#pumpkin extravaganza | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carolmunson · 1 year ago

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it's like sugar sometimes.

(older!modern!dad!eddie)

welcome back to the: orange colored sky setlist a/n: this can be read as a stand alone, give or take some references. but as a pre-cursor: you and eddie are about twelve years apart, meeting in late twenties early thirties, his late thirties early forties. you're deeply in love and we're fast forwarding a bit and now you have a kid. shout out to my nephew because without countless videos of him being the same age as the baby in this fic i would not now how babies baby. cw: pure fluff. pure dad eddie goodness. pretty tame. some mild arguing and swearing. some saucy kisses at the end. a new entry for the fall frenzy extravaganza. this fall frenzy is in honor of @jo-harrington who said i could do whatever, so here we are lmao.

songspiration: how sweet it is (to be loved by you) | james taylor

The ride to the orchard is going much better than you were expecting after such a rough morning. Tears from the moment Gwen came into your room just before four in the morning because she had a bad dream. Then it was too hot for her in bed with both of you, then she was too cold, then Ed’s snoring kept you both awake until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. Then there was the kicking and stretching and rolling around. Aren’t they supposed to sleep like logs? She just turned three. Ed woke up refreshed, frowning when he turned over to see you sitting up against the headboard reading with puffy tired eyes. “Hey,” he says softly as to not wake Gwen who was curled up into his side, “She come in last night?” “Another bad dream,” you shrug, looking at him over your book, “I don’t know if she’s really having them or if she’s just starting to have a little regression period. Maybe we can get her a new night light or something.” “Why don’t you try to go back to sleep for a little and I’ll get her ready,” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep, “I’ll just take her into the shower with me.” You smile lazily at him and nod, looking over at the clock on his night stand – a little past six. Maybe an extra forty-five would do you some good before you went to the orchards upstate. Gwen’s eyes open up to her dad awake, her face contorting when she sees him. “Had a bad dweam,” she sniffles, reaching her arms out. “Poor Gwen, you had a bad dream?” Eddie coos, pulling her up out of bed with him, “Tell me all about it, angel.” Her babbles echo down the hall even after Ed closes the door behind them.

Piercing sobs woke you up instead of your alarm, though that went off right after to remind you that there’s a whole day you have to start. You rub your eyes and groan, sliding out of bed and stepping into your slippers. You grab your robe, shrugging it on as you leave the bedroom and wincing while another cry pours out of your toddler and goes straight to your chest. “I know, honey, I know,” you hear Eddie soothe, “But we’re gonna go do something so fun. You wanna go pick a pumpkin, right?” “No pumpki-i-in,” she sobs, deep and guttural. You open the door to her room slowly, a very teary Gwen stands in the corner, hair wet in a new set of pajamas. You look at Eddie, pulling out an outfit for her and laying it on her toddler bed. “What’s goin�� on, in here?” you ask gently. “Gwen doesn’t wanna get dressed to go apple picking,” Eddie says quietly, “She wants to watch Blue’s Clues.” “Wan’ see Bl-blue, mommy,” she sobs, “Pwease.” “Hey, hey,” you try your best to settle her, “Thank you for saying please, honey. We can still see Blue but daddy has to get you dressed first.” “Did she eat?” you ask, pulling Gwen up to your hip while she cries into your shoulder. “Yeah, she had some mini waffles and a banana,” he opens her closet and fishes out a tiny pair of Chuck’s to go with her outfit – a little black sweatshirt screen printed with the Halloween movie poster paired with a set of leggings meant to look like jeans. “Did you eat?” you smile, coming over to him to plant a kiss on the cheek. “Yeah, her leftovers,” he laughs, “There’s a cup of coffee waiting for you on the counter.” “Thank you,” you nudge him, feeling Gwen squirm and whine while she tries to shimmy down from your hip, “Okay, okay.” “Gwen, please,” Eddie begs with a twinge of frustration in his voice when she makes it to the door, on her tiptoes to reach the handle, “Let’s just get you dressed and you can watch Blue’s Clues while we do your hair.” She stomps, wet curls bouncing with her when she does, “Wanna watch now, pwease!” “Thank you for asking nicely Gwen, but that doesn’t always mean you get your way,” he explains. She shrieks, loud enough that your eyes squint, stomping again onto the fluffy white carpet below her, “I wanna watch Blue’s Cwue’s!” “Why don’t you take a deep breath for me, huh?” Eddie asks her, he pats your lower back on the way to the door. A silent way of letting you know to just go get yourself ready, he can handle the rest, “Do we need to take a time out?” “No time out,” she starts to cry again when you slip out of the room. More frustrated whines and wails boom down the hall, dissipating while you make it down the metal staircase to the coffee on the counter. Your heart swells when you notice that he already emptied and reloaded the dishwasher.

After you’ve packed some snacks for later and gotten yourself dressed, you make your way back upstairs. You approach the bathroom with your coffee in hand, Gwen’s sippy cup full of water in the other. Her bubbly squeals respond back to whoever is talking to her, barely looking up from Eddie’s phone to look at you when you open the door.

“Who’re you talking to, miss girl?” you ask, putting her sippy cup next to her on the bathroom counter. “Steeb,” she says, eyes glued to the screen, much happier than she was before. “She’s watching 90s Blue’s Clues?” you laugh at your husband who’s busy splitting her Gwen’s hair into a middle part, looking in the mirror that she’s sat in front of. “No, she’s FaceTiming with Steve,” he shakes his head, pulling one section back into a high pigtail. “Hi peach!” Steve’s voice rings from the phone, he lowers it back down to parentese to address Gwen, “Is that mommy? Can you say hi to her for me?” “Steeb say hi,” Gwen says, lifting the phone up, showing the screen to the ceiling of the bathroom. You take the phone for a second, seeing Steve’s annoyed face in the frame.

“You’re on thin ice,” he says, his fiancee’s laugh ringing out of frame, “I can’t believe you’re going this week when we’ll be there in two. You always go before we come to visit.” “There will be plenty of apple picking trips to do together when we move, I promise,” you assure, “She starts gymnastics and swimming next weekend, we won’t have another time to do it.”

“Gymnastics?” he asks, “Does she have tights? Leotards? What can I get her?”

“She has like, I don’t know Steve – forty leotards? She’s gonna grow out of half of them in six weeks,” you explain, “Don’t worry, your husband got it covered.” Eddie snickers, wrapping an elastic around one of the ponytails in his fingers. “Well if she’s gonna grow out of them then she’ll need more,” he scoffs, “I’ll get some sent over.”

“You’re impossible,” your eye roll is something Steve is just as used to as Eddie is. Gwen whines again, reaching for the phone with grabby hands, a quiet ‘Steeby’ escaping her. “I can hear her asking for me, gimme back to my girl,” he sighs. You hand the phone back to Gwen who giggles when Steve makes a funny face at her through the screen. “Look how pretty those ponytails are. Daddy did such a good job,” Steve coos at her. “We payin’ be-yoo-dee sawon,” Gwen explains. Eddie looks up at you, whispering ‘Can you grab her bows for me?’ You nod, reaching into the bottom drawer to snatch a basket full of bows, holding them out to him while he picks.

“Beauty salon,” Eddie corrects softly, “Orange or black bows?” “Bwack,” she says, waving him off like you do when you’re busy, “I’m on da phone, daddy.” “Yeah,” you say, meeting her sass, “She’s on the phone, daddy.”

He lets a ‘pfff’ push out of his lips while he grabs two black bows from last halloween, little sparkly spider webs parked in the center. You leave them to it, heading down to get the car packed up and make sure you have Gwen’s bag set up before you leave.

Despite the dramatics, the ride is going well. Gwen happily eats an apple sauce packet in her carseat while the two of you sip on coffees and eat breakfast sandwiches from a drive thru off the highway. It’s nice to get out of the city for a while and get Gwen used to the idea of not being in it anymore. The drive consists mostly of James Taylor’s greatest hits because Gwen is her Grandpa Wayne’s baby before she’s anyone else’s. She hums along to Carolina and sings only the chorus of Mexico. Her favorite song is Mockingbird even though it’s Carly Simon featuring James Taylor. The two of you throw it on the record player every other day to sing it to her, even if she doesn’t ask for it. It’s selfishly your favorite song, too, just ‘cause you get to see your husband play along with you. “And if that better way ain't so, I'll ride with the tide and go with the flow, And that's why, I keep on shoutin' in your ear, Saying (yeah, yeah) whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa, whoa-oh.” You lean your head back on the passenger’s side to make eye contact with Gwen through the visor mirror who giggles back at you. She mimics your ‘whoa-whoa-whoa’, shimmying in her carseat with her shoulders. Gwen’s no stranger to shimmying, always finding some way to dance off beat to Ed’s music when he plays at a venue she can be at or practices at home. His number one fan.

“Oh-wange twees, mommy,” Gwen says, tiny finger pointing out the window at the foliage lining the road. “I see them, aren’t they pretty Gwen?” you nod back at her. Eddie’s head turns slightly to watch her watch the trees, eyes shining at each change of color hits her. His heart beats a little quicker knowing she’s able to make those distinctions between orange, red, and yellow – too smart, getting too big. “Daddy’s git-tah,” she yelps, pointing hard at a tree covered in dark red leaves while Eddie slowly turns down the entrance of the orchard. Gwen lets out a tiny ‘woah’ when the car jostles that makes him laugh, he wishes she’d stay this little forever. “Yeah, that’s the same color as daddy’s guitar, good job sweetheart,” he smiles back at her, “Are you ready to pick some apples so we can make Uncle Stevie a pie for when he visits?” “Ya!” She nods, happy and excited. She doesn’t know what he said, but whenever he talks to her with a smile she’ll do whatever he asks and vice versa. Still ‘sort of rockstar’, definitely ‘meant to be father’. Parking is less of a nightmare than expected since it’s early in the day – most families come after the first morning nap, at least that’s what the mom groups told you on Facebook. Gwen hardly naps anymore, but you won’t be surprised if she knocks out earlier than usual tonight. Eddie gets the backpack full of Gwen’s essentials and you grab the baby. “I have to carry you through the parking lot, babe,” you say when she starts to bounce in your arms, eager to run on the grass in her sneakers. “Wanna walk, please,” she begs, her hands on your cheeks while you make your way towards the entrance. “You can walk when we get inside but there’s lots of cars out here and no stop lights,” you say, batting her hand out of your hair when she reaches for it, “I’ll put you down in a little bit.” “You think we should take the stroller?” Ed asks from the trunk. “They have wagons, we can just pull her around,” you shrug, “I don’t think the back up stroller is good for this kind of place, we’d need the one at home.” Eddie shrugs, joining you on your walk to the entrance to get your empty bag and your wagon, putting Gwen at the back as you get to the trees. “Walk, please,” she begs again. You hesitate, it’s just too big of a place and she’s a runner, “Honey, I would love it if you–” “Let her walk,” Eddie says, “She’ll get bored after a few minutes and wanna watch anyway, just let her walk.” “Come here Gwen, hold my hand,” he says, offering a tattooed hand to her pudgy one. She clumsily crawls out of the wagon, bouncing over to her dad to put her hand in his. He pulls her up once, making her squeal and giggle as she floats next to him. “More, more!” she laughs, letting Eddie swing her ahead a few more times while you all make your way through the trees.

She likes apple picking more than you expected, arms up constantly to be lifted onto the branches to grab some off of every few trees. Gwen had a good eye, better than you and Eddie, for super crisp ones – pointing up and jumping to get at them. If she was a little bigger you wouldn’t be surprised if she climbed up the trees with the ease of a jungle cat. Your husband encouraged it, climbing up the branches like he was still twenty – sitting with his legs dangling off and having you pass your toddler to him. “Please be careful,” you warn, passing her up to him. “Babe, I know what I’m doing,” he scowls, a hint annoyed before changing his expression for Gwen when he helps her onto the low branch with him. “You don’t have to be a jerk, I just want her to be safe,” you snap back. “And I’m keeping her safe,” he says with a smile as to keep your daughter none-the-wiser. Still looking at Gwen while she reaches for another apple. She hands it to Eddie who hands it to you, your fingers brush. “Sorry,” he says, looking down at you, “I’ll be careful. We’re not very high, but you’re right. I’ll be careful.” “Thank you,” you nod, taking the apple and pressing a ghost of a kiss to his knuckles. He blushes red, red, red. Red like the leaves, red like his guitar. “Why s’pink, daddy?” Gwen asks, passing him another apple. “I just love mommy very much, honey,” he smiles, pressing a kiss into her hair, “She makes me turn pink like a heart.” “Like on da phone,” she says, clinging to him like a koala when he slides down off the low branch with her. “Yes, like on the phone,” he nods. You’re not Peach 🍑 in his phone anymore. You’re The Wife 💗. Right now he’s Gwen’s Dad in your phone because you got in an argument two months ago and haven’t changed it back to Rockstar Husband 🎸❣️because ‘Gwen’s Dad’ makes you laugh too much. He hates it. “How you like them apples, G?” you ask when Eddie puts her down in the wagon, she looks up at you confused and shrugs; brown curly pigtails bouncing at she does. “Kids today,” you shake your head at Eddie while you press onward, “No culture.”

“No culture,” he agrees enthusiastically.

You peruse, the bags you bought are filled to the brim with apples. Some red, some green, a few yellow so Gwen can try them and see if she likes them. It’s a calming walk, the chatter of other families, the squeaky roll of the wagon, the rustle of the trees when the early autumn wind catches them. Eddie holds your hand loosely, always needing to keep touching you in some way, always wanting to keep you close to him. You look back, Gwen going between looking around at the other families and playing with her V-Tech phone. Eddie goes from walking slow to speeding up to make the wagon jostle just to hear Gwen’s giggles peal through the trees. After about an hour of walking and picking, you’re about as pooped as your toddler should be. Once you get to the tree line you see the farm and market down at the base of the hill, a little relieved that you’ve all made it to the end of the road unscathed.

That is, until Gwen climbs out of the wagon when it comes to a stop and without warning, books it towards the edge.

“Gwendolyn Rose!” Eddie’s call is rough and loud out of fear, but it sounds like anger. Gwen stops short, startled, falling backwards onto the seat of her leggings. Like clockwork the first whine starts, building up into a needy, sad wail. You know they’re crocodile tears so you keep your pace with the wagon behind you. Your husband however, despite the constant reminder that she knows he’s easy, rushes forward without a second thought. “Oh no, my baby girl, shh, shh. I’m sorry,” he coos, reaching down to hoist her up onto his hip, “I didn’t mean to yell, sugar. You just got daddy scared is all. I’m not mad.” Gwen wipes her face, pushing away tears that never fell, sniffling and hiding her face in his neck. He rubs her back while she settles, guilt tugging on the lines between his brows.

“No baby girl,” Gwen pouts, “I’m big girl.”

“Oh that’s right, you’re my big girl,” Eddie grins, kissing her cheek. She’s not amused, frowning down at him while she pushes up against his shoulder to squirm out of his hold. “That’s a very grumpy face, Gwenny,” you giggle. “Hey, are you mad at me?” he asks up at her before popping her back down onto her feet at the edge of the tree line, “Why’re you lookin’ so mad?”

“I’m big,” she announces, little foot stomping on the grass below her. Eddie lets a sigh out through his nose and kneels down to her level. She takes several deep breaths and you both know it’s the beginning of what could be a very long second tantrum of the day. “I know, you’re a very big girl,” he nods, “But what do mommy and daddy say you have to do when we don’t have you in the stroller?” “Hode hands,” she repeats back in a whine. “That’s right, we hold hands – and if we’re not holding your hand you’re supposed to stay close, right?” He watches her nod, tucking a finger under her chin to make sure she’s absorbing what he’s saying. Her lower lip juts out, cheeks puffing while her shoulders sulk. “I walk by - by mysewf,” she urges, sniffling, “Pwease.” “Not today, sugar. I’m sorry,” he sighs, cupping her cheek in his palm, “I have a fun idea, do you wanna get on daddy’s shoulders and you can tell us how far we are from the farm?” She brightens up a little, giggling when he reaches down to tickle her sides before scooping her up to lift over his shoulders. He groans the way old men groan when they lift something and you stifle a laugh, smiling up at Gwen when she smiles down at you. “Hi mommy,” she beams, waving her tiny hand. “Hi baby,” wave back lazily, the shoddy sleep you had last night starting to settle into your eyes. “Do you see the farm, Gwenny?” Eddie asks, she nods enthusiastically, “Maybe we can go get you a donut, how does that sound? Will that make you happy?”

“Ed,” you click your tongue, “She’s never gonna get to sleep later.” “We’re making memories, babe,” Eddie says, reaching up to hold Gwen’s hands to keep her steady, “Some extra sugar won’t hurt her.”

“Yeah, you love extra sugar, don’t you?” you laugh.

“Matter of fact, I do,” he smirks, shooting you a wink. He laughs when he sees two of those twelve foot Home Depot skeletons posed outside the front of the market, promoting their haunted hayride with signs and other silly decor, “Shit, that’s fuckin’ metal – s’ridiculous.”

“S’dic-yoo-liss,” Gwen repeats. “S’ridiculous, Gwennifer!” Eddie repeats back in concurrence. “Sss’tick-you-luss,” she bounces, laughing when he laughs. They have the same one, though his has years on hers, gruff with age, with cigarette stains.

Pumpkins get picked, warm donuts devoured, the morning finally feels like it’s coming to a close. You park Gwen down at a picnic table while Eddie goes to get the goods, hanging out with your threenager who can barely keep her eyes open. You’re thankful you still have the wagon because there was no way you’d be able to carry all of it back to the car. Caramel apples, cider donuts, three gallons of apple cider, honey sticks, pumpkin pie, and anything else Eddie thought was good enough to bring home for the season weight heavy in the brown paper bags in his arms. He comes back sheepishly, biting his lower lip when you look at the bags and then at him.

“Hm,” you hum pointedly.

“I just really like fall flavors, peach,” he shrugs, “And the old lady at the front was so sweet telling me about the deals I couldn’t not get everything.” “You’re such a sucker,” you laugh with a roll of your eyes, “You ready to head out?” He nods, ticking his forehead at Gwen whose cheek is smushed against your chest, eyelashes brushing the tops of her cheeks, “Looks like this pumpkin’s ready to go.”

“She’s out,” you say softly, brushing her hair away from her face, “Lasted five minutes on my lap.”

“Let me get a picture to send to Steve,” he says low enough that it doesn’t wake her, “The background is perfect.” “Ed you have a thousand pictures of her from today,” you complain. “Shh, shh, come on,” he smiles, taking out his phone – you know he’s only snapping Gwen by the way he lowers the camera to your lap. He puts the bags in the wagon while you slowly stand with her wrapped around your front. You wait at the entrance for him to pull the car around, leaving the wagon behind. She doesn’t wake up when you pop her back in the car seat, slowly rolling out of the parking lot with the rest of the afternoon in your wake.

“I got her a little gourd painting kit, somewhere in those bags,” he says, “She can make some decorations.” “Oh she’ll love that,” you nod, peeking at her sleeping face in the visor mirror again, “I’ll do it with her before dinner.”

He pulls in slowly at a stop sign, hand reaching out to snake into yours, pulling it to his lips to bless you with soft kisses on the back of your hand.

“Thanks for such a good day, baby,” he murmurs.

“You’re very welcome.”

Later on, just before dinner, Eddie hears a tiny knock on his office door paired with two giggles from his favorite girls.

“Yes?” he calls out. The door creeps open and he hears you whisper, ‘Ask ‘Are you busy, daddy?’

“You busy, daddy?” Gwen pipes up. He shuts his computer, moving away from the two additional screens. “No, honey, never too busy for you,” he smiles, creases by his eyes showing up through his glasses, “Do you have something to show me?”

“Yeah,” she nods, pulling on your hand to pull you into the room. He uses the same candles he always has, deep spice, like his cologne. Warm like the way he holds you. Still in his hunter green Dickie’s overalls from this morning.

You give Gwen her little pumpkin that she painted to present to her dad, beaming with excitement while he looks it over.

“Such a good job, Gwenny,” he coos, “Are these –”

“I did bats,” she grins, finger touching the sparkly black sort of bats adorning the outside. Covered in glitter and sequins, falling onto his office floor.

“You did bats? For Halloween?” he asks. You shake your head no, smiling big when Gwen goes on to explain.

“No cause, daddy, cause you have bats,” she hurriedly explains, “Issa daddy pum-kin.” She reaches to his left arm, pointing at the bat tattoos on the inside when he was a kid. She runs her finger over them, “See, bats like daddy.”

“That’s so sweet, honey,” he coos, “Is it for me?” “Yeah,” she squeaks, “For here.” “For your office,” you say for her, trying not to giggle when his eyes shine with tears. She could give him a piece of trash and he’d cry over it, “‘Cause you have so many Halloween decorations in here.” He laughs, looking around at all the tour posters he has from bands he’s seen over the years – to a three year old they probably are a little scary. “And what did you say it was when you were done, Gwen?” you ask, “What did you say daddy would think the pumpkin was?” “Fucking med-oh,” she giggles. “Oh my god,” he sighs, thumb and forefinger immediately going to temples. “Fucking metal,” you repeat back him, knowingly, “Wonder where she got that.”

He tries not to laugh when he looks down at Gwen, “Don’t say that word, baby, that’s a bad word.” “Sowwy,” she whispers. “It’s okay, you didn’t know,” he grins, pulling her in to kiss her all over. She shrieks the way babies shriek when they’re excited and runs out of the office toward her bedroom at the end of the hall. You turn to go after her before feeling Eddie’s hand on your shoulder. “Hey,” he says quietly in your ear, you shiver, “Remember when you said I like a little extra sugar?”

Your cheeks burn hot, turning to him, “I do.” He leans in slow, lips capturing yours in a way that they only do when you both get to be alone, “Don’t forget to keep givin’ me some.” “I won’t,” you murmur back, letting him kiss you deeply one more time before pressing a slow kiss to your favorite place under the hinge of your jaw, “You’re bold, Munson.” He shrugs, breaking away, “Needed somethin’ sweet.”

As if he isn't sweet enough. Eddie spends the rest of the night looking up ways to preserve a painted gourd.

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #dad!eddie #dad!eddie munson #older!eddie #older!eddie munson #modern!eddie munson #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader fluff

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hearts-hunger · 4 months ago

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Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Danny's having a rough day, and sometimes all you need is love and a little magic to make it better. || Companion fic in the Kitkat universe

Pairings: Danny x Reader | Genre: fluff, angst, h/c | Word Count: 3k | Warnings: none!

A/N: Evidently I'm back in my Kitkat era hehe :) I think this is my first time giving them any real angst, but of course it has a happy ending. I hope you like it! ♡

“I saw my baby, trying hard as babe could try — what could I do?”

You belted the verse into your wooden-spoon microphone, dancing around the kitchen as you waited for the oven to preheat. You had the music cranked up to the highest volume, filling the empty house with Bowie's dulcet tones and funky grooves; it was helping take the edge off being alone on your one-year anniversary, and dancing always put you in a better mood. By the time Danny got back from whatever he'd insisted had to be done today but wouldn't explain, you'd be ready to forgive the sting of hurt and enjoy the rest of your evening with him.

You were just putting the pumpkin pie in the oven when the door opened, and you turned with a bright smile to greet your boyfriend. You didn't know what you'd expected — some flowers, a gift he’d wanted to keep a secret until now, even just a smile — but all you got was a stormy expression and the door closing behind him with a little more force than necessary.

“Hi, honey!” you said, trying to stay cheerful. You liked welcoming him home to baking treats and fun music and a warm, sun-bright kitchen, and you hoped he liked it too.

“Hi,” he said, his voice distracted and flat. He winced at the loud guitar. “Geez, kitkat, are you trying to make me deaf? Turn that down.”

You hurried to do as he said, looking over at him with a cautious expression. He hadn't been in a great mood when he left, but you'd hoped that running whatever errand he was so concerned about would make him feel better; evidently, he was just as grumpy now as he had been earlier, and you tried not to let it hurt.

“Sorry, Danny,” you said when the music was quieter. “I guess I didn't realize how loud it would be if you just walked in on it.”

He gave a doubtful hum but didn't say anything else, leaving kind of abruptly to go further into the house. Surprised, you followed to see what was wrong.

“Did you get done whatever you went out for?” you asked.

He went into the bathroom and started rummaging around in the medicine basket.

“Do we have any freakin’ Tylenol in this house?” he asked irritably.

You went in to help him and easily found the bottle he was looking for. When you handed him two pills, he didn't offer any thanks.

“What’s wrong, honey?” you asked. You stepped aside as he elbowed his way to the sink. “You don't feel good?”

He cupped some water in his hand and downed the medicine before he washed his face. “Head’s killing me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” You reached to brush his hair back from his face. “Do you want something to eat?”

“No, I don't,” he said stiffly. He batted your hand away. “Please don't hover, kitkat. You're stressing me out.”

You drew back, stung, and felt something crinkle up in your heart that would take some ironing out.

“I didn't mean to,” you said softly. “Will you...” You hesitated to ask for anything, but you'd missed him while he was gone, and you wanted to spend time with him if he wanted to spend time with you.

He sighed. “Will I what?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Will you come back in the kitchen with me when you're feeling better?”

“Why, so I can get roped into doing the dishes after your little baking extravaganza?”

“No,” you said, feeling an unhappy twist in your chest. “Just to hang out. You don't have to if you don't want to.”

He softened the slightest bit, perhaps a little chastened by your hesitant tone.

“Yeah, maybe,�� he said, and it was almost worse than a flat-out no. “Let me get in the door, babe. It's been a long day.”

You held back from saying that you knew what he meant; it had been a long day for you too, waiting for him to come home to celebrate your anniversary. Granted, it wasn't your official dating anniversary — that was still a week or so away, and it was marked on the calendar in his bedroom. But one year ago today, you'd met him at the haunted house he worked at, and you wanted to celebrate the day you'd been rescued by a big guy in a werewolf costume and fallen head over heels for him.

You supposed you couldn’t hold it against him that he didn't remember the exact day you'd met. But even if it had been a regular day, his uncharacteristically moody and irritable homecoming was weighing on you. It made you feel funny, all sad and nervous and on edge, and you wished he'd just talk to you instead of merely inflicting his dark mood on you.

“Okay,” you said in a small voice, ever the peacekeeper. That wasn't a bad trait necessarily, but it sometimes led to you bottling up your thoughts and feelings instead of expressing them. You weren't sure now was the best time to tell him how you felt, though. A needy girlfriend seemed like it might be the last straw for his tenuous grip on civility.

You went back to the kitchen and turned off the music altogether, your cheerful, dancing mood pretty much killed by Danny’s gruffness. You started to clean up after your “little baking extravaganza”, as he'd called it with less affection and more irritation than you would have liked. You'd spent the better part of the afternoon crafting a beautiful, perfect pumpkin pie — his favorite — and had made a jack o’ lantern face out of dough to go on the top. Your heart sank as you wondered if he'd even want to try it when it was done baking.

He went out to the porch, talking on the phone about something that was evidently less than pleasant. You couldn't make out what he was saying, but from the tone of his voice and the glimpses of his body language you got through the window above the sink, you could tell he was upset about something. You determined to be kinder and more gentle to him when he came in, hoping you could soothe his worries and coax him into talking about whatever was bothering him.

You were finishing up the dishes when he came back inside, and you offered him a smile. You intended to ask him if the medicine was kicking in, but he spoke before you could say anything.

“Something’s burning,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

He nodded to the oven. “Whatever you're making. It smells like it's burning.”

With a jolt, you realized he was right; the timer had gone off and you hadn't realized it, and now there was a distinctly burnt smell permeating the kitchen. You whirled to open the oven and take the pie out, haphazardly grabbing a dish towel to cover your hands.

“Careful, kitkat,” he warned. “You don't — ”

In your haste, you didn't have time to process his warning before your uncovered ring and pinky finger met the hot pan. With a yelp of pain, you snatched your hand back and jerked the pan until it listed off the rack and tilted sideways to land lopsidedly between the rack and the oven door.

“Oh! Oh no!” You watched, distraught, as the jack o’ lantern face started a slow, precarious slant off the perfect placement you'd given it. You reached to right the pan, feeling the sting of tears at the foolishness of your blunder and the pain in your fingers, but Danny quickly eased you aside and took the dish towel from you.

“Let me get it, honey,” he said, and for the first time, his voice was kind, albeit a little harried. “Run some water over your hand.”

You did as he said, watching as he got the pie out of the oven and set it on the stovetop. He closed the oven and turned it off, tossing the dish towel over his shoulder as he crossed to you.

“Let me see,” he said gently, taking your hand in his and pulling it away from the water for a moment. You winced as the pain came back more sharply and tried not to cry as he cradled your hand in his.

“Alright,” he soothed, turning your hand to see your burned fingers better. “It doesn't look too bad. Keep it under the water for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Alone again in the kitchen, you tried to collect yourself; you glanced over at the pie and saw that it was a burnt, lopsided mess when you'd taken such care for it to be perfect for him. You swallowed, feeling tears stack up in your throat.

When he came back, he stood with his hip leaned against the counter as he dried your hand, smoothed Vaseline over your tender fingertips, and put bandaids on both fingers. You still stood at a distance, even as he was holding your hand, fearing another irritated scolding for your absent-mindedness.

“How's that?” he asked, looking up at your from under his dark lashes. He didn't seem angry any more, and you were so relieved at it that you suddenly couldn't stop the tears that spilled over.

His brow crinkled. “Hey, hey,” he said, worried and gentle. “Does it hurt that bad, honey?”

“No,” you said honestly, quickly trying to brush the tears from your face. He did it for you, soft and patient and understanding.

“Why’re you crying, then?” he asked.

You drew a choppy breath, trying to stop. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn't mean you had to apologize,” he said kindly. “You're not in trouble, kitkat. I just wanted to know what was wrong. Did it scare you?”

“Well, a little,” you admitted. “But I’m just...”

You were embarrassed by the stupid way you’d hurt yourself; you’d been sad and uneasy at Danny’s mood and now felt a little overwhelmed with emotion at his apology and the much-needed tenderness and affection that came with it.

“I’m glad you're not angry any more,” you said pitifully.

He softened, chagrined and understanding. “Oh.”

“You're not, are you?” you asked.

“No.” His big, strong frame seemed tense with discomfort. “I'm not angry any more, kitkat.”

“I’m sorry if I made it worse,” you said sincerely. “I should have let you come in without asking a million questions and having the music on so loud.”

He gently squeezed your hand. “No, honey. It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. I was the one who was out of line.”

He ran his thumb over your palm in a gesture of tenderness.

“I’m really sorry for how I spoke to you, kitkat,” he said gently. “I was frustrated, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Please forgive me.”

“Of course I forgive you,” you said, your voice a little wobbly. “I just wish... Well, I was trying to make it nice, since...”

He brushed more tears from your face. “Since what, honey?”

You looked up at him, your expression crumpling. “Since it's our anniversary.”

His eyes widened. “No it's not,” he said, obviously hoping it wasn't true. “It’s next week, isn't it?”

“Yeah, I mean, the real one,” you said weakly. “But today's the day we met.”

He softened and gave a regretful sigh, pulling you close.

“Oh,” he said. “I see. I didn't remember, kitkat. I’m sorry.”

You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face against his chest, treats falling in earnest now. You weren't exactly sure what you were crying about, but you were sure you were happy to have him home and not so angry any more.

“I made a real mess here, didn't I?” he said.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice choppy and unconvincing even though it was true. “You didn't know.”

“Yeah, but I still shouldn't have acted like I did. I want it to be a nice thing to have me come home, not a burden.”

You hugged him tighter. “It's not. You're never a burden, Danny. I love you. Even when you come home grumpy.”

You felt his gratitude and relief in the way he held you.

“I love you too, kitkat.” His voice was a little rough around the edges. “Thank you for loving me like you do. I don't deserve you.”

You stayed that way for a long moment, resting in each other, letting the worries of the day fade in the peace of being with the person you loved and trusted more than anyone else.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you said softly. “I made pumpkin pie for you. Your favorite.”

He rested his cheek on the top of your head and hugged you tight. “It is my favorite,” he agreed. “That was really sweet of you, honey. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“But now it’s ruined,” you said miserably, pulling back to swipe a hand over your cheeks and look at the charred, cockamamie gift you'd wanted to give him. “I’m sorry, Danny. It's not much of a surprise.”

He chuckled, and the sound was warm and comforting. “It’s not ruined, kitkat. It's... unique. And I see the vision. You think I won't still eat every bite of it?”

“Even the burnt parts?”

“Well, maybe we can cut those off. Looks like it's only the top of the crust.” He drew you over to look at it with him, and his smile was very gentle and forgiving.

“I like the jack o’ lantern face,” he said. “You’re so clever and creative, kitkat. I think it's a great surprise. I love it.”

You looked up at him. “Yeah?”

He kissed your nose. “Yeah. Let me put on some coffee to go with it. I'll even let you have a slice.”

You gave a watery laugh. “Thanks. That's nice of you.”

He helped you finish cleaning the kitchen, and the acrid smell of burnt pie crust was washed out with the comforting aroma of coffee as it brewed. You went out on the porch to sit in the chilly evening air with your plates piled high with the not-burnt parts of your pie, and you enjoyed how Danny dug in with gusto, complimenting your baking all the while.

You snuggled closer to him on the porch swing, cradling your steam-wreathed mug, careful of your sore fingers.

“How’s your beautiful little hand, my dear?” he teased gently, holding his hand out for you to place your hand in.

“Better,” you said. Your heart tilted when he kissed your fingertips. “Thank you for taking care of me, Danny.”

He hummed. “You’re welcome, kitkat. It was the least I could do after being so ugly to you. I know I said it before, but I'm sorry for acting like that. You don't deserve for me to talk to you that way.”

You brushed your fingers over his cheek. “Thank you. Would you mind telling me why you were so frustrated? I want to help if I can.”

He sighed, and his expression scrunched a little with worry and weariness.

“Money’s a little tight,” he said after a long moment. “The gig we booked for this weekend fell through.”

“Oh, Dan, I’m sorry,” you said sincerely. You knew that the paycheck would have been nice, and a canceled show was never what an aspiring band wanted to deal with. You knew he and the boys would have liked to play the gig anyway, even if they didn't make any money off of it.

“Was that what you were on the phone about?” you asked.

He nodded. “Josh told me this morning, and he tried to figure out a new date with the guy we booked with, but he told me when I was out here earlier that he wouldn't reschedule.” He shook his head. “Josh is pissed. I guess I am too. It sucks.”

“Yeah,” you said gently. “I’m sorry, honey. Can I help? Financially, I mean?”

A dull, uncomfortable blush darkened his face. “I don't want to ask you for money, kitkat.”

“I know,” you said kindly. “But I'm happy to help. I practically live here anyway. I can pitch in with rent or groceries or something.”

He looked at you with such humility and gratitude that you thought your heart would break.

“Thanks, honey,” he said. His voice was a little hoarse. “That’s very kind of you.”

You gave him a gentle smile. “You’re welcome, Danny. I love you. Let me help you.” You didn't make a ton of money either, but you'd gladly do whatever you could to help your boyfriend and his brothers that were as good as family to you.

He ran a hand over his face. “I was trying to get you a present, earlier,” he said. “For our anniversary.” He gave you a teasing smile. “Our real one.”

You laughed. “Oh yeah?”

“That’s why I was gone all day,” he agreed. “But it...” His jaw worked uncomfortably. “It ended up being pretty expensive. More than I budgeted for. So that made me feel like a schmuck.”

You took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I don't need anything to know you love me, Danny. But thank you for thinking of me.”

He looked over at you. “Do you wanna know what it was? Since it's the thought that counts, I hope?”

You smiled. “It is the thought that counts. And yeah, if you want to tell me.”

“A lady we work with breeds dogs on the side,” he said. “All official, fancy, pedigree labradors. I was gonna get you a puppy, like I talked about. You know. Start our family, or whatever.”

He was bashful as he told you, the embarrassment of having to say no once he'd learned the price obviously still stinging him. But it was such a nice thought, such a sweet present that he'd wanted to get, that just the idea alone was enough of a gift.

“Oh, Danny,” you said sweetly. You kissed his cheek. “That would have been a really good gift. But I'm glad you made a smart financial decision.”

He sighed. “Yeah. Wish I didn't have to make such smart financial decisions all the time.”

You brushed his curls back from his face. “I know, sweetheart. But I admire you for making wise choices for our family of two, and I know I can trust you to make wise choices for our family of three when we finally do get our puppy.”

He brightened then. “We could always get a pound puppy. Some two and a half dollar mutt that needs somebody to love ‘em.”

You smiled. “We could,” you agreed. “Maybe that's what we should do for our anniversary. Our real one.”

He chuckled and drew you close with his arm over your shoulders, pulling you snug against him.

“I’ll remember next year,” he promised. “This is a good anniversary to celebrate too.”

You kissed under his jaw. “I think so too.”

When the sun set and the chilly air turned cold, you went back inside and started to get dinner on. They boys were working tonight, and since Danny was off, you had the house to yourselves. He still seemed a little down as you cooked together, though he was good company, and you wished there was something you could do to help cheer him up.

“Do you mind if I put some music on?” you asked, not wanting to overstimulate him like you had earlier. “How’s your headache?”

He smiled. “Better, thanks. Crank up the tunes, honey.”

You put your Halloween playlist back on, and when Bowie’s “Magic Dance” came on, you had an idea of something to help loosen Danny up.

You held out your hand. “Dance with me.”

He grinned and took your hand. “As you wish, my love.”

There in the middle of the kitchen, while dinner simmered on the stove, you drew him into a footloose and fancy-free dance of careless steps to the funky tune. You sang along, swinging and twirling and grooving to the music; he mimicked you with much more grace and effortless cool, complimenting your awkward, happy dancing. Both of you danced and jumped along with the song, laughing and crashing into each other with clumsy, carefree movements that brought you together in the joy and comfort and ease you shared.

“Is my dance magic working?” you asked.

He laughed. “I think so, honey. I feel all limbered up.”

He listened to the music attentively for a moment.

“There’s kind of a sexy little guitar riff coming up, if I remember correctly,” he said.

You knew exactly what he was talking about. You tossed your hair and gave him a hooded smile when the riff played, skating your hands over your body. He pinked and gave you a devilish grin.

“Better watch out, kitkat,” he teased. “You’re gonna get yourself in trouble dancing like that.”

You put your arms around his neck. “Put that baby’s spell on me, loverboy.”

He scooped you up and held you in his strong arms, your legs wrapped around his waist. “Don't have to tell me twice, honey.”

You giggled. “What about dinner?”

“Let it burn. I've got a taste for burnt food now.”

You laughed, big and bright and joyful, and held his face as you kissed him deeply.

“I sure do love you, Danny.”

He smiled and looked up at you with nothing short of adoration. “Aw, kitkat. I sure do love you too.”

taglist: @viagvf @allieisacrybaby @itsafullmoon @spark-my-nature @anthemheatwave @xserenax-13 @musicspeaks @mountain-in-springtime @stardustsecret @alwaysonthemend @madneedshelp @josh-iamyour-mama @dannythedog @thecoldwind @woyayaofdreams @joshkiszkapunchmeintheface @lostoverseer @jakesguitarpick @heartcannotsow @kissingkiszka @gold-mines-melting @lizzys-sunflower @iluvjoshkiszka @musicislove3389

join my taglist here!

(tumblr is awful at making tags work so i’m sorry if you’re not getting notifications!)

#enjoy!! <33 #danny wagner x reader #danny wagner fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #danny wagner fluff #danny x kitkat #kitkat 'verse #maddie writes stuff!

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oozedninjas · 1 year ago

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With spooky season upon us, can you write a scenario with Ralph or Leo being taken out by the reader. On Halloween, the reader gets to go on cute fall dates and show off their turtle boyfriend with no one batting an eye 🎃💕

HALLOWEEN DATE!

My heart melts with this idea, honestly! I did Headcanons so I could write all of them hope you don't mind!

Leonardo and the Rocky Horror Show!

Under the dim glow of theater lights, you initially doubted if

Leonardo would the performance, but as it unfolded, and you stole glances at him, you were glad to see he was having a good time.

"Definitely bringing Donnie to see this tomorrow!" he declared, and you reveled in discovering yet another delightful facet of him.

You loved discovering sides of him that surprised you.

Raphael and the Haunted House!

Amidst the eerie ambiance of a haunted house, Raph and you explored the most chilling corners hand in hand, solving riddles and protecting each other when the jump-scares got too heavy.

You ran into the street, and Raph showed the middle finger to the

Jason figure, who stayed back, fuming as you escaped.

You ran and laughed for a couple of blocks before stopping. You looked at each other smiling, unable to stop.

"You hungry?"

"Starving!" he said. "I know a good pizza place around the corner," Raph said, excited to go in for the first time and share it with you.

Donatello and the Spooky Dairy Queen

Ice cream and silly spooky decorations. Just that. It's a combination that simply works. You shared a Blizzard and talked for hours in plain view of everyone.

That alone was more than enough for him. But seeing you happy, sharing that moment, and proud to be with him made his heart want to leap out of his chest. Too distracted staring at his beautiful partner, Donatello ate a super big spoon of icy sweets.

"Ah!" he dropped the spoon, hand to his head.

"So many valuable neurons," you joked, moving a chair closer to hold his face. The warmth of your hands helped.

"I Literally felt new inventions disappear," he played along, and suddenly everything was brighter.

Mikey's Halloween Extravaganza!

Costume Contest, Jack-o'-lanterns with faces, and Pumpkin Spice Lattes—

There are so many activities he wants to do with you that there's barely time to sit down.

Each new thing is a renewed burst of laughter, and you're more than happy to share moments with him in public, introducing him to your friends and receiving compliments on how amazing he is

his high energy, and good humor.

And Mikey? Oh, he's on cloud nine. For the first time, he feels he can be a complete part of your life. Heavens, if only Halloween could last forever.

#happy halloween!#tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2007 #tmnt 2k16 #tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt x reader #raphael tmnt #tmnt raphael #tmnt raph x reader #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 2 months ago

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Leah's Halloween Extravaganza: Pumpkin man

Did a quick little sketch before I'm going to sleep, so have this little guy! Ignore his hands, please, I beg you

Happy halloween!

#Leah's Halloween Extravaganza #My art

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cottonlemonade · 3 months ago

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[closed] Welcome to my Movie Night!

Ahoy everyone! 🌟 👻

First of all, thank you so so so much for surpassing 9 0 0 followers! (my jaw has yet to be picked off the floor) You are all so appreciated and I'm so happy that you like my stories enough to come back for more 🥹

It’s been a hot minute since I did a request game so here is a little October mini event, that I plan to finish before Halloween 🎃

For most of you this is probably old news (It’s great to see you again!), but for all the lovely newcomers (welcome!), here is how it works. Using my inbox you would let me know what your movie visit looks like:

movie (setting) + popcorn flavor (genre) + your costume (setting) with [character name]

i.e.:

- “I want to watch Hocus Pocus and grab some caramel popcorn dressed as a princess with Suna” would get you a fluffy story about spending a rainy day inside with husband Suna

- “I will watch Goosebumps, have pumpkin-spice popcorn and come dressed as a traffic cone with Atsumu” would get you a fluffy-spicy story about you and your crush Atsumu at a Halloween Party

* Those of you who don’t find anything with the prompts I provided, can make up your own by coming dressed as a pirate! 🏴‍☠️ Like so:

- “I’m gonna watch The Nightmare Before Christmas and have some sweet’n’salty popcorn while dressed as a pirate with Tsukki! My prompt: […]” will get you a fluffy-angsty story with your boyfriend Tsukki and your own prompt

- just like last time you can also add the customization to the existing costumes (prompts) i.e. pirate tomato and here you could let me know if you have something more specific for your costume shopping extravaganza in mind - please keep them as short/“vague” as possible so that I have some creative wiggle room 🪱🫶🏻

As always, feel free to mix and match the settings, genres and prompts however you like and keep in mind that the stories will all be x chubby!Reader and, unless requested differently, the default pronouns will be female 🌱 you can also just come say Hi or ask something you're curious about! 🫶🏻🌟

Masterlist || About Me

dividers are from me 🐠

#sunnys movie night #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x curvy reader

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snikt-and-chimichangas · 4 months ago

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🍂🎃 FALL & HALLOWEEN EXTRAVAGANZA! 🎃🍂

Hey hey, you lovely degenerates, it’s ya boi, Deadpool, sliding into your feed like a pumpkin spice latte on a crisp fall morning! (Don’t judge me, Wolverine drinks 'em too. We all know he's a sucker for anything cinnamon-flavored—keeps him warm and fuzzy inside.)

🍂 Soooo guess what? The server’s been cooking up some deliciously spooky fall-themed events, and trust me, you don’t wanna miss what’s creeping around the corner. We’ve already shared some of the tasty details (I know, I know, we're as fast as Quicksilver... wait, no, he's not ours either, ugh). But hold onto your butts, because we've got more goodies bubbling up in the cauldron! 🎃💀

You like trick-or-treating? We’ve got it.

You like creeping through dark, mysterious places like a true anti-hero, looking for trouble? We’ve got that too.

And maybe even a few haunted surprises... 💀👀

We might even force—I mean, politely ask, Wolvie to wear his tiny pumpkin costume again. (But seriously, no selfies this time, guys. The last batch got leaked and, well, let’s just say Wolvie wasn’t amused. He’ll claw ya.)

Want in on all the spooktacular action?👻 Well, here's the trick (or is it a treat?). Slide into our DMs and ask for an invite! We’ve opened up the gates for a hot minute so don’t be sneaky—grab your spot before the witches close the circle.

No broom required, just your charm and maybe a spooky gif or two.

Oh, and one more thing! If you’ve got questions, comments, or just wanna see what flavor of chaos we’re brewing up next, shoot us a message! We may be chaotic, but we’re also here to keep things running smoothly (at least as smoothly as a Deadpool-written announcement allows). We love to hear from ya—unless you’re trolling, in which case we’ll just make you fight Colossus. Good luck with that.

🧛‍♂️🍂 So strap in, buttercup, because it’s about to get wicked up in here!

_ Deadpool (with mandatory supervision of the Mod Team, because apparently, I can't be trusted to run things on my own.🙄)

#deadpool #deadpool x wolverine #logan howlett #poolverine #wade wilson #wolverine #poolverine discord #fall #halloween #spooky season #halloween vibes #spooky aesthetic #jack o lantern #trick or treat

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peaches2217 · 7 months ago

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All the Gold in the World

This was my very first Mario fic, originally published June 22/23, 2023! As the original Tumblr publication was on a burner account, in celebration of its (belated) anniversary, I figured I'd give it its long-deserved place on my main blog. Please enjoy this throwback! And here's the AO3 link.

~~~

There it was again, that telltale sparkle in those big, blue, beautiful eyes. It was just as Peasley had hoped: an invitation to sneak away from the dreary duties of the palace in favor of strolling an upscale shopping pavilion arm-in-arm, a bit of light conversation about how worn his favorite tunic was becoming and won’t you help me choose a new one today, my love?, and a break for coffee that just happened to see them seated across from a display of some of the finest, most colorful, undoubtedly most expensive gowns in the kingdom, all efforts to disguise (and eventually expose) his true plan.

Seeing the awe in his Luigi’s eyes as he cast longer and longer glances at the display, watching the corners of his lips twitch beneath his mustache as the subtle spark of innuendo grew into a flame of yearning… he’d known it, oh, he’d known it all along!

Now, Peasley was very clever, and his consort had the loveliest of tastes, so how this knowledge had eluded him for so long, he was ashamed to say he wasn’t certain. But it didn’t matter now. The only question that mattered now was—

“Which of those gowns are you eyeing, my pet?”

Luigi sputtered so hard that a small mouthful of coffee forced its way past his lips.

“Wh— gowns? What gowns?” he stuttered, wiping the coffee dribbling from his chin with the back of his hand, a shamed blush overtaking him. “I don’t see any gowns!”

Peasley, unfazed, handed him a paper napkin. “I was thinking the deep green A-line with the bell sleeves, personally. The color’s a given, and the silhouette would compliment your form exquisitely. Perfect for the upcoming Edamame Extravaganza.”

Luigi hastily wiped his glove and the table clean, his mouth opening and closing in a way that wasn’t unlike a Cheep Cheep caught on dry land. Assorted sounds came out, but nothing coherent.

Peasley couldn’t help but chuckle. His Greenie had a number of interests he’d tried to hide, offering up such excuses as “It’s embarrassing!” and “It’s really nothing, just a dumb pastime, you know?” when he was inevitably discovered. Yet every last one of those interests enamored Peasley, and perhaps none more so than this. Oh, how proud he was of his own detective work.

“I— I-I just couldn’t pull off a dress that well,” Luigi finally managed, “you know?”

“Nonsense! You once pulled off a more stunning Peach than the real deal. You didn’t hear that from me, of course.”

Luigi simply hid behind his coffee, humming nervously. His Starbeans order was always the same: a medium-roast Hoolumbian with so much nutmeg that the air around them smelled like a winter market. Watching him sip and hum and blush, Peasley found himself craving pumpkin spice.

“But they’re so… expensive, right?” Luigi eventually said into his near-empty cup. “I-I could never! I’d never ask for something like that!”

Ah, of course! His Luigi had come from a commoner’s background, after all. Little had changed since he’d become Prince Consort of the Beanbean Kingdom. He was still more comfortable in cotton and denim than the tunics and robes of the palace, he still preferred tinkering with pipes and assorted machinery to sitting in committees or kissing babies as adoring citizens fawned over him, and, so it would seem, he still worried about money, as though an entire royal family’s wealth wasn’t his to partake in.

“You needn’t concern yourself with such matters!” Peasley’s right hand met Luigi’s left, their fingers lacing together. Luigi’s hands were larger, quite a bit so, and yet they fit Peasley’s like a lock and key. “I would never offer something I couldn’t afford to give.”

That statement wasn’t entirely true — he’d promise his love a five-course banquet if all he had was a single loaf of bread, and by the stars he’d make it happen — but he could most certainly afford this, and that was essential to reinforce. For weeks now, he had been privately swooning to thoughts of Luigi strolling through the lush gardens of the palace, clad in silk and velvet that swished at his feet with every step, a crown of matching roses in the place of his favorite hat. He was one step closer to bringing that image into reality, and that was worth all the gold in the world.

And yet the reassurance didn’t seem to quell any of Luigi’s worries — in fact, he only looked more stressed, more uncertain. He stared awfully hard at some spot on the table that Peasley couldn’t see, and his fingers had gone rigid in Peasley’s hold, and— was he… trembling?

Dread blossomed in Peasley’s gut. Had he done something wrong?

“Luigi.” His opposite hand reached out to touch his face, offer comfort, but he stopped himself. Right. He typically preferred not to be touched when he was like this. “Luigi, my darling, what’s wrong?”

For a long moment, Luigi didn’t respond. And so Peasley waited, patient, ready to offer whatever words of comfort he needed.

“I can’t wear a dress,” Luigi finally said. It wasn’t a bashful excuse. It was a lament.

Confusion clouded Peasley’s rationale. Normally, he would drop the topic, see to Luigi’s well-being, and then ask questions when his beloved was in comfortable night clothes with a mug of hot chocolate in the privacy of their chambers. But that deadly mix of confusion and curiosity compelled him to squeeze his hand and ask, “Whyever not?”

At that, Luigi shook his head. “It’s so silly.” He cast a rueful smile to the side, but he did squeeze Peasley’s hand back, so that was progress, at least.

“‘Silly,’” Peasley said, scooting his chair in as far as it would go without crushing his midsection, “is Desi showing up drunk to Chori’s beanceañera on last night’s episode of The Mung and the Restless. What’s not silly is anything that causes you distress.”

Luigi laughed at that, quietly, but genuinely, and his eyes briefly met Peasley’s. They still sparkled, but with something new, something much more melancholy.

“It’s… it’s kind of a holdover, I guess.” He looked back down as he turned Peasley’s hand over, gloved thumb tracing aimlessly over his palm. “From my old world.”

“From Bruck-Len?” Peasley confirmed, watching Luigi’s thumb travel its idle path. “Did something happen there?”

Luigi set his lips into a thin line, and a short but not uncomfortable silence fell over them while he gathered the words he needed. “Nothing one-off, it was more… In Brooklyn, you couldn’t… guys really couldn’t wear those sorts of clothes, you know? If you do, you get made fun of, called names, roughed around, ‘cause you’re not, you know, not a real man.”

Peasley blinked, looking back up. Luigi didn’t meet his gaze.

The quality of one’s character based on the fabric they clad themselves in. The notion made little sense to Peasley.

“Well, what constitutes a ‘real man’?” he wondered aloud. Surely it wasn’t really something so inane as what clothes a man might wear. He, for example, was about as manly a man as they came — he was powerful, intelligent, skilled in combat, exceedingly good-looking — and yet he wore tunics while attending to political affairs or missions and Luigi’s oversized shirts at night, all dresses in all but name.

Yes, he knew well the typical fashion norms and how they differed between men, women, and those who lay in another plane of identity altogether, but never had he heard of such controversy in response to those norms being altered.

Luigi, his beautiful and equally manly Luigi, shrugged in response. “Someone more… rugged, I guess? Definitely not someone who wears a dress. And real simple clothes aren't enough either, oh no. Gotta be macho, hot-headed, tough, athletic, ready to throw down at the drop of a hat…”

“...perhaps with unkempt hair, lighter overalls, a red shirt, maybe?” Peasley guessed, half-joking. And to his delight, that got another laugh out of Luigi, a much lighter, heartfelt laugh.

“Oh, no,” he said, “even Mario wasn’t man enough half the time!”

“Really? But he fits your description perfectly!”

“Yeah, but he had one liiiiiitle tiny problem: he supported me.” Luigi’s smile diminished again, not into a full frown, but his eyes seemed distant, wistful. “He was the only one I could really be comfortable around, you know? He hates shopping, but he’d always take me to the mall during sales because he knew I didn’t have the nerve to go without him. Sometimes he’d buy whatever I bought in his size and wear it out with me, and then he’d act like a goof so everyone stared at him and not me. Those were the only times I ever got to feel… well, good about wearing girly clothes.”

A feeling like warm nostalgia creeped into Peasley’s chest. Yes, he could picture it well: a shorter, smoother-faced Luigi, in the light fashions of city youth, perhaps a simple skirt and blouse. His matching elder twin, striding alongside him with twice the confidence and none of the elegance, going out of his way to make his gait as clumsy as possible with the biggest smile on his face.

Luigi smiling too, a younger and shyer smile, a boy becoming comfortable in his own skin, in the clothes he felt suited him best.

How could anyone envision such a sight, much less witness it for themselves, and not be besotted? How could anyone see that and mock him?

Peasley’s left hand moved to his opposite side, and he realized with a start that he was instinctively going for his rapier. But his rapier was back at the castle, and the threats which his beloved recounted were all in the past, unchallengeable, unchangeable. Something about that thought left a bitter taste in his throat.

“But I… still got the worst of it,” Luigi continued, and a heavy emotion like woe dimmed his features. “Mario, no one really cared what he did. He was a normal kid where I wasn’t involved. But me? No, I had enough going against me! You take a boy that likes other boys and wearing dresses, and you get…” He cleared his throat. “You get Mario getting grounded a lot. I think he’d beat up like, six different kids by the time we got out of high school?”

The bitterness in Peasley’s throat eased, and he washed the last of it away with a swig of his chuckoccino. He would have to give his gratitude to the elder brother next they met. He hoped little had remained of those vile perpetrators when he was done with them.

Luigi sighed heavily, leaning his cheek into his free hand. “Sooooo… yeah. Wearing dresses still scares me I guess. It shouldn’t, not anymore, I know that, but…”

But you’ve been scared your whole life, haven’t you?

An ache resonated deeply within Peasley, a hurt the likes he hadn’t felt since his favorite character’s untimely death in Days of Our Limas.

“Oh, my love…” He finally gave in; he couldn’t help reaching forward to stroke Luigi’s face where his hand didn’t obscure it, and the ache lifted slightly when Luigi relaxed against his touch. His sad eyes grew warm, and Peasley could feel the blood rising beneath his skin. So warm, and so responsive… “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to bring up such distressing memories.”

Luigi lifted his head, just enough so that Peasley could cup his cheek. He graced Peasley with a smile so gentle and trusting and grateful that Peasley was sure he could drop dead on the spot from the crushing weight of affection alone.

“Honestly? It felt kinda nice to talk about it. Finally off my chest, you know?” Luigi’s right hand pressed Peasley’s palm deeper against his skin, and for a moment, he said nothing else. But his gaze caught some grounded nothing, and the corners of his mustache twitched, and was he blushing? Yes, he was absolutely blushing, a gorgeous scarlet growing in intensity against Peasley’s touch. “Kinda makes me feel like, uh... l-like it's... time to try again?” he finally found the nerve to say, quietly, but steadily.

Peasley, sagacious as he was, knew that this was his cue. Oh, his brave darling! He would gladly meet such bravery halfway.

“Then— then will you accompany me to that boutique across the street?” His eyes flickered briefly to their conjoined hands as he laced their fingers together once more, his right and Luigi’s left. This whole time, in one form or another, they’d remained connected. Truly like lock and key. “Will you choose a lovely gown and wear it for me, my dear?”

That luminescent shade of red burned hotter still, and as much as Peasley normally enjoyed such a sight, he considered backing down this time, truly considered it. But Luigi nodded, pulling Peasley’s hand towards himself. “As you wish,” he said, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Peasley could feel his lips curl into the smallest of grins. “Mio principe.”

~~~

It took a week, several trips to a handful of the kingdom’s finest shops, and many hours of compliments and sugary-sweet assurances, but by the time the Edamame Extravaganza rolled around and two very important guests arrived at the palace, Luigi stepped out to greet his brother clad in gentle slopes of deep green and gold, a simple but elegant gown that only served to make the handsome prince that much lovelier still.

Mario’s first reaction was shock, followed by what Peasley could best assign as glee. The words the twins exchanged in their native tongue flew by too quickly for him to catch anything of substance (he was, though he would never admit it, a bit slow in learning the language), but the gestures and laughter and the way Mario clapped as Luigi twirled to demonstrate the gown’s billowing skirt told him everything he needed to know: the elder sibling’s taste wasn’t as benighted as he’d feared it might be.

But most importantly, Luigi, his Luigi, was beaming. He was no towering monolith of self-confidence, but he held his head a little higher, and he walked with a sort of grace Peasley hadn’t seen from him before, and the golden embellishments of his attire looked comparatively dull next to the sheer joy that radiated from his countenance.

How much more brightly would he beam tonight, Peasley wondered, when he revealed he’d purchased every single gown Luigi had tried on during their venture, all thirty-seven of them? Surely he would outshine the sun itself.

“You’re going to send him to the hospital,” Peach sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as they stepped away to let the brothers chat. “If he was worried about how expensive a single dress is…”

“I already assured him I wouldn’t do anything I couldn’t afford.”

“I’m surprised you could afford that.”

Peasley tapped his temple in response. “Pragmatism, dear,” he teased. The humble Mushroom Queen was above using her title and benevolent reputation to obtain favors from her citizens. Peasley was not.

Peach shook her head and sighed again, but she couldn’t disguise the fond grin that found its way onto her face.

Turning to watch the brothers once more, Peasley followed suit.

Luigi was the rare sort who possessed no unflattering angles; he looked just as good in a gown as he did in overalls as he did in nothing at all. But he was most beautiful, Peasley decided, when he was unabashedly himself, when he lost sight of the eyes that followed him and simply let himself be, with no pretense — in those rare instances, he could finally see himself the way Peasley saw him.

Showering him in fine clothing and helping him overcome an old emotional wound wouldn’t miraculously dissolve all of his insecurities. But if it helped even the slightest bit, then that was worth all the gold in the world.

#I love writing peasley's pov because it gives me the excuse to be as flowery and excessive as I like #and y'all know I love being excessive!#I'd spent a good year writing ares/lucas fics for rf5 before writing this one so that perspective came easily #because lucas has the same mannerisms and speech patterns and - it was MEANT to be!#so I. REALLY should do that again sometime. peasley pov is so fun oh my God #super mario bros #smb #luigi #prince peasley #luigi x peasley #luisley #mario and luigi #m&l rpgs #superstar saga #peaches' fancy fics

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jimothysomebody · 1 month ago

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I'm getting ready for my very crippled thanksgiving extravaganza.

Tldr, had a magical ambulance ride the other night to the ER, a CT scan of my spine revealed my lumbar region is all fucked up, bulging discs, a bone spur, spinal stenosis, some calcification, but it's causing severe sciatica in my lower back and right leg, and even some weird numbness in my toes sometimes. Nerve damage isn't a fun time, lol.

So, ya boi's being kept "stable" through the power of modern medicine, bedrest, and a wee bit of weed for a little extra pain relief (which I desperately need lol).

As I've done every year since my father died, I'm cooking & hosting the thanksgiving meal for my mom & aunt (and any stragglers who may happen to drop by), everything except the pumpkin pies & cheesecakes my mom is bringing, and the green bean casserole & sweet potato something or other her sister is bringing. Turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, dressing, mac 'n cheese, while I can barely walk, sit and stand for very long courtesy of the collapsing Jenga tower that is my lower back. But I got this.

One of my sisters was worried and extended a very kind invitation to her place so I could relax while she feeds my mother, aunt, boyfriend and myself, which I'd have accepted if 1 my 23lb thawed turkey wouldn't be apt to go to waste, and 2 if I wasn't absolutely sure that I was capable of pulling this off smart & safe. Her invitation still stands, and if worse comes to worse I'll take her up on her offer. It'd be nice to see my sister and the kids, it's been so long.

I got this.

1:30am, 11-28-2024

#Jimothy does a crippled cooking extravaganza #an entry

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carolmunson · 1 year ago

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fall frenzy: a commish extravaganza

hi everyone, it's me carol (i'm the kitty in the pumpkin basket) and times are scary which is so fitting since we're a hop away from spooky season and fall weather. i wanted to put together a commission/donation based mini-fic extravaganza. how it works: - send a donation through my ko-fi (starts at $5) - select a prompt and dialogue from these cutie lists autumn prompts and dialogue autumn fluff prompts autumn dialogue prompts (also open to writing dark fics but can't find prompts for those.) - let me know if you'd like for it to be a steve focus, eddie focus, or steddie x reader focus (or you can request for any of my au versions of these guys - yes that includes kas!eddie or the little blurbie of eddie and steve being vampires.) - you can either put your request in a private message on ko-fi with your tumblr name or message me here letting me know your request and the name attatched to the donation. - i will not write smut for any anonymous requestors. i will need confirmation that you are 18+ for smut to be involved. - i will not write insecure/bad body image reader because we should all feel like hotties!

commission requests are: closed i will start fulfilling these: september 1st

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #eddie munson fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington

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alwritey-aphrodite · 1 year ago

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steven grant and pumpkins? i’m so excited for october now

2023 Fall Blurbs

As much as you loved your cozy, little flat, sometimes it felt a little too small and cramped for your liking. It was difficult to have people over and to cook in the small kitchen and deep cleaning was almost impossible with how little space you had to move things around. Still, you loved it, and you’d never consider moving.

Not even when Steven brings home pumpkins that take up most of your kitchen and dining area.

“What’re those for?” You ask, pausing your dish washing to watch him struggle through the door with the pumpkins.

“Halloween,” he answers with a smile, clearly pleased with his little joke, “thought it might be fun to carve them, yeah?” And while you didn’t disagree, even the logistics of carving the pumpkins, let alone displaying them, made your head spin.

Still, Steven was never to be deterred from a plan once he set his mind to it, and he spent the rest of the afternoon setting up the pumpkins and finding carving supplies and newspapers he was willing to part with to catch all the gunk that comes out of the inside of the pumpkins. Really, the pumpkins are almost perfect, round and large and bright orange, and you can’t help but wonder if Steven just found them or if he went searching for the most perfect pumpkins to bring home.

Either way, the carving extravaganza begins after dinner, which you ate on the couch because the pumpkins were taking up the entirety of the table. Using a large knife that was definitely too expensive to be used on giant pumpkins, Steven cuts the top off the plants before the two of you get to work scooping out the guts.

As you clean out the pumpkins, scooping out seeds and guts and sending them falling with a splat onto the newspapers you’ve laid out, you talk about all your favorite fall memories, your best costumes and favorite treats and movies. Steven’s are, of course, from more recent years, and most of them feature you, but he loves to listen to you recount your childhood tales of trick or treating and trading candy and eating yourself sick.

It makes the time go by faster, and before you know it, the pumpkins are ready for carving. You decide to just wing it, taking one of the knives and jabbing it through the thick skin of your pumpkin, while Steven takes his time to sketch out his design just the way he envisions it. You keep yours a surprise, turning the pumpkin this way and that to keep Steven from catching a glance.

Once the two of you are done, hands sore and cheeks hurting from laughing at each other’s struggles, you light small candles to place inside, and then you reveal your designs to each other.

“What is that supposed to be, love?” Steven asks through barely contained laughter, glancing between your pumpkin and his, with its perfectly drawn and carved cat.

“It’s a spooky pumpkin face,” you reply as if it’s obvious, “the triangles are the eyes and the square is the nose and the circle is the mouth because he’s yelling.”

With your explanation, Steven only laughs harder, picking up his pumpkin to display in the window sill and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant fluff #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #moon knight

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sarahowritesostucky · 1 year ago

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📖"Merry & Bright"

Part 3 - Family Fun Night

Merry & Bright Masterlist

Rated: Teen

Pairing: Bucky x Steve

Tags: a/b/o, omega Bucky, alpha Steve, kid fic, Karens

Summary: Bucky and Steve go to their daughters' school play.

(If your name is Karen, I'm sorry and sending warm hugs)

Bucky’s been able to ignore the encroaching Holiday season for longer than usual this year.

Between the warm-ish fall weather and his continuing therapy appointments, the ceaseless calls from his publisher and that guy from Warner Brothers, and the move and the overwhelming demands of a newborn, it’s just hard to believe that it could already be Thanksgiving next week.

Steve’s next text coming through just about drives a bulldozer through that delusion:

Steve: Hey, I’m at the store right now. You want me to pick anything up for this ‘Friendsgiving’-extravaganza? I know Jarvis said he’s got it handled, but I feel like we should have backups for the girls? Just in case Tony’s picked out some sort of weird, avant garde menu? Becs really has her heart set on pumpkin pie. And Sarah, well …

Bucky: You could ask Pepper. I think we’re safe as long as there’s mac ‘n’ cheese and rolls. Anyway we’ve got over a week to sort it out.

Steve: … Babe, today’s Tuesday. We’ve got two days.

Bucky immediately checks his phone calendar, and sure enough, Thanksgiving is this week, not next. Fuck.

“Ohshit,” he breathes, eyes bugging out of his head as he realizes that this means tonight is the school play, not next Tuesday. “Fuck. Shit!” In his hands, his phone chimes.

Steve: So, pie?

Bucky texts back a harried ‘yes’, thinking that he’s got to get his butt back to the tower immediately. He very suddenly has only about nine hours before his children need to be fitted with their (as of yet not even near-to-finished) homemade costumes. Becca’s paper mache drumstick still needs spray painted, and Sarah’s supposed to be a scoop of mashed potatoes that Bucky still needs to find something to act as the pat of butter on top.

“Jarvis, help.” Bucky says as he hoofs it back in the direction of the tower.

Jarvis’ voice emanates from his phone: “Mr. Rogers. How can I be of assistance?”

Bucky rattles off the craft supplies they’re going to need. “And if you know anyone on Stark’s payroll who’s good with a needle and thread, that wouldn’t hurt either.”

It seems like only yesterday they were dressed up as Buzz and Woody, letting Bo Peep and a very bossy Jessie drag them around from house to house. They’d trick-or-treated in the Cobble Hill neighborhood where they technically don’t live yet but will soon, once the house is finished being refurbished. Bucky had carried Gabe strapped to his front as one of the Little Green Men alien squeaker toy thingies, and Steve had pulled a wagon along for when one or both of the girls inevitably became too tuckered out to—

Anyhow, point is: it feels like they were trick‘or’treating all of two seconds ago.

And now Thanksgiving is in two days? What the everloving fuck?

Bucky spends a very brief amount of time that afternoon being irrationally mad at his husband, as if it’s Steve’s fault that his pregnancy brain has apparently extended into the postpartum period and allowed him to lose track of time. He grumps privately that Steve should’ve somehow magically known that he was mentally operating in the wrong week, and should have thus alerted him that the holiday was imminent! Stupid Steve. What the hell is the alpha good for, anyway?

Later that evening of course, he realizes how ridiculous that is. He comes to terms with the fact that he’s actually upset with himself—partly because of the mad scramble he’s left with to get ready for Coulton-Chestor Preparatory Academy’s family fun night, but even moreso because of the 5k he now has to face up to in less than forty-eight hours. (What real, qualitative difference one more week of jogging in the park was really going to make, Bucky can’t say, but he’d been counting on it to help him work his confidence up about the whole ordeal.)

It’s not like he wouldn’t back out of it if he could, but he absolutely cannot back out. This is the first ever Brooklyn Bridge American Heroes Turkey Trot, co-sponsored by Stark Industries and Barnes Prosthetics (yes, Bucky is the genius who thought it’d be fine and dandy to plan a 5k less than half a year after giving birth). Together, he and Tony have started a foundation for veterans and civilian victims of the regime years, to help provide them access to the high quality, bio-integrative prosthetics that Bucky’s company makes.

Since it’s not exactly cheap to weld a robot arm onto somebody, Bucky and Tony have partnered with Wounded Warrior Project for this charity run; done to raise funds for vets who don’t happen to have a spare ninety grand lying around to fund their surgeries. The limbs themselves are, of course, all provided free of charge by Barnes Prosthetics, and the overall costs are at least somewhat ameliorated by various amenities provided by Stark.

As the visible face of the charity, Bucky’s got no choice: he needs to show up, show off, and show support. He’s expected to be there to make nice with all the other amputees who’ll be running, and to show off how happy and perfect his life is now that he’s got the Asset IV prototype cybernetic implant attached to his body. It is a bitchin’ arm, and Bucky is excited to get to hand one of those gigantic cardboard checks over to the Wounded Warrior guys, but he really, really wishes he’d thought to postpone the Foundation’s first run until next Thanksgiving.

At least he’ll have Steve there with him, he thinks. His Alpha has promised not to outpace him to any embarrassing degree, Darcy is fine with keeping Gabe until they get back, and Tony has even arranged to have the girls set up for the Macy’s parade with a disgustingly VIP viewing situation on Central Park West. But aside from those few hours on Thanksgiving morning, Bucky’s daughters will remain under his purview for the holidays this year.

And the hubbub begins with Family Fun Night that evening.

Bucky alone has to deal with Sarah’s anxiety problems leading up to the curtain call for this stupid fucking school play. “Hold still, Honey,” he begs, speaking past the safety pin he’s got held between his lips as he kneels there and uses both of his hands to try and do a last minute costume fix. “Sarah I said hold still.”

“Fix it daddy, fix it!”

He’s crouched next to his youngest daughter in the school’s hallway, trying to better secure the pat of “butter” (a folded yellow tea towel) to the top of her not-so-great mashed potato costume. Steve is off somewhere with the drumstick, helping her to not be scared about walking out on stage. “Baby, please. I can’t fix it if you keep moving around,” Bucky growls, but his frustrated tone only makes Sarah get more hysterical about her role in the play being messed up by a floppy tea towel. She starts to cry about how she doesn’t want to do this anymore.

“Sarah Winnifred, I swear to God, if you don’t hold still, you’re gonna have a new hole poked in your head!”

He and Steve sit proudly in the fourth row back and watch the play that their children’s overpriced prep school is putting on before it lets out for Thanksgiving break.

At the end of the final song, when all of the students are lined up on the stage like a demented paper-mache buffet of human-sized food items, bowing hand in hand, Steve and Bucky rise with all the other parents for a standing ovation, humongous smiles plastered on their faces. Steve tries to do a finger whistle with middling success, then he leans over to Bucky’s ear and cheerfully whispers, “That was so dumb!”

Bucky laughs, still clapping and beaming with absolute pride for his daughters. “Yeah it was friggin’ awful!”

The curtain falls, and he and Steve exit the auditorium to go backstage and congratulate the girls. A very excited drumstick and mashed potatoes run up and start talking over each other to tell their fathers all about the play that they just performed. “Papa! Daddy! Did you see me?! Did you see my song?!!”

“What about meee?!”

“Sure did, Becs. You were really good!”

“The best turkey drumstick ever.”

For being such excellent thespians and to celebrate their acting debut, they present the girls with two foil-wrapped tulips that they bought out in the lobby. Becca especially, seems very proud of her flower, twirling in her drumstick costume and holding it to her nose again and again. Bucky’s smile wavers with emotion as he gets that warm, shot-of-whiskey feeling once again, and he remembers that Life is Good. He catches Steve’s eye from over top of the mashed potatoes, and they share one of those silent “I Love You” moments. Steve shoots him a wink.

It being family fun night, Darcy appears as planned and ushers the girls away to go change back into regular clothes before they head over to the kids’ party in the gymnasium. Meanwhile, Steve and Bucky go to the reception that’s been put together for the parents. Bucky isn’t super keen on attending, but he promised the girls that they could play games with the other kids for at least an hour, so he and Steve make an admirable attempt to mingle amongst the other parents.

Coulton-Chestor Preparatory Academy is an exclusive elementary school on the Upper East Side. Due to its sheer proximity to Stark Tower, and since bussing the girls all the way to Brooklyn for an entire year would’ve been too much of a hassle, Steve and Bucky chose to enroll them there. It’s only temporary, until the renovations on the Cobble Hill house are complete and they’re able to move back to Brooklyn. Bucky is looking forward to being able to walk his children the two picturesque blocks between their house and the neighborhood school each day.

But until then, it’s the more snobbish parents and overzealous PTA moms of Coulton-Chestor that he has to navigate at functions such as tonight’s. Bucky’s been taking some time off work ever since things got very pregnant-and-miserable in about month eight, but he still considers himself a working father, and as such there is an awkward disconnect between him and the more … involved stay-at-home parents who surround him at the reception.

At least there are hors d’oeuvres and cocktails, which give him something to do with his hands. Steve starts chatting with a few of the parents who are running the silent auction, and Bucky avoids getting drawn into bidding on overpriced theater tickets by heading over to the refreshments table. He’s just finished loading up on a bunch of mini quiches and cocktail weenies, when the one person he’d hoped to fully avoid at this function makes her attack. Bucky turns around with his little plate of foot and startles as he’s suddenly faced with a familiar, blonde-haired woman.

“James!” She’s got a tea-length dress, an overly-whitened smile, and a ponytail that’s been curled to within an inch of its life. It’s Karen.

(No, her name is literally Karen.)

And in Bucky’s limited experience with her, she has an uncanny ability to make every social interaction the exact opposite of what Bucky would like it to be. It’s just a gift some people have.

She swoops in with two other omega parents by her sides, introducing them as “Jill” and “Nate.” Bucky plasters on a smile to match hers while she air kisses his cheeks in that way that rich people who think they’re cultured always do.

“You made it,” she coos, acting pleased to see him. In all fairness, she might be. Bucky’s never point blank told the woman that he finds her insufferable, and she always seems to make a beeline for the more well-to-do parents. Ever since she found out that Bucky and Steve not only rub shoulders with Tony Stark, but are actually living with him, she’s been eager to make Bucky one of her besties. “It’s been too long. How are you, darling?”

“Oh, you know,” Bucky says, gesturing with his plate of cocktail weenies. “Hanging in there.”

“And how is that gorgeous new baby of yours doing?” she asks, nudging Jill to announce, “James is married to Commander Rogers. They have three children.”

Jill and Nate make a polite fuss over that, while Bucky tries to act gracious and think of a way to correct Karen that “Commander” isn’t Steve’s title, and if he ever hears her referring to him as such, he’ll be offended. “How is your family doing?” Bucky asks, more to get the topic off himself rather than due to any real interest.

Like most of the Coulton-Chestor moms, Karen is married to a well-to-do Alpha, has precisely one child, and spends her time trying to climb as high in Manhattan “Mommy” society as possible. Having a living child at all is automatically a foot up in terms of social standing, Bucky’s learned, and the moms of Park Avenue lord their accomplishments higher than most. Most times Bucky’s met her, Karen’s been wearing diamond solitaires with designer workout clothes and brandishing her own fertility like a damn merit badge.

Karen brags about her son for a few minutes, and when it seems like everyone in their small group is necessitated to take a turn with regards to their own offspring, Bucky throws some random fact out about how the girls have been doing. Jill and Nate start gushing over Bucky’s grand accomplishment of having three kids, which is practically unheard of.

“You must be so proud. How lucky to have three healthy children!”

“What were yours in the play?” Jill asks, and she seems friendly enough so Bucky makes an effort to tell her about how he’s responsible for the turkey leg and the mashed potatoes. She giggles and nods and says her son was one of the pumpkins.

“Oh, ha, yeah. They had quite the little dance routine, didn’t they?”

Bucky’s smile turns annoyed when Karen feels the need to point out, “Yes! And your little Rebecca kept up alright, didn’t she? She seemed able to follow along with the other kids quite well!”

“Yes,” Bucky says peevishly. “She’s very talented.”

“Isn’t it wonderful here? I just love how inclusive Coulton-Chestor is,” Karen simpers. She turns to the other moms and starts telling them about how Becca is in her son’s “regular” class, and how she’s always so sweet, and so helpful to the other students. She talks about Becca like she’s a little mascot, or a class pet, and it rankles Bucky’s nerve to no end.

Since the fertility crisis began, there’s been more stigma placed on children with any sorts of disabilities, and Bucky’s had to deal with a lot of thinly-veiled prejudice due to his daughter’s special needs ever since he started advocating to get her into the same high-quality school programs as Sarah. The public school system still hasn’t recovered, and with limited slots available in all childcare-related fields these days, people are more ruthlessly competitive for their children than ever before.

“Yes, we like it here,” Bucky agrees. “Though we’ll be switching to a different school next year, when we move to the new house over in Brooklyn.”

“You’re not leaving The Tower?” Karen gasps, as if that’s the most horrible, ludicrous decision. Given that she makes it sound like Bucky and his family are choosing to move out of friggin’ Buckingham Palace, Nate and Jill predictably get curious and ask:

“The ‘Tower’?”

“Stark Tower,” Karen chirps, excited to tell the other two omegas, “James and his husband live there.”

Nate’s eyebrows go up. “They live there. In the tower?”

“Oh yes! Didn’t you know? Why, they’re friends with the Starks.”

“Really? Oh, I’ve heard such good things about that Pepper Potts,” Jill gushes. “Seems like a lovely woman. How do you know her?”

Bucky smiles, pained. “Actually I knew Tony first. We work together.”

“You work?” Nate sneers. Bucky ignores him.

“Yeah, I met Tony back during the, ah … well, during the regime years.”

“Gilead? Oh. Huh.”

(“Wonder what the Starks were doing, back then? Were they married then?”

“You never do hear what celebrities got up to during all that, do you?”

“No, you never do.”)

Bucky hums, not intending to get into a conversation about it, but Karen forces his hand by volunteering, “Wasn’t that all in your book though, James?”

“Um,”

Karen enthusiastically tells the others, “He was one of those resistance fighters, can you believe it? That’s how he lost his arm.” (Everybody’s eyes not-so-surreptitiously fly to where Bucky’s left hand is sticking out of his sweater, holding onto the plate of hors d'oeuvres.) “And he was a vessel. His husband was one of the commanders down in Washington. That’s where they met!”

“Really?”

“Steve wasn’t a real commander …” Bucky hedges.

“Oh he wrote a whole book about it! You really must read it.” Karen rattles off the title and both Nate and Jill make sounds of recognition.

“Ooh. You know, I’ve heard of that book.”

“Great,” Bucky mutters. He has to smile along politely and answer them as they start asking him fascinated questions, with Karen supplying details every time he tries to demure and change the topic to something less sensational.

“He’s just being modest!” she simpers, laying her hand on Bucky’s arm in an overly familiar way. “James, tell them about how you were on the View.”

Bucky reluctantly does, and Jill and Nate nod along, enthused to hear about how he’s been on television and met the hosts of the show. “It really wasn’t all that exciting,” Bucky insists. “I wasn’t the main guest. They had, you know, real celebrities that went after me. Reese Witherspoon and stuff.”

“You met Reese Witherspoon?”

“No, no. I didn’t. I was only there for like, two minutes. It wasn’t even important.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Karen prods smugly. “A little birdy told me that Netflix was trying to buy up the film rights to your book.”

Bucky doesn’t even care, he openly shoots her a withering glare this time. “I can assure you that’s not true.” (It’s HBO, and it isn’t Bucky’s fault if she doesn’t have her details right.)

Karen continues to gab to the other two parents about it anyway, insisting that some omega heartthrob actor whom Bucky has never heard of would be the ideal casting choice to portray him in the film version of his book. “And Chris Hemsworth. Oh! Wouldn’t he just be perfect to play your Steve?”

“Nobody’s making a movie out of it!” Bucky snaps, fed up with her incessant gossiping. “It’s not happening.” He looks around awkwardly at the end of his outburst, aware of Nate and Jill’s surprised expressions. “Um, I just mean: the studios were shopping around,” he mutters. “But I said no.”

Of course this is very disappointing to Karen, and she tries to tell Bucky what a mistake that is, talking about how interested everybody would be in the subject matter. “I just saw an episode of the Dr. Phil show where they were talking about it,” she says. “They had wives and some of those vessels on. Even a commander.”

Bucky hums dispassionately. “Sounds like trash tv to me.” He’ll be damned if he lets Karen know he was asked onto that program as well. “Just people trying to make a spectacle out of it.”

Karen titters awkwardly and agrees, but Bucky can tell that she’s annoyed at him for shutting her gossip down. “Well, it’s all very controversial, of course,” she excuses. “And a commitment like that would just be so much more on your plate.”

Bucky nods, glad that she’s dropping it. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“After all, you’re already a working mother,” she says, saying ‘working’ all hurriedly and quietly, as if it’s something not to be mentioned. “I’m sure you just want to focus on your family, now. With the new baby and all.”

“Congratulations,” Jill gushes. “Did you have a boy or a girl?”

“A boy. Gabe. He just turned four months old last week.”

“Oh, how wonderful.”

“Another omega for your family?”

“No, Karen,” Bucky says, annoyance audible in his voice. “We haven’t had him tested. We’re just going to wait and find out the old fashioned way.”

“Oh. I see.”

They all seem taken aback, because it’s very rare for a newborn not to be tested for designation these days. Much to Bucky’s chagrin, gender roles only seem to be becoming more emphasized than ever. Jill chuckles awkwardly and tries to lighten the mood. “Well, that’s so progressive of you. Dan had our little Archie in an alpha playgroup by the time he could crawl, I swear.”

They all titter over that, and Bucky tries to scan the room for any sight of Steve without being too obvious in what he’s doing. He spots him over by the punch bowl. “Um, I’m sorry,” he excuses. “I think I see my husband calling me.” He starts to make his escape, but Karen grabs him just as he’s turning.

“Oh, James, wait! We wanted to ask if you’d help us plan the Winter Gala.”

“Oh, I uh.”

“We’re going to have the children do a nativity scene. And I was thinking a candlelight service. Wouldn’t that just be picturesque?”

Bucky makes a face. “Sorry, Karen. My family isn’t very religious.”

“Oh, no but it’ll be interdenominational!” she insists with a big grin. “You celebrate Christmas, of course!”

“No.”

“... No?”

“Not really,” Bucky grunts. “I mean, we do a tree and a menorah and all that, but ..."

“Menorah?” she says, and the way she squinches her eyes sets Bucky’s nerves on edge. “You’re not Jewish?”

Bucky pulls his arm back to himself. “Culturally, yes. Steve’s family is Catholic, mine’s Jewish. But we’ve decided that organized religion isn’t what’s right for our family.”

“Oh! But you can still come to the church service!” Karen says brightly. “It’ll be—”

“We’re not religious,” Bucky blurts out, sick of stepping around the issue and having lost his patience. He’s tired of politely fielding other people’s invitations for him and his husband and children to come and check out ‘this congregation’ or that, and figures he’ll just squash any chance there might be of him actually getting roped into planning holiday festivities with the Coulton-Chestor evangelical set. “We’re pretty much raising the girls Atheist,” he tells Karen, watching as her smile flickers like a bulb hanging on by its very last filament. He feels a degree of nasty satisfaction at having perturbed her.

Disturbingly, the Christian Right has continued to grow in popularity—culturally, if not politically—these past few years, and Bucky has very little tolerance for it (he tried to show tolerance before the regime, and look how that ended up). He knows his family is in the minority, and it’s very apparent how this information makes the friendly light in even Nate and Jill’s eyes dim somewhat.

“I’m sure you’ll plan something great, though,” he excuses brightly, turning around to go and find Steve and see if it isn’t too early to make their escape. “It was nice catching up!”