising.

"Clarisse, don't you know how I feel? When I try to talk to people, they turn their heads with an awkward smile. When I walk into a room, people stop talking or laughing. When I sit near people they shuffle away, and for what? Because my father is the god of the dead. I'm punished day and night for something that I can't fucking control.

"You were the one who got me. You made me feel wanted, you made me want to wake up and live to see another godsforsaken day! But now..." you looked at the ground. No, you glared at the ground. You couldn't see her face.

"I always emerge victorious in the end," she said, shoving her hands in her pockets.

Gods, you wanted those hands to hold you close and wipe your tears away.

You felt your heart break. "What?"

"I always emerge victorious in the end. Glory is what I live for," she said plainly.

Each word felt like a stab to the gut. Each word cut through you like a knife, like her spear tip cut through the training dummies in the arena.

"Glory matters more than me?" You whispered, looking up at her.

Clarisse felt her heart break at the look in your eyes.

You looked...hollow. Empty, a shell of a person. There was no twinkle in your eye, there wasn't the flash of laughter within them that she always saw. They didn't glow with an aura of love.

Empty. Like every child of the god of the dead would have seemed to be.

"Glory matters more than everything,"

"You said I was your everything,"

"Did you note the past tense, death girl?"

You didn't want to reply. You couldn't. You refused to talk to her after that sentence. Death girl?

If this is what love is, you didn’t want it.

Why did glory matter more to her than you did? You probably would never find out.

You wished you were special.

And you would just have to keep on wishing.

Hi! It’s me, Lea! I hope you liked this imagine, feel free to request <3

[yelenasdiary]

christmas fluff! maybe a festive dinner with the team - so like carol, yelena, nat and as many or little characters you like and the others make fun of how of the lovebirds (reader x carol danvers or yelena) :D

Lovers

Pairing: Carol Danvers x GN! Reader

Summary: The team playful tease how cute you and Carol are. 

Fluff

Warnings: EVERY light suggestive flirting | 1.1K

AC: Thank you for sending this! I hope you enjoy! x

Holiday Special Masterlist

The compound was filled with the smell of roasted turkey, spiced cranberry sauce and other cooked goodies. Christmas decorations covered the compound like it was the North Pole. A large table was set in the dining room with festive decorations surrounding the long table with enough food to feed an army. 

You and your girlfriend, Carol, were in the kitchen in matching Christmas sweaters, chopping up vegetables to help Wanda with her dish. If her hands weren’t handling a knife and vegetables, they were wrapped around you from behind as she placed soft kisses on your cheeks.

“Hey lovebirds!” Natasha called, arms crossed over her chest with a teasing grin on her lips, “are you two actually helping over there? We’re getting hungry” she chuckled. 

You turned to face Natasha, “we’re helping more than you are” you shot back in a playful tone. Carol chuckled, “Just be glad we’re slaving away in the kitchen when we could be out fighting crime!” 

“That’s the spirit!” Clint added as he strolled in wearing a reindeer antler headband that Kate had clearly made him wear.

As the banter continued, Tony entered the room holding a bottle of whiskey. “Look at you two, giving off major ‘holiday card’ vibes!” He teased, making the other chuckle as he placed the bottle on the countertop. “Oh shit, sorry Stark, we forgot to send you one!” Carol replied with a playful eyeroll. 

“Don’t worry, I think I’m seeing it in 4K” he replied.

The playful teasing didn’t end there. As everybody was finally gathered around the table, enjoying light chatter while they downed eggnog and did their best to not pick at the food in front of them until it was time to eat, the teasing was still being thrown like a snowball find. 

Sam leaned back in his seat, watching as you and Carol took your seats beside one another. “You two know you are like the unofficial Christmas couple of the Avengers now, right? People are going to start hanging mistletoe everywhere!” 

You laughed at your friends words, “oh no, trust me, the world isn’t ready for Carol under a mistletoe!” You said with a grin. Carol leaned closer to you, her voice low, “I know exactly where I’d want a mistletoe placed” she winked. 

“OH COME ON!” Sam called out, “NOT AT THE TABLE!” He added, making you and Carol blush. 

“Come on Sam, leave the lovers alone. It’s not their fault your sad and bitter on Christmas” Bucky inserted earning himself a playful punch in the shoulder from his friend. “That one hurt, buck” Sam chuckled. 

“Alright let’s make a toast” Steve stood up, raising his glass of eggnog. Everybody became quiet, waiting for Steve’s words of wisdom before digging into the feast on the table. “May the lovebirds love be stronger than Thor’s hammer and as enduring as Natasha’s, that’s the saying? Sass?” He started. 

“Oh god, stop while you can Steve!” Natasha said, as the others laughed. 

“All jokes aside, I hope this new year brings us less trouble and more moments like these” Steve added. 

“Cheers!” Everybody said in sync before taking a sip of their drink. 

With every passing moment, teasing comments were thrown here and there as the evening unfolded.  In the midst of all the jokes and friendly banter, you and Carol found yourselves lost in each other’s eyes, fully embracing the holiday spirit with love and happiness. You both didn’t care that you were both the core of everybody’s entertainment, it was something you had prepared yourself for since Carol told everybody who her special somebody was. 

“See, they’re got some kind of love language going on over there!” Kate pointed out as you and Carol locked hands under the table. Kate turned to face Yelena, giving her a soft grin. 

“Kate Bishop don’t even think about it” Yelena playfully shook her head, “you already have many odd languages I do not understand” she added. You and Carol chuckled at the couple.

There were plenty of moments where you and Carol weren��t the center of everybody’s jokes, Steve got handed his fair share, and so did Peter and Kate. As everybody slowly downed their food and the room was full of laughter and chatter, you took a moment to just admire this giant family you and your girlfriend were a part of. Everybody came together as one, even if there was a bit of banter towards you and Carol, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“How’s the cranberry sauce?” Carol asked, eyeing the small blob on your plate. 

“It’s really good, do you want to try?” You asked, looking over at her. She smiled softly with a light nob before you scooped a small amount onto your spoon and fed it to her. 

“Awww!!” Kate sang as she watched. 

Bruce, playfully rolling his eyes, “don’t encourage them, please” he murmured.

“Hey, you guys are the ones who can’t seem to keep your eyes off us!” You chuckled as Carol hummed in approval of the sauce. “Besides, it’s our first Christmas, what did you expect?” Carol added. 

“Watching you two is like watching a rom-com in real life! Linda, are you recording this?” Clint teased, earning himself a playful slap from his wife. “Remember when we were young and in love?” She said, glaring at him in a tease. 

“We’re still young” Clint replied with a cheeky grin. Linda shook her head, “I’ll remember that if we plan on having more kids!” 

----

As dinner began to wrap up, dessert was served with a mix of different goods to pick from. Cookies, pies and puddings littered that now seemed to stretch endlessly. Carol, opting for a slice of pumpkin pie with some whipped cream while you opted for a small treat sized pie with custard drizzled on top. 

Somewhere between taking small bites of dessert and chatting with your big, loving family, you and Carol ended up sharing your desserts and soon enough, whipped cream had found its way onto both of your noses. 

“Can somebody please remind them it’s Christmas dinner, not a cheesy romance novel?” Yelena announced in a teasing tone. 

“You’re all just jealous!” You replied before tilting your head slightly and kissing Carol tenderly, “they definitely are” she whispered against your lips. The room followed with playful groans. 

With that, the two of you share another kiss, this one deeper and slightly longer just to tease them one last time. The world around you both began to fade as if you were in your own little universe, “Merry Christmas cutie pie” Carol smiled softly, “pun intended” she added making you chuckle. 

“You’re the pumpkin of my pie” you replied, cringing at your own attempt but Carol laughed, “you’re so adorable” she said, placing one last kiss on your lips.

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[featherandferns]

day 6/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘Bless us all, who gather here. The loving family I hold dear’ - ‘Tiny Tim’, Bless Us All | fluff | jj x fem!reader

Preparing Thanksgiving dinner was jumbled, joyous chaos in the Pogue household. Roles were delegated and then completely ignored. Plans were laid-out before being woefully cast aside. The house smelt of cooking with a tinge of burning. Fingers stunk of vegetables and spices and beer and wine from the constant flow of drinks. Pope was in charge of the turkey: he’d studied the temperatures and the times and techniques and the tips. He had apparently mastered the science of cooking the bird to perfection. Nobody dared get in his way for fear of being plucked and basted next. Cleo was working on the sauces. Any sauce you can think of, and some that you probably can’t. Cranberry and apple and Jamaican hot. John B was on the yams and potatoes, and Kiara on carrots and sprouts. JJ? He was working pretty damn hard at nailing the stuffing. You and Sarah were on the desserts. The pumpkin pie was cooking in the oven and the two of you had now taken to decorating cupcakes with sprinkles, methodically placing each individual one atop of the wonky frosting. Christmas music hummed from the crackly speaker and chatter overlapped through the kitchen, broken up with laughter from time to time. 

When everything was on the hob and in the oven, new jobs were taken on. John B and Sarah were the pot washers and Pope and Cleo, the dryers. Kiara was readying the serving dishes and keeping a watchful eye on the pots to ensure nothing bubbled over. In the dining room, around the extended table, was you and JJ. He was carrying the plates in one arm and laying them out in everyone’s spot, and you were following behind with the cutlery and napkins. 

“So, what’re you grateful for?” JJ asks you. Someone laughs in the kitchen. You carefully line up a fork beside a knife. 

“Y’know. The usual. Sun, seltzers and sex,” you reel. JJ sniggers. “You?”

“My sexy girlfriend?”

“Damn straight,” you grin, catching his eye. The two of you continue setting the table. 

“Seriously, though. Any corny crap you’re grateful for?” JJ wonders. It doesn’t take much thought. 

“The fact that we finally got our home. After all the shit thrown at us, and all the wild goose chasing…We finally got it,” you quietly reply. 

“Shit. That’s a good one,” JJ smiles. He lays the last plate. You feel him watching you as you lay the cutlery beside it. “I think I’m thankful for having you. Sticking by me, y’know? No matter what.”

Your brows tug together as you look up at him. Your voice is sincere and heavy with trust as you say, “course. I’ll always stick by you.”

JJ presses his lips to yours and you smile into the kiss. 

“Dinner time, horn-dogs!” John B whoops. The two of you break apart with a roll of your eyes. 

“Way to kill the mood, JB,” JJ mutters, begrudgingly walking around the table to his seat. 

“What? Were you two just gonna do it on the table?” Kiara sarcastically wonders. She’s carrying a large serving dish filled to the brim with steaming veg. 

“Was thinking about it. I’m feelin’ really thankful for tables. And tits.”

“JJ, gross,” Pope cringes.

He’s followed by Cleo and Sarah who carry various plates and bowls. Pope carries the turkey, hands protected by oven mitts. Your mouth waters at the smell, eyes growing two sizes larger like a Looney Tunes character at the sight of the golden bird. 

“Hell freakin’ yeah,” JJ grins, clapping his hands together and rubbing loudly. 

You take your seat beside Sarah, Kiara opposite you. JJ sits at the head of the table. Pope carefully lowers the turkey to the table and the six of you sit, staring in awe, mouths hanging open. Compliments and praises and thanks are passed from person to person before landing in Pope’s ears. You had to hand it to him: he knew his stuff. 

“I’m so hungry,” Sarah sighs, reaching for the serving spoon wedged beneath the potatoes. 

“Same!” Kiara mumbles, grabbing for the tongs by the yams. 

“All our hard work paid off,” Cleo remarks in her thick accent. 

“Hey, hey, hey! We haven’t said grace yet!” JJ loudly reminds. 

Everybody groans but nobody complains. JJ holds his hand out to you and you take it with a smile. His hand clutches yours warmly. Sarah takes your right hand and you hang your head and close your eyes. 

“Let her rip, JJ,” John B prompts. It was a tradition for JJ to make the pre-dinner prayer. You were only mildly surprise to learn of JJ’s dedication to his religion. It shone through in subtle ways, like the light refracted from a disco ball. But it was sweet and admirable. He’d take the time to pray. Thanked God when something happened that he saw as a blessing. Showed gratitude for the smallest of moments. 

JJ clears his throat pointedly, causing a few of you to chuckle. He squeezes your hand gently before beginning. 

“Dear Lord. We thank you for this delicious Thanksgiving meal we’re all about to fuckin' demolish.”

You all laugh and it melts away like snow in spring. JJ's voice shines bright as he speaks.  

“Bless us all, who gather here. This loving - all-be-it - weird family we have. My family, that I hold dear, as you know. We ask you to lead us to the light and to let us always love each other. To let us hear the voice of reason, to help us run from anger, and to catch us when we fall. Teach us in our dreams. Be kind to those who don’t have a loving, weird family, or a meal like this. Be kind to those in war and famine. Be kind to those who aren't. We reach for you and we stand tall. And in our prayers and dreams, we ask you, bless us all.”

You’re surprised you have enough breath to murmur, “amen.” Your eyes feel damp, moved with emotion, as you open them. Everyone shares loving, understanding smiles with one another. Hands slip away and latch onto cutlery, but you find yours reaching for JJ’s hand. You guide his knuckles to your lips and you hold his gaze as you plant a quick, caring kiss. He smiles at you. A blush teases at his cheeks. What a man - a man who you get to love, loud and proud, and a man who loves you back. 

“I love you,” you mouth. His smile grows. He nods, murmurs it back, and you let his hand go. JJ takes a deep breath as he grounds himself back in the room. 

“Alright, Pope. You gonna carve that damn bird or what?” he declares.

The group hollers and whoops in agreement and Pope laughs, getting to his feet. As he slices into the juicy meat, your eyes scan the table. You can’t help but feel as though JJ hit the nail on the head in his prayer. Because you're here in the company of those who you love and you know that you belong. And what more could a girl need?

[virginsexgod69]

Hi!! I love ur work for Daryl. I was wondering if you could write a daryl dixon oneshot where maybe him and the reader find an abandoned tattoo parlor while out on a supply run and reader gives him a tattoo and eventually that leads to smut! 🩷

❝ Inked ❞

pairing Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

cw established relationship, smut, unprotected p in v, pet names, pussy eating, needles (for tattoos), idk how to do tattoos so i apologize in advance for any inaccuracies

note omg i had a jolly good time writing this! tysm for the request =] i did lowkey tweak it slightly, but nothing major, i pinky promise

2.1k words

“I don’t think there’s anything else we can get outta this place,” you commented as you placed the only can- a can of cranberry sauce from who knows how long ago- into your backpack. You looked around, only seeing more bare shelves and Daryl. You smiled, a natural reaction you had whenever you saw him. He wrapped his strong arm around your shoulder, pulling you close before placing a kiss to your hairline. 

“We should take a look a’ these other stores ‘fore we start headin’ back,” he suggested as he guided you out the store, arm still wrapped snugly around you. You nodded your head in silent agreement, following beside him. It was hard to tell what most of the other buildings were since they were all dirty with broken or boarded up windows, but one in particular caught your eye. 

“Hey, look! A tattoo shop,” you pointed at the building, “Let’s go check it out!” You hurried toward it, semi-dragging Daryl with you. 

“The hell we gonna find at a tattoo shop?” He asked, seeming genuinely confused at why the hell you’d wanna go. 

“Hopefully more than some nasty ass canned cranberry sauce.” He couldn’t disagree with you there, so he fell in line with your fast paced steps toward the shop. 

 You both entered the shop with knives drawn in case any walkers decided to stumble out of the shadows. Nothing came when the two of you made noise in an attempt to draw them out, so you sheathed your knife and went all the way inside, Daryl in tow. The shop was small, which allowed the sunlight shining through the window to fill it. The walls were covered in framed pictures of tattoo designs, although they were covered in dust. The shop itself was in fairly good shape, considering. You and Daryl split off in different directions in search of anything that could be brought back to the prison. You couldn’t find anything that wasn’t tattoo related, which wasn’t surprising since this was a tattoo shop. What you did find, though, was a lot more exciting. Everything that you would need to do a tattoo was all there, right in front of you. 

“Find anything?” Daryl asked once he found you again. 

“Yes and no?” 

“Wha’s that s’pose to mean?” He asked. 

“There’s still everything here to do tattoos with, isn’t that cool?” 

“We gon’ get matchin' tattoos or somethin’? He teased. 

"Not a bad idea, Dixon," you mused. You patted the seat and he sat down after setting aside his crossbow and got comfortable. You thought about what to put on him. You had so many ideas that you may as well have had none. 

"Wha's goin' on in there?" he asked. It was something that he'd say whenever he noticed you deep in thought. 

"I don't even know what to put on ya," you admitted as you traced lazy lines on his bare arm with your finger, "or where to put it."  Your face brightened when an idea finally passed through your head. You grabbed his arm and turned his hand to face upward before wiping a spot on his wrist clean with the alcohol wipe you got lucky enough to find. You unpackaged a needle before dipping it into the ink cap. Since there wasn't any power, you'd have to do a stick and poke. You were vaguely familiar with them from a time of experimentation during your teen years. With your non-dominant hand, you stretched his skin before getting to work on your design. You could feel Daryl trying to take a peek at what you were doing, but you purposely blocked his view with your head each time. You worked slowly and carefully, doing your best to make something cute despite not even being an amateur. 

“Okay, you can look now,” you muttered timidly as you handed him back his arm. You weren’t sure if he’d like it or not and were starting to regret not finding a pen and making a sketch to run by him for approval first. But, it was too late now and all you could do was hope for the best. He brought his wrist closer to his face to get a better look. It was simple, a small love heart with his first initial plus yours. It looked like something a girl would doodle in her notebook while daydreaming about her crush. 

“S’cute,” he said as he admired the tattoo with a small, but genuine, smile on his face. His bright blue eyes looked up at you, filled with all the love and adoration in the world. “I love it.” You couldn’t help but smile at him. “You wanna gimme a matching one?” You joked, referencing his earlier comment. He glanced out the window, the sun was setting and it was likely you and him would have to spend the night here if he and you stayed for one more tattoo. Some privacy with you, alone, away from everyone at the prison sounded like heaven, and matching tattoos were a bonus. 

“Sure.” He got out of the seat and you got in. 

“You wan’ it in the same place?” 

You thought about it for a second. “I want it somewhere special, in a place for only you to see.” The rosy tint that blossomed on his cheeks wasn’t missed by you. You found it endearing how he sometimes grew flustered at your flirtation, despite it being nothing new. 

“Yeah? Where’s that?” He asked. 

“I dunno, Daryl. You pick,” you insisted with a smug look upon your face. He made quick work of unbuttoning your jeans and you lifted your hips to assist him in pulling them down all the way to your ankles. He stepped away and grabbed a new needle and ink. With another alcohol wipe, he cleaned a spot on your inner thigh before comfortably situating himself on his knees between your legs. You felt the small, frequent pokes of the needle as he got to work on the tattoo. Seeing him on his knees between your thighs made your stomach flutter. You knew that was his favorite place to be and having the tattoo there seemed like he was marking it as his own. As he was working, his hand accidentally brushed against your clit, eliciting a whine from you. He paused his work and glanced up at you, struggling to hide the smirk that tugged at his lips. You avoided his eye and he got back to work, but his hand bumped your clit more often. Each time left you desperate for more. You so badly wanted to close your legs and rub your thighs together or reach down and get yourself off, but you had to stay still. His hand brushed against you once more, causing you to squirm a little. 

“Keep still.” 

You glared down at him. “I’m trying to, but you keep-” He did it again and this time you were one hundred percent sure it was on purpose. Grumbling under your breath, you leaned back against the seat and did your best to keep still as he finished up. Once he was done, he wiped off the excess ink. 

“We should probably secure the place since we’re gonna be spendin’ the night here,” he suggested. 

“But Daryl,” you whined, “you can’t just leave me like this. You knew what you were doing earlier!” 

"Wha? Givin' you a tattoo?" You huffed and rolled your eyes and reached down to pull your pants back up, but he stopped you. 

"I'm jus' playin' darlin'. Sit back." He gently pushed you back into the chair before getting back on his knees. Slowly, he pulled your panties down to your ankles with your formerly discarded pants and yanked them both off over your shoes. He firmly gripped your hips and pulled you to the edge of the seat and placed your legs over his shoulders. Feeling his hot tongue lick up and down your soaked slit had you gripping the arm rests for support. With his thumb, he rubbed slow, teasing circles on your hard clit. His tongue was a welcome intrusion in your soaked entrance. You gasped and moaned out his name and your hands flew to his hair, your fingers getting tangled in his soft locks. This motivated him to rub faster circles on your clit, earning more gasps and moans from you. His tongue thrusted in and out of your dripping cunt as he tasted all of your juices, refusing to let any go to waste. You tugged his hair as your thighs involuntarily clamped around his head and he moaned unexpectedly, the vibrations from it bringing you closer to the edge. Your walls clenched around the pink muscle as he focused it on that one spot that always did things to you. 

"Daryl, please! I'm so close," you whined, desperate for him to bring you to your orgasm. If he weren't trapped between your plush thighs, he would've talked you through it, but instead he moved his lips to your clit and started sucking on it while prodding the bud with his tongue. You squeezed your eyes shut as the white hot waves of pleasure overtook your body. Daryl worked faster once he felt you tense up and your thighs convulsing around his head. Your fingers tightened in his hair as your toes curled. You could the vibration of his pleasured grunts against your soft flesh. 

"I'm gonna-" your back arched and head fell back as he pushed you over the edge, immersing you in a world of pleasure. He continued to lap at your pussy as you rode out your orgasm. Once you came down from that high, you relaxed and slumped against the chair. Daryl reluctantly freed himself from between your thighs since he needed to catch his breath again. His dick was straining against his pants with how hard he was just from hearing your sounds of pleasure and tasting your pretty pussy. And now, just seeing your fucked out face made him want to cum in his pants. 

 In one quick swipe, he cleared a nearby table of all its supplies. He picked you up from the chair with ease, tossing you over his shoulder before gently laying you onto the table. He made quick work of freeing his erection from his pants and stroked it a few times, causing precum to bubble up on the angry red tip. He lined it up with your slit, rubbing it up and down your slick folds teasingly. 

"So wet fer me, baby," he groaned as he lined himself up with your needy hole. You wrapped your legs around his hips, desperate for him to fill you up. Your body welcomed him as he slid in easily. 

"Yer takin' me so good, sunshine." He leaned down and connected his lips with yours. You moaned as you tasted yourself on his tongue. His tongue danced with yours as you kissed each other passionately. Large, rough hands palmed at your clothed tits as he started thrusting into you. Frustrated with your shirt, he hurriedly pulled it over your head before attaching his lips to your neck, roughly sucking and biting your skin. His tongue slid over your carotid artery, feeling how fast your heart was beating. You clumsily tugged at his shirt and vest, a silent plea for him to take them off, which he did. When he was with you, his insecurities were non existent. You tightly gripped his shoulders, nails digging hollow indents into his skin as he increased the pace of his thrusts. 

"Feel so good," you slurred. He kissed open mouthed kisses down your body, occasionally leaving marks in his wake. You squirmed and moaned beneath him, your second orgasm approaching fast. He was close too, you could feel it in the way  his cock twitched inside you and his pace became slower snd less rhythmic. 

"I'm boutta cum, baby," he groaned. You wanted to tell him you were, too, but your mind was a jumbled mess that was drunk off his cock. When your second orgasm came, your walls tightly hugged his shaft, squeezing him closer to his own climax. He quickly pulled out and stroked himself the rest of the way. His mouth fell open and eyes rolled back as he shot white hot ropes of cum all over your naked body. 

 He collapsed into a nearby chair, panting for air. You slid off the table and joined him in the chair by sitting on his lap. Both your bodies were coated in the thin sheen of sweat as you held each other close as exhaustion took over your bodies. 

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[diazsdimples]

Some Alfie Holidays headcanons for the soul

He is the most excited boy ever from the 31st of October all the way through to New Years Day because he loves Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and his birthday is on December 2nd!

The first year they do a matching Halloween costume Alfie is almost 11 months old, and Buck chooses for them to do a Wild West theme. Buck is a gunslinger, Tommy is a cowboy and Alfie is a teeny tiny little horse. He sits in the front pack on Tommy's chest the whole time and watches the world with big, excited eyes.

Alfie loves the Elf on the Shelf and Buck and Tommy's favourite thing is hearing Alfie's little giggles every morning when he sees what the Elf has done overnight. When he's 3, Eddie picks up the elf to have a look at him and gets told off by Alfie because Santa says you're not allowed to touch the elf!! And then Buck has to comfort him because he gets scared the elf won't tell Santa that he's been a good boy.

Alfie really only likes Thanksgiving because he gets to eat lots. He's a big fan of rolls and he likes pumpkin pie but he cannot stand green beans or stuff and he finds cranberry sauce confusing. He also does not subscribe to the idea of Food Comas and begs Buck and Tommy to play with him when they'd much rather be passed out on the couch.

Tommy starts a tradition where the month before Christmas, he and Alfie whittle a new decoration for the Christmas tree. Alfie gets to pick the design and then Tommy helps him sign his name at the bottom with a burning pen. His favourite one is the bunny shaped one he chooses when he's 2, that looks like Athena's bunny Hercules.

Alfie's biggest goal in life is to catch Santa when he's putting out Alfie's presents, so he likes to stay up as late as he can so he can tiptoe downstairs and try and catch him. One year Tommy almost tripped over him coming down the stairs in the morning because Alfie fell asleep on them while he was waiting for Santa. After that, Buck decided Alfie could come spend the night with them in their bed on Christmas Eve so he doesn't escape and cause more near death accidents.

When he was 1, Eddie scared Alfie with fake vampire teeth on Halloween so bad that the kid refused to watch Hotel Transylvania and freaks out when people have unnaturally long canines. Buck reminds Eddie this at least once a year, inevitably when Tommy is holding a shaking Alfie because someone was dressed up as Dracula.

[ghulehunknown]

Papa Headcanons - Thanksgiving

They may not be accustomed to American holidays, but they’re excited to eat food and spend the day with you!

Primo

Falls asleep in front of the TV during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (but grumbles a few times in his sleep “Is it ready yet?”) and doesn’t wake up until the ghouls yell “dinner time!”

Has to take an antacid before eating

Carves the turkey

Mostly only picks the mushy foods to eat (i.e. casseroles) and only eats half his plate

“I’m thankful for all my ghouls, even the least favorite one.”

Hogs and clogs the toilet after

Secondo

Helps by setting the table and running to the store for last minute things that were either forgotten or you ran out of

Makes a surprisingly good roux for the mac n cheese and the gravy

“What is this American shit?” he asks about half the food on the table

Proceeds to eat and enjoy literally everything, except he still can’t get behind the cranberry sauce. “It wobbles.” (Copia’s head pokes up from his plate, mid face-stuffing.)

“I’m thankful for good food and good company” (he would say while holding his glass up to cheer)

Dutifully helps clean up and washes dishes

Terzo

Peels one potato and says “I’m bored” and walks away. You have to finish peeling them. Then he brags about how he made the mashed potatoes. When you tell him off he says, “Okay, well I helped!”

“Why is everything the same color? I’m not eating that. Oh wait, actually…that’s very good…mmm. Can I have some more?”

Compares everything to Italian food and admits you are an amazing cook and could put his nonna to shame (he never met his nonna but he’s not going to tell you that)

“I’m thankful for titties and ass, dongs of every shape and size, and eh - the female orgas-” (gets interrupted by an elbow to the ribcage, courtesy of you)

Says he has to go to the bathroom to avoid having to help clean up and you never see him again until morning

Wakes you up early the next morning to go Black Friday shopping in his Christmas sweater. (“I’ve always been fascinated by this American sport”)

Copia

He’s in charge of the turkey and he’s very nervous and is taking this job very seriously

In fact he barely speaks to anyone all day because he’s busy burning things in the kitchen and sweating on everything. It’s like a scene from Ratatouille, except it’s just his rats running all over the stove and nibbling on the stuffing.

“I’m not even hungry!” as he shovels food in his face

“I’m thankful for my rats, and cheese. And of course, all of you.”

After dinner he runs dishes back and forth from the table to the kitchen until someone forces him to sit down

Passes the fuck out immediately afterwards in front of his video games

Also clogs the toilet (when did he even have time to do that?)

Nihil

Mumbles something about how he tried breeding dogs once while the National Dog Show plays on TV

Has been systematically picking things from the dishes as they’re being prepared so he truly isn’t hungry during the meal and doesn’t eat much on his plate

Complains about how much Copia burned things and that’s why he’s not eating

“I’m thankful for Seestor”

Falls asleep immediately after dinner

[henry-the-winner]

belch just passed out eating cranberry sauce

I WIN THIS ROUND OF THE BOWERS GANG CRANBERRY WARS. I DONT CARE THAT ITS ON MY FACE I LOOK HARD AS HELL

[misshoneyimhome]

“A Thanksgiving to Remember” I Frederik Andersen

Freddie Andersen finds himself in NYC with you, his girlfriend, during Thanksgiving celebrating with your family where he discovers your family does not approve of your relationship.

Warnings & tropes: no warnings, parents disapproval of relationship, boyfriend!freddie

Author's Note: Happy almost Thanksgiving, my Canadian buttercups! In this fifth one-shot of the BirthdayFestivalChallenge, Freddie encounters some family tension, but rest assured, there are plenty of heartwarming moments as you both work through it together! 🦃🍂

Word count: 1.1K

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The streets of New York City were alive with the buzz of Thanksgiving excitement—people rushing around with bags of last-minute groceries, the scent of roasted chestnuts filling the air, and the steady hum of city traffic somehow softened by the festive warmth. Yet, as Frederik Andersen walked beside you, hand wrapped securely around yours, the weight of the evening settled over both of you. It wasn’t just the holiday that had you both on edge; it was what tonight represented. Thanksgiving with your family—a step that seemed casual enough, but one that carried far more weight than either of you had anticipated.

“I’m really glad you’re here with me,” you murmured, your voice betraying a hint of nerves as you glanced up at him. “I know this is... kind of a big ask.”

Freddie looked down at you with his signature soft smile, one that should have calmed your nerves but couldn’t quite dissolve the tension simmering underneath. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” he reassured you, though the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes betrayed the bravado. “I want to be here with you, no matter what.”

As you approached the stately brownstone where your family lived, its windows glowing warmly in the dusk, you couldn’t help but notice the extra touches your mum had added. Pumpkin garlands hung along the iron railing, golden leaves and autumn wreaths adorned the door, giving the building a cosy, almost storybook charm. You squeezed Freddie’s hand—whether for your own reassurance or his, you weren’t quite sure—and took a deep breath before walking inside.

The moment you stepped through the door, the rich aroma of Thanksgiving dinner enveloped you—roast turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and spiced cider all mingling in the air. The murmur of conversation and laughter floated in from the dining room, interrupted by the occasional clatter of dishes being passed around. It felt warm and familiar, but the weight of what was to come hung just as heavily as the smell of dinner.

“Hey, everyone!” you called out, trying to inject a note of cheer into your voice as you led Freddie into the entryway. Your parents, Joan and Mark, were already busy in the kitchen. Your mum’s face brightened briefly as she spotted you, but the brightness flickered out just as quickly as she noticed who you had brought along.

“This is Freddie,” you said, nerves bubbling just under your skin. “My boyfriend.”

Your mother’s smile barely reached her eyes as she wiped her hands on a dish towel and approached. “Freddie, it’s nice to meet you,” she said politely, though the stiffness in her voice didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m Joan.”

Your father, always the more stoic of the two, extended his hand in a brisk greeting. “Mark,” he introduced himself, his handshake firm, but devoid of the usual warmth you would expect when meeting someone important in your life.

Freddie, ever the gentleman, tried to make small talk, engaging your relatives with questions about their lives and work. But despite his efforts, the responses he received were polite at best, distant at worst. You could feel the growing discomfort in the air, thick like humidity before a storm. Every glance your relatives cast in your direction felt like judgement, every whispered conversation carried an undertone of disapproval. The warm welcome you had hoped for was nowhere to be found.

By the time dinner was served, the tension had only thickened. Your father, his face unreadable but his eyes sharp, finally directed his attention fully at Freddie.

“So, Freddie,” he began, cutting into his turkey as he spoke, “tell me—how do you manage balancing a career like yours with a relationship? Hockey, right? It must take up a lot of time.”

Freddie took a measured breath, clearly caught off guard by the pointed question. “It’s definitely a challenge,” he admitted, his face flushing just slightly. “But we work on it together. We make sure to prioritise our time when we can. I’m committed to making it work.”

“That’s admirable,” your father replied, though his tone was sceptical at best. “But, in my experience, careers like yours tend to take precedence over everything else. How can you be sure your relationship won’t fall by the wayside?”

Your mother chimed in then, her voice laced with thinly veiled concern. “Yes, it can be difficult, especially when one person’s career is so... consuming. Relationships can suffer.”

The sting of their words hit you like ice water, and you could see Freddie’s expression tighten as he tried to mask his discomfort. His jaw clenched slightly, and the flicker of hurt in his eyes made your chest ache. You reached out under the table, gently resting your hand on his arm, a silent plea for patience.

After dinner, when the tension became unbearable, you pulled Freddie into the dimly lit hallway, away from the chatter of your family. The sound of clinking glasses and muffled conversation faded into the background as you faced him, your voice trembling with frustration.

“I’m so sorry about all of this,” you said, the words coming out in a rush. “They’ve always been like this—suspicious, judgmental. It’s like they’re waiting for me to mess up.”

Freddie’s normally calm brown eyes were stormy now, the frustration finally surfacing. “I get it,” he said, his voice low but firm. “But it’s hard to feel like I’m being judged the whole time. I want them to see how much I love you, but it’s like I’m on trial.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as you squeezed his hands. “I’ve tried so hard to show them how serious we are, but it’s like they can’t see it. I’m so sorry, Freddie. This isn’t fair to you.”

However, without hesitation, Freddie simply pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. His voice was steady, even as emotion lingered just beneath the surface. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered into your hair. “We’ll face this together. No matter what they think.”

His embrace, warm and strong, was a comfort you hadn’t realised you needed so desperately. For a moment, the noise of the evening faded away, leaving only the quiet thrum of his heartbeat against yours. Slowly, the chaos of the night seemed to settle, and though you knew the road ahead with your family wouldn’t be easy, Freddie’s presence gave you the strength to face it.

And later, as you both stepped out into the chilly evening air, the city streets were quieter, the earlier bustle of Thanksgiving giving way to a calm stillness. Freddie’s hand remained firmly wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles as you walked in comfortable silence, the lights of New York twinkling around you.

Despite the disapproving glances and veiled remarks, this Thanksgiving had tested your relationship in ways you hadn’t anticipated. But through it all, you felt more certain than ever of what you shared with Freddie. Together, you had weathered the storm, and as you returned to your apartment, hand in hand, you knew without a doubt that your bond was stronger than ever.

[maxinemaxmayfield]

@steddieholidaydrabbles • December 6th • Cooking Together

Tradition (slightly longer version on ao3) rating: T words: 999 tags: first kiss, post-s4, getting together, friends to lovers

It’s been their Christmas Eve tradition since Eddie moved in and Wayne switched to working nights at the plant for the extra pay. 

It started off with microwave dinners and a side of cranberry sauce from the can. But as Eddie got older, he would spend the night in the kitchen, whipping up whatever he could manage for their late-night feast. 

The Christmas of ‘86 isn’t any different, except for the ways that it is. After everything they’d been through, Eddie and Steve hardly go a day without seeing each other or calling to check in. So when Eddie finds out that Steve’s parents are going to be out of town for Christmas, he insists Steve join them for their silly little tradition. 

Steve only agreed on the condition that he could help with the cooking and bring dessert. 

So here they are, at two in the morning, on opposite sides of the small kitchen – Steve mashing potatoes within an inch of their life while Eddie stirs the instant gravy, going blue in the face trying to argue with him. 

“You’re wrong! You’re so utterly, completely incorrect!” Eddie proclaims, exasperated.

Steve huffs out a laugh, grabbing the electric hand mixer and sticking it into the bowl of potatoes. 

Eddie nearly shrieks and storms over. “No, no, no, STOP! You gotta leave the lumps in the potatoes – it’s the best part!” He reaches out, trying to wrestle the mixer from Steve’s hands.

Potato hits the cupboards, their faces, even the ceiling.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs. It’s the same tone he uses when one of the kids does something supremely stupid that Steve specifically told them not to. 

“Oops.”

Steve just raises his eyebrows at Eddie, mashed potato splattered across his cheek. It isn’t fair how cute he manages to look with a dollop of potato in his hair, Eddie thinks, as his stomach does that pathetic little swoopy thing it tends to do around Steve.

Eddie turns to grab a nearby dish towel to pass to Steve, taking the moment to try and compose himself. But when he spins back around, Steve’s so much closer than expected and he freezes, the tacky floral towel trapped between them. 

“Hi,” he says stupidly. 

“Hi,” Steve says, and Eddie can feel his breath, warm and laced with chocolate.

Eddie’s arm is already raised, so he follows through, reaching up to wipe the mess from Steve’s face. He doesn’t mean for it to be so intimate, but the closeness, the silence that surrounds them… 

And Steve still hasn’t moved, standing there like a fucking statue.

“Better?” Steve asks. Eddie just nods in return, his voice stuck somewhere in his throat. 

Just as Eddie’s debating whether to make a move or lock himself inside his bedroom, Steve surges forward.

It’s somewhere in the middle of urgent and hesitant, like Steve’s doing everything in his power to hold back how he really wants to kiss Eddie, to stay on this side of soft and sweet. Eddie realizes then that he’s far too in his head, thinking all of this through and not kissing Steve Harrington back. 

So he melts into it, dropping the kitchen towel and replacing it with the front of Steve’s woolen sweater, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss, letting his tongue dart out and swipe along Steve’s bottom lip – a question. 

Steve answers it eagerly, parting his lips and letting Eddie in, breaths growing hotter and heavier between them.

But Eddie hears it first – the sound of gravel crunching outside. He stiffens, releasing Steve’s sweater and breaking the kiss, his eyes flying open. The moment of bliss broken. 

Steve looks worried, confused. He opens his mouth, a question on his lips, but before he can ask it, the door opens behind Eddie. Steve’s eyes grow wide and he tugs at the hem of his sweater before plastering a wide smile on his face. 

“Hi, Mr. Munson! Merry Christmas!” he says.

Eddie turns to see Wayne watching them both with a look of amusement. 

“Merry Christmas, boys,” Wayne says, hanging up his hat on the hook next to the door. “Smells good in here, you been cookin’?” 

“Got carrots, mashed potatoes, roast chicken, gravy… and cranberry sauce!” Eddie lists. “And Steve brought pie for dessert.”

“Pecan pie, sir,” Steve chimes in. “Hope that’s okay.” 

“Sounds good, kid. And quit it with the sir and mister, call me Wayne.” There’s a pause, and Wayne’s eyes dart up and then back down to them, his facial expression never changing. “Do I wanna know why there’s potato on the ceilin’?”

“Nope,” Eddie says, lips popping around the p. “Food’ll be about ten minutes if you wanna wash up first.”

“Yup,” is all Wayne says before heading down the hallway.

After dinner, Steve gets up to serve the pie, and Wayne fixes Eddie with an expectant look. 

“What?” he asks, baffled. 

Wayne lowers his voice. “Just thought you mighta told me when you got a boyfriend. Y’know I’m fine with it, and especially with Steve. He’s a good kid.”

Eddie chokes on a mouthful of eggnog, spluttering.

“Come on, kid. I’ve seen you two together. And the fact he calls here near every day to check on ya? I might be old, but I ain’t blind.”

“Wayne, we–”

Steve chooses that moment to return with dessert, setting it down on the table. He looks at Eddie. “Sorry, am I interrupting…?”

“No, no, no, all good. This looks great,” Eddie insists, changing the subject. 

“Hope it tastes as good as it looks.” Steve smiles and reaches out, wiping a stray drop of eggnog from the corner of Eddie’s mouth. He can feel his cheeks burn hot. 

Wayne tosses him a knowing look from across the table before digging in.

It isn’t until Steve and Eddie are laying side-by-side as the first rays of the winter sun start to peek through the bedroom window that Steve Harrington officially becomes Eddie Munson’s boyfriend. 

He’ll tell Wayne in the morning. 

Officially.