#thanksgiving dinner name card

[golauralacinablog]

Festive Fall Table Ideas for Thanksgiving

Create a festive fall-inspired table with orange, brown, and yellow colors that capture the essence of autumn. Incorporate rustic elements such as wooden tableware and colorful leaves to enhance the seasonal theme. Add warm candlelight to create an inviting atmosphere, and consider using decorative gourds and pumpkins as centerpieces to draw the eye. Accentuate the table with cozy textiles like…

[sometimesanalice]

In a Place Just Right

Summary: It's your first year hosting Thanksgiving in San Diego for the Daggers and Bradley can tell you're a little nervous about it. But he already knows it's going to be one for the books, because any holiday spent with you better than anything he could have imagined.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 5K

Warnings: fluff and allusions to smut (minors dni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on it's own! Happy Thanksgiving, friends!)

For the last six years Penny has been the one to host Daggersgiving, but this year hostess duties had fallen on your plate. Needless to say, Bradley knew you were more than a little stressed about it.

When you had asked him about his opinion on the merits of canned cranberry sauce versus homemade he’d blinked at you a few times before asking, “Is this a thing people care about?”

He’ll never forget how adorably aghast you looked to learn that he had no preference on the matter. And maybe if you had asked him when the sun was up instead of at 3 AM he might have known better than to give you such a noncommittal answer.

“Both, we’ll have both,” you’d stated resolutely.

“Whatever you want, kid," he’d murmured as he’d pulled you to his chest and wrapped an arm around your stomach. His smart and beautiful wife. "Now go back to sleep, you’re supposed to be dreaming of sugarplums not cranberries."

“Wrong holiday, Bradley,” you’d sighed contentedly, relaxing against him. And it hadn’t taken you long to fall back asleep with that cranberry crisis having been averted.

But now people were due to show up in less than an hour and you are frantically fluttering and huffing around the kitchen like a madwoman in a very pretty green dress, "I knew that quickie was a bad idea. You're never quick, Bradley."

He’d been away and missed many holidays over the years due to his career.

Your mom had always made it clear that he had an open invitation to join in whatever merry festivities were happening with your family, but more often than not it rarely aligned with him being stationed all over the world. But he’d always been happy to get to have a phone call with you and eat the homemade cookies you’d sent him on those years spent apart.

But now Bradley got to look forward to spending every holiday with you in the home you shared with him.

Over the last week the house had slowly but surely transformed into something that was straight out of a magazine.

There was a display of pumpkins, ribbons, and a garland of strung dried orange slices that decorated the fireplace. And overpriced candles from your favorite store flickered cheerfully on every surface that wasn’t a fire hazard to a bunch of enthusiastic Naval aviators. The dining table was dressed up to the nines and everyone spot with their names painstakingly written in your pretty script on a place card sitting in a pinecone.

You had even made some oversized confetti in the shape of oak leaves out of some old books, the copy of ‘Why Men Love Bitches’ that Nat had given him years ago as a joke was finally repurposed and recycled into something more festive over where the beverages had been set up.

The whole house smells amazing. Warm cinnamons and nutmegs mixing with bright citrus and rich vanillas. The kitchen island and countertops were filled with various plates and platters and bowls of dips, charcuterie, fruit and vegetables, nuts, and other savories. All the other dishes were being kept warm in the ovens for when everyone arrived and was ready to settle around the dining table for dinner.

Bradley was positive that no one would leave feeling hungry. He also wasn’t entirely sure where the things his friends are bringing were going to go, but there were worse problems to have.

Penny had taken Amelia with her to visit her family on the East Coast. They’d decided it would probably be better for Mav to hang back in San Diego for the holiday, those tensions with her dad were still a bit strained even though they’d been married for almost four years now.

Which is how the Bradshaw’s were hosting their first Thanksgiving for everyone.

This morning had been organized chaos. Some of the last minute-things had only managed to be checked off with the assistance of strong coffee and a good playlist.

However, he’d still managed to sneak in the opportunity to spin you around the kitchen to your wedding song when it came up on shuffle. After all the cranberries were still popping and boiling down; there was time for it, he'd always make time for it.

But that was then.

Now, you are glaring at him like you’d been personally victimized by him and his cock.

“You complaining, sweet girl?” he asks with a smirk, leaning his hip against the kitchen island watching as you briskly stir the gravy heating up in the copper sauce pot on the stove. “Don’t think that’s what I was hearing thirty minutes ago when we had that pretty green dress of yours bunched around your hips. Sounded something like ‘more, Bradley, more’ to me.”

You shoot him a look that would make a weaker man wither, but he’s built up an immunity to it over a lifetime of having it directed at him.

“I think that’s quite enough out of you,” you reprimand, but he sees the amusement in your eyes even as you fight to keep the annoyed façade on your face. “We’re behind schedule now. I thought I buffered in enough time, just in case-”

“Just in case you begged me to give you an orgasm to, and I quote, ‘help me chill out’?”

“I was kidding,” you say, stopping your agitated whisking to go fluff the stuffing instead.

“All I’m saying is that if my beautiful wife is begging for me, I’m certainly not going to say no. I’m only human,” he says with an all too pleased shrug.

Bradley grabs the can opener and works on opening the canned cranberry sauce. He reaches for a couple plates, holding them up for your approval and you point to the one on the right, the scalloped white one with gold rim.

“For the record, I certainly did not beg,” you say primly, glowering into the homemade stuffing that you’d had him get the bread from the nice bakery across town for.

“Sure, sure,” he drawls, the smirk growing wider on his face as he sets to freeing the jelly from its rippled container.

He knows he shouldn’t tease you right now, but you’re so cute when you get huffy that he can’t help himself. He’s known that petulant raise of your chin his whole life. And sometimes when he looks at you he can so clearly see the little girl he’d been forced to entertain for hours when your moms were hanging out.

You went from being his favorite nuisance to his best friend to his everything.

“Do I still look ok? Or do I need to do a quick refresh before everyone gets here?” you ask. You turn to fully face him, tilting your head one way and then another for his inspection.

He would happily stare at you all day if you’d let him. He loves your pretty eyes and what you’ve done with your hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he grins, “And if anyone asks, we can just say you’re flushed from all the cooking.”

“Bradley,” you whine setting down your wooden spoon down on the counter with a sharp thwack.

“Ok, ok. I’m done, I promise,” he says putting his hands up in surrender with a chuckle.

He pushes off the counter and grabs a glass off of one of the floating shelves and fills it with some ice water.

“Good,” you tut haughtily, as you fiddle with the white and orange striped kitchen towel hanging on the oven door, “I was about to threaten to make you sleep on the couch tonight.”

“You wouldn’t.” Even the thought of it makes his stomach feel unsettled.

After nearly two decades of hard beds on foreign bases and on lumpy carrier mattresses, he’s never slept as well as he did since the two of you found your way to each other.

His peace was found under a fluffy green duvet on a wooden canopy bed with you tucked under his arm.

“No. No, I wouldn’t,” you agree, leaning in to place a soft kiss to his cheek in thanks when he presses the cold glass into your hands.

Bradley tugs you away from the warm stove and you reluctantly follow and sit on the barstool he’s pulled out for you on the other side of the kitchen island.

He runs his hand up and down your back comfortingly as you take a few sips, “We’re in a great place, sweet girl.”

“Mhm, yeah. Sure, of course.” You couldn’t sound less unsure if you tried. “It’s just… I’m nervous about the mushroom and leeks bread pudding. I’ve never made it before. And what if we run out of wine?”

“What’s been our motto?” he asks, taking over the helm at the stove whisking the gravy together as it begins to thicken.

“‘In Ina we trust’,” you say with a serious nod of your head. 

“Atta girl, we sure do. And Nat said she’s is bringing a few bottles she picked up from when she went to Napa, the good shit. It’s going to be great. Trust me,” he says giving you a warm smile. “Will it make you feel better to go over everything again?”

“Yes, please,” you say, anxiously drumming your fingers along the side of your water glass.

He’d stepped up where he could like making sure the house was pristine and cleaning up the yard by blowing off the wrinkled remainders of the yellow Tipuana flowers. He’d even been able to source and rent some more chairs to make sure that everyone would have a seat at the table.

Bradley wasn’t a schlump in the kitchen. He knew his way around a cookbook and a stove. His knife skills were pretty damn good too, if he did say so himself. But he also knew when somethings were out of his wheelhouse. So he’d taken to being your sous chef, and had taken to washing and prepping the ingredients for you so that all you had to do was toss them in whatever shiny pot they were destined for.

He even made his mom’s favorite pie. It had been years since he's had it, and he was excited to share it with everyone.

Your mom had mailed the copy of the original recipe she had that was written in Carole’s rounded, flourished script. You had made a photocopy of it to use so that the original didn’t get ruined, and then pointed out a spot on the wall where you said you’d thought it would look nice in a frame hanging in the kitchen. And he'd fallen a little more in love with you.

“Ok, hit me with it,” he says turning the heat to low for the gravy and putting the lid on.

This was a partnership through and through, he was going to give you all the support you needed.

“The turkey?”

Bradley picks up the fancy digital meat thermometer he’d bought for the occasion to check, “Big Bird has an hour and twenty more minutes to work on his tan and then he’ll rest for another thirty. Giving people time to graze and mingle and get some drinks in them, just like you wanted.”

You nod and hum contemplatively, “I’ve been thinking we need a salad. I don’t feel like we have enough vegetable options.”

He knows better than to point out that you’re currently snacking on snap peas from not one, but three, of the veggie platters the two of you had put together the night before.

“We’ve got the crispy brussels sprouts, the garlic and hazelnut green beans, and the honey glazed carrots with lemon. We’re more than fine on the fiber and beta-carotene. Michelle Obama would be proud, kid.”

That gets a little laugh from you.

“Well, as long as you think Michelle would be happy than we’re probably fine,” you say with a smile around your water glass that tells him you know exactly what he’s doing invoking your favorite First Lady.

“What else are you thinking about?” Bradley asks peering in the lower of their double ovens, where foiled covered dishes are lined up in perfect symmetry are warming away having been prepared in advance.

“Do you think two bags of rolls will be enough? Or should I text Mav and ask him to grab one more?”

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes dip down to his ass in his gray slacks. So he might linger as second longer than necessary to let you enjoy the view, since it’s for the female gaze and all.

He’s never understood wearing the most restrictive clothing on the holiday that involves the most eating, but that was Penny’s tradition to have everyone dressed in their nicest and you had insisted on keeping it going even if she was on the other side of the country.

You’d teased him earlier when you’d seen him emerge from the bedroom wearing the short-sleeved green cashmere polo you’d gotten him a couple years ago. It fit a little more snug that he remembered it, but he thought he still pulled it off well.

“When did we become the couple that matches?” you’d asked gesturing to your dress as you gave him an appreciative onceover.

If the past was anything to go off of, you would be running your hands over the soft material covering his chest and back all night.

“I just like reminding people who I belong with, sweet girl.”

He might have had something else in mind to wear for the evening before he saw you in that dress, had ironed the shirt the night before and everything, but last-minute pivot it was well worth it when you looked at him like that.

When he stands back up, he gives you knowing wink.

And in return you throw a baby carrot at him with a laugh.

Bradley isn’t surprised in the least to hear the quick clack-clack-clack of nails on the wood floors as their fluffy black and white Portuguese Water Dog rounds the corner. Having been summoned by the sound of food hitting the floor from where he had been dozing near the fireplace in the living room.

The carrot is gone in an instant and he comes to sit at Bradley's feet by the stove, looking up at him from under his curly eyebrows clearly hoping he'll get another snack.

“Nah, bud. You’re barking up the wrong tree over here,” he says leaning down to scratch his floppy ears.

“Ah, come here, Duck,” you croon, calling him over to your side of the island. “He’s so mean for a man who claimed he just saw God not too long ago, isn’t he?”

Bradley snorts and shakes his head at you amused.

He still doesn’t know how he ended up with a dog named Duck.

At the dog park, more often than not people mistook it for ‘Buck’. And you were usually off to the side more than happy to let him take the lead, biting your lip to keep from laughing at his less than enthusiastic expression when he’d have to warily explain yet again It’s Duck like quack.

You’re not even subtle about the piece of cheese you pull from the charcuterie board to feed him.

“I saw that,” he says, giving you a pointed lift of his eyebrow, “You know Bob is going to be spoiling him all night.”

“It was just a little piece of cheese. Plus, I don’t know who you think you’re fooling. I saw you go over there and deliver him his own little veggie platter with some of the leftovers we had while I was making the apple cider sangria.”

“That’s different, that’s good for him,” he says rounding the island, reaching over and snagging his own slice of cheese to snack on.

“And cheese is a protein. He’s just a baby, Bradley, what am I supposed to do? Not give him a piece of swiss?” You slide off your chair to squat down and rub Duck’s belly, you’ve always been his favorite.

“He’s almost five,” he replies flatly.

“A youth!” you exclaim, “He’s a growing boy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bradley says affectionately with a little roll of his eyes. He knows a losing battle when he sees one.

He offers you his hand to help you stand back up, but you wave him off and pull yourself up using the edge of the island. You take a moment to readjust your dress before making your way to the sink by the big windows that look out into the backyard.

“Speaking of Bob, do you know if he’s bringing his fiancée?” you ask from over your shoulder as you wash your hands.

“Not this time, sweetheart. I guess she volunteered to cover a shift in the NICU when she heard they were short staffed.”

“Oh that’s too bad, I was excited to see her ring in person,” you say drying off your hands and heading to the pantry.

“It’s all he can talk about at work. I guess they’re thinking about a Spring wedding next year. They don’t want to wait too long to get married.”

“I’m so happy for them,” you say, digging around for a moment and then emerge with a stack of some sturdy plastic plates and set them on the last free spot on the countertop. “Don’t let me forget to make them up a couple plates that he can bring home for her, before Fanboy declares it time for ‘second dinner’ and eats all the yams like he did last year.”

“I won’t forget, promise,” he says fondly.

If you were facing him, he knows you’d probably tease him for the look on his face and just how gone he is for you.

You’ve always been so generous, it’s one of the things that he loves most about you.

You were always good about hustling him out of his well-earned money from is part time job scooping ice cream in high school, like with the fundraiser you did for the local soup kitchen and the one for the elementary school summer arts program.

He’s always been wrapped around your finger, it just took him awhile to realize why.

It’s the same reason why there’s been a donation that comes out of his bank account every month for the last five years for one of the San Diego animal shelters.

Bradley had made a rather sizable donation and then set up a smaller reoccurring monthly one after the chaos that was the time Bob had set you up with his friend who worked at the shelter, back before the two of you had gotten together.

Even after all these years, he still can’t help but get a little irritated every time he sees that guy’s face in the monthly newsletter that comes to his email. He’s pretty sure Casey still might have a little crush on you, but Bradley can’t blame him. He’d have a hard time getting over you too, so it’s a good thing he’ll never have to.

On newsletter day, Bradley always finds himself giving Duck extra treats.

You are his wife. And Duck is his dog. Ridiculous name and all.

He couldn’t wait to surprise you with the golden tennis ball that the shelter sends out as a thank you after a decade of donations.

Only five more years to go.

You’re over by the bar that’s been set up off to the side, straightening the already very straight rows of gleaming wine glasses when he hears you suck in a sharp gasp.

Bradley drops the dish cloth he had in his hands as he attempted to give what little counter space there was left a final wipe down and is in front of you in half a heartbeat. Was there a fluke with some faulty stemware? Are you bleeding? There’s a reason Thanksgiving is one of the busiest days at the hospital.

“The butter!” you cry out as you whirl around, your pretty eyes welling up with tears, “I let you fuck me and I forgot to pull the butter from the fridge. It’s going to be too hard for people to spread now!”

He knows it’s more than just hosting jitters that’s got you like this, but it still catches him by surprise sometimes.

“Woah, woah,” he says as he catches you on the way to the fridge and pulls you to his chest, “C’mere, my sweet girl.”

You make a distressed noise but allow him to keep his hold on you, “But the butter…”

“I already pulled the butter, see?” He points to the sticks that are already softening away on the counter. “This place looks and smells amazing. We did good, baby. Will you take a couple slow breaths for me, please?”

Bradley takes in a couple measured breathes with you, and feels the moment your body relaxes into his.

He presses a kiss to the side of your temple as he smooths his hands down your soft, pretty green velvet dress and the warm, firm curve of your rounded stomach soothingly.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s the hormones,” you sigh, as you lean your head back against his shoulder.

He hums empathically as he sways gently side to side with you in his arms.

“I would like to go on the record saying that I like pregnancy hormones, especially the ones from earlier,” he jokes lightly.

“That makes one of us,” you say with a watery laugh, “Just wait until I am waking you up at 4 AM because I am craving something from a drive-thru that’s not open.”

“Mm, can’t wait,” he murmurs before dropping a few kisses along the soft line of your jaw.

Bradley still can’t believe he gets to be this lucky in life.

He doesn’t want to forget a single moment of this. With you, with his family.

“We did a really good job with this one,” he whispers into your ear, still stroking your stomach and enjoying this moment of calm with you.

“We really did, da--” Bradley groans and cuts you off with a kiss. He can feel the impish smile plastered on your lips as he kisses you. His favorite menace.

He knows you’re pretty sure it was the spontaneous hook up in the storage closet at the Hard Deck on the Fourth of July that’s responsible for the noticeable bump you’re sporting. Call him a romantic, but he likes to think it was that night in the Bronco overlooking the ocean when he’d taken the long way back home.   

You pull away all too soon for his liking to grab his left hand. He sees the flash of the two diamonds on your engagement ring, one from his mom and one from yours, as you take it and press it to a spot near your bellybutton.

The feeling of the fluttering under his palm will never get old. He’s not too proud to say he’d shed a tear or two the first time he’d felt it.

You hum in contentment, your finger lightly tracing over the shiny gold band of his wedding ring.

Bradley lets himself bask in this moment as the two of you stand there in the kitchen of your dream house.

There are a few pops from the wood in the fireplace, the refrigerator is humming away in the background, and he can just hear the sounds of a melodic piano from the playlist he queued up earlier playing over the speaker.

Of all the delicious scents that waft through the house, the smell the floral and musk notes in you perfume is still his favorite.

There are times in the soft quiet of night, usually when you are asleep and his mind won’t quite settle, that he sometimes thinks he was put on this Earth to hold you.

It’s the only reason he can think of that explains why you fit so perfectly against his body.

Why his palms can fit so perfectly over your rounded stomach.

Why it’s his hands that you have trusted to protect your heart.

And he’s still holding you in the warmth of the kitchen when he hears the front door open.

Bradley knows he’s going to have to play host soon and he just wants to keep you in his arms for just a little longer.

“Hey kids, I brought the turkey,” Mav calls out from the entry.

You spin in his arms, looking at him wide eyed and confused as you two exchange a look. He presses one last kiss to your cheek before letting you go.

“Thought you were going to bring the rolls, Mav,” Bradley calls out just in time to see him round the corner.

Pete stands there proudly grinning holding a few bags of bakery rolls in one hand and a turkey in the other.

The sound of your delighted laughter makes his heart swell in his chest as he takes in the sight.

“Cooper Mitchell Ford Bradshaw, you are without a doubt the cutest turkey I have ever seen,” you gush as you go to greet Mav with a warm hug and a kiss on his cheek. Your son’s chubby arms reaching out for you.

Mav has dressed your almost two-year-old son in a soft, plush turkey costume that is complete with tailfeathers and a beak. He’s clearly a fan of the outfit too because he is grinning widely, showing of the more of the baby teeth that have come in over the last few months.

Mav had swung by early this morning to take him off your hands to get ready for Daggersgiving without chasing an almost-toddler around. While it was nice to have some time just the two of you while you got the place in order and took care of the last-minute things, like that homemade cranberry sauce, but he’d missed not having his son around.

The sweet sound of Cooper’s giggles and your coos fill up the kitchen as he watches you pepper his face with kisses. You bounce him a little and do a little spin, making the little boy laugh even more. The two of you in your own little bubble.

“You doin’ ok over there, kid?” Mav asks. A soft, knowing grin on his face as he sets the rolls on the counter to pull him in for a hug.

The two men had made their way back to each other over the last few years, just another thing that Bradley was grateful for in his life. The man had always been his father in everything but name. That is until he’d seen the man who helped raised him hold his son for the first time.

“Yeah, Dad,” Bradley says, clearing his throat a bit, “Everything’s perfect.”

From there it’s a flurry of activity as people start to arrive.

Nat comes with her longtime girlfriend and the extra bottles of the fancy Napa wine she promised to bring. Only handing it over once he promised to give her the name of the contractor the two of you had worked with and the exact shade of green that was used on the lower cabinets during your kitchen renovation.

Payback and Fanboy and their wives show up wearing oversized turkey hats on their heads each carrying a bakery box of pie.

Bradley isn’t surprised when Duck ditches the attention that Coyote was giving him the second Bob shows up with the famous Floyd family scalloped potatoes. Bob has always been a sucker for a pair of puppy dog eyes.

And in between checking on people’s glasses, swapping out empty appetizer trays for fuller ones, and making sure Jake doesn’t tamper with his perfectly cooked turkey, he’s got his eyes trained on you.

There are no words for the pride and love that washes over him every time he looks over and sees you with his son propped up on your hip and the way your pretty dress stretches around your growing family.

He had missed this stage of your pregnancy when he was deployed and you were pregnant with Cooper. He was determined to savor every second of this one. Every butter related freak out and every late-night milkshake run.

Being in his house surrounded with all the people he loves, minus a couple who are here in spirit, isn’t something he could ever take for granted. It’s more blessings than he ever hoped to receive in this lifetime.

You look over your shoulder at him and everything about the way you’re looking at him is picture perfect.

Your smile sunshine gold and just for him as you hold his gaze for a moment as time ticks on around the two of you. You send him a little wink before turning back to Mav who has his phone held up for a FaceTime call with Penny and Amelia.

Bradley sees his son peek his head up from where it had been nestled into your neck. Cooper grins when he sees him, his tiny hand reaching out for his dad. For him.

As he makes his way over to the two of you with his heart full, he makes a mental note to ask Mav later where he got that costume. He’s already planning on running out tomorrow to see if they have any more in stock now that it seems they have a new Bradshaw tradition on their hands.

He’s going to have three little turkeys running around this time next year and he couldn’t wait.

Twins.

Bradley sometimes still couldn’t believe it. When the tech has announced that you were cooking not one, but two future Bradshaw’s, his heart had nearly burst from his chest from the shock and joy. A gift from his late father’s side of the family.

Cooper and him were going to be outnumbered soon.

The two of you had found out earlier in the month that Everly Wren Bradshaw and Millie Lark Bradshaw were going to be the newest members to join your little family.

His girls.

It was an announcement the two of you were excited to share later tonight with everyone else when the slices of pies were being passed around.

He scoops up Cooper from you with one arm, dropping a kiss onto his little boy’s perfect curls as his small fist clutches as the soft fabric of his shirt. And then Bradley kisses the crown of your head as he wraps his other arm around you, his thumb stroking the swell of your belly.

With you- because of you- he gets to have it all.

The wife. The family. The house. The dog. The life. The dream.

He’s right where he wants to be.

He’s right where he’s supposed to be.

Happy Thanksgiving! This was such a joy to write, thank you for reading!

It might not be Carole Bradshaw's famous pie, but it's one of my favorites! And who better to share it with than you! Cranberry-Lime Pie

If you haven't read the 'Like I Can' series you can read it here!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

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[3rdeyeblaque]

On September 26th we venerate Ancestor & Hoodoo Saint Aunt Caroline Dye on the 105th anniversary of her passing 🕊

Aunt Dye was a Seer, fortune teller, entrepreneur, & Hoodoo Woman who - without ever having picked up a mic or guitar - became one of the greatest Delta Blue's legends of all time.

Aunt Dye was born enslaved in Spartanburg, S.C around 1843 - where her parents died during her infancy. She first became aware of her gifts as a young child. She could see things that no one else could.  

One story recalls Aunt Dye at 10 yrs old (still enslaved on the plantation) when she was helping to set the table for Thanksgiving Dinner: She started insisting that they had not set enough plates, that Mister Charley was coming. Charley was the Plantation owner’s brother, who was thought to have been killed 4yra earlier during the Civil War. Sure enough, later that day Charley came walking in the door. The family couldn’t believe it! He relayed the fact that he had been wounded, taken prisoner, and had not had the chance to come home until that day. No one ever knew how she could have guessed such a thing. It was then that her "little coincidences" started to become noticed.

As a young woman, she migrated westward to Elgin, Jackson Co., Arkansas, where she married Martin Dye. They had one child, a girl, who passed at 11mo. Through the years, they to in several children, some of whom were Aunt Dye's kin.

Despite being labeled "uneducated"- unable to read or write, she amassed a small fortune as a wealthy landowner, rental property entrepreneur, & most of all, as a Hoodoo woman & fortune teller. Though she never claimed the latter title, it was given to her by her clients across the region. Black & White Folks came from all over the mid-south, with an especially devoted group of followers from Memphis,TN. So many people traveled into the region just to see her that a train going into Jackson Co. was named, the “Caroline Dye Special.”

Aunt Dye divined using only a deck of playing cards. She never gave readings relating to love or the outcome of World War I, but she did offer visions of the future & insight on various matters such as missing people, animals, & objects. Although payment was not required for her services, she received up to 30 letters in a single day, much of etch carried payment for service. Some White businessmen in the area reportedly would not make an important decision before consulting her first. All day long, folks crowded her home waiting for a reading. So she took advantage of their large numbers & sold meals from her kitchen.

“White and colored would go to her. You sick in bed, she raise the sick. … Had that much brains — smart lady. … That’s the kind of woman she was. Aunt Caroline Dye, she was the worst woman in the world. Had that much sense.” – Band Leader Will Shade of the Memphis Jug Band.

Presently, Aunt Caroline Dye rests at the Gum Grove Cemetery in Newport, Jackson Co., Arkansas where she is forever remembered as the infamous Hoodoo Fortune Teller of the 19th Century.

Offering suggestions: playing cards, money/coins, Delta Blues songs that honor her memory 

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

Reply

[dcficrecs]

In my last post, I mentioned a series called "Spark in the Dark" by paganpunk2 on FanFiction.net. The first fic in the series is a retelling of Dick Grayson's Robin origin story, and the first installment has 300k words and a hundred chapters. There are seventeen fics in this series, so I'm just going to put the links to all of them in order so I can reread them all in proper order later (the layout of FanFiction.net does not let you save a series as far as I know and it sucks) and in case anyone else wants to read them:

Firework - The story of how Dick Grayson was adopted by Bruce Wayne and starts his crime fighting career as Robin to avenge his parents' murder

Summer Shorts - Short stories about Dick's first summer under Bruce's care

Batfairy - Dick loses a tooth but doesn't believe in the tooth fairy (He is 8 or 9 in this fic)

The Princely Pardon - The Wayne family household has had this tradition of eating a freshly turkey every Thanksgiving, meaning the bird is still alive when it comes to Wayne Manor to be killed for dinner. Dick does not like that idea, so he does what he can to save the turkey

Of Friends and Foes - Dick is having a hard time at school making friends when he meets another young hero, Kid Flash

A Frivolous Holiday - It is Valentine's Day at Dick's school, so Alfred reluctantly helps him make some cards for his classmates.

A Weekend in Bruges - Bruce Wayne is required to go to Bruges, Belgium for a business trip while Dick is sick and Alfred is out of town. Bruce does not cope well with missing his son.

Turkey Song - Dick's pet is nearing the end of its life and he learns about one of the first cases the Justice League ever worked on, and the reason for his pet's sudden demise

Camp Batman - Batman, Robin, Flash, and Kid Flash go camping to help teach them some survival skills.

A Haunting in Central City - Robin and Kid Flash go trick or treating an encounter their first haunted house

Sick Day - Dick comes home from school sick, and Bruce spoils him

Hope - Clark Kent spends the new years with Bruce and Dick, written from Clark's perspective as if it were a journal entry

Instant Gratification - Bruce has Dick complete an exam every two weeks to enrich his education and help him as Robin. Dick becomes inpatient when Bruce is grading his exam.

Phenom - A group of aerialists come to Gotham and Dick watches the show with his best friend Wally West, also known as Kid Flash. Watching aerialists perform makes Dick sad about his past and his old family.

The Boy in the Box - Clark Kent gave Bruce a flash drive containing what he called "Dick's childhood," which was performances of The Flying Graysons

The Ache of Cowardice - This is the only entry in the Spark in the Dark universe that's rated M for mature, and for good reason. HEAVY TRIGGER WARNING AHEAD: It has graphic depictions of sexual abuse against children and child trafficking. The story is that Dick gets injured as Robin and is forced to go to the hospital (as a civilian), Bruce Wayne almost loses custody because of an evil person who has his own malicious motives. While this is happening, Batman uncovers an absolutely disgusting ploy in Gotham

To Catch A Predator - Bruce, Dick, and Alfred go on a family vacation to a small town known for it's fishing scene and find evidence of crimes being committed that only Batman and Robin can solve, only Batman and Robin left their uniforms at home. Despite the title, this fic is not rated M and does not have any depictions of the crimes committed in the show with the same name

The final fic was last updated 12 years ago in 2012. Although the account was last updated in 2021, nothing has been added to this amazing series. Even though it is incomplete, it doesn't really end on a cliffhanger so if you do choose to read it, you don't have to worry about that. Wherever you are, paganpunk2, I hope you're doing well :)

[sunnylighter]

It’s thanksgiving!!! what are the GIAGAU families doing for it?

All the Garmadon family are squeezed in one table. Lord Garmadon got the biggest turkey he could get for dinner, and it was too big to fit in the oven so he roasted it over a lava pit. Sensei Garmadon laments they don't have nearly enough gravy to go with it, which Lord G only laughs at. Morro makes cannibalism jokes if the Lloyds eat the green bean casserole. The Wus argue over which tea would go best with the meal, and Koko and Misako are having the time of their lives.

Show Kai and Nya were invited over to their movie counterparts for the holiday. Spike Kai brought a pumpkin pie, that he made and ended up a little crispy. Buddy Kai is helping his father cook the rest of the meal, and everyone else has been kicked out of the kitchen. Maya and the Nyas are getting way too invested in beating each other at card games.

The Walkers and Gordons have all converged at Scrap N Junk and the whole place is decorated festively. The Jays are each chatting up a storm with each other's families getting them caught up on everything currently going on. The Eds and Ednas are being their wonderful doting selves. Flick Cliff Gordon is constantly shooting glances at Movie Libber, and Telly Cliff Gordon sees it and wonders where Show Libber is, but doesn't want to ruin the atmosphere by asking just yet.

The Coles' families have also converged, and, after a very emotional meeting with Show Lou meeting Gabby (my version of Lily, named before we knew her canon name), he and Movie Lou team up to serenade her, dragging Cliff Cole in to help them, and allowing DJ Cole to finish the cooking unimpeded.

The Julien family is also all together and invited the Borgs to come too. The Zanes and Rusty Echo worked together to make a mouth-watering feast. Skylor brings some food from her restaurant, which is a bit out of place but tastes too good to pass up. Both Pixals tried to make something to bring, but it came out inedible, so they just made sure to set the table and help carry the dishes where they needed to go, and keeping Tiny Echo from making a mess with his enthusiasm. The Cyruses and Prof. Julien started talking about robotics and can't stop. M.O.M. is recording everything for prosperity. They all have a moment of remembrance for Dr. Julien, before digging in to eat.

[camp-queer-and-there]

lucille my old hag can you hit that

THIS SHIT LACED😭 im forreal a freak just lmk👀👅 ohio skibidi toilet oi oi oi😏 maxdesignpro WHAT!? HELP ME! HELP = 👍 fetus sebastian hes so ugly i cant would you rather have 1 million dollars or CANCER! art is lowkey so amazingly beautiful...gigachad sigma LET HIMM COOK!🗣️🗣️ uwu >_< anyone got anyone spongebob x reader👀 only in eastern latvia💀 ohio final boss grimace shake charlie the steak ishowspeed kai cenat the amazing digital circus pomni garten of banban caseoh gyatt super mogger looksmaxxing based and redpilled diabolical lick😈erm what the sigma oh! thats not!- getting my top surgery done at claires POV: youre ben shapiros mom and hes convincing to let him get gta5 i feel like calling you a slur.. what type of gay are you, since you dont have it in your bio... the european mind cannot comprehend this drew phillips: hello im drew phillips the ahh magic i finna be in the pit on cap. 123°!? gurrrll we are not thanksgiving turkeys😂and thats on period fahrenheit lankybox elisocray INSANE UNBOXING! gegagedigedagedago we can go gyatt for gyatt fuck that we can go rizz for rizz 19 bucks for the fortnite card double pump with the fanum tax THE BIG APPLE! drake vs kendrick beef p diddy dr disrespect annoying orange if garlic was a person my name is drake and im here to say.. kendrick lamar your disses arent okay! diss me diss me now you gotta kiss me quandale dingle mf doom dookie baby girl my pookie wubbleshmubble kins whats hurts more than being yelled at be skinned alive probably pov: i am your cashier during february (and i notice you are black) you look like tyler the creator if he was in my dreams ray william johnson sybrian dancing lady oh when the saints go marching in oh when the saints go marching in todoroki gives birth alone jumbo josh is lost in the zumb sauce lightskin touch the moon bozo cant im walking my fish why are frogs so stupid show me your griddy show me your griddy.... show me your... DOHHH THATS ONE WAY TO HIT THE GRIDDY. THATS ONE WAY TO HIT THE GRIDDY grwm to go to bath and body works temu workers getting ready to clock in day in the life of a twitch streamer your final challenge.. let yo bih go through your phone!... AH HELL NAW YO ASS TWEAKIN JIGSAW quavo stop thats the gayest shit ever amoeba sisters angst preppycon 2024 kart ride into spongebob youve been here before.. a weirdcore dreamcore kidcore clowncore playlist. my talking tom her body tea is insane😭 my aura is unmatched DO NOT PLAY CREEPY BATH GAME AT 3AM!!!!!!!! *THIS IS WHY* ALMOST DROWNED school isnt done but i am💀 omg u did call me baby.. maybe ..omg did he call her baby.. maybe.. im not okay..... bark for me. pov family dinner😭💀why u so pissed ...what me when i get mustard for christmas yall when i put on my dad fit "FREAKYbob" I AINT ANSWERING!! HELPP IM DEADDDD wait no im not maya winky boyfriend takes you out to eat but his opps slide on him [boyfriend asmr] mrbeast might ne TOO BIG to he cancelled squid games i hope someone dies and goes to hell today me staring at the sephora employee in the eye as i "sample" a $800 perfume cats when you cover their cage with a blanket blud thinks hes the main character💀 omg a rare gyatt sighting ninja fortnite sneako the ocky way new yorkian vermontian how 10 yr old me felt after putting "i dont speak tags" in an argument holy fricking smokes dude.. my cut is insane... shout out to my barber dawg! bro thinks hes the thinker waterless baked water what i would wear to my isis execution why did my dog just punch me😓 #STOPBULLYING💯

i mean.. i kind of ocd😁 you mean OBESity stop doing the golden freddy pose youre scaring the kids when a client wants to trauma dump first session when i dont have enough diamonds on episode so now i gotta shit in the school hallway in front of my crush phone and youtube video lobster activity someone shot trump in the ear he wouldnt have missed goku drip well my mother always said the best flowers get picked first dudes been waiting for his mcflurry since 1786 ladies ladies one at a time please😍 rio de janeiro the oppblock hazbin hotel boy rejoice creepy autism simulator my scary silent hill whos ivan mac n cheeks freak island home sweet home.. blud always looking at sum😭😭😭when face id acting up so you gotta LOCK IN fuck im washed WAIT IM GOATED why the mob isnt a fucking aesthetic: a thread this where the magic happens👅 style griddy👀

what

- ⌛

[all-the-things-2020]

Late Night Talking - Chapter Fifteen

Summary: Dieter and Emily spend Christmas with his brother’s family.

Word count: 7000+

Rating: PG all the way

Notes: I’ve never been to Vermont. The Christmas Market on Church Street in Burlington is real but all I know about it is what I saw on a quick Google search. Logan’s Candy in Ontario, CA is real, and so is the Parent Navel Orange Tree in Riverside. Everything else is made up.

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites @weho2kcmo

Vermont was cold. I’d been to Big Bear during the winter, so I thought I knew what cold was, but I was wrong. California cold, even in the mountains, is nothing compared to New England cold. I huddled in the puffy coat Dieter had ordered for me as I scanned the line of cars in the pick up line at Burlington International. A blue Jeep Cherokee, Dieter had said, but there were so many SUVs and it was snowing lightly, so I had a hard time. Then I saw a familiar face hanging out of a passenger side window. 

“Emily! Over here!” He waved his arm frantically, as if I wouldn’t notice him after he bellowed my name.

He hopped out and opened the back door for me. “Quick, get in out of the cold,” he said, taking my luggage around to the back. I slid into the back seat of the blessedly warm Jeep. 

“You must be Freddy,” I said to the driver.

”And you have to be Emily,” he said with a smile. “Welcome to Vermont.” He was definitely Dieter’s brother; they had the same warm brown eyes and strong nose, but Freddy was clean-shaven, his hair neatly trimmed in a conservative cut, and the only piece of jewelry he wore was a simple gold wedding band. And his care was immaculately clean. Dieter’s car always had a few empty water bottles, Kit Kat wrappers and stray bits of clothing rattling around in it, plus an assortment of scripts and paperwork that he hadn’t gotten around to taking inside yet. 

Dieter slammed the tailgate and dashed back into the car. “I always forget how fucking cold it gets here,” he said as he fumbled with his seatbelt. “You’re insane for living here.”

Freddy shrugged. “You get used to it. You’re just spoiled by that L.A. weather.”

Dieter twisted around in his seat to look at me. “You should have heard him the first winter after they moved here,” he said with a grin. “You look great, by the way.”

”I’m bundled up in this giant coat,” I replied. “You can barely see me.”

“I can see your face,” Dieter said. “And I missed it.”

”I missed you, too.” He’d been away filming most of the time since our Thanksgiving getaway. The shoot was in Toronto and he’d only been able to fly home for one weekend because of some delays on set due to weather and other complications. 

Freddy pulled out into the Christmas Eve morning traffic. The airport was busy but not as crazy as LAX had been. Thank goodness for the airport shuttle, or I would never have made my flight in time. ”I hope I didn’t mess up your holiday plans too much,” I said. “Having to pick someone up at the airport is hassle enough, let alone on Christmas Eve.”

Freddy shrugged again. “Leila and the kids are busy baking, so I usually get banished to the living room anyway. And this one took a cab last night so I didn’t have to make two trips.”

“I am a very thoughtful brother,” Dieter said.

Freddy snorted. “I consider it a Christmas miracle.”

Dieter shoved his arm and Freddy poked him back with his elbow. Yeah, they were definitely brothers.

*********************************************************************

Freddy lived just outside Burlington so it wasn’t a long drive to his house. I couldn’t help but gawk at the snow. Everything looked like a Hallmark card. 

“So we thought we’d take you guys down to Church Street this evening for the Christmas Market,” Freddy said as we turned down his street. “We went last week, but the kids don’t mind going again.” He chuckled. “Anytime they can have hot chocolate and donuts for dinner they’re happy.”

”Hot chocolate sounds amazing,” I said. “I might need an intravenous drip.”

”Don’t worry, babe, I’ll keep you warm,” Dieter said. “Bet you’re glad I bought you that coat now.”  We’d had a bit of an argument over the coat. I’d told him I didn’t need such a fancy one, since I’d only be using it for a few days, but he insisted I’d freeze without it and we compromised by agreeing I could donate it to a women’s shelter before I flew home.

“I am,” I said. “You were right … this time.”

Freddy laughed. “That’s the way, keep his ego in check.”

We pulled up outside a two story middle class house decked out with strings of Christmas lights and a large plastic Santa on the lawn. “Ignore that,” Freddy said, gesturing toward the Santa, which was a bit faded and listing to one side. “He’s been in Leila’s family for ages and the kids won’t let us get rid of it. ‘But Dad, it’s tradition!’”

”I like it,” I said. “He fits in with all the snow. And traditions are important when you’re a kid.”

Dieter and Freddy exchanged a look and I knew I’d touched a nerve. Dieter hadn’t told me a lot about his childhood, but I knew enough to know that their mom hadn’t exactly been June Cleaver. 

Freddy opened the door and we stepped into the house, which smelled like Santa’s workshop. Sugar, cinnamon, and cloves mixed with the scent of the six foot tall fir tree in the living room. My family had never had a real tree; my dad kept repairing the old artificial tree they’d bought when I was a year old and Mom and I had used it until she died, even though by that time it had shed a quarter of its needles and had to be carefully situated to hide the bald spot where one of the branches was missing. 

“Uncle Dieter!” The kids came barreling toward us and collided with Dieter. Derek was twelve and Sasha was almost fourteen. Both were wearing silly aprons with elves on them. 

“Hey, kiddos,” Dieter laughed, trying to hug both of them at the same time. “You just saw me like an hour ago.”

”We know,” Derek said. “But it’s funny.” He had the same glint in his eye that Dieter got when he had one of his “brilliant” ideas. 

“And it’s not like we could run up and hug Emily or anything,” Sasha said. She seemed a bit more reserved than her brother.

”Why not?” Dieter said. “She’s very huggable.” He demonstrated by squeezing me in his arms.

”At least let me take my coat off first,” I managed to say once I could breathe again. “And introduce me properly.”

”Kids, this is Emily,” Dieter said. “Emily, the kids.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “I’m Sasha,” she said, holding out her hand. “And this is Derek.”

I shook their hands. “Very nice to meet you both,” I said. “Your uncle has told me all about you.”

”All we know about you is that Uncle Deet thinks you hung the moon,” Derek said. Sasha swatted at him. “That’s what Dad said,” Derek protested. 

“True, but that doesn’t mean you need to say it in front of her.” Leila came into the room, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. She was about my height and build. It seemed the Bravo brothers had a type. ”I’m Leila, by the way. And we are so happy to finally meet you.” She handed the towel to Sasha and hugged me warmly. “It’s good to see Dieter happy,” she whispered in my ear. “Thank you for that.”

”Now let’s get back to the kitchen before that batch of cookies burns,” Leila said briskly. “And let Emily get settled. We’ll have plenty of time to chat over lunch.”

Dieter carried my bags up the stairs. “We’re in the guest room,” he said. “Which is way better than the couch I used to crash on in that apartment Freddy and Leila had before he got the promotion.”

”You loved that couch,” Freddy called up the stairs. “As I recall, you even named it. Marlene, wasn’t it?”

”He’s full of shit,” Dieter said, shaking his head. “It was Maria. Because it was a problem. Like the song in ‘The Sound of Music.’”

”You are such a theater nerd.”

”I tried out for my high school production but I can’t sing to save my life,” he said. “Ended up being on the stage crew. And after that I vowed I’d never work on another play unless I was in the cast. The crew has to work too hard.”

******************************************************************

The day flew by. After I’d stashed my luggage, I joined Leila and the kids in the kitchen while Dieter and Freddy caught up in front of the TV. “I know it’s a total stereotype but that man is absolutely no use in the kitchen,” Leila told me as she handed me an apron. 

“Dieter’s not much better,” I said. “He can cook if he has to, but he’s lazy about cleaning up after himself.”

”Freddy burned water once,” Leila said. “Put a pot on to boil for pasta, forgot about it and it boiled dry. Scorched the bottom of one of my best pots.”

”Mom banned him from the kitchen after that,” Sasha added. 

I helped the kids decorate the sugar cookies and gingerbread men that had already come out of the oven while Leila finished cutting out and baking the last batch. “We’ve got time for one more kind of cookie before I have to start lunch,” she said. “Is there anything special you’d like to make, Emily? Something from your family? We already did the spritz cookies that my grandma used to make.”

”Do you have walnuts and powdered sugar? My mom always made snowballs. The cookbook calls them Russian tea cakes or Mexican wedding cakes, but her grandma called them snowballs.”

”We have that in our cookbook,” Derek said. “I saw it.” He pulled out a battered old Betty Crocker that looked a lot like the one my mom had used.

”Then snowballs it is,” Leila said. 

While we mixed up the dough, the kids asked questions about my family traditions. They were shocked when I admitted I’d never celebrated a white Christmas or had a real tree. When I told them about the year I’d gotten a sweatsuit and a bunch of nice sweaters and it ended up being 80 degrees on Christmas Day and I had to wear a t-shirt to Grandma’s house, they thought I was teasing.

“No, seriously,” I said as I rolled the dough into balls and passed them to Derek to be placed on the cookie sheets. “I wanted to wear my new clothes so bad but it was too hot. Grandma had to turn the air conditioning on because the house got so warm from roasting the turkey.”

”Well, we’ll show you how to do Christmas the New England way,” Sasha said. “We can build a snowman and go sledding and have a snowball fight.”

”But don’t let Dad and Uncle Deet play,” Derek said. “They get too competitive. Last year I got beaned right in the face and Dad just told me to walk it off.”

When the cookies were ready for the oven, Leila shooed us out of the kitchen. “I won’t let them burn,” she promised. “But I need you all out of my way while I fix some lunch.”

We joined Dieter and Freddy in the living room, where they were watching the “A Christmas Story” marathon. We all squished onto the couch together, with me sandwiched between Dieter and Sasha. 

“You smell delicious,” Dieter said. “Like butter and sugar.” He ventured a kiss on my jawbone, but I elbowed him.

”Not in front of the kids,” I hissed.

Ralphie’s dad had just received the Major Award when Leila called us to the dining room. Lunch was tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, which brought back memories of sick days on the couch watching “The Price is Right” when I was a kid. As I looked around the table, I felt a wave of homesickness. I remembered meals with my parents when I was young, when we laughed and teased each other like Freddy and his kids did. 

Dieter must have sensed my melancholy, because he reached out and squeezed my hand, his eyes concerned. I smiled at him and shook my head slightly to let him know I was okay. He winked and turned back to his soup, but slid his foot closer, tapping his shoe against my boot. He didn’t always know what to do, but he was always tuned into my moods. He claimed it was because the vibrations of our souls were compatible, and I wasn’t sure if he really believed it or was bullshitting me. Either way, it was comforting to know that he was always there for me.

***********************************

After lunch the kids insisted I go outside with them to build a snowman. 

“She’s probably tired from the flight,” Leila said, but Derek starting singing “Do You Want to Build a Snowman” from Frozen and there was no way I could turn him down.

It was still snowing very lightly and I was so bundled up in my puffy coat and a borrowed beanie and mittens that I could hardly move. My boots weren’t as waterproof as they looked and soon my feet were frozen but I gamely helped the kids roll the snow in the front yard into a ball.

”This is hard work,” I managed to say. My glasses were fogging up from my breath and I couldn’t see very well.

”That’s why we made so many cookies,” Derek said with a grin. “We burn up so many calories out here.”

”Yeah, that’s just your excuse for eating more than your share,” Sasha said. 

They started bickering and I took advantage of the momentary lull in snowman construction to rest a bit. I was out of breath and simultaneously sweating and frozen. It was wonderful.

”Merry Christmas!” A voice rang out and we turned to see a woman in a stylish ski outfit carrying a plate wrapped in foil.

Sasha groaned. “It’s Ms. Baker,” she said. “Our neighbor who mysteriously shows up every time Uncle Dieter’s visiting.”

Derek got that look in his eyes that I recognized all too well from his uncle. “Hey, Ms. Baker,” he called out. “Merry Christmas!”

”You guys making a snowman? How cute! I brought a rum cake for your parents.” She stared at me, clearly trying to figure out if she knew who I was. “Who’s your friend?”

”Oh, this is Aunt Emily, Uncle Dieter’s girlfriend,” Derek said with a cherubic smile. “They just flew in for the holiday. She’s from California and she’s never made a snowman before.”

Ms. Baker’s eyes narrowed. “Nice to meet you,” she said stiffly. “So, your uncle’s here? Good thing I made a big cake. I know how much he likes my rum cake.”

”Oh, but Uncle Dieter’s sober now,” Derek said with mock concern. “He won’t want any rum cake, will he, Aunt Emily?”

It took every fiber of my being to keep from laughing. The kid was good.

”A slice of rum cake isn’t the same as having a drink, though,” Sasha chimed in. 

“Right, Aunt Emily? I mean, Mom and Dad let me have a little sliver last year.”

”We’ll have to ask Deet,” I said, silently thanking Sasha for giving me an extra few seconds to compose myself. “But even if he can’t have any, I can,”

Ms. Baker smiled tightly. “Well, you kids get back to your snowman. I’ll just go inside now.”

As soon as she was inside the house, the kids started giggling. “That was hilarious,” Derek said. “She always shows up and tries to flirt with Deet.”

”The look on her face when we said ‘Aunt Emily,’” said Sasha. “Oh, it was okay that we did that, right? It was just to mess with her. If you don’t want us to …”

”It’s fine,” I assured her. “And did your parents really let you eat rum cake last year?”

”Yeah,” she said, making a face. “It was kind of gross. But that might be because Ms. Baker does not live up to her name.”

Derek laughed so hard he fell over. When he had recovered, we got back to work on the snowman. My feet were blocks of ice but I was happier outside with the kids than going inside and pretending to be nice to Ms. Baker.

******************************************

We finally got the snowman finished and I went inside to get my phone so we could take a picture. Ms. Baker had left in a hurry, hardly speaking to us as she passed. 

“What did you say to her?” I asked Dieter as I headed back outside.

”Who?”

”Ms. Baker.”

Dieter smiled, the same glint in his eye that I’d seen from Derek. “Oh, just mentioned I had a very special gift for you that I wanted to give you surrounded by my family.”

”You’re terrible,” I said. 

“Freddy didn’t help,” Leila chimed in. “Dropping hints about ringing in the New Year in style.”

”I hate her rum cake,” Freddy said. “Tastes like stale pound cake soaked in rubbing alcohol. Maybe if she realizes Dieter’s not interested in her she’ll stop bringing us one every year.”

”Tell the kids they have twenty minutes and then they need to get their butts inside to change,” Leila said. “We’re leaving for the Christmas Market at three so we can get decent parking.”

******************************************************

The Market was amazing, like something out of a Hallmark movie. Lights twinkled, music filled the air and shop windows glowed with charming displays. We stopped at a stall that sold hot chocolate while Freddy fetched a dozen freshly made apple cider donuts from another stall nearby. 

“Best. Dinner. Ever,” Derek declared around a mouthful of donut. 

“Worst. Manners. Ever,” Freddy said, raising an eyebrow.

Sasha and Leila were whispering to each other and stealing glances my way. Dieter was absorbed in his own donut, making those weird little noises he always made when he ate something he really liked. I looked up at the darkening sky and watched the snowflakes spiral down. 

“So …,” Leila said. “Sasha has an idea.”

”Um, I think … Emily should get an ornament for the tree,” Sasha mumbled.

”Yeah!” Derek cried. “She totally should.”

Freddy looked at Dieter, who came slowly back from wherever it was he went when he was savoring something. “What?”

”The kids think Emily should pick out an ornament for the tree,” Freddy said slowly. 

Dieter’s eyes went wide. “You sure?”

”Yeah,” said Freddy. “I think it’s a good idea.”

”What’s going on?” I asked. Everyone seemed to be extremely concerned about the idea of me buying an ornament.

”Everyone has a special ornament that they put on the tree on Christmas Eve,” Dieter said. “Freddy and Leila and Sasha and Derek … and me. I only put mine on when I’m here for Christmas. It’s kind of a family tradition.”

”And you want me to get one, too.”

”Yeah,” said Sasha, biting at her lower lip.

I looked at Dieter, who was making puppy dog eyes at me. “Okay,” I said, feeling like I was agreeing to a lot more than just choosing a bauble for the tree.

Sasha and Derek dragged me to a booth that was hung with hand blown glass ornaments in all kinds of fancy shapes. “I have a soccer ball,” Derek said. “You have to pick something that’s important to you. Deet has a rubber ducky because he says he had one when he was little.”

”Dad wouldn’t let him buy the weed one,” Sasha explained. 

I was fairly certain the rubber duck was not a fond childhood memory, because Dieter had once told me a rather off color story when he was still indulging in alcohol that I wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t true, but I didn’t think the kids needed to know that. I browsed the ornaments before settling on a sparkly orange wedge.

”An orange?” Derek asked. 

“Where I live used to be famous for growing oranges,” I told him. “The original navel orange tree is in a protected enclosure in Riverside. It’s kind of a landmark. And there’s a historical park all about citrus fruits out there, too. Plus my mom said her grandma always told her a story about how her mother got her first orange in a Christmas stocking.”

”That’s pretty cool,” said Sasha, although Derek didn’t seem to agree. I paid for the ornament and the shopkeeper carefully wrapped it in tissue and packed it into a cardboard box with a picture of a reindeer on it.

We rejoined Dieter, Freddy and Leila and continued walking down the street. Suddenly Sasha and Derek started giggling and pointed up. 

“What?,” said Dieter, looking around.

”Mistletoe!,” the kids cried out. Sure enough, there was a big bunch of mistletoe tied to the awning above us.

Dieter winked at me and slid his arms around me, dipping me slightly. “Got to give the kids what they want,” he said before kissing me very thoroughly. Finally, Freddy tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Remember, you’re in public,” he said.

Dieter laughed and although he was wearing mittens, I was pretty sure he flipped his brother the bird as he stepped back from me. “They shouldn’t hang that stuff on the street, then,” he said. “I’m just saying.”

Freddy shook his head. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

****************************************************

By the time we got back to the house, it was snowing steadily. Freddy turned on all the lights in the living room while Leila fetched a green storage container with a red lid. “Okay, time for the ornaments and stockings!,” she said.

Freddy went first, hanging his old school typewriter; then Leila hung up her panda bear. Next came Sasha’s owl and Derek’s soccer ball, followed by Dieter’s rubber duck. Finally, I unpacked my orange slice and found an unobtrusive spot around the side.

Then Leila passed out the stockings, which were bright red felt and appliquéd with snowflakes and little trees. A handwritten tag hung from the loop of each one with the owner’s name in perfect calligraphy — including one that said “Emily.”

”Oh, you didn’t have to,” I protested as I looked at my brand-new stocking. The others were well worn and had clearly seen many Christmases.

”Yes, I did,” Leila said. “How else would Santa know you’re here?” She winked and both kids rolled their eyes.

I hadn’t hung a stocking since I was ten years old, when I’d declared that stockings were for “little kids.” I felt a lump in my throat as I placed mine on the hook next to Dieter’s. 

“And now …” Freddy said, pulling out a box of matches. He carefully lit the candles on the mantel and a few others spaced around the room, then Derek flipped off the lights. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the tree lights and candles. Leila started a playlist of old-school holiday songs on the sound system and we all settled down. Freddy and Leila took the couch, the kids curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace, and Dieter pulled me into the overstuffed armchair to the side. It wasn’t quite big enough for two, so I ended up mostly in his lap.

”Are you sure?” I whispered, nodding toward the kids.

Dieter just tilted his head toward Freddy and Leila, who were snuggled up on the couch, her head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around her. “It’s tradition,” Dieter whispered back.

We listened to Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra for a few songs, then Freddy started telling a story about the year he was seven and Dieter was five and they found out their next door neighbors were Jewish and the kids got eight nights worth of presents instead of just one morning. Leila followed with the story of how her aunt decided she was going to make Christmas dinner instead of her mom and the turkey wasn’t cooked all the way through and everyone ended up making an excuse to leave early and they all ended up at McDonald’s.

“Tell the one about the air conditioning, Emily,” Derek said when he’d finished his own story about the year he thought he was only getting clothes because Sasha had convinced him that his letter to Santa had gotten lost on the way to the North Pole due to an elvish postal workers’ strike. “Dad didn’t hear it yet.”

Then it was Dieter’s turn. “My story is kind of boring,” he said. “It’s about my best Christmas ever and I’m not sure how it ends because it’s happening right now.” He squeezed me tightly. “I’m one hundred percent sober and I’m surrounded by all my favorite people and it’s snowing. You can’t get more perfect than that.”

”Doesn’t count,” Derek piped up. “You’re supposed to tell a funny one.”

”It just has to be memorable,” Freddy said. “And I think we’re all going to remember this one for a long time.”

”Yeah, it’s the first one with Emily,” said Sasha. 

I felt tears in my eyes for the umpteenth time that day. How was it possible that I felt more at home with these people I’d just met than I ever did with my blood relatives? “Thanks, everyone,” I managed to say. “I’ll definitely remember this Christmas for the rest of my life.”

The clock on the mantel chimed nine and Leila clapped her hands. “Okay, kiddos, time for bed. Pajamas, teeth brushed and ready for tucking in by nine thirty.”

Both kids groaned. “Mom, we’re not five anymore,” Derek said.

”I know, but I need time to play Santa’s helper before I get to bed,” Leila said, “and you know you’ll both be up at the crack of dawn begging us to let you open presents. Besides, it’s tradition.”

Dieter yawned and stretched his arms wide. “I’m kind of tired myself,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

Freddy shook his head. “Oh, get out of here. I know you just want to get out of helping.”

”I’m a guest,” Dieter said primly. “So is Emily.”

”You’re a freeloader,” replied Freddy. “But it’s Christmas. Consider it your present from me.”

Dieter wiggled out from under me and then helped me up. “Come on, let’s get upstairs before he changes his mind.”

As I unpacked my nightshirt, I remembered something. “I’ll be right back,” I said, grabbing a small box out of my luggage and trotting back downstairs. The lights were back on and Leila was already working on the stockings while Freddy was cursing in the hall closet as he pulled out presents from their hiding places.

”Here,” I told Leila, handing her the box. “I almost forgot. You can put these in the stockings. They’re handmade candy canes from a candy shop back home. They make them with real sugar and premium peppermint oil. I got a dozen, so we can each have two.” I didn’t keep up many holiday traditions anymore, but a trip to Logan’s Candy in Ontario was always on my list. Their canes were the best in the world.

”Thank you,” Leila said. “They look delicious!”

”Do you need any help?”

”No, you get back upstairs to Dieter,” she said. “Freddy and I are old hands at this. And I wasn’t joking about the kids being awake at the ass crack of dawn. You’ll be glad we all went to bed early.”

Dieter was already in bed when I got back to our room. I quickly changed into my sleep shirt and dove under the covers. Despite the heater, the house was chilly.

”Your feet are frozen!” Dieter gasped, pulling away from me.

I snuggled closer. “So help me warm them up,” I said. The man was like my own private furnace, which was good at times like this. In the summer, not so much. I tucked my feet between his calves and he pretended to shiver.

”Blocks of ice,” he muttered. “You’re so mean to me.” 

“Then why are you kissing my neck?”

”Because you still smell like cookies,” he said. “And I haven’t seen you in ages.” His hands worked their way underneath my sleep shirt.

”Whoa, hold on,” I said. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s Christmas Eve. And the kids are right down the hall.”

Dieter snorted. “First of all, you aren’t any more religious than I am. And second of all, I’m sure Freddy and Leila do it all the time with the kids in the house.”

”Still, it feels sacrilegious.”

”It feels naughty,” Dieter corrected me. “And I don’t know about you, but the idea of Santa Claus watching us is kind of turning me on.”

”Eww!” 

“He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness’ sake,” Dieter crooned off key, followed by a trail of kisses down my throat. “Be good for me, baby. Let me unwrap this gift a little early.”

”Well, you have been a good boy lately,” I said. “Just try to be quiet for once.”

”So you want a silent night?”

”Shut up and kiss me, Dieter.”

**************************************************************

It was still dark when our bedroom door flew open and something large crashed onto our feet. “Merry Christmas!” Derek cried. 

“You are so rude,” Sasha said from the doorway. “Get off them.” We all sat up, blinking at the overhead light that Sasha had flicked on. “What if they were naked?”

“Why would they be naked … ohhh!” Derek scrambled off the bed. “Gross! They’re Mom and Dad’s age.”

”Mom and Dad still do it,” Sasha said. 

Derek made gagging noises. “That is not the image I want in my head on Christmas morning, Sash.”

”Okay, okay, we’re all up,” Freddy yawned from the hallway. “Give us a minute to use the facilities and we’ll go downstairs.”

”Yay!” Derek dashed out of the room while Sasha shook her head. 

“Sorry about him,” she said. “He’s such a little kid sometimes.”

Freddy tousled her hair. “O wise and solemn adult, why don’t you put a robe on over your Hello Kitty pajamas so you don’t freeze?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a dad.”

Dieter was already shrugging into his beloved green bathrobe, which was starting to get bald in spots, but which he refused to replace because it was comfortable. “Yeah, Freddy, don’t be such a dad.”

”You stop talking, or you won’t get any pancakes,” Freddy said.

Dieter mimed zipping his lips and tossed my robe at me. 

After a quick trip to the bathroom and a cursory brushing of teeth, we all trooped down to the living room, where a pile of presents had appeared underneath the tree and our stockings were bulging with treats. 

“You really didn’t have to,” I told Leila as she handed me my stocking.

”And have you sit there without anything while we all dive in? No way.”

My candy canes were at the top, but underneath were chocolates, a tube of hand cream, a glass nail file, and a few other trinkets. “Just some fun girl stuff,” Leila explained. “Sasha’s a bit too old for toys but every woman enjoys a mini spa day.”

“Presents!” Derek said after he’d dumped out the contents of his stocking. “Time for presents!”

I curled up on the couch next to Dieter while the kids tore into their gifts. Dieter had had his shipped straight to the house for Freddy and Leila to wrap, so he was as excited to see them as the kids were.

”No way!” Derek cried as he unwrapped a massive Lego set of the Millenium Falcon. “Thank you, Uncle Deet!”

Sasha squealed as she opened a brand new iPad mini. “This is exactly the one I wanted. Thanks, Uncle Deet!”

Dieter was grinning from ear to ear as both kids danced around. 

“You’re spoiling them,” Freddy said.

”I’m their rich uncle. I’m allowed.”

After the kids finished opening their presents, we all got dressed and Leila made pancakes for breakfast. Mountains of pancakes with real maple syrup. Dieter and Freddy got into a pancake eating contest that ended only when Dieter was forced to concede because Derek had taken the last one and Leila refused to make any more.

“I need to get the turkey in the slow cooker if we want to have dinner tonight,” she said when Dieter tried to wheedle just one more pancake out of her.

”I bet if Freddy needed one more pancake to win you’d make it,” Dieter whined.

”No, she wouldn’t,” Freddy said, carefully cutting up his final — winning — pancake. “But tell you what, since you are my brother and it’s Christmas … you can have half and we’ll call it a tie.” He counted the pieces on his plate and slid exactly half of them onto Dieter’s plate.

”And the winners get to do the dishes!” Leila said as soon as their plates were clean. Both men groaned, but cleared the table with a minimum of grumbling.

”What can I do to help?” I asked. 

“Nothing,” replied Leila. “Which is what I’m going to be doing as soon as I get that bird in the roaster.”

”Help me with my Lego,” Derek said.

”No, help me set up my iPad,” Sasha offered.

”How about if she supervises you both until we get done in the kitchen,” Freddy said. “I want to work on that Lego, too.”

”Me three!” Dieter chimed in.

Soon we were all back in the living room, the boys on the floor sorting Lego pieces and arguing over whether they really needed the directions or not. Leila helped Sasha set up her Apple account, and then we started browsing the App Store. It was cozy, with the tree lights blinking and the scent of maple syrup still lingering in the air. 

“Thank you,” I said to Leila.

”For what?”

”For including me. I know it has to be weird having a stranger in your house at Christmas.”  

“You aren’t any stranger than Dieter,” she quipped. “Seriously, though, you are very, very welcome. Freddy’s told me how different Dieter has been since he met you, and we’re so happy about it. They were pretty close when they were little but things got strained there for a while, especially after their parents divorced. Dieter felt like they had to choose sides and he couldn't understand why Freddy was still talking to their dad. Then when their mom died … Dieter kind of closed himself off from everyone. It’s good to see him connecting again.”

”That’s not just me,” I said. “He’s been on that path for a while, ever since he started rehab the first time.”

”But you’re a big part of it,” Leila insisted. “Freddy said there was a big change after you and Deet started dating. You’re good for him. And I think he’s good for you.”

Dieter looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Are you talking about me?”

”Of course,” Leila said. “Everyone everywhere is always talking about you, Dieter. You’re a celebrity. The world revolves around you. Geez, get over yourself.” She rolled her eyes and when Dieter had turned back to the Lego, we both giggled like kids. 

**************************************************

”I don’t know about this.”

Sasha and Derek had talked me into going to the sledding hill with them that afternoon. Now we stood at the top of a very steep incline with our plastic disks and I watched kids wiping out right and left.

”You’re fine,” Derek said. “It doesn’t hurt when you fall off, anyway.”

”Maybe not if you’re young and bendy,” I said. “But I’m old and stiff.”

”Mr. Gruenberg still sleds,” Sasha said, pointing out an older man with a neatly trimmed white beard who was whooping as loudly as his grandkids were.

”I bet he’s been doing it all his life,” I replied. “I’m from California. I went sledding once, on the side of the road when I was seven and it wasn’t nearly this long or this steep.”

”If you’re gonna be part of this family, you have to learn snow sports,” Derek said. “Sledding is the first one. Next time we’ll get you on skis.”

Sasha shrugged. “You kind of have to learn how to ski and snowshoe and stuff when you live in Vermont,” she said. “Otherwise you’d be stuck indoors half the year.”

I was still stuck on Derek’s offhand remark about being part of the family. I knew that being invited to spend the holidays with someone’s family was a huge step in a relationship, and people would make a lot of assumptions, but it fully hit me at that moment that these kids might just become my niece and nephew someday. That Freddy and Leila could be my brother and sister. For an only child, it was both a dream come true and the weirdest feeling imaginable. 

“Okay, you convinced me,” I said, trying to get my brain back to the present. “So what do I do?”

Derek demonstrated, hopping onto his sled and sliding down the slope with a wild yell. 

“Ready?” Sasha asked. “On the count of three. One … two … three!” She and I jumped onto our sleds and hurtled down the hill. It was disorienting and bumpy and scary and out of control. I loved it.

*************************************************************************

As we were putting our luggage into the back of the Cherokee the next morning, I pulled Freddy aside. “Thank you so much,” I told him. 

“For what?”

”For making me feel like part of the family. I know it must be weird to have your brother bring some strange woman home.”

Freddy held up his hand. “First of all, we should be thanking you for making Deet happy. He’s an asshole sometimes, but he’s my asshole and I love him. And second of all, you are part of the family. Dieter loves you and so do the rest of us. Look, I know Deet’s probably told you I cautioned him not to rush into anything, to take his time with this but … I might have been wrong. Maybe he does know a good thing when he sees it. Maybe his instincts were right. Or maybe he’s an idiot and he just got lucky.” He winked and hugged me. “Take care of him, okay?” 

“I will.”

”You okay?” Dieter asked when he helped me into the car. I might have been sniffling a little.

”Yeah, I’m just … gonna miss them.”

”Me, too,” he said, kissing my forehead. “They’re good people.”

”They’re your people, so of course they are.”

*****************************

Toronto was nothing like Vermont. For one thing, Dieter was back on set at 7:00 am the morning of the 27th and working ten to twelve hour days to make up for the lost time over the holidays. I didn’t see much of him except at night, but it was okay. We were together and I got to see what his life was really like for the first time. 

I spend my days reading or shopping or watching movies on Netflix. Not too much different from how I normally spent Winter Break at home, except for having Dieter next to me every night. 

“Now I know why you always looked so tired when you FaceTimed me,” I told him one evening after dinner. He’d been on set for eight hours already and had to go back for a couple more hours of night shoots on location. 

“Yeah, they’re really pushing us on this one,” he said, rubbing his hand across his face. “The studio wants it in on time and under budget and because of the holidays the director is super stressed out. But he did promise we’ll be done by nine on New Year’s Eve and get all of New Year’s Day off.”

Our hotel was holding a New Year’s Eve party in the ballroom but neither of us was really in the mood when the day rolled around. Dieter was tired and didn’t want to be around all the champagne, while I was lonely and just wanted to spend some time alone with him. So at the last minute we kicked off our shoes and ordered a bottle of sparkling cider sent to our room, along with an assortment of hors d’ouerves, for our own private party.

Our balcony faced the harbor, so we’d have a good view of the city’s fireworks display. It was bitterly cold out there, though, so we stayed inside until just before midnight. It was cozy on the little couch and it was tempting to just ignore the festivities and make some sparks of our own.

”No,” Dieter said. “We have to watch the fireworks. I love fireworks. Besides, this is our very first New Year together. We have to do it right. Make a toast. Kiss at the stroke of midnight.”

So at 11:55 we braved the cold, taking our glasses of cider out onto the balcony with us. We had the TV turned up so we could hear the official countdown. Ten. Dieter leaned against the balcony rail, a gentle smile on his face. Nine. He raised his glass. “To us.” Eight. I clinked the rim of my glass against his. Seven. “To us.” Six. We took a sip. Five. He turned around to face the harbor. Four. I leaned against the railing next to him. Three. He laid his hand against my cheek. Two. I tilted my face up toward him. One. He kissed me. “Happy New Year,” he whispered.

I looked out at the fireworks bursting across the sky. Dieter had his arm around me and I felt warm despite the Canadian winter night. We could hear the cheers and noisemakers from the party downstairs but I knew there was nowhere else in the world I’d rather be at that moment than next to Dieter, toasting the year we’d had and all the years to come.

”Can I ask you something?” I said.

”Of course,” he said, laying his cheek against the top of my head.

”Will you marry me?”

[lorna-d-m]

Gingerbread

Word Count: 4,870

Rating: E

Warning: wine drinking, swearing, breast play, some dry humping

Author's Note: happy thanksgiving! Now that it's passed I can officially say: Merry Christmas y'all! Timeline wise, this takes place between chapters six and seven.

Alice missed the days of elementary school when the last day before winter break was reserved for nostalgic movies, hot chocolate, and wearing your pajamas to school. Instead, students completed their end-of-term exams. Instead of relaxing, kicking up her feet and putting on a movie, she graded first periods’ exams during second, and so on and so on. Those who finished before the end of the period could read or study for another exam. 

Stevie approached her desk, and she looked up assuming he had a question about the exam. Instead, he handed her a small envelope and whispered so quietly she could hardly hear him, “Merry Christmas, Ms. Greene”. Stevie turned on his heels and returned to his desk.

Curiosity piqued, Alice examined the envelope. She would recognize Stevie’s handwriting, so she assumed it must be Laszlo who scrawled her name on the front of the envelope. Alice noted the fancy stationery: the thick off-white envelope with a red wax seal. 

It was a simple but elegant Christmas card depicting a winter scene. Before she read it, she looked at the gift card tucked inside. It was for her favorite coffee chain and $15, plenty for two drinks or a drink and a snack. Inside the card, Laszlo wrote a brief thank you, Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays. He signed, as well as Stevie. 

Stevie watched her open the card. Not wanting to distract any students or draw too much attention, Alice mouthed thank you to him. She wondered if any other of Stevie’s teachers received a card. When she checked her phone at lunch, Bits answered her question. 

Nice Christmas gifts from the good doc 🎄🎁 I’m assuming you’ll get more than a card from him? 😏😉

Alice chuckled, knowing all the innuendos Bitsy meant with a simple wink and smirk emoji combination. They made plans for Saturday when Stevie was supposed to be hanging out at a friend’s house.

Oh hush you 🤫A lady doesn’t kiss and tell

She went back to grading, worrying if the gifts she bought him were enough. Saying he was difficult to shop for felt like a lame excuse, but Alice couldn’t think of anything else to get him. Unless… well she supposed it was more of a purchase for her, but he would certainly appreciate it.

Laszlo deliberated for two days about what to cook for dinner. It was not his first time cooking for Alice, but it was his first time in his kitchen amongst all his tools and familiarity. The expectations were higher. He wanted to do something delicious for her, showing her how much he cared for her. Once decided, he went to the markets in the morning. It was his guilty pleasure. Laszlo enjoyed carefully perusing all his options and leisurely strolling around. He could never stick to a list; he always bought things he didn’t need but decided at the moment he wanted. 

He returned, carefully holding a brown paper grocery bag to his chest. Stevie stood over the stove, cooking a late-morning breakfast of eggs and toast. Laszlo had to tease him as he slipped into a winter break sleep schedule. 

“Good morning. Any later and I would tell you good afternoon.” 

“Ha ha,” Stevie laughed dryly. “I’ve never heard that one before.” 

Laszlo unpacked his groceries and handed a party-size bag of chips to Stevie. “For tonight,” Laszlo thought it rude to go to someone’s house emptyhanded. “Do you need a ride or is Jake picking you up?”

“He said he’d pick me up at like four, and then…” Stevie trailed off, but Laszlo waited expectedly. “I was going to ask you how late I could stay.”

Curfew was, Laszlo didn’t like to call it a debate, but a matter of discussion. On school nights Laszlo stuck to 9:30, wanting Stevie home at a reasonable time. On weekends, however, he was more flexible. So long as Stevie was transparent about his plans, telling him where he wanted to go and who he would be with, Laszlo was willing to adjust the time. 

Laszlo trusted Stevie and he had yet to disappoint him, but for emergencies and peace of mind, they had each other’s location shared on their phones. It went both ways, Laszlo could see if Stevie was at school, home, or a friend’s house, and Stevie could see if he was at the university, the Institute, the police station, or the courts. As a show of faith, Laszlo told him he would only check if he had a legitimate concern or cause. He had yet to check, knock on wood. 

And of course, if Laszlo coincidentally had plans with Alice the same night, then perhaps Stevie could stay with his friends a bit longer.

“That depends,” Laszlo huffed a sigh in thought, “Will he be dropping you off, or will I pick you up?” 

Stevie didn’t bother to plate his food or sit at the table. He stood at the counter, scooping the scrambled eggs onto a piece of sourdough toast with his wooden spoon. At least he didn’t create many dishes… Stevie answered with a mouthful, “He can drop me off.” 

Perfect. “How does eleven sound then? Take it as an early Christmas present.” Then Laszlo could enjoy more time with Alice. “And text me when you’re on your way back.” That way they had a reminder when she needed to leave. 

“Thanks!” Stevie was a quick eater, a result of his childhood, and already he finished his breakfast. After cleaning the few dishes he used, he went back to his room.

Alice pressed her lips into a thin line in focus. It was an unconscious habit as she piped details on gingerbread cookies in royal icing: delicate buttons to the little men, twinkling lights on the trees, and fine lines on the snowflakes. Flour and icing smeared her cheek and dusted her clothes, and she was sweating from the residual heat of the oven. 

The timer on her phone startled her, making her smear the line of the snowflake. She cursed and set the cookie aside. Alice didn’t want to give Laszlo an ugly cookie. And, she sighed while brushing away an errant lock of hair, she didn’t want to look like an ugly cookie either. The timer reminded her to step back and start getting ready.

After hearing Laszlo had no Christmas plans, other than little celebrations with Stevie since John and Sara were on a much-needed vacation, Alice wanted to make sure their night was perfect. She debated what to wear, settling on a red low-cut sweater and a tight skirt. Classic, but enticing, and she could show off one of her gifts for Laszlo.

***

Alice parked on the street and waited in her toasty car. It was her first time visiting Laszlo’s house. She pulled out her phone, and rather than text Laszlo that she arrived, she typed a message for Bitsy.

Oh shit. He’s rich rich 💰

Bitsy responded quickly. oh??? 👀👀That’s good because you need to marry rich you’re a teacher

She took a picture of the front of the brownstone house and sent it. That should tell Bitsy all she needed to know. Then, she texted Laszlo that she had arrived. Taking a deep breath in, she left the coziness of her car and braved the cold night air. 

The front door was off street level; it was up a set of stairs. Alice was careful, her hand gliding over the railing as she ascended them. The last thing she wanted was to slip on icy steps: embarrassing herself and ruining her hard work that afternoon or Laszlo’s gifts. Before she could knock on the old brass knocker or ring the decorative doorbell, Laszlo opened the door. 

He radiated warmth, and not just because of the heat escaping the house. Laszlo wore a white apron over his clothes, a lock of hair fell across his forehead, his sleeve was rolled up, and he smelled like the delicious food he cooked. It made Alice’s stomach growl and her heart flutter. 

“Please, come in. You can put your coat there,” he gestured to a coat rack in the corner of the vestibule and took the platter of cookies from her hands, “and I can take these to the kitchen.”

He had a vestibule and a foyer beyond that. Alice knew he had money, but she did not realize how much until she saw his home. She shed her coat, and she caught Laszlo’s eyes appreciating the neckline of her sweater just as she intended. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t quite finished, but please, feel free to wait in the parlor and nibble on the cheese board while I return downstairs.”

“Your kitchen is downstairs?” Alice almost asked “you have a parlor?” but that was a less pressing matter.

Laszlo chuckled. “Yes, it’s an old house, so the garage, kitchen, and ironically Stevie’s room are all street level. I promise I won’t be long.”

“Good,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I’m hungry and I’ll miss you.” 

His cheeks flushed, and he kissed her properly. “Then I won’t keep you waiting.” He disappeared down the stairs, readjusting the apron tied around his waist. Alice admired his ass as he left. 

Alice did as Laszlo suggested and wandered to the parlor. She nibbled on a cracker with brie and thinly sliced apple while she surveyed the room. A heavy, ornate fireplace warmed the room, and she relished its heat. Her sweater and skirt did little to keep her warm. Alice noticed there were no pictures on the mantle, just a television mounted on the wall. It was one of the fancy ones disguised as a landscape painting, complete with a gilded frame. 

Two bookshelves bookended the fireplace, and Alice skimmed through the titles. Some she recognized, like classic novels, whereas the psychological essays and journals were far from her realm of familiarity. Where did he find the time to read, she mused. A record player nestled in the corner, made to look like a vintage gramophone, filled the room with traditional Christmas music. Alice hummed along to the familiar song. Laszlo was a maximalist, filling his home with as much as he could in his eclectic style.

Alice heard footsteps coming up the stairs, so she went to the formal dining room. As she wondered how often Laszlo and Stevie ate there, he answered her silent question.

“We rarely use it, but I wanted tonight to be special.” 

“Please, let me help you,” she offered. Laszlo held a heavy tray laden with plates and bowls with one hand.

“There’s no need,” he insisted, setting it on the table.  “It’s part of why we don’t use the dining room very often.”

“I can imagine, but it looks lovely, Laszlo.” He dressed up the space with formal dinnerware and linens. He lit a candelabra on the table, and pitchers of water and bottles of wine waited to be poured. 

“Thank you.” He blushed again, clearly unused to praise. Alice wanted to make the tinge of pink darker. 

“You’ve put in so much effort, and I appreciate it. You’ve made tonight special and memorable, and we’ve barely begun.” 

Laszlo returned downstairs for the rest of the meal, and Alice stole a glance at what he brought up already. A basket of dinner rolls, small bowls of soup, and salads. This was meant to be the appetizer, and she wondered eagerly what the main course could be. With perfect timing, he brought the entrée: roasted vegetables, seared duck breast with a red wine sauce, and creamy mashed potatoes. 

Once everything was settled on the table, Laszlo could settle himself. He removed his apron revealing a white button-up and a Christmas-themed waistcoat: dark green with white detailing and gold buttons. Laszlo pulled out her seat for her, and then he poured them both a glass of water and a glass of red wine.  

“Please, enjoy. There’s plenty.” He offered her the basket of warm dinner rolls glistening with butter.

Laszlo was an excellent cook, and she was excited to try it. He waited until she tasted it and smiled before he ate anything.  

Over dinner, they reminisced on past Christmases: best presents, worst presents, family drama, vacations. Alice thought long and hard about the best present she ever received and decided it must have been when she got a Barbie dreamhouse. She knew what it was as soon as she saw the gigantic wrapped box by the tree, but her parents made her wait until the end to unwrap it. Laszlo smiled saying he had something similar happen when his parents bought the baby grand piano for the parlor.

“Do you play?” She noticed it, but the keys were covered and the music books were nowhere in sight. If he did, he left no clues. 

“No,” he frowned, “not since I was a young boy.”

Alice didn’t want to upset him, so she did not press it. She found it odd since he was the one who mentioned the piano, to begin with, but this was a happy night. From then on, Laszlo was more inclined to listen to her than share his memories. 

Alice insisted upon helping him clean up after the meal, and Laszlo found it hard to refuse her. He enjoyed simply being near her, and he admitted it was easier with an extra set of hands. Laszlo rinsed the dishes from dinner while Alice unloaded the dishwasher. 

“I wasn’t sure about making Christmas cookies,” Alice confessed.

Laszlo raised an eyebrow in playful alarm. “Why ever not? Your cookies are delectable.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m a one trick pony. You’ve had my cookies before at open house and the conferences, so I thought I should show you something new.”

“But they’re delicious, and I presume gingerbread to fit the season. I’ve not tasted those.”

“Which is why I went with it. You can really only do gingerbread this time of year. But I think next time, I’ll make something totally different.”

“I look forward to it.” Since his hands were covered with soapy water, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Speaking of dessert, do you want it now or do you want to wait?”

Alice smirked. “Well, if dessert is a real kiss, I want it now.” 

How could he refuse? Laszlo kissed her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth. Alice pinned him against the counter, and since her hands were dry she ran them through his hair and rested them at the back of his neck. Laszlo leaned into her touch.

Abruptly, Alice ended their kiss. She stayed close to him, pressed to him. “But if dessert is the cookies, they can wait until we’re watching a movie on the couch.” Laszlo hardly understood what she said. He was too distracted by the way Alice kissed him. She giggled, clearly amused by his love-drunk expression, and smiled. “Come on,” she teased, “let’s finish this up.” Laszlo did not need any more encouragement. 

***

They set out all their gifts on the coffee table along with the platter of cookies and two mugs of hot chocolate. Laszlo insisted on preparing it for them, his recipe using dark chocolate and rich milk to create the most decadent drink. Stevie preferred the instant Swiss Miss powder, no doubt due to his unrefined palette, and Alice surprised Laszlo by asking for a sprinkle of cinnamon and nutmeg. Curious, he had to try it for himself.

Alice shivered once on the couch, so Laszlo found the red knit blanket he kept in the living room and draped it over her shoulders. She looked comfortable like she belonged there.

“Can I go first?” Alice volunteered, “My gifts for you require a little bit of explanation.”

“Well now you must. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

She handed him one slim box, one wrapped present that could only be a book by its shape and size, and a flat, rectangular box. All were wrapped in delicate blue and white snowflake wrapping paper and finished with silver bows. Laszlo reached for the smallest box first. He tore the paper at the tape and lifted the lid from the box. It was a black and gold fountain pen, weighted in his hand.

“It’s supposed to be smear proof. All the reviews said it was left hand certified.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” He reached for the book next, sliding his thumb under the edge of the wrapping paper. It was a well-read, well-loved paperback copy of her favorite book. Laszlo glanced at her before skimming through the pages. 

“We talked about books before, and how a person’s favorite book can tell you a lot about them, so I thought I would give you my favorite filled with all my thoughts and annotations.” It was a deeply personable gift. Laszlo was shocked, and he immediately tried to give it back to her. “I already bought myself another copy, please, keep it.”

The final present was a rich golden-colored cable knit sweater. Laszlo held it up, modeling what it would look like, and he saw her eyes light up. He would have to wear more gold…

“I had to guess your size, so I put the receipt in the box in case you need to return it or exchange it. But I thought the gold would suit you, and I see I was right.”

“Thank you, darling.” He kissed her cheek again. Laszlo enjoyed seeing her cheeks flush whenever he did. “It’s all so thoughtful.”

“Technically,” Alice said with a sly grin, “there’s one more gift, but you’ll have to wait to unwrap it.”

“Oh?” Laszlo checked the coffee table wondering how he missed it. Alice nodded, removed the blanket from her shoulders, and sat up straight, pushing her plentiful chest out. “Oh!”

Intentionally, her sweater slipped off her shoulder exposing a touch of lace. His eyes followed the movement. “It’s more of an investment, I think, but mutually beneficial.”

“Certainly,” he agreed, unconsciously licking his lips. 

“But not yet.” Alice fixed her sweater and re-wrapped the blanket. Laszlo blinked twice, refocusing on the moment. She knew how to tease him, draw him in, and turn his head all around. It was maddening and enthralling. He thought carefully about the order in which to give his gifts to her. Start small.

“The poinsettias on the table are yours to keep, so long as you keep them away from Georgie. I read they’re not good for cats, so put them somewhere high and out of reach for him.”

“They’re gorgeous, Laszlo, and I appreciate the research. All the other flowers you’ve given me have been Georgie safe, so I’ll have to find somewhere special for these.”

Next was a little gift bag filled with imported German chocolates, the best in his opinion, and cat treats for Georgie. Treats for both of them, he explained, with a sheepish smile at the pun. These were all small gifts, trivial really, but they all brought a smile to her face. It was time to step it up. He handed her a slim, unmarked envelope with two tickets to the Nutcracker, on Christmas Eve no less. 

Alice’s eyes glittered. “I thought this had been sold out for months! How did you get these?”

“I have a box, so I get the first pick of any tickets…” he trailed off. He always bought at least two tickets. In years past, he would take John, Stevie, or John and Sara and play the third wheel. This year, Laszlo would have a date. 

“Fuck off,” Alice said indelicately, but still alluringly to him. “You have a box?”

“I do,” he snickered, “It was my family’s before it became mine.”

“That’s incredible.” She still held the tickets in her hand, looking them over and over. His eyes met hers, a silent question. What are you thinking? “Honestly, I’m trying to think if I have an outfit worthy of this.”

“Whatever you wear, I’m sure it will be divine, and I hope you pair it with this.” He slid his final present over to her: a small jewelry box. 

Tentatively, she set the tickets down and picked up the box. It wasn’t wrapped; Laszlo thought the black velvet spoke for itself. Now he feared it was too much too soon. Jewelry set certain expectations. It announced intention. 

“Oh, Laszlo.” Her thumb rubbed along the edge of the box, and she tilted the necklace and earrings toward the light. “It’s- I don’t know what to say other than thank you.” Alice’s wide eyes met his, and he thought he saw the shadow of a tear.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” The troublesome tear slipped down her cheek when he asked, and more threatened to follow. Given the nature of his work, Laszlo was accustomed to tears, but he did not know what to do when Alice cried.

“You’ve done so much and given me such wonderful gifts,” she tried to steady her voice but was unsuccessful, “and I’m worried I didn’t do enough.”

“Don’t say that,” he rushed to assure her. In the unspoken silence, Laszlo sensed her true fear was that she wasn’t enough. He struggled for words, so he took her hand in his and squeezed it. “You have given me plenty.”

Alice smiled, tears still in her eyes, and nodded to herself. “Thank you, Laszlo, just-” she paused again, registering her hand in his, “Thank you.”

After Alice dried her tears, embarrassed she cried but comforted by Laszlo’s words, they dimmed the lights and turned on a movie. All playful bickering about what to watch stopped when Alice spotted an old stop-motion classic about the year without Santa Claus. She had not seen it in years, but she vividly remembered the song with heat miser and snow miser. Laszlo chuckled and indulged her, selecting the movie and letting the opening credits play. 

She cuddled up next to Laszlo, his arm across her shoulders, and she shared her blanket with him. Alice leaned her head on his chest, and he rested his chin at the top of her head. She was comforted by his slow and steady breathing. Laszlo was a rock: steady and reliable under her. 

Both their hands wandered, appreciative and lingering touches, until the movie was forgotten and Laszlo encouraged her to sit on his lap. Alice hesitated, biting her tongue at a quip about being more than he could handle, but he was insistent and unflinching. She straddled his lap, her already short skirt rising up even further, teasing him with the tops of her thighs. 

“There you are,” Laszlo crooned. He looked less perfect and more like a person. Toussled hair, pink cheeks, sly smile. Alice adored him like this. His hand circled her waist and pulled her closer, eliminating any space between them. His kiss tasted of their drink, rich chocolate with a touch of spice. Alice melted into his touch. Laszlo panted, whining into her mouth as he felt her chest pressing against him.

His hand slipped under the knit of her red sweater and traced the skin underneath. His fingers danced over the clasp of her new bra, her gift just for him to unwrap, asking her permission before advancing any further. She broke their kiss and nodded, a quiet “I want this” escaping her lips. Laszlo needed no more encouragement, and he deftly undid the clasp. She pulled the sweater over her head and tossed it aside. Her nipples pebbled in the sudden chill, and Laszlo was quick to latch himself to her. 

He took one into his mouth, lavishing it with attention, while he cupped her other breast with his hand. Laszlo did not want it to feel unappreciated as he nipped, licked, and pinched. Alice moaned his name and wriggled her hips against him, craving more in the heady heat of the moment. “I want to see you,” she huffed. 

Laszlo paused and drew back. A trail of saliva connected them, and Alice brushed it away with her thumb. “I’m all yours,” he murmured.

Alice hastily unfastened the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt, cursing him for wearing so many layers, but grateful for them too. Laszlo looked good in his layers, coordinated and well-put-together, but she wanted to see underneath his careful clothing choices.  Alice feasted her eyes on a broad chest, dusted with coarse hair and fine freckles, leading down to his soft stomach. Laszlo tipped his head back and groaned when she trailed her hand down his chest.

“Much better.” Pleased, Alice touched Laszlo’s chin and brought his attention back. His eyes were hazy, as if he’d drunk more than a glass of wine, as he studied her form. Laszlo ran an appreciative hand across her body: cupping her breast, holding her waist, and resting on her ass. He kissed her again, his lips wandering from her lips to her jaw, and her collarbone. 

“Laszlo, I-” His phone, forgotten on the coffee table, rang and interrupted her. She turned, glancing at the caller ID, and handed it to him. “It’s Stevie, he’s probably on his way home.”

Laszlo answered and held the phone to his ear. Alice was somewhat relieved he called. She wasn’t sure how much further they were going to go, and she was nervous to broach the topic. This was a natural end to the evening. When she went to move off his lap, he held her there with his right hand. Not firmly, but the surprising and warm touch was enough to keep her there. She slipped her hand over his.

Alice waited until he hung up to speak. “I think it’s time for me to go, Las.” 

“Please, darling, five more minutes.” His hips ground against hers, and his voice was as enticingly sweet as honey. 

“Five minutes, my final Christmas present for you,” she teased.

His lips reattached to hers, and his hand groped her breast. Her hips continued above him, and Laszlo followed every one of her movements. 

Hindered by Laszlo’s request, but hastened by his assistance to redress, Alice left without issue. She promised to text him when she arrived home safe and sound, and he reminded her what time they would leave for the Nutcracker. Laszlo waited for Stevie to return in the kitchen, hoping to ask about his evening before locking the front door and going to bed. 

“Hey,” Stevie entered through the more hidden ground-level door that connected through the garage. He preferred the direct access rather than messing with the front door. It was part of why he chose to live downstairs.

“How was it?” 

“Good,” he shrugged, “Caleb got a new game for us to play, so it took a while to figure out the rules, but it was fun.”

“Did they enjoy the chips?”

“Yeah, yeah, they did.” Stevie glanced at the sink, empty apart from two mugs of hot chocolate. “How was your evening?” 

One mug was still smeared with lipstick, and panic shot through Laszlo. Did he have any of her lipstick on his face? He wished he checked a mirror instead of presuming he looked okay. Laszlo flustered, thinking on the spot.

“Fine. Some people from the psychology department came over for dinner, part of a new tradition they’re trying to start.”

Stevie poured himself a glass of water and stood in front of the fridge. “That’s cool. Any leftovers? ”

“What? They didn’t feed you over there?” Laszlo chuckled, relieved by the change in subject.

“They did, but I’m still hungry. Growing boy and all.” Stevie ate a dinner roll without bothering to microwave it. 

Laszlo rolled his eyes. Ah, the youth. “Goodnight, and don’t forget to lock up.”

“Already did.”

Laszlo meant it when he said, “Good kid.”

***

Two days later, Laszlo picked Alice up from her apartment with a bouquet of pale pink roses. She wore a simple, elegant black dress and shawl. Underneath her silver shawl, Laszlo spotted the simple necklace he gave her and more than one purple hickey. He felt a sense of satisfaction seeing his work.

They arrived early to the theater and worked slowly through the crowds. People acknowledged him — former clients or students — and he stopped for a moment to chat with some of them. His chest puffed up with pride, talking to them with a woman as wonderful as Alice on his arm. She shimmered under the chandeliers.

Finally, Laszlo brought her to his box on the upper level. Alice whispered in his ear she always wondered what the view from the boxes was like rather than general admission. Laszlo promised to take her to more shows in the coming year. They enjoyed the show, her hand clasped in his, and her shawl slipping off her shoulders.

Laszlo asked if she was hungry, too, when they left the theater. Sheepishly, Alice confessed she was. He swung by a fast-food joint, one of the only things open at the late hour on Christmas Eve, and ordered fries and milkshakes. After their midnight snack, they made out like teenagers in the front seat. It was a complete contrast to the formality of their evening, but it was the perfect way to end the night.

taglist: @scuttle-buttle @fictionlandslanddreams @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @hardlyinteresting @sapphiredreamer26 @aedeluca @alycu1 @linkpk88 @rachreads @fandom-princess-forevermore @groovyponypatrollamp @to-fat-to-give-a-crap @kateris-world @eli-the-thinker

[sparrowmoth]

Tagged by @jazzythursday, thank you! 💖 Life has been kinda rough lately, so I'm in a bit of a writing slump, but still very committed to my beloved WIPs, so I'm hoping I can finish some stuff later this month...

Rules: Post the names of your WIPs and open your ask box for questions about them.

Published WIPs

cards on the table (we're both showing hearts) (rated T)

hold me like a knife (rated M)

The In-Between (rated M)

The Only Hope For Me Is You (rated M, may become E)

My Little Pony: BDSM is Magic (rated E)

Unpublished WIPs

The unhinged sequel to We Go Down Together (rated E)

Sub!Jesper/dom!Wylan post-CK office setting oneshot

Unwritten WIPs

Jesper solo mission borderline crack oneshot (high priority)

Horror genre chat fic multi-chap (high priority)

Wylan as Thanksgiving dinner ft. polycrows oneshot (high priority)

Pixie!Wylan AU

Solar eclipse Wesper fluff

Demon!Jesper AU

Fjerdan witch hunters capture Jesper

Pirate!Jesper/Mer!Wylan AU oneshot

Tagging (no pressure): @waterloou @emmy-everafter @oneofthewednesdays @kindness-ricochets @nerdlingmerchling @stormkpr @sunfl8wer @wespertilionidae @fizzysugarwater

[ahiddenpath]

Life Talk

Content warning: discussion of death.

I found out yesterday that my colleague of 5-6 years passed away in late August. Since he left my previous company (about 3 years ago), I texted him a few times a year, and we had a few phone calls. He lived alone and was in poor health when he left. Like, really poor. I was wondering why he didn't respond to a text and ended up googling his name and found an obituary. I didn't even know he was gone.

We sat next to each other at my old company for like 6 years. He was a pain in the ass and I liked him a lot. He was 52 when he passed. He was from the Philippines, but his family moved to CA, where he grew up. He was in the military for years and was sent around the world, but fortunately never went into combat. He talked about the military nonstop, and most people at the office hated that. I didn't mind his stories, though. Seemed like telling them made him happy.

When we lived in the same state, he was on the top floor of an apartment complex with no elevator. He kept a few full size candy bars to reward the few kids who would go that far on Halloween. He named the flow cytometers after the Three Stooges and taped their pictures to them. For our potlucks, he always brought samosas from a local restaurant, and they were incredible.

He talked about comic books and nerd stuff a lot. He must have told me the comic story and motivations of Thanos a million times, lmao! He liked to be an asshole, but possessed the subtle art of being funny with it, which is really fucking rare. Also, I got to bully him back, which I almost never feel comfortable doing. He was a wiseass, but when you had a problem, he was there. Does that make sense? He was a real one.

After he moved away, he called me once to say that he loved me, was proud of me, and that there was always someone in the world out there who loved me. I won't lie, I kept him on the line because I thought he might be in a bad state of mind. I tried to subtly ask about his guns, but of course he knew why I was asking. This was like 2 years ago, so hopefully not related to his death, which I know no details about. But somehow, that call is still a really special memory. It meant a lot to him that I kept in contact, and it meant a lot to me that he appreciated it.

I can't believe my friend is dead and I didn't even know. God damn it. I spent most of yesterday and today sort of... Dissociating??? The stars were really visible last night. I just sort of looked at them and thought that... You know, he's gone. No longer under the same sky as me. He won't send me a Thanksgiving message about eating my cats for dinner this year. Please don't ask, lmao, he's been making this weird ass reference to The Tick for years, just to hear me go, "Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Did I mention he was a pain in the ass?

It's really fucking weird!!!!! God. I hope someone was with him? I don't know anything. He lived alone and his family was not in his state. It's so wrong and sad and upsetting that he's gone so young, and that his health was so bad for so long.

I took my cat to the vet today, and I forgot everything. Forgot to have him fast, forgot the stool sample. I came home and tried to do stupid but needed things, cards and presents for family birthdays, planning food for the week. After filling my head with these little choices, my husband asked me a question, and I nearly freaked out. Like, just that last drop that tips over the cup.

Life is weird and death is weird and brains are weird and I miss my friend, even if we only texted a few times per year. I wish I had some kind of wrap up or poetic ending here, but I don't. Death is final and you can't avoid it, and that's what makes it the most difficult thing to deal with. All you can do is adjust to the aching absence.

[typicalopposite]

*Turns on camera*

Get ready with me for a new day of analyzing RWRB 😀

*dips sponge in white paint… paints face*

I think the reason they haven’t released the thanksgiving scene yet…

*grabs red blue and yellow paint*

Is because they are saving it to see if the sequel will get green lit or be doable with everyone’s schedules.

*paints eyes*

Because maybe then they can release it as what should have been the ending credit scene. (Think how every MCU movie that has ever existed hints at the next movie with the credit scene)

*paints mouth*

(Like picture this real quick with me ok instead of the scenes displaying their names it’s this… and the scene pans around showing their names and after Taylor and Nick there’s a nod at the sequel. like they announce their engagement during dinner! Or something!)

*pulls out red nose*

And then if a sequel is not in the cards… they release it as just a regular deleted scene.

*adds wig*

Thanks for coming to my clown talk

[hallieticket]

Thanksgiving at the Waynes:

Dick- has come home for the holidays, has brought every single piece of clothing he owns for Alfred to wash, is the person in the family that makes everyone go around and say what they’re thankful for,decides halfway through the meal to stand on the table, tries to start a sing along, ends the night swinging from the chandelier for “old times sakes”

Jason- Refuses to come until Alfred plays the “I need help in the kitchen” card, yells at Dick for trying to steal food while he’s cooking it, “I need a whiskey to get through this dinner,” was told to leave his weapons at the door and takes twenty minutes to de-armor, he still has two guns on his person even after that, sneaks off after the meal to read in the library, somehow ends up surrounded by the entire family, stress bakes the night before and provides enough desserts to feed a family of ten

Tim- is “not working” but ends up taking three different business calls throughout the day, nurses a glass of wine all day long and leaves with only half of it drunk, somehow ends up sitting next to Damian and gets all of his silverware confiscated except for his spoon by the time they get to the main course, “TIM HOW MANY COFFEES HAVE YOU HAD TODAY?,” uses eggnog as creamer, somehow they end up playing poker and he absolutely smokes them

Damian- spends the entire day with some kind of animal perched on his shoulder (first Alfred the cat and then a bird: nobody knows where the bird came from), is thankful for his swords (they’re all secretly named after his brothers, he’ll die before he admits that), tries multiple times to sneak different kinds of alcohol, fails.

Bruce- Starts the day with at least one of his children jumping on his bed, tries to sneak out at least twice to patrol before Alfred stops him, has at least two bruised ribs, falls asleep on the couch after dinner, is forced to sit at the head of the table and nods off twice during dinner

Cassandra- unabashedly watches the thanksgiving day parade, is the only one that ends up patrolling after dinner, the only successful one that can steal food, smokes everyone but Tim in all their card games, helps Damian sneak alcohol without getting caught

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

[bonesfool]

When I was growing up, Thanksgiving was never a time for family. We never went to relatives houses and we never hosted my grandparents or cousins or aunts and uncles.

My parents were the only married couple with kids in their friend group. A big part of this was that they both worked in theater, and so many of their friends were queer and in the early 2000s it was difficult for queer people to make their own family, and common that they would be shunned from the one they were already a part of.

So my mom always had our doors open on Thanksgiving to what she called “the strays.” There were a couple of pillars at every Thanksgiving, people who would come every year. But they were always encouraged to bring their friends as well, anyone who didn’t have a place to go to spend the Holiday. We had so many characters across the years. One year we had the designer of a Malibu Barbie come and he and I were both delighted to learn that I had that same Barbie, and we played together after dinner. Another time we had a man who had immigrated from Sri Lanka only a couple months before, and was bewildered but excited to be experiencing an American Holiday.

But maybe the most impactful guest we ever had was a man named Timothy. He was a professionally trained French chef, and he made us a beautiful roast duck that I did not eat because I was four and thought turkey was an ok bird to eat but duck was not. Everyone else loved it of course. Timothy was with us that year because most of his family had disowned him after he came out, and the rest did after he learned he was HIV+.

Before and after dinner I asked him if he would play with me, and he was hesitant to say yes. My family knew of his seropositive status, he felt it was important to disclose it to people before they welcomed him into their homes. He knew that many people would be uncomfortable with an HIV+ man playing with their young child, so he asked my mom’s permission.

She of course said yes, there was nothing about playing with dolls that would transmit the disease, and him having it did not make him an immoral person that could not be trusted around children. This was the first time anyone had expressed that sentiment to him in years, and he broke down into tears. He told my mom that he had always been excited to be in the children of his family’s life and it was so hard to be told he couldn’t. And then we played for the whole evening.

That Christmas when we sent out cards, my mom asked me to make one for him, since he’d played with me and kept me occupied so she could cook.

Early the next year, my parents received this poem/letter in the mail. [Transcript in alt text]

I did not remember much of this story or this day or this man. But my mom told me about him years later, and gave me the poem she had kept for me. Timothy died a couple years ago from complications due to AIDS. I regret that we did not keep in closer contact with him throughout my childhood and I wish I could tell you more about him than this story.

Ever since I learned of his life, and his death, the meaning of Thanksgiving has changed for me. Thanksgiving is not about family, it is about community. It is about providing for those in our vicinity who need it. It’s about mourning those who were not given it. I ask everyone who reads this today to not only grieve our indigenous brothers and sisters, for they certainly deserve the thoughts and attention, but also all of the people left behind by our neoliberal society. Those people abandoned by the nuclear family and the non-existent social safety net. Those who lost their lives as victims to state-sanctioned violence. Please remember your unhoused siblings, your disabled siblings, your undocumented siblings, your refugee siblings. And please open your homes to anyone you know who needs a warm meal in their bellies and a small act of kindness in their hearts.

[typingtess]

After three-days at Camp Pendleton running down a pair of ex-Marines who were working with a washed out SDSU chemistry professor selling synthetic steroids on and off-base, Sam decided to spend the weekend in San Diego.  Aiden was in town and a weekend with his son was exactly what Sam needed.

Callen wanted to go home.  After a life of living alone, playing good husband to Anna stopped being playing about a month after being married.  She was great.  He felt better when she was around.  And for the first time in his life, he was happy, truly happy. 

Walking into the house just after 10PM, he found Anna on the couch watching “Die  Hard” – her favorite Christmas movie.  He was a little stunned she wasn’t watching “Dr. Zhivago” since their home looked like a Russian Christmas card.

“I can explain,” she started.

“I’m guessing it is a one-word explanation,” Callen looked at the six foot tree with lights, ornaments on every branch and a red and gold ribbon wrapped from the tree-top to the base.  The green star on the top of the tree looked like it was frosted on the star’s points.  “Arkady.”

“He dropped by last weekend while you were jogging and was unhappy that we didn’t have a tree yet.”

“So he brought this one over.”

“And there is one in the backyard.  And one in the guest bedroom that faces the street.”

“Three trees.”

“I made him take down the ten-foot pole with lights that made a tree.  He put it up on the front lawn.”

“Thank you for that,” Callen looked at the tree.  It was beautiful, just an awful lot for their small living room. Same with the holiday knick-knacks that covered every flat space in the living room.

“He wants us to come by on Christmas Eve.”

“When did he become so ….Christmas-y.  A couple of years ago I saw him on Christmas.  He was smoking a cigar on a float in his pool, drinking some tequila, calling in NBA bets to his bookie. Spoke about making new holiday traditions in his new home country.”

“He said the wedding was so understated that he wanted to do up our first holiday together.”

“We got married in May,” Callen was shaking his head.  “Memorial Day, 4th of July, Labor Day and Thanksgiving are all holidays.”

“He saw Christmas as more a holiday the whole world shares.  So, Christmas Eve?”

As if he would ever say no.  “Sure, of course.”

“If you think this is a lot, wait until you see his place.”

“Again, he was on a float in his pool, smoking a cigar, drinking tequila and taking the under on a Lakers-Clippers game a few Christmases ago.”

“You remember Carmen?”

Callen thought for a second.  “The housekeeper.”

“Her husband is Arkady’s groundskeeper.  He also has a side-business decorating homes for holidays.  Arkady hired Jose to make the place festive and then sent Jose here.”

“Are we going to have to buy him a gift?”

“I’ve already taken care of it.”

She really was the perfect wife for Callen.  “Tell me.”

“Joelle did me a favor.”

“Joelle, Joelle?”

Laughing, Anna said, “I know her by one name but yes, Joelle is back with the CIA.  She’s riding a desk, coordinating travel for agents in the Caribbean, South and Central America.”

“She never struck me as a travel agent.”

“The CIA wants her under their watchful eye, she knows she has to play good company officer to keep her career.”

“So if she’s moving people in and out of the Caribbean, that includes Cuba.”

“And sitting in Don Medina’s Cigar Lounge humidor is a box of Montecristo No. 2 and a box of Cohiba Behike 52.  I’m picking them up on the 24th at 4PM before we show up for dinner.”

“The Russians were always big on Cuba.”

“And I picked up some Don Julio 1942 so when we leave, he can sit on a float in his pool, smoke an expensive Cuban cigar and bet on the Celtics-Lakers game Christmas Day.”

“How do you know about the Celtics-Lakers game?”

“Merry Christmas,” she said with a smile.

[momentsbeforemass]

What do you say?

When you pray, what do you say?

If it’s time to say the Our Father, the Lord’s Prayer, we’re good. We’ve got that one down.

But what if they ask you to say grace at Thanksgiving or some big family dinner? With a bunch of random relatives and extra people around?

If that gets dropped on you with no warning? It can feel like every eye is on you. Like you’re going to be judged for what you say.

No pressure.

Of course, the reality is that no one is going to hold up a card with a number on it. Scoring your prayer. Giving you a “3” because it was pathetic.

But when you’re in the moment, it can feel just like that.

When someone asks you to pray for them, if they’re not asking you to lead a public prayer, that takes the pressure off. But the question is still there.

When you pray for them, what do you say?

I bring this up, because in Sunday’s homily, Fr. George asked us to pray for our children and grandchildren. When you do, what are you going to say?

If you know what you’re going to say to God, that’s great. But if you’re not sure, may I suggest praying Colossians 1:9-13?

“We have not ceased to pray for you, asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of God’s will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to Him: 

Bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God; being strengthened with all power, according to His glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy; 

Giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light.” 

Take Fr. George’s invitation to pray for them. Not just for children or grandchildren, but for anyone that you love and care about. Anyone that you want to support. Anyone that you want to grow closer to God.

When you do, keep that first part in there – “We have not ceased to pray for you.” Let it be a gentle reminder to keep praying for them.

And make it personal. Use their name in the prayer.

Be the instrument of grace that God has called you to be.

Today’s Readings

[samsexualdeancurious]

Sunflowers (NSFW)

Pairing: Sam x Jess

Words: 3,118

Summary: It's their first Valentine's Day together and Jess has a gift for Sam that's really a gift for both of them.

Warnings: FTM!Sam, strap-ons, vaginal sex, some gender/body stuff. I'm not transmasc myself but I am genderqueer and I drew on some of my own gender stuff for this.

Betaed by @samsbighonkintiddies

---

Valentine’s Day. Sam’s never put much thought into it, not since he was little and the only kid without a cool homemade “mailbox” for the class party or candy to go with his dollar store cards. To be honest, Valentine’s has joined a long list of holidays he decided long ago that he didn’t care about. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s… all the major ones, really, and a few of the smaller ones. Hard to celebrate Mother’s Day without a mom, after all.

This year is different, though, because Sam has a girlfriend. A gorgeous, sweet, perfect girlfriend who deserves all the good things in life and more. He wants to make his first Valentine’s Day with Jess special and amazing for her. Problem is, he has no clue where to start.

“Flowers,” Brady says without hesitation when Sam comes to him for advice. “Jess loves flowers.”

Sam is aware of that. Sunflowers are her favorite. He’s kissed the tattoo on her wrist enough times to remember. Of course she’s getting sunflowers.

“I dunno, man. Dinner? A big teddy bear? Girls love that shit.”

They do, Sam knows, and Jess has plenty of plush animals of her own but he doesn’t have the money for a giant teddy bear. Not if he wants to do flowers. Dinner, though, isn’t a bad idea. She cooks for him all the time. Sam’s not much of a cook himself - the many variations of boxed mac & cheese he and Dean have invented over the years don’t count - but he’s pretty sure he could follow a simple recipe. Maybe he could get the ingredients and they could cook together.

He looks up some recipes on a library computer and prints out one for pasta in vodka sauce. He’s got most of the ingredients in his kitchen, thanks to a shopping list Jess made for him the first time she tried to cook dinner at his shitty little apartment, and the rest he should be able to find at Walmart with no problem.

He still gets chocolate to go with the flowers, since he knows how much Jess adores chocolate. When he arrives at her apartment with flowers, chocolate, and ingredients in hand, though, he finds his heart is racing the way it did the first time John took him on a hunt. Jess is significantly less terrifying than a ghost but at the same time, this is the scariest thing he’s ever done.

Her little shriek of joy when she lays eyes on the flowers, though, soothes most of his anxiety.

“Sam, they’re beautiful,” she coos, sweeping the flowers into her arms and ushering him inside. The bouquet isn’t much, just a handful of sunflowers and some filler Sam couldn’t name if he tried, but her joy tells him the thought is just as important. “You remembered.”

How could he forget? Sam smiles and takes her in. She’s always beautiful but tonight she’s positively glowing, her blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders. She’s wearing pale blue, one of Sam’s favorite colors on her. The knee-length dress is a simple Grecian style with a high waist and a low v collar dipping down between her breasts, drawing his gaze down along with it. She leads him into the kitchen in search of a vase and he sets the bags on the counter to free up his hands to find the scissors to cut the stems for her.

Jess eyes the bags, peeking into the closest one. “What’s all this?”

His anxiety spikes again and he feels his cheeks warm as he looks down at the scissors in his hands. “I, um. I want to cook for you. Or with you. Whichever you prefer.”

She gapes at him for a moment, clearly not having expected this at all, and then lights up. “Oh, my god. You’re such a darling. That sounds wonderful.”

She kisses him then, holding the flowers out to one side so they won’t be crushed between their bodies, and Sam relaxes into the softness of her mouth. Kissing Jess has fast become one of his favorite activities.

--

Cooking with Jess is going to join kissing on the list of favorite activities, Sam decides later as he watches her expertly chop a few more cloves of garlic than the recipe actually calls for. She’d insisted on helping, probably to make sure he doesn’t burn the apartment down but he doesn’t mind. He has no idea how to chop garlic. He has no idea how to chop anything, actually, and she doesn’t really trust him with a knife in the kitchen, since he almost chopped his finger off early on in their relationship. He really can’t blame her for that.

Handling a knife in a fight and handling a knife in a kitchen? Two very different things.

“That’s a lot,” he observes as she scrapes the garlic, pulverized to an almost paste, off the cutting board and into a bowl.

“First lesson of cooking,” she says. “Measure garlic with your heart.”

She flips her curls out of her face with a toss of her head and flashes him a heart-stopping grin, and he wonders for the hundredth time since they met how he got so lucky.

The meal comes together quickly, once everything has been prepped. Jess calls it “mise en place” or “everything in its place.” From there it’s a simple matter of adding everything to the pot at the right time and in the right order. Jess lets Sam handle most of this part and his confidence grows with each careful step he follows, his beautiful girlfriend cheering him on with the recipe in hand. When finally he dishes the final product into two bowls, she rewards him with a kiss.

“Perfect,” she praises after her first bite. Her foot is hooked around his ankle under the tiny dining table.

Sam hesitantly takes his own first bite and is pleasantly surprised. The sauce is rich and creamy, with a sharp bite from the vodka that perfectly balances the sweet acidity of the tomatoes.

“Holy shit,” he says around his mouthful. Jess nods enthusiastically in agreement and Sam can’t help a grin.

“This is going to be a regular on the rotation,” she decides and Sam can’t argue with that.

After dinner, they wash the dishes together and the normality of it makes Sam’s heart soar. He loves doing even the most mundane of everyday tasks with her and the more he thinks about that, the more and more sure he is that she’s the one.

“All right,” Jess says once the last dish is put away. She plants her hands on her hips. “It’s time for your gift.”

“Jess, you didn’t have to-” he starts out of instinct but stops when she shakes her head.

“It’s kind of a gift for me, too.” She takes both his hands in hers and lifts her chin to kiss him lightly. “C’mon. To the bedroom.”

Sam’s heart races at the possibilities that come to mind with those three words. He eagerly follows Jess into her little bedroom and lets her sit him on the edge of the bed. She rummages in her closet and emerges with a red bag, white tissue paper blossoming out of the top. It’s the most nicely wrapped gift he’s ever received and he takes it with hesitant hands as she settles on the bed next to him. She looks nervous, tucking her bare feet up to sit cross-legged on the comforter.

“Go on,” she encourages and Sam pulls the paper from the bag.

He’s unsure what he’s looking at when he first pulls out the box. In his defense, he’s never seen one of these things in a box before.

“Holy shit,” he says when he realizes what it is. He immediately starts tearing into the box, sliding the plastic tray out and sending half the gift tumbling into his lap. He recognizes the harness. Jess has one exactly like it in her collection and it was Sam’s favorite of the ones he tried on early in their relationship. “Jess.”

The dildo seems huge in his hand, though he knows it’s probably about the same size as most of her average-sized toys. It’s definitely the most normal-looking one he’s seen, though, and that excites him as he realizes what this gift means.

“Jess,” he repeats. “Is this… for me?”

She nods, bouncing a little in her seat. “Yeah, I - you said you’ve always wanted one and I know you like that harness. I thought you’d probably prefer something that looks like a real dick. Is that…?” she’s suddenly hesitant, doubt creeping into her expression and Sam needs to kiss her.

He does just that, the strap-on and dildo tumbling off his lap onto the bed as he surges toward her. She gasps and then giggles, looping her arms around his shoulders.

“Gonna let me fuck you?” Sam asks, still stunned by this opportunity.

Jess hums in agreement, kissing him again, and then pulls away to pick up the toy. “Put that on, baby. I’ll go wash this.”

Sam’s body is singing with arousal, his boxers damp with it already when he shoves them down his thighs. He tosses his clothes in the hamper and thinks for a moment about how their clothes are muddled together like they share a space already. He thinks about a future where everything is mingled all the time and warmth blossoms in his chest at the possibilities his future holds now.

The current possibility, though, is really a certainty.

It takes Sam a minute to get the straps sorted out but he’s yet to tighten them around his thighs and ass when Jess returns with the clean toy in hand. She pauses in the doorway and his skin flushes with warmth under her hungry gaze.

“Fucking gorgeous,” she proclaims.

Sam’s blush deepens. He’s always felt so self-conscious about his body but Jess is so eager, so encouraging, and it’s been a surprisingly big boost to his confidence. Getting top surgery helped, even though it took almost a lifetime of saving every penny and some help from Jess to do so. His body feels more the way it should.

Jess waves the dildo at him. “Want a hand?”

Sam has no fucking clue how to put a dildo into a harness, so he nods. He’s not expected Jess to settle on her knees before him. His breath catches at the sight. She gazes up at him through her lashes as expert fingers slide the toy through the o-ring, making sure the snaps stay secure, and then she’s tugging the straps tight to hold it in place.

“How does that feel?” she asks, hands settling on his thighs just below the straps.

Sam shifts his hips, feeling the weight of the dildo, and adjusts the straps to get them into a better spot. “Good.” Really good. Looking down at his body to see a hard cock jutting out from his hips and his gorgeous girlfriend on her knees with her pink tongue darting out to wet her lips? Better than good. “Fuck, Jess.”

She grins and then she’s leaning forward to take the head of the cock - his cock - into her mouth.

Obviously, Sam can’t feel anything in the toy itself but the base is shaped to rub against his clit with every motion. Even without that stimulation, his body is thrumming with pleasure at the sight alone and he can’t stop a groan. Jess preens and takes the cock deeper. His hand instinctively finds her hair, cradling the back of her head, and her eyelashes flutter closed. That’s the encouragement he needs to take a little more control and guide her in the bobbing of her head. Jess has never been big on blowjobs, he knows - she’s a pussy girl all the way - but she’s moaning openly, and Sam’s leaking slick all over his inner thighs at the sound.

He needs to move this along.

“Jess,” he manages. “Jess, I need -”

She gets the message, pulling off with a gasp. “Yeah? How do you want me, big guy?”

Sam’s brain shuts down for a second at that. “... huh?”

Jess laughs and takes his hand to pull herself to her feet. “Missionary it is. This time.”

This time.

She leads him to the bed, stopping at the foot of it to pull Sam in for a kiss. Something about it resets Sam’s brain and he knows what to do from here. His arms sweep up over Jess’s shoulders, around the curve of her back to where the zipper of her dress waits. It goes down easily and then the dress is slipping from her shoulders, revealing first the perfect mounds of her breasts and then her lacy white underwear.

She’s the most beautiful woman Sam has ever laid eyes on and he wants - needs - to worship her.

Wordlessly, Sam lays Jess down in the center of the bed. It feels so right, taking charge like this and being the one to blanket his partner’s body with his own. The toy - his cock - bumps against her pelvis and she spreads her legs in response. Sam takes her in for a moment. Blonde curls haloing her head, sun-kissed skin from lying topless on her little balcony, long legs falling open around him to reveal the darkening patch in the pure white of her panties.

Sam ducks down to press a kiss above the waistband, smirking at her little gasp. He hooks his fingers under the elastic and slides them all the way off, over her pretty bare feet because of course every inch of Jess is pretty. They join his clothes in the hamper and then he’s returning to his spot between her thighs.

She opens with the slightest touch, allowing him to hook his arms under her legs and yanks her down onto his face. He doesn’t hold back and neither does she, openly whimpering and moaning as he works her over. She’s honey-sweet and musky and so soft under his tongue. The little strip of dark blonde hair she keeps carefully trimmed points right to her clit and Sam has always been good at reading maps.

Jess falls apart under his mouth and hands, shouting her pleasure to the ceiling, and he knows the neighbors can hear her but neither of them cares. The idea of a gag briefly crosses his mind, though, and he tucks it away for later. Maybe for his birthday. He makes her cum twice before she shoves his head away with shaking hands. He looks up to find her watching him over the heaving of her breasts, struggling to catch her breath.

“Fuck me,” she gasps at last.

Sam is more than happy to obey. He slides up her body to capture her mouth with his, giving her the taste of her pussy on his tongue. She sighs and hooks her legs around him, pressing his hips forward so his cock slides against the slick mess of her core.

“Fuck me,” she repeats and Sam isn’t going to make her ask again.

He sits up and she whines at the loss of contact but he has to see. He needs to watch his own hand curl around his cock, the way it slip-slides so easily through her dripping folds. Her pussy is flushed with arousal and parts easily for him when he presses inside. Sinks home, balls deep in one smooth motion of his hips.

“Sam,” she sighs. “Yes.”

And so he fucks her. He’s never done this before and it takes him a moment to find the right motion of his hips, the angle that makes her cling tighter to him. When he does, he focuses on repeating that pattern. He needs practice but something about it feels right, like he was made to be on this side of the equation as he curls over Jess and digs his teeth into the curve of her right breast. She cries out and one hand flies to his hair, keeping him in place as he sucks a bruise just north of her nipple.

They’re doing this again. In every position, every room. He needs to spread her out on the couch, bend her over the dining table, see her ride him on the kitchen floor. Maybe even out on the balcony for the neighbors to see if they’re home. He thinks of Jess draped over the railing, curls bouncing as he fucks her from behind, and his clit throbs where the toy presses against him.

“Jess,” he manages. “Jess, I -”

“Do it,” she says. “Do it, Sammy, wanna see -”

Sam groans and keeps fucking her, arms curled around her shoulders and elbows braced against the mattress to keep her from sliding up into the headboard. He presses his face into the curve of her neck and breathes in the scent of her. Sweet and floral, orange blossom and bergamot, made brighter where it’s mixing with the salty tang of her sweat, and that’s when it hits.

“Fuck.”

Sam’s breath leaves his lungs in a shout and then he’s lost, grinding in deep to get as much stimulation as possible while his orgasm washes over him. Jess’s heels dig into his ass, holding his hips to hers. Her hands are in his hair and her mouth at his temple when Sam finally relaxes.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, and she giggles.

“That was hot.”

Sam lifts his head to meet her gaze and grins. “Yeah?”

She kisses him and Sam grinds his hips where he’s buried to the hilt in her body. “Yeah,” she says against his mouth. “Yeah, that - keep doing that.”

Sam is more than happy to oblige, repeating the motion until Jess trembles in his arms, fingernails leaving marks in his shoulders like her grip on him is the only thing holding her together, and wails. Sam’s body flushes with heat and he could definitely cum again just like this, with her on his cock, but he knows she can’t handle another one. She’s down for the count, at least for a few minutes, and so he eases out of her.

“Oh, my god,” Jess says as her limbs fall limp on the bed. “Oh, my god, Sam.”

He laughs and lets his weight fall to the side instead of on top of her. He kisses her cheek. “Good?”

“Gimme a few and then I want to ride you.”

Very good, then. He nuzzles against her cheek and her hand comes up to cup his jaw. Tilting his head, he presses a kiss to the sunflower on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m all yours,” he says and he means it, one-hundred percent.

---

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