#thanksgiving ff

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "Bless What is Given You"

I realize that it's time to roll out the Christmas-y fics, but I had one more Thanksgiving story, and I didn't want to leave it out. I hope you will still enjoy it, even in December. There’s a nod to a missing moment from 3x19, but then it jumps to post s6 in Storybrooke, to all of them in their happy beginning… Most of this is also written in Robin Hood's point-of-view, so there is some Outlaw Queen in amongst the larger Swan Jones Charming Mills family fluff, if that is a deal-breaker for anyone...

** Also available on AO3, if that is your preference **

by: @snowbellewells

“Do you mean to tell me you think you know better than a queen?” Regina’s haughty voice practically dripped disdain from each clipped, precise syllable she spoke. The perfect arch of her sculpted brow rose in question, disbelief and disapproval clear on her challenging, flawless face, even if her tone had not made her opinion more than apparent. “My mother was Rumplestiltskin’s most prized pupil; he sought me out himself to train me as well, chose me to cast his precious Dark Curse… Do you honestly think the fact that you can scare off a few monkeys with your arrows and you’ve been squatting in his deserted castle makes you a better judge of...of…” Even though she spoke the “you” as though her mouth was swallowing something foul and her face scrunched up accordingly, it seemed that the formerly Evil Queen was at a rare loss for words to express just how ridiculous the very idea was.

Unfazed, the scruffy archer gazed right back at her cheekily, seeming more than a bit amused by her ruffled feathers and inability to continue. “Not sure that is quite the distinction you’re making it out to be, Milady,” he offered with a smirk.

From across the way, Snow couldn’t seem to resist chiming in with the outlaw who had once befriended a princess on the run; who, in what now seemed like another life had helped her fine-tune her skills with a bow and advised her on spots in the forest where one could most easily hunt game to eat without encountering Regina’s guards. Though Snow had long since made the choice to put their painful and sordid history in the past, there was something that teased a warble of delighted laughter up her throat at the sight of this bandit who once graced “Wanted” posters by her side agitating Regina to the point of losing all her icy, polished reserve. “It is a bit of a dubious honor, Regina, you have to admit.”

Charming beside her dipped his head to hide the chuckle rumbling in his chest as well, reaching across their round council table’s polished surface to squeeze her hand. The shepherd-prince consort would have been lying if he refused to admit there wasn’t a part of him who enjoyed watching her Majesty flounder for her unaffected poise. It went without saying that the curse they were speaking of had ripped he and Snow apart and taken their daughter from his arms almost the moment she was born; consigning them all to 28 lonely years of misery. The truth was that plain and that simple, but he wisely held his tongue. At least since his recent pirate friend had gone off on his own after their arrival back in their land, Robin was someone with whom he could break a bit of the tension and who might lighten all of their dark and despairing moods once in a while.

As they returned to discussing the plan to raid Gold’s castle here in their home realm, knowing Zelena had holed up in the Dark One’s stronghold - with Rumplestiltskin himself still prisoner - it became clear it was really the only method they had left to try, to hope that the man who always knew so much more than anyone else would also know some way out of this mess, some way to stop Regina’s rage and envy fueled half-sister. Belle across the table looked pale and strained, her lips pressed together in a thin line but determined, needing to help in whatever way she could. Even if they couldn’t free her True Love, even if his mind were already too fractured by his near death, the half-possession that had held his son’s mind within his body as well, and then that son’s violent loss, he wouldn’t want things to continue as they were; with him under Zelena’s control and bent to her will. Belle had to cling to that truth if nothing else.

Seeming to sense her flagging spirit, Charming saw Leroy sitting next to her place a clumsily large, ax-calloused hand over her slender, tiny one and give it a reassuring squeeze. The dwarf leaned over to whisper encouragingly to the petite beauty, and the prince realized that even within his inner circle of friends and allies there were deeper friendships, and stories leading to them, that he didn’t know, as Belle’s petite frame relaxed and her tense shoulders lowered slightly at the stout little man’s clearly welcomed assurances. The former shepherd thought he just made out the kind, if gruffly voiced, words, “Hang in there, Sister, the battle ain’t over yet.” Charming smiled; that might as well be a mantra for all of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin of Locksley, otherwise known in the Enchanted Forest these days by his more colorful moniker of Robin Hood, simply could not seem to help it. He knew something about him - be it his cavalier attitude towards risk and danger, his leisurely and rather lax methods of ruling over his crew (Can he help it if he’d trust them with his life and has never had cause to question their loyalty or skill?) or perhaps it was just his very form and person she objected to. Whatever the case may be, he couldn’t help goading her Majesty, rattling that posh control of which the woman seemed so proud. Behind the cool and haughty veneer Regina Mills carefully wore, he sensed something injured - fragile, even - though she would be appalled at the thought that any weakness showed, he had no doubt of that. The irony, of course, was that bit of a chink in her flawless armor was the one thing that kept him from dismissing her as another selfish, cruel royal stepping on the backs of those less fortunate to get ahead. Her tiny show of pained humanity, the loneliness hidden behind those large dark eyes, beguiled him no matter how hard he tried to resist; drew his empathy where otherwise he would have had only scorn for her past actions and the villain she had been.

They were in the Dark Castle; seemingly, hopefully, having escaped Zelena’s notice so far, but stymied by a large door into the chamber where Rumplestiltskin had to be imprisoned. They had searched the entire rest of the castle and found it empty. None of them were foolish enough, however, to assume that the fact that they had not yet seen the Wicked Witch meant that the way ahead was safe or that she had not laid hidden snares for any intruders. Particularly not if this door were the barrier beyond which she was hiding the powerful being she meant to both use and prove herself to. There had been no other closed doors until this one, after all.

With a huff of impatience, as if she couldn’t be bothered to waste another second of her time - even with safety - the former Queen reached forward, her perfectly manicured hand nearly to the golden inlaid handle despite the Princess Snow’s warnings for caution and the Lady Belle’s wise suggestion that they wait. What appeared as bold unconcern and decisiveness radiated down her spine of steel, held ramrod-straight, but there was a slight tremor in those pale fingers, one he would have missed if he hadn’t been seeking it, just before they closed around the polished metal.

Some strange shiver of foreboding knowledge borne of a life in the forest, in the shadows, constantly on the move, pursued and on the run, made some more-than-tangible knowledge run through him, and Robin’s limbs and muscles were reacting before his mind issued a conscious order. Knowing the proud woman plowing ahead would not heed any words he called out anyway, he had silently reached over his shoulder, pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it to his bow, and let it fly before another moment passed, startling Regina enough as its course whistled past her ear to make her jerk back several steps. 

The feathered missile embedded in the heavy oaken portal with the solid “thunk” of a shot ringing true, but to the horror of all, rather than remaining there, vibrating from its landing, the arrow was lost from sight as the entire door was engulfed in instantaneous flames.

Watching the blaze which would undoubtedly have devoured her as well had he allowed her to pull open that door before loosing his arrow, Regina paused for mere moments before whipping around, dark eyes flashing, to arrest him angrily. “That arrow nearly took off my head!” she barked, voice as sharp as jagged glass.

Robin shot back, unable to keep himself from rising to the bait. Her lack of gratitude didn’t even surprise him by that point, but he hadn’t intended to be chastised for his quick-thinking aversion of danger either. “Where I come from a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

The regent’s black eyebrow rose in eloquent derision, making her opinion of where he came from quite clear without speaking a word. Yet, despite that hateful, snarling facade he could see the slight tremor he had previously noticed in her pale hands become a full-body quivering that, while still not plainly visible, had to be making it hard for her to remain standing, much less glaring at him with such vitriol. Her full, blood-red-painted lips trembled minutely as well until her perfect white teeth bit into the lower one, stilling it and making him swallow heavily with some reaction he couldn’t explain. She was shaken; that much he knew. But he could understand refusing to admit fear, not being able to let it show for the sake of those who follow, who must see strength to stay their course.

Thankfully, the clearly magical blaze soon expired and the way before them was as clear and unbarred as all the previous entryways they had encountered. Not without a bit of trepidation, but also as brave and determinedly as he had long since learned their hero contingent to be, Prince Charming and Snow pressed forward, followed anxiously by Belle (whom Robin’s heart panged for as she clearly ached to find the man she loved still able to recognize her and navigate his own mind) and the rest of their group. Regina just to the side, looked for all the world as if she were in no particular hurry to enter and see her former mentor, but could instead care less one way or the other. Hanging back, the outlaw of Sherwood Forest made sure the others had passed through the door and into the other room, well out of hearing, before he stepped up to Regina’s side, drawing almost nose-to-nose with her. He then leaned forward practically brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured. “There’s no need to pretend you’re made of stone, your Majesty…” He put precise emphasis on the title which she had let him know in no uncertain terms she preferred upon their first meeting in the forest. “In fact, with the present company, I believe you might get much further by letting them see that you have doubts and fears, just as they do. I know I like you much better seeing you as more than the Evil Queen.”

At her sharp intake of air with his last pronouncement, he pulled back quickly, half expecting a slap to be stinging his skin at any moment. Instead, he found color rising hotly up her neck, her chest rising and falling strenuously in that ridiculously low-cut corseted gown, and her generally looking more flustered and affected than he had ever seen her before.

She opened and closed her mouth soundlessly for several seconds until her tart tongue seemed to return to her, then spit out a quick, “Insolent bandit,” before moving to brush past him and follow the others.

Something in Robin snapped and surged to life in answer to her challenge; not allowing her to push him aside, he grasped her upper arm firmly and held on, her back to the wall and crowding in close to her, until their breaths were mingling in the same air, their faces were so close. Even as his pulse pounded and his heart rate skyrocketed, Robin wondered what had come over him. The woman had maimed and killed, schemed and plotted for her own selfish ends, and stood for everything he had devoted himself to toppling. She was nothing like his beloved Marian had been; someone with whom he would not have imagined sharing a thing in common - and yet he couldn’t fight the pull he felt. The need to imprint upon her not to put her life at risk so needlessly again.

Sweeping forward, he dove into an all-consuming kiss, taking her mouth with his and giving no quarter, delving further instead, and swallowing the whimper and hum that escaped her throat unconsciously, despite her best attempts to remain unaffected.  

Regina’s hands grappled blindly at his biceps as if trying to steady herself. She scrabbled for solid support before helplessly melting against him, opening for his questing mouth and giving herself over to the heated embrace. When they finally broke for air, she was breathless, and he huffed out a winded chuckle himself when she managed, “Well, Thief, that really was quite pleasant… Even if you do still smell of forest.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several realms, curses, and years later, in Storybrooke

The three men and their half dozen offspring of various ages creeping through the woods on the border of Storybrooke out near the town line are quiet and intent, completely and unabashedly focused on their prize. Up ahead, atop the small rise of a hill as the sun climbs fully into the cold, clear November morning sky, their prey struts proudly, stopping occasionally to offer its warbled call or peck at the rough ground beneath its feet. They have been tracking the large turkey for some time now, since before day fully dawned, and the time to strike has come at last.

Briefly, the thought flits through Robin’s head that this could be the same tom that had escaped himself and his Merry Men in this same forest years ago, when the hunt had been interrupted by the nightmarish interruption of a winged simian attacker and LIttle John’s subsequent transformation. To this day, the large and otherwise unflappable man stays far away from this particular section of the forest and refuses to go anywhere near the town line on foot. A quick glance at David and his preteen son to the right, then Killian and his little girl and second son to the left, gives him the hint from both men’s expressions that they are also remembering that rather ill-fated day, as bows are readied and last instructions offered.

He can only hope they will face nothing so unexpected this fine morn. The turkey before them has been promised to grace the main table of the large community Thanksgiving feast, and between the three men and their brood of adventurous junior hunters it is a matter of pride that they not return empty-handed today. Roland was promised the first unobstructed shot, and the young man, just barely a teenager but already capable and thoughtful as an adult, has already taken aim and is readying his shot to fly, much to his half-sister Margot’s displeasure as she stands just behind her big brother at Robin’s elbow. She is as untamed and mischievous as Roland is quiet and serious, and was much put out at the decision that Roland as the oldest child should get first chance, arguing rather heatedly that Roland might be biggest but she was the best shot. His blond-braided, green-attired second child is one of the best shots he’s ever seen at barely ten, but if she doesn’t learn to keep her temper and her slightly spoiled younger sibling petulance under control, he is certainly in for further trials in a few years.

Even in the few silent moments afforded him as they all hold their breaths, Rob feels the gratitude and love he has for his children, and the friends and adopted family surrounding them, surge through him with new strength. He had so very nearly left this world, numerous times over, as had the men on either side of him, and the women each of them loved. It was part of the heavy mantle they wore when standing against the Darkness in the world and fighting it back from the light and good time after time. Still, what better time than the present holiday to give thanks for the fact that they are all still standing and present to celebrate together?

Roland lets out a soft breath and then releases the arrow, just as a sharp cry rings out to the left.  His son’s aim is true, but the bird is startled from its perch just in time to have the shot glide by beneath its talons as it takes flight. David on his right is already directing Leo to adjust his aim quickly and get off a second shot, even as Robin’s eyes sweep to where Killian is righting Hope from a tumble over a jutting tree root, brushing off her dark leggings and checking her for injury as she clearly struggles to hold back embarrassed and disappointed tears.

What he hasn’t banked on is his daughter’s inability to wait her turn or hold back any longer. Quick as whip, Margot lets fly, striking the bird right as she intends and sending it toppling from the sky. Mouth falling open in surprise at her audacity and her skill in equal measure, Robin can’t help the surge of pride at his daughter’s prowess, even if he knows he should admonish her for taking Leo’s moment from him and wondering if he should be making certain Roland doesn’t feel overshadowed.  However, his eldest spares him the trouble when he whoops and claps Margot on the shoulder, crying out “You got him on the fly, Sis! Nice one!”

When the whole group converges together, he decides to let the lecture about abiding by the rules and taking turns slide for the time being upon noticing that Leo looks rather relieved that the pressure to prove his mettle before their quarry escaped has been taken off of his shoulders. Instead, he claps his little girl on the shoulder, squeezing with gentle affection until she looks up at him, beaming.  Like her brother before her, she is growing much too fast, turning into a young lady before his eyes, and so for a moment, he lets himself revel in the fact that she still wants to spend time out in the woods with him and wishes to make him proud. Her papa won’t hold the favored spot in her heart forever, so he may as well savor it while he can.

He thinks Killian’s youngest, barely old enough to be tromping around out here with them in truth, looks a bit teary at the downed and unnaturally still bird before them, so he hurries to bag their prize for the journey homeward and puts it out of sight over his shoulder while Killian picks his tired youngest up off his feet and begins asking him how many different types of trees he can recognize from their leaves on the way back. That seems a bit difficult for a five-year-old until little Liam David begins happily babbling (suitably distracted thankfully) and pointing out oaks, maples and scotch pines as the pirate’s unerring sense of direction leads their whole troupe out of the forest toward the main road where they’ve left their trucks, Margot takes his hand, and Hope her grandpa’s, and Roland and Leo fall in behind talking amiably and carrying the bows. Apparently they have a budding naturalist in their midst as well, and Killian Jones - as usual - knows exactly what he is doing.

When he, Roland, and Margot trail back into the mayoral mansion some time later, discarding their muddy boots by the door, but still scattering crumbled leaves and dirt in the entryway, Regina stands in the hall shaking her head, and directs the children toward the laundry room to discard their outerwear before heading up to wash for dinner.  She looks at him, trying to muster exasperation, but unable to do so. That flawless Queen is long gone; she has come a long way since they snapped and snarled at each other in self-preservation back in their home realm, neither wanting to fall in love and risk heartbreak again.

Snatching his jacket collar and pulling him in close, Regina nips at his lips playfully before murmuring against his scruffy cheek, “You still smell like forest,” she mocks, “but somehow you’ve managed to steal my heart.”

He shakes his head, offering back words she’d stunned him with once long ago, “That’s not quite the way I remember it.  If I recall, your heart was given to me,” he whispers, emotion taking over the jest, “and a person can’t steal what’s been given to him.”

All in all, he’s been given much more than a simple archer from Sherwood Forest could have ever hoped.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @anmylica @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @winterbaby89 @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @bdevereaux @thislassishooked

[berriwritertingz]

the summer i wrote | one

content: future smut, fluff, angst, basically all of it

pairing: milo manheim x afab!reader & ross lynch x afab!reader

summary: every summer, you travel to dahlia's beach to reunite with your mother's closest friend and her son. but this year he unexpectedly brings a friend along. caught in the gentle waves of affection and longing, you find yourself navigating uncharted waters where the boundaries of friendship blur.

notes: this is loosely based on the summer i turned pretty. i just watched the second season and lawwwd i wanted to make a ff soo bad. plus milo and ross have absolutely none anywhere.

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You loved Dahlia's beach. It always smelled salty with a hint of expensive barbeque if you were in the city. But near the countryside there was the sweet smell of honeysuckle. That's where you would rather be, where the tall grass met the sandy dunes. The sounds of hooves on pavement and bustle around the farmers market on a hot weekend afternoon.

This summer was no different. Your stomach churned, rumbling in excitement as you neared the beach house. It was huge. Five bedrooms with enough bathrooms. Too many patios surrounding it. Turquoise colored pool with a small waterfall. The house was a blueish gray color with white accents. Calm and minimalistic, much unlike the other grand colorful houses on the street. It sat like a diamond around other stones in a non normal way. The most priceless of them all. Placed directly in front of the beach but not close enough to tourist spots so it was always quiet. It was always such an amazing way to spend the three months in between school. You looked forward to it every year.

But that wasn't all you looked forward to.

Your mom honked as you guys entered the driveway. A wide smile plastered on her face. Your mom seemed to love this place more than she loved you, even if she denied it when you asked. You knew the truth. Summers at the beach house were the only time she got to see her best friend, Camryn.

"Hey!" A voice squealed from the porch. You shuffled out of the car, legs aching after a long 5 hours. As you stretched you were met with Cam, arms spread jumping for joy. Practically knocking you over. They were best friends from high school. Going to college together and even sharing a dorm room. With how they acted every time they met, you were convinced they had separation anxiety. They didn't get to see each other throughout the year. Other than here of course. For they lived states apart, Dahlia's being a quiet beach town that was located in the middle.

Camryn engulfed you in a bear hug first, gushing about how pretty you are. Making you do a spin in your dress. Once she pulled away she did the same to your mom whose high pitched voice could be heard from the beach. As they talked about how ‘different’ each other looked. You watched as they walked inside hand in hand when your eyes met his.

Milo.

He radiantly smiled as he trotted over to you. The classic hands in pockets, ruffled hair, and expensive glasses. It was like he had a glow up every year whether it was him dressing better or maybe getting a bit taller.

"Hi" He cooed embracing you in a tight hug. The smell of his overpriced cologne filled your nose. It reminded you of sugary trees and cool waves. Much like the beach house. He was another reason you loved the beach house so much. Without him you were stuck with two middle aged ladies whose celebrity crush was Liam Neeson and only watched tv shows made by Shonda Rhimes. He was fun. He never made you feel left out or alone. He was everything any girl could wish for. Tall, smart, rich, and incredibly good eye candy.

"Hello, Milo." You smiled as he let you go.

He ran a hand threw his hair looking down at you. Eyes trailing down your body strangely. His expression was unrecognizable. Your face heated up turning your head to avoid his gaze. He touched the bottom of your dress. Yanking the fabric gently.

"This is a little short isn't it?" He questioned eyes meeting yours. Lips curled up in a sly smile. Rolling your eyes you scoffed slapping his hand away. He acted like a big brother sometimes. Especially with your clothes. Every summer complaining about how short your shorts were or how revealing your bathing suit was.

"Oh shut up you do this every-" The sight of someone else on the porch caught your eye. "Who's that?" You questioned raising an eyebrow.

Milo turned around and nodded in acknowledgement as the boy made his way down the stairs. Bleached blond hair slightly overgrown and wide smile on display as he made his way towards you two.

"Y/N this is Ross, Ross Y/N. He's staying the summer with us this year." Ross reached his hand out to you. Clad in silver rings that looked a bit out of your price range. Does Milo have any Middle Class friends? It was unusual. No one ever came to the beach house from back home. It was like a unsaid rule between everyone. Written in big red letters 'No Strangers'. The dads didn't even bother coming even though Milo's paid for it.

"Nice to meet you." He looked you up and down a tongue swiping over his lips. "Milo didn't tell me how pretty you are."

"Dude!" Milo exclaimed punching his shoulder rolling his eyes.

"Thank you." You beamed softening your voice. Milo scoffed walking towards the trunk slightly bumping into Ross. But he didn't seem to mind, hazel eyes still trained on you.

"So where are you fr-" Ross was cut off by a slightly pissed off Milo. "Are you guys serious? C'mon Ross help me with these bags." Ross walked away backwards eyes still focused on you with that addicting smile of his.

"See you inside?" He whispered loud enough for you to hear him.

You didn't respond. Only nodding as you strolled inside.

a/n: soooo what do you guys think? im still trying to figure out this tumblr writing stuff im so used to just reading ive never written and posted anything on here lololol. pls be patient with me! a few tips and tricks would be greatly appreciated!!

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[foldingfittedsheets]

A silly holiday story time:

At thanksgiving one year my family had all gathered at my nana’s house for the family meal. My family are… not cooks. In more recent years I’ve had to warn my betrothed to lower their expectations of what we’re going to be fed. They hear the menu and think, well that sounds okay only to eat the blandest most poorly cooked food to ever shame our ancestors.

But the year in question I was still but a teenager and had not yet learned better food existed. I knew next to nothing about cooking, nor did my nana, so I was vaguely puzzled when she volunteered to cook a turkey.

It was good fortune really that I was in the kitchen when she came to check on it. I watched quietly while she opened the oven and made a sound of disgust at the juices surrounding the bird in its pan. She opened the oven door wider. She looked from the oven to her trash can. She looked back in the oven.

“Are you- uh- are you thinking to pour that juice in the trash?”

“Yeah! It’s gross, I’m just trying to figure out how.”

I, with my mere seventeen years of life experience looked at my fully grown wizened grandparent in bafflement. “If you pour that in the trash it’s going to melt through the bag, and also probably through the trash can itself? It’s really hot?”

She looked surprised to hear this basic law of thermodynamics, looking at the bubbling well of turkey fat as if seeing it for the first time. She then turned back to me, a child who had never learned to cook, “Well what am I supposed to do with it?”

“I think you leave it there? And-“

What I said next was cobbled together from television, pop culture, and American teens fixation on the hilarity of the tool for sex jokes-

“I think you baste it? There’s like a thing you get the juice in to squirt back on the top?”

She made a thoughtful hmm and closed the oven again, wandering back into the living room. I took a moment to imagine the alternate timeline where my family cleaned burning hot fat and melted plastic off the floor.

By and by our underwhelming dinner was completed and we tucked in. My mom keeps chickens so as we finished our food we put all our scraps into a big bowl that was going to the birds. We filled it with dry under seasoned turkey, stuffing, unfinished mashed potatoes, half eaten dinner rolls, etc.

As we were all lounging in contented fullness my brother finally arrived. Being older he had the luxury of showing up to family events hours late. He greeted everyone and went to fix himself a plate. He came out of the kitchen carrying the metal bowl of scraps, delightedly mowing through it.

My mom looked up and started laughing and we all turned to follow suit.

“What?” he asked.

“That’s the bowl for the chickens! Why did you pick that instead of making a plate?”

“This had everything!” he protested, showing us the conglomeration of every component of dinner all mixed up in one bowl.

He sat down and finished the whole massive bowl, unbothered by eating scraps, and the family watched in fascination. His only comment at the end was, “That was great! Turkey was a little dry.”

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 12

PREVIOUS

If there was one thing no one would ever guess about FF it is that he unapologetically LOVES Black Friday.

You may be thinking. Ugh Black Friday. Everyone is so rude and tired. The deals aren’t even that good. It can turn into a blood sport at the drop of a hat over a toaster that is 15% off.

You are correct.

That is why FF loves it.

It is the one shopping day of the year where every single one of his instincts are correct, valid, and useful. He has pulled his gran out of the way of elbow drops, he has avoided the gaze of a woman in PINK sweat pants who was looking for someone to steal a blender from, and he knows without a doubt that the cashier hates him already so there’s no need to worry about whether or not they hate him.

It’s like a breath of fresh air!

Everyone is just as antagonistic and awful as he thinks they are!

Shopping is actually the blood sport he always feels like it is!

So there he is standing in a line at the nearest store (Target) waiting to be let in with the masses who all look ready to stab one another for better positioning for a TV. The jokes on them though because his only goal is the grocery section and he deals with the threat of repeated stabbings for BREAKFAST.

He spots an IHOP in the distance and hopes his gran doesn’t feel too lonely. They’ve gotten buttermilk stacks together at the IHOP by the mall for years after the two of them finished Christmas Shopping.

Someone elbows him in the side to get his spot in line but FF does not really care. Again, he doubts any of these people are going to be racing him to the all purpose flour.

It’s 4 AM and the barricades come down.

There’s a rush of people pushing and shoving but FF just steps to the side and watches as they all rush in. He’d mostly stayed in the line because the throng of people made it easier to stay warm. He had left his jacket back at the house because the five hour energy might be making his skin feel super sensitive but he is pretty sure that if he wore his nylon jacket he would die.

The five hour energy also may be upping his anxiety just a little bit.

He walks into the store at a leisurely pace and while the crowd fights over the carts he grabs one of the baskets. He can feel the eyes of other shoppers all wondering if he has some insider knowledge on a good deal that would only require the basket or if it’s a matter of who gets to the back to receive the ‘redeem’ coupon.

He sees a few shoppers get lured in by his siren call and much like a siren following anything that FF is about to do will undoubtedly lead to their downfall.

But FF doesn’t care about that.

He cares about HIS downfall.

So he makes his way to the grocery section and ignores the six different shopping assistants who try and guide him to where he ‘should’ be shopping and each of them only give him increasingly confused looks when he states his intention to go to the grocery section every single time.

Is it easier to ignore their stares when the five hour energy have set his baseline heart rate to something that might be too fast to register as a heartbeat? Maybe.

It is easier to ignore the confusion on their faces when he can see both the past (he asked for TWO favors from Andrew in one day how is he still alive???) and the future (still malleable at the moment apparently. There’s even a future where Andrew actually just is trying to make overtures of friendship but he dismisses that one as INCREDIBLY unlikely and looks at the far more viable one where Andrew at least makes his death quick while he enjoys his great gran’s brownies.)

It’s good to set reasonable goals for yourself.

So he arrives at the grocery section which is deserted aside from one employee who may or may not be asleep against a shelf. FF looks and….not a shelf he needs so he is not about to wake that poor man up.

So he gets everything he needs for his great gran’s brownies (he’s trying to buy his life here so he is not about to assume he can use ANYTHING in the house), the ingredients for a good breakfast (because he really needs to eat something that is not a five hour energy or sugar for the sake of his poor stomach and he may as well get enough for everyone), and (since Captain Neil mentioned it & he is trying to buy his life here) the ingredients to bake another pie.

While he grabs cinnamon he checks to see if they have grandma’s love in stock but, alas, it continues to be unavailable commercially.

He stares at the whipped cream for so long that the employee asleep in the other aisle woke up and asked if he needed help and, startled, he dropped it in his basket. “No I’m good.” He says before power walking out of the grocery department and deciding to brave the Home Goods section to buy some incense so that he can hopefully channel the spirit of his great gran to assist him in this, the darkest of his baking hours.

He arrives at the check out stations and finds the shortest line .

He can feel eyes on him, inspecting his purchases, judging them, judging him, who the fuck goes grocery shopping during the Black Friday rush?

FF.

FF goes grocery shopping during the Black Friday rush.

The cashier looks for hidden cameras but FF has no such thing accompanying him today or ever (as far as he knows.)

After a moment the cashier must look at the ever growing line and decide that whatever scheme they think FF is up to isn’t worth trying to figure out. They offer a membership card, FF valiantly declines to get one despite the two attempts.

He is out the door with four bags of groceries that all have a target on them that feels a little too correct. It’s 6 AM now (he really did lose a lot of time at the whipped cream section) and he’s walking back to the house in Columbia.

He actually feels a little bit better since he at least got to experience his actual favorite blood sport (sorry Exy) and he even got another 2 five hour energies while he was in the check out line so he could replace some of the ones that he had gone through.

“Smith?”

He would like to thank the combined weight of the groceries for keeping his feet on the ground when he heard Captain Neil’s voice.

He turns and Captain Neil is looking at him wide-eyed in his running gear that Smith has seen him in. “You were shopping??” He asks.

FF nods and lifts up the four bags as evidence. “Why didn’t you pick up your phone?” He asks.

FF almost scoffs but he doesn’t, “You can’t be distracted when you’re in a Target on Black Friday. That’s how you take an elbow to the eye.” He responds because it’s like Captain Neil has never experienced the WWE-like environment of Black Friday shopping.

Captain Neil blinks at him.

“Text Andrew or me next time you’re going to go off into the night or just let us know beforehand. Andrew would have driven you.” Captain Neil says and grabs two of the bags out of FF’s hand. “C’mon let’s get back and maybe you can get some sleep.” Captain Neil sighs.

“I’m fine.” FF adjusts the bags so he has one in each hand.

Captain Neil does not say anything so FF assumes that he has accepted that.

***

FF had not been asleep on the couch when Neil had walked through the living room. Neil, in a move that had Andrew fully waking up, went back to the room to check his phone to see if FF had texted him an update on going out. All that greets Neil is the impersonal series of texts that mostly confirmed when practice times had been changed, when the bus was leaving, and spelling on various Spanish words.

FF isn’t a big text person.

He’s more of an in-person kind of friend.

Neil likes that about him most of the time.

“What.” Andrew asks face still half buried in Neil’s pillow.

“Smith isn’t on the couch.”

That has Andrew getting up despite the early hour and their activities the night before. Neil watches as Andrew grabs his own phone to scroll through but seems to come up with the same lack of communication that Neil does.

Andrew does do the extra step and hit the call button.

But all he gets is the confirmation that the VM has not been configured that has greeted them every time FF misses their calls. (Voicemails make FF anxious so when he got his new phone he just…never configured it.)

Neil knew that FF was not pleased with them and somehow the calm request to either stop fooling around or let him out had hit him and Andrew harder than any of the screaming demands that the two of them were usually met with from Nicky, Kevin, Aaron, or any of the other Foxes.

“You said he wasn’t mad.” Neil says.

“He nodded.” Andrew confirms.

“Maybe he went on a walk?” Neil tries as they come out to the living room. They look at the front door and find that it’s locked but it looks like Aaron’s keys are gone. “He probably is going to come back if he took Aaron’s keys since Aaron wouldn’t be the one he’d be irritated with.” Neil rationalizes.

“He didn’t bring his jacket.” Andrew says looking at the black jacket still on the hook by the door.

“We can go and see if we spot him.” Neil offers.

Andrew nods and Neil heads out first since Andrew is still in his sleeping clothes and will need some time.

Neil had not expected to find FF walking back to the house with groceries for breakfast and the pie that Neil had mentioned hoping they could bake at the house.

“Is this for the pie?” He asks looking down at what was in the bags he was carrying as the walked back to the house. Neil managed to shoot off a quick text letting Andrew know that it was fine, FF just went grocery shopping.

FF just nods, “Got everything but Grandma’s love.” He says.

FF is a nice guy to brave the stores on a morning like this but FF also looks like he hasn’t slept a wink.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Neil asks.

“I’m fine.” FF repeats.

Neil really is starting to understand his friends’ hatred for the phrase.

They get back to the house and Andrew is sat out in the living room. FF stops and blinks at the sight of him sitting there.

It is a well-known fact that Andrew does not willingly wake up early most days unless he has to. Neil is glad that Andrew has a friend that he’s coming to care about the way Andrew cares about FF.

Andrew gets up and yanks the bags out of FF’s hands. “Go to sleep. Today will be irritating if you’re half-asleep.” He says with a scowl and walks to the kitchen to put away the groceries FF had bought.

FF just looks at where Andrew had gone uncomprehendingly for a few moments and Neil figures he’s just tired. Neil feels guilty that him and Andrew messing around in the car like that had rendered FF unable to sleep and the two of them had agreed last night that from now on when FF is in the car they can talk all they want but hands stay on the wheel and eyes stay on the road.

FF is plopped down on the couch when Andrew and Neil come out of the kitchen after putting away the groceries (“These are the ingredients for brownies.” Andrew had noted as he put away melting chocolate.) and he’s looking through his flashcards again and not sleeping. He hears Andrew make a disgusted noise next to him and the next thing he knows Andrew is smacking the cards out of FF’s hands.

“Go. To. Sleep.” Andrew enunciates.

FF stares at him, then down at the flashcards. “I don’t think I can.” He says which is better than him lying and saying he wasn’t tired even if the truth had Andrew’s mouth stretch into a thin line that meant he was beating himself up for something.

“Try.” Andrew orders. “Just lay down and close your eyes. Nothing will happen to you while you’re sleeping.” He says.

FF blinks but nods turning on the couch and laying down. The blanket is still over on the lazy boy that Neil had set it on the night before and Andrew rolls his eyes before grabbing it and tossing it over FF.

“Thanks.” FF says before closing his eyes.

Neil looks to Andrew who nods and Neil accepts that there’s nothing else to be done for now and heads out on his run.

***

FF can admit that he’s a bit adrift in what Andrew and Captain Neil are doing right now.

He really should go grab another five hour energy because falling asleep IN FRONT of an irritated Andrew Minyard feels like a death sentence but “Nothing will happen to you while you’re sleeping.” And having a blanket thrown over him did not feel like a threat even if he can feel Andrew’s eyes watching him.

FF is tired and when he’s tired he tends to make stupid decisions. So FF lets himself drift off to sleep while the man who was likely going to move him to a secondary location sat and watched.

His dreams are not peaceful.

He’s running, can’t escape, an echo of words he should have considered before letting himself drift off and he knows he’s going to DIE.

He wakes up with a start to the smell of bacon, eggs, and hashed browns with Nicky standing over him. “Hey there sleeping beauty! I made you a plate!” He says and hands FF a plate of breakfast that smiles up at him with a bacon mouth, egg eyes, and hashed brown hair.

FF takes the plate and digs in immediately. He needs his strength.

“Today will be irritating if you’re half-asleep.”

Andrew Minyard was going to hunt him for SPORT.

NEXT

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[coloradocharmiegirl]

In honor of Thanksgiving I thought I'd do a throwback to my first foray into the smutty world of Kum & Go, Charmie-style. Happy Thanksgiving everyone! 💚💙CCG

Kum & Go --originally posted to AO3 on November 27th, 2021

Note: Kum & Go is a real gas station/convenience store chain in my area, and every time I drive by one, I giggle like a schoolgirl. On my way to my in-laws for Thanksgiving 2021, this little thing popped in my head and screamed until I wrote it down. 

Summary:

Timmy is home from college, and much to his irritation his mom sends him out to get milk mid-day on Thanksgiving. Unwilling to deal with the frenzy at the grocery store, Timmy seeks out the only convenience store that’s open. Meanwhile, as the owner of several convenience stores, Armie always has trouble making sure he has enough people willing to work the holiday. This year he was one short, so he’s put on a uniform and is staffing his least-trafficked store. Will a chance encounter give them each something to be thankful for?

Excerpt:

"Did you find everything you need?” Armie asked.

Timmy took a deep breath as he looked down and nodded. He felt a blush rise up on his cheeks--he was doing his best to limit the visual stimulation, but the voice was enough. He felt himself getting hard again.

“Everything?” asked Armie, his voice dropping suggestively. He dragged his finger down the inside of Timmy’s wrist as he took his money. “I mean, the name of the store is Kum & Go, and you’re going, but you haven’t cum yet.”

Timmy gasped and his head snapped up, not believing what he’d heard. But faced with the sight of the man’s hungry eyes, pupils blown wide with desire, there was no mistake--and Timmy was ecstatic. He let his mouth fall open and ran his tongue over his top teeth before sucking his bottom lip in and biting it. He stared at the man across the counter as his eyes fell to Timmy’s lips. 

“Well,” Timmy said, “now that you mention it, I didn’t see exactly where that was on the shelf.” After a fraction of a second, he added, “I’m Timmy by the way.”

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Thanksgiving Reruns--Day 4: Black Friday (2/3)

Title: Black Friday—Chapter 2 of 3

Rating: G

Words: 1713

Summary: CS as single parents AU. As the holidays approach, Emma’s son Henry and Killian’s daughter Alice ask for a specific storybook which will ONLY be available for purchase on Black Friday.

 Other chapters: 1 2 3 5

 Black Friday—Chapter 2

“Um excuse me,” Emma said with a frown, “this book is mine.”

The person standing before her didn’t relinquish the book in question, and Emma glanced up at him…and then promptly wished she hadn’t.  This guy was hot.  Like middle-of-summer in Phoenix hot.  Like compared-to-him-the-sun-was-kind-of-warm hot.  No one had a right to look that damn good this early in the morning.  She should just arrest him and haul him off to jail for that alone.

Very much against her will, her heart swooped and her breath caught at his very proximity.  She saw the exact moment he noticed her reaction.  A sly, maddening, delighted (sexy) grin came over his face.  Emma frowned thunderously up at him, as angry with herself at her reaction as she was at him for his…well, his very existence.

“Much as I hate to contradict a lady,” he drawled (Oh gods, even his voice and accent were hot.  She was in serious, serious trouble), “I believe this book, in fact belongs to me.  I was here first.”

Her frown deepened.  “I don’t think so.  Give me my item before I punch you in the face.”

He chuckled, leaning forward and crowding her space. (Her stupid, traiterous heart picked up yet again.)  “Oh Darling, I can think of some far, far more pleasant ways we can spar than a bout of fisticuffs.”

Was it suddenly hot in here?  

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” she said with a sigh, her voice beginning to raise.  “Just stop being a jackass and give me the book.”

Suddenly a small man with a brown beard, a grumpy look on his face, and a hat that read “security” stepped forward.  “There a problem here folks?”

“None I can’t handle,” Emma gritted out.  “Soon as this guy admits I got here first and gives me my merchandise I’ll get out of your hair.”

“On the contrary,” the man said.  “I was the first one to claim this particular prize.”

The security guard, who wore the name tag “Leroy”, glanced back and forth between the two of them for a moment, and then shrugged.  “Look, I won’t have any fighting in this store.  Work it out among yourselves, or I’m kicking you both out.  Then neither one of you gets the stupid book.”

For a moment Emma merely glared at the man, and he looked back at her, a look of steely determination on his face.  Finally he sighed.

“Look, love, the security guard’s right,” he said. “While quite enjoyable, our standoff will get us nowhere.”

Was the (hot as hell) guy going to actually be reasonable and give in?

“So here’s what I propose,” he said.  “We purchase the book and then adjourn elsewhere to discuss the particulars of whose prize it will be.  Perhaps you’ll allow me to buy you a cup of coffee at Granny’s?”

She crossed her arms across her chest.  “Are you seriously asking me out right now?”

He chuckled, and the sound did things to her, things that brought the color to her cheeks and stole her breath clean from her lungs.  He leaned even closer, so close she could feel his minty-fresh breath against her cheek.  “Sadly no.  I was merely proposing a parlay of sorts, a chance for us to settle our differences like adults.  However, if you’re hoping for a romantic evening out on another occasion, I could certainly accommodate you.”

“In your dreams!”

He wiggled his eyebrows.  Actually wiggled them!  “Perhaps.”

Emma growled.  “Are you kidding me right now?  It’s too early for this!”

He seemed to sense he’d pushed her as far as was prudent, and he sighed.  “I vow to be the perfect gentleman.  IIf we at least secure the item, we can then decide later who is the victor.”

She gave him a quick look and could see the sincerity in his eyes.  She was good at spotting when someone was lying, after all.  Finally she sighed.  “Fine.  But we both buy it–split the cost fifty-fifty.  That way neither one of us can claim ownership of the book before we get everything ironed out.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Here you are folks,” the perky brunette waitress said half an hour later.  “One black coffee and one hot cocoa with cinnamon.

Killian heard the waitress lean whisper “Emma, he’s hot” to the woman on the other side of the booth.

She growled and whispered “Ruby, shut it!” back.

He chuckled.  This was turning into one of the most delightful mornings he’d had in ages.  When the waitress had flitted over to another set of customers, Killian leaned back and grinned at his companion.  “She’s right, you know,” he said.  ‘I have been called devilishly handsome.”

“I’ll give you the devilish part,” she said with a wry quirk of her brow.  “Look…what did you say your name was?”

“Did I fail to introduce myself?  How very rude of me.  Killian Jones, at your service,” he said with a bow.  Her cheeks colored alluringly at his formality, and Killian was delighted at her reaction to him.

She was utterly captivating, and the truth was, he hadn’t been so quickly, completely and charmingly smitten with anyone since Milah.  Though he very much wanted to attain the fairy tale book for his Alice, he couldn’t say he regretted the complications this morning had brought.

He didn’t know what possessed him to ask this woman to coffee.  All he knew as they stood facing off in the bookstore was that he did not want their time together to be at an end anytime soon.

“Emma Swan,” she muttered.

A fit of pure devilishness came over him, and he reached over, took her hand and brought it to her lips.  “Enchanted.” he whispered.

Her quick, indrawn breath made his grin widen, and she quickly pulled her hand back and busied herself with taking a sip of her beverage.

“So, Killian Jones,” she said, her voice not quite steady, “what are we going to do about this book?  I don’t mean to be a jerk about it, but I really need this book.  My son…well, this is the only thing he’s asked for, and it’s been a rough year for him.  I just…I just want to be able to give him this one thing so maybe I don’t feel like such a failure as a parent.”

His heart turned over.  He could tell she’d said more than she’d intended.  Emma Swan didn’t strike him as someone who let her walls down quickly or shared her feelings of inadequacy with strangers.

“As a single parent myself, I can relate to the feelings, love,” he said, “but I’ve no doubt book or no book, you’re hardly a failure as a parent.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, glancing uncomfortably aside.  “I feel like it.”

Killian was silent for a long moment, taking a sip of his coffee.  If it weren’t for Alice, he’d give up his claim on the book in a moment, but it was for Alice.  Was there any way they could both get what they wanted?

“I don’t wish to be intransigent either,” he said finally, “and my behavior today is not a matter of mere stubbornness.  My daughter also has her heart set on this particular book.”

Her eyes softened at his statement, acknowledging their dueling claims as parents wanting the best for their respective children.  “Yeah, I get it, so that brings me back to my original question.  How do we decide who gets the book?”

Suddenly an idea struck him.  It was unorthodox to say the least, unorthodox to the point of being downright bizarre, but it did have it’s merits–namely the fact that, should she agree to it, they’d be forced to see each other again on a fairly regular basis.

“I do have an idea,” he said slowly, “but it may sound positively daft.”

She gave him an assessing look, taking another dainty sip of her cocoa.  “Okay, I’m listening.”

“What if we share the book?” he blurted out.

“Share it?  What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, “what if we trade off?  Your lad gets the book one week, and then my Alice gets it the next, and so on.”

Her brow furrowed.  “You mean like…joint custody…of a book.”

He shrugged with a grin.  “I told you it would sound daft.”

Killian was encouraged by the fact that Emma didn’t outright shoot down his (odd) idea.  She seemed to consider it, staring into space for several moments, before briefly nodding.  “It is a weird solution, but I think it might be the best way we can both get what we want.  Can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have a deal.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

"It worked!" Henry said excitedly he following Monday morning as he got off the school bus and sprinted over to Alice.  "My mom told me all about it.  Your dad and my mom decided to share the storybook!"

"I know!" Alice said, smile wide and delighted.  "My papa explained the situation to me.  I could tell he felt bad that he didn't get the book, and I wanted to make him feel better, but then I thought maybe it would be better to act kinda disappointed."

"Good thinking," Henry said with a nod as they reached their classroom and headed for their desks.  "If they feel guilty, then they'll make sure to always make the drop off, and then they'll have to meet every week.  We'll be brother and sister by Easter!"

"I hope you're right," Alice said with a sigh.  "I know my papa gets lonely sometimes, and it would be nice if he had someone besides me in his life."

"Exactly," Henry agreed. "And my mom needs to know that not every guy's like my dad.  Not every guy's gonna leave her.

Henry busied himself setting his backpack on the floor and getting out his books and then he looked back at Alice with a troubled look.  "You don't think they'll be mad at us, do you?  You know, for being sneaky and everything."

Alice shook her head vehemently.  "They'll be too happy together for that.  Sometimes adults are just too busy to see what's right in front of them.  That's when their kids have to step in and parent trap them."

Next Chapter-->

[cosette141]

It's the Thought that Counts (Leverage Fanfic) | Thanksgiving Story

Fandom: Leverage Author: cosette141 Words: 1631

Summary: When Eliot gets hurt and can't cook Thanksgiving dinner, the team gives cooking a try. It's the thought that counts, right? Happy Thanksgiving!

AO3

a/n: takes place during OG Leverage season 3

(story under the cut!)

Everyone stood in Nate's kitchen, looking toward a prone Eliot on Nate's couch.

It was Thanksgiving Day.

The plan had been simple: finish up the job they were working on in the morning, then reconvene at Nate's apartment where Eliot would cook them Thanksgiving dinner, as he'd been doing the past two years.

But… as usual, things didn't quite go as planned.

The con was completed successfully, but not without a hiccup; Eliot had gotten into a fight with a very well-trained security guard, who ended up pushing Eliot down a flight of stairs.

The stairs ended up causing Eliot a concussion and dislocated shoulder, which was set back into place that morning and now resided in a sling over his chest.

Just a handful of minutes ago they got home and Eliot had passed out on the couch.

Looking away from the hitter, the rest of the team looked back at each other.

It was Parker who broke the silence. "We should make dinner."

Three shocked eyes turn to her. "Uh," said Hardison. "What?"

"We should make dinner," repeated Parker simply. "Eliot can't cook with one arm." A blink. "We should make dinner."

"Parker," began Nate.

"One of us has to know how to cook," said Parker with a scrunched nose.

All heads turn toward Sophie.

Her brows shot up. "Me?" When they only kept staring, she leveled them with an annoyed glare. "What? Just because I'm a woman, you think I know how to cook a meal like that?"

From their stares, yes they did.

"Well, I don't," she said firmly, crossing her arms. "I grew up with people who cooked for us, and grifted everyone else in my life into either cooking or buying me a meal. I don't cook."

Parker deflated a little.

"What about you?" asked Hardison to Nate. "You weren't really a stay-at-home dad," at the worddadNate shifted a little, and the three of them tried not to notice. Gently, Hardison tried, "Did you pick anything up from Maggie?"

Nate laughed a little. "Maggie? No. She wasn't much of a cook herself. I mean, I can make grilled cheese and French toast like no tomorrow.. those were Sam's favorites." His eyes clouded a little and the others fidgeted where they stood. Nate shook it away. "But, ah… no. You put a turkey in front of me, I don't know what I'd do with it."

"We could order a thanksgiving meal from a restaurant," said Hardison, reaching for his phone.

"No!" said Parker firmly. Hardison stopped. "Eliot says that's not Thanksgiving. He told me Thanksgiving is about showing your appreciation for people through food." She leveled a strong gaze with the hacker. "Not restaurants."

The four of them stood for a moment, letting the fact that Eliot Spencer appreciates them sink in until Hardison pulled out his phone. He typed a little on it and said, "Ya know what? It's fine. None of us can cook. But here…" He flipped around his phone to show a screen of a YouTube video titled: Thanksgiving Dinner For Dummies. He grinned. "And this is why this is the age of the geek, baby."

Eliot's head pounded.

At first, he thought it was the remnants of his concussion headache. He knew it wasn't a bad concussion, only minor, but this didn't feel like that kind of a headache. This felt like—

"Aw, crap, what'd I just do—"

Yup, that was it.

A Hardison headache.

The hacker's voice floated in, along with the clatter of something to a counter. More sounds mixed in, actually—an electric mixer itself—crinkling bags and boxes, beeps and creaks of un-oiled hinges, and the cross of chatter—no, make that bickering—between Hardison and Sophie.

But as bad as the voices were for his headache, it was nothing compared to the smell.

Something was burning. Actually, several things, by how pungent it was. There was the distinct smell of burning plastic in there as well, among burning of meat, potatoes—a horrible burning smell—and cranberries.

Eliot finally wrenched open his eyes, finding himself staring at the back of Nate's couch.

His eyes stung a little and he coughed, both from the waft of smoke coming from the kitchen and the distinct cutting-onions thing going on in the air.

Not able to take any of it any longer, he levered himself up on the arm he could move and propped himself up on it, looking over the back of the couch.

Eliot Spencer has seen many terrifying, horrendous things in his life.

But nothing was quite as bad as the scene before him.

Nate's kitchen was a mess.

Pots and pans littered every counter, some overturned, and for whatever reason, one's contents were lightly on fire.

The stove was covered with pans and the oven was open, and both Sophie and Hardison were leaning over it. A thin trail of gray smoke trailed into their faces and they were arguing about something.

Parker was stirring something in a pot with the mixer, so close to the metal of it that it made a loud clanging sound that made Eliot wince for both his ears and for the safety of Nate's nonstick pan, especially when Parker looked toward Hardison and Sophie and said, "I think the mashed potatoes are done! They're finally blue."

And over at his dining room table, Nate was sitting in a chair, a drink in one hand and using the other to rub at his temples.

Eliot blinked.

"What the hell is goin' on?" demanded Eliot, loud enough to be heard over the mixer and Hardison and Sophie's bickering.

The noise silenced and each head looked over toward him.

Parker was the only one whose face lit up. "Eliot!" She put down the pan and skipped over to him. "We're making Thanksgiving dinner!"

Eliot blinked.

He slowly took in the mess of Nate's kitchen, and could pull out faint scents (minus the scorching) of traditional thanksgiving dishes. Even Nate's dining room table was all set up with five plates, napkins and silverware. The oven door closed and Eliot looked back over to see Hardison and Sophie handling a very-black turkey on a cookie sheet.

Two sheepish grins, one amused grin, and one bright and proud grin were shot his way.

Eliot worked to find his voice. "You guys…cooked?"

"Well," said Hardison, as he and Sophie put the "turkey" down on the counter. "With your arm all messed up it woulda been really hard for you to cook for us this year. And you were really tired and we didn't wanna wake you…"

Parker smiled wide. "And you deserve it!"

Not in any of the years since he's left home has someone cooked him a meal. Well, outside of the sludge they served in the prisons and dungeons from his darker days. Even on dates,hewas the one who cooked, and those relationships never lasted long to begin with. But Thanksgiving dinner? Meeting the team had been the first time he's ever cooked one, using the old recipes he learned from watching his mama as a kid.

After meeting the team, he'd cooked for them because they needed someone to feed them something better than the crap they ate. And he'd been heartbroken to hear that Parker had never celebrated Thanksgiving, Hardison and Sophie hadn't since they'd left home as kids, and that Nate hadn't since his son died.

So when he got hurt, he was more upset about not being able to cook than any of the physical pain. But this was something that happened once a year, and it was one of the only traditions he really cared about.

Seeing the four of them, surrounded by—what would probably be a very inedible—dinner, that they made forhim… was something that really warmed his heart.

It may have simply been the onions or the smoke still lingering in the air, but Eliot felt his eyes burn the smallest bit with tears.

"Dinner's almost ready!" said Parker brightly. "I made your favorite dessert too!" She picked up a dish that looked like a pile of tan goo. It took all of Eliot's self-control not to react badly.

"Uh," he swallowed. "What...what is it?"

Parker looked at him weird. "Duh! It's apple pie." As Eliot tried to hide the shock from his face, she looked back down at the… "pie."

"Oh!" she said, laughing. "It'll probably look more like a pie after it's done boiling."

He was thankful she turned her back then because he wasn't quite sure he could hide the utter horror from his face.

Though, Nate caught it, and Eliot watched his lips twitch into an amused grin.

"How the hell…"

Eliot looked over to see Hardison stabbing a knife into the center of the turkey, and it getting stuck. He tried yanking it out.

"Hardison!" yelled Eliot. "What the hell are you doing?"

Hardison looked up. "What? I'm carving the turkey."

"That's not—" Eliot shut his eyes. He got himself off the couch, making his way over to Hardison. "Who taught you how to hold a knife? What are you—give me that!"

"No, man—you only have one arm! I got it!"

"My one arm is more capable of doing this than both of yours now give me the knife!"

"No!"

Nate watched from his seat at the table. A normal man might worry at watching the two boys wrestle over a rather large knife, but he wasn't a normal man. And this wasn't a normal family.

But it was a family.

His family.

And for that, even as he later had to actually eat the questionable dinner his family made…

He couldn't have been more thankful to have them.

[iron-niffler]

not me sitting at my desk staring off into space wistfully thinking about what im going to do on december 19 at 11am after my last final as if i don't have ten assignments to do, a paper to write, two exams next week and 3-4 finals to study for

[sk3l3t0n1n]

i hate myself so fucking much

[walviemort]

Sweet Blessings

Happy Thanksgiving, friends! Even if you don’t celebrate, I’m thankful for all of you who’ve read and commented on my stories! This is just a little cute scene I wanted to write today; hope you like it and hope you’ve had a wonderful day!

Thanksgiving in Storybrooke was every inch the picture-perfect event Emma had always imagined as a child. The gathering, the food—the whole nine yards.

Of course, it was slightly more stressful than she anticipated; her childhood fantasies didn’t factor in the fairy tale reality her life would become, or that Snow White was a micromanager. But she happily went with the flow, knowing just how much she had to be thankful for—her family, friends, and her True Love.

(And she and Killian were extra thankful this year for some impending blessings.)

The week before the gathering, Snow was going over the menu with Emma. It all sounded wonderful, but Emma had one comment: “There needs to be a lot of cranberry sauce.”

“Oh yeah, I have it covered,” Snow assured her, then tried to continue on but Emma had to stop her.

“No—we need a lot of it.”

Snow tilted her head, confused. “Why?”

Emma gave a sheepish smile. “Cravings.”

(It had been happening since the start of the third trimester, about a month ago—right when stores started carrying Thanksgiving supplies. She’d had to go out of town to stock up on cans of whole-berry cranberry sauce just to make sure Storybrooke didn’t run out; almost an entire kitchen cabinet was full.)

Snow returned her grin. “Ah. I think we can have it covered, then.”

Emma hoped that just meant a double serving of it. But she forgot who she was dealing with.

When they arrived at her parents’s house, the full spread was ready: Granny made the turkey and stuffing; Regina had brought green beans and apple pies; Snow prepped potatoes right from her garden and had fresh bread baking; and Emma and Killian were bringing salad and wine (even if not everyone could drink it).

However, after they’d added their contribution to the general splendor, that was when they both noticed the dishes covering the sideboard in the dining room: cranberry sauce, brought by everyone, it looked like. They were all a little different—some had fresh berries, some had whipped topping—but all looked amazing.

Although even that paled in comparison to the look of awe on Killian’s face. His eyes were wide and a bit glassy, though she couldn’t tell if it was in hunger or from his emotions. With the way his hand was resting on his so-round belly under his stretched-out tshirt, she was inclined to think it was the latter.

“Well? Is there enough?” Snow asked, coming up alongside Killian. “I heard my granddaughter was a fan, so I wanted to make sure we had plenty.”

Killian sniffed and wiped away a tear. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice shaky. “Thank you so much, darling.” And he turned and gave her a massive hug.

It seemed to take Snow by surprise, but she quickly reciprocated—until their daughter no doubt started kicking up a storm; with only a month to go, she was starting to run out of room even in Killian’s not-small belly. “Seems like she’s excited, too,” Snow commented, stepping back and resting her hand on the side of Killian’s belly.

“Aye,” he chuckled, glancing down and tracing the curve of his stomach. “But I have to imagine this is only the start of her gymnastics for tonight.”

The meal was incredible; the company was perfect; but what Emma recalled most from that Thanksgiving was the pure bliss radiating off Killian with each bite of his favored treat—and the fact that they had a family so willing to indulge it. (She said nothing when he grabbed a plate of seconds—and thirds—entirely of cranberry sauce.)

And at the end of the evening, when they were seated on the sofa with Emma curled into his side, feeling the frenzied wriggling of their daughter within her incredible husband’s belly, she hummed in happiness. “What is it, love?” Killian asked, sounding a bit sleepy as the day and the food caught up with him.

“Just thankful,” she said.

“Aye; me too.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth—which had the sweet, tangy taste of cranberry all over it. “I can tell,” she teased.

He snorted, but pulled her in closer, and they both continued to be grateful for their upcoming blessing.

————————————

Thanks for reading!! Tagging @cocohook38 @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @teamhook @88infinity88 @mathiaskejseren

[saintbennetts]

I feel like we, as a fandom, have never really thought about what Thanksgiving meant for Andrew. Think about it. He built his entire persona around protecting himself—he purposely pushes people away, scares them, lashes out, carries knives ffs. And we know he does this to ensure nobody can take advantage of him the way they had when he was young. so that he will never be vulnerable again. He spent years becoming this person... but then it happens again anyway. He has his knives on him when he confronts Drake, yet that still isn't enough. And then Easthaven... I can't imagine how that would have felt for him, to be rendered helpless yet again despite all of his carefully crafted defences. It would have been awful.

But then to find out Neil went to Evermore to protect him? To hear him say, "if it means losing you, then no"? For perhaps the first time in his life, he's had someone fight for him.

I don't know. there's just something so powerful narrative wise about how he was torn down so brutally, only to fall back onto Neil, who had seen him at his "weakest" but held the weight of his demons without breaking a sweat.

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "And All the Trimmings"

These next couple of weeks, I'm going to highlight the Thanksgiving fics I have written over the years. I've always loved the holiday, and there aren't enough fics for it (in my humble opinion) so I've tried to create a few at various times along the way. This one is some Thanksgiving fluff written during 5B as I anxiously hoped for them to return from the Underworld with their hero party still intact and a pirate in tow. Nods to CS, Snowing, and OQ in here; Thanksgiving is a whole family holiday after all! ;p  Anyway, I think that’s it, other than it obviously being canon divergent now, since things did not pan out nearly so happily upon their return from Underbrooke.  Still, enjoy – and please let me know what you think if you’re so inclined!

**Also available on ff.net or AO3, as a part of my one shots collection "Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts**

by: @snowbellewells

“Charming?” his lovely wife’s voice rings brightly from the loft’s small kitchen right into the erstwhile Prince of the Enchanted Forest’s ears as he bustles through the door of their apartment, arms full of groceries and cheeks red from the first deep chill and frost of the year. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Snow, I’m back!” he calls, bemused smile quirking up one side of his mouth. A chuckle escapes David Nolan’s throat at how happy and excited his Princess sounds. Setting his purchases on the table until he can hang his coat back on its peg, he shakes his head with affectionate good humor and goes to meet her in the kitchen.

If he’s honest with himself, David is nearly as anxious and thrilled as Snow. After all, their entire family, with all its odd, extended members, will soon be gathered here with them for the first Thanksgiving holiday they have celebrated together. His heart swells at the very idea – even if at the same time he has to simply hope the whole thing will really manage to go off without a hitch…or any bloodshed.

“Looking for these?” he asks with happy teasing in his voice as he enters the kitchen, sets the several plastic bags from the market on the counter, and leans over the center island to plant a kiss on Snow’s upturned lips.

“Yep,” she chirps, beaming at him as they part and reaching in to begin unpacking, “I was.”

Charming moves back into the front dining area, preparing the table and making sure they have enough chairs, seeing that the candles and centerpieces Snows wants are out, and letting her get back to her cooking in the meantime. Between the homemade noodles, green beans, and the mashed potatoes and gravy his wife has simmering all at once, Charming is impressed she can keep everything going without setting anything on fire, much less have the whole apartment smelling good enough to make him drool, and he certainly doesn’t want to distract her from it. No matter how long they have been married, or what realm they find themselves in, it doesn’t take long for Snow to prove that she will never cease to surprise and amaze him.

He has just stepped back to survey his handiwork proudly when the doorbell rings. Swiftly moving forward to answer it before Snow comes running, Charming’s smile grows even wider as Henry bursts into the room, greeting him enthusiastically and launching right into a story of their hectic morning. He is followed by Roland, who is practically bouncing up and down, vibrating with rambunctious energy, his deep dimples cracking wide across his face. After their two boys come Robin and Regina, each laden with items that Charming attempts to help take off their hands.

Robin hands over the delectably scented and delicious-looking turkey, beaming proudly as he gives a nod toward the perfectly crisped and golden brown bird on the platter, which has clearly been charmed in some way by Regina to stay warm and ready to place on the table. “Caught it myself, Mate,” Robin says. “Should be a good one.”

Charming sets the turkey on the long dining table he has just finished with, then claps his friend on the shoulder and ushers him in. “I’m sure it will be. Thanks,” he answers.

Robin slings an insulated bag off his shoulder and holds it forward as well. “Regina’s apple tarts,” he explains with both a mischievous smile and a shrug of feigned innocence. The former thief knows the rest of the family’s understandable aversion to the fruit, but he also somewhat adores his beloved’s rather twisted sense of humor and refusal to shy away from her past by making a dish that highlights the difference in her now and just how far she has come. With a wink, he tacks on, “Taste tested them myself, and they’re irresistible.”

The archer moves past, on into the loft to greet Snow and to catch and corral his young son. Regina raises a sculpted brow at David as she enters after Robin, their new little girl sleeping cradled in her arms and a diaper bag slung over her shoulder. Though David knows all too well that having a newborn in the home can be harrying, the formerly evil Queen looks as completely polished and put together as always – not a hair out of place. “Charming,” she greets with a wry nod, somehow managing to inject even the simplest hello with her trademark dry sarcasm. They may be on the same side now, fumbling towards being a truly non-dysfunctional family, but he somehow feels that her half-mocking way of using the name Snow gave him will never change, and perhaps – in Regina’s own way – it is meant as an endearment.

Peeking into the layers of lavender blanket bundled around Robin and Regina’s little daughter to shield her from the biting wind outside, Charming can’t help a soft grin at the sweet, perfect infant sleeping peacefully, the softest wisps of russet curls on her little head and her soft, pale pink skin. “She’s lovely, Regina,” he murmurs in quiet awe, not wanting to rouse little Mariana, and feeling a flood of affection for this woman who once hunted he and Snow, wanting both of their heads, but who also saved Snow’s life as a child, and has clawed her way back from the bottom to right her wrongs.

Before he can close the door behind her, Emma and Killian come tramping up the hall stairs, cheeks flushed and both laughing at some unknown joke between them, but greeting him heartily as they see that he is standing there watching. Emma reaches David first, falling into her dad’s arms and returning his hug exuberantly before reaching back to pull Killian in as well when he hesitates, effectively sandwiching herself between the two of them in a three-way hug. The laugh that rings from his daughter’s throat, light and open and at last free of the guilt and pain she had been saddled with for too long, is all David needs to be as grateful this Thanksgiving as at any he can remember.

“Thanks Dad,” Emma mumbles almost bashfully when she does ease back and both she and her pirate boyfriend pull away. They follow him into the house, their food contributions in hand.

“Aye, thank you for having us, Mate,” Killian adds with a dip of his chin as they all step through the door and he shuts it behind himself. He offers his love’s father a genuine smile when their gazes meet, Emma having busied herself with hanging up their jackets and removing her boots. For a moment, David is frozen in place, forcibly reminded of how Killian had looked just a few weeks before, when they had found him in the black depths of the Underworld. As long as any of them live, David fears the sight of Killian Jones which had greeted them beyond the Veil would be hauntingly branded on their souls. Chained to a dank stone wall in the furthest recesses of Hades’ domain, the shade of a pirate that they’d found was not the dashing rapscallion they knew. Though bearing his torment in stoic silence, he had been emaciated and shivering, the dark rings under his eyes clearly showing that Killian had known no sleep nor peace since he left their world. The rest of the rescue party had stood horrified as Emma fell to her knees before him, tears pouring down her face while she reached out to cup his bearded cheeks in her hands. Worse than all that though had been the blank, almost unseeing despair in blue eyes that had always been so full of life; the vacancy in their depths no longer seemed like Killian at all and had truly made their blood run cold.

To see that spark back in Jones’ smiling gaze, and the dark bruises beneath his eyes fading, reminds David forcibly just how much they do have to celebrate before he clears his throat to respond with hoarse emotion. “Of course. We’re glad to have everyone. Snow’s really trying to outdo herself.”

Without further ado, David soon finds his family gathered around the table, talking, laughing and reveling in the warmth and happiness of the occasion. There is good natured ribbing at Emma’s continued inability to cook and a playful debate over whether or not the bottoms of several of the butter horn rolls she had made were more burnt than a nice golden brown. Mariana wakes from her nap and begins to gurgle and coo at everyone she can see gathered around her. Snow gushes over the pecan pie that Emma grudgingly admits Killian had made, complete with perfectly crimped edges of crust and an ornate little ‘KJ’ carved into the crunchy sugared top. “Figures,” Charming hears his daughter grumble with teasing chagrin, “He can cook circles around me with only one hand.”

Snow is quick to assure her daughter that she will get better with practice, but Killian only smirks at Emma, looking entirely as though he wants her to either smack or kiss the grin off his face. “Well, I had to sign such artwork, Swan,” he counters playfully. “You might have tried to take credit for it otherwise.”

The whole table laughs and carries on, but is quickly more absorbed in eating than talking, just comfortable in each other’s presence and enjoying a quiet moment. David looks to the other end of the long table and catches Snow’s eye, perfectly understanding the misty look he finds there. This was all either of them had ever wanted: a family, all together, happy and safe. It is what they had sacrificed so much for their best chance at preserving. He smiles at his True Love, marveling that two other pairs of True Loves sit in this very room with them, and tucks into his own meal at last. Now that they have all found each other, this family has every blessing it could possibly need.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xsajx @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @kazoosandfannypacks @booksteaandtoomuchtv @sotangledupinit @anmylica @stahlop @xarandomdreamx @bluewildcatfanatic @winterbaby89 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @scientificapricot

[berriwritertingz]

the summer i wrote masterlist

content: future smut, fluff, angst, basically all of it

pairing: milo manheim x afab!reader & ross lynch x afab!reader

summary: every summer, you travel to dahlia's beach to reunite with your mother's closest friend and her son. but this year he unexpectedly brings a friend along. caught in the gentle waves of affection and longing, you find yourself navigating uncharted waters where the boundaries of friendship blur.

notes: this is loosely based on the summer i turned pretty. i just watched the second season and lawwwd i wanted to make a ff soo bad. plus milo and ross have absolutely none anywhere.

one

[altocat]

Alto, as the leading (and my favorite) authority on FF Headcanons, how do you think the Main Boys would celebrate Thanksgiving.

One great thing about Halloween is knowing that Turkey Day is just around the corner!

Angeal: Cooks for the entire SOLDIER floor. Is probably sleep deprived because he made three different kinds of potatoes, two different kinds of meat PLUS vegetarian options, and has been hovering by the oven since 3AM. The guy's a wreck. But he's very grateful when the other soldiers make him drop what he's doing to give him a special toast in thanks. And he gets the choiciest cuts of meat, too. The boys all know how to show their appreciation!

Genesis: Squabbling with Sephiroth on the couch because Sephiroth was more interested in the stupid corny holiday specials instead of Gen's usual soaps. Geez, Seph. What are you, SEVEN? Genesis smugly insists that he's going to watch his figure this year, only to scarf down nearly four helpings. Afterwards, he lays facedown on the carpet moaning and whining, insisting that Angeal's cooking ruined his life.

Sephiroth: Watches holiday specials with Zack while simultaneously fending off Genesis when he tries to snatch the clicker. UNLIKE Genesis, Sephiroth can easily devour an entire table's worth of food without getting sick. He may or may not have stolen half the turkey. After he's done, he happily curls up on the couch to snooze, very comfortable and at home with his friends around him. He seems genuinely relaxed and happy.

Zack: Watches the National Dog Show religiously every year and drags Sephiroth into it, too. Angeal allowed him ONE (1) glass of wine because it's a holiday and he thinks Zack is mature enough to handle it. Cut to several hours later whereupon an extremely shit-faced Zack is hanging from the chandelier while a frantic Angeal tries to get him down. He's on dishes-duty once he sobers up. Angeal should have known better. Never again.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 15

PREVIOUS

The thing is… FF is aware that he should probably be medicated. You might be saying well isn’t he taking his ulcer medication? The answer is yes he is and when he is getting close to missing a dose Nicky’s usually the one that texts him with six frowny face emojis asking if he took his meds (they have a system, he takes his meds and then he texts Nicky)

No, he knows that he should probably get on something for his anxiety. Betsy has offered to get started on getting him on the right cocktail, his grandma thinks it’s a good idea, and Nicky has offered to get him as much weed as he needs to chill out, he knows a guy. Andrew is probably only going to stab him and threaten him not actually hunt him for sport, in his moments of clarity he can accept and understand that.

But there is nothing in this world that he wants less than to get back on anxiety medication. The world had been grey, it muted everything in the world for him, he faded completely into the background of his own life, and he couldn’t even grieve-

He was almost thankful for his step-dad’s sudden arrival in his life and how quickly his mom forgot about him to spend every waking moment she could on him and his children and then their children. It was two years of nothing and then his mom stopped picking up and refilling his prescription because it was too much of a hassle to keep picking up every month.

“He’s not anxious, see he’s fine. He doesn’t need it anymore.”

The withdrawal and the emotions that came afterwards had been hellish. He’d collapsed into his Grandma’s arms and begged her not to call his mom. He spent an entire month of summer vacation feeling like he was going to die and when he got back he found that no one had even missed him.

He swallowed the hurt, all of his emotions felt so much stronger now that he’d lost them for two years. If he has reactions like he’d had before he knows his mom will put him back on the medication.

The town is small and everyone talks. He knows about the dog walker’s poop flinging scandal, he knows about how the butcher’s left pinky got put back on wrong when he’d cut it off, he knows that the kid down the street paid $40 for a bag of oregano that he thought was weed, he knows that lil susie is in counseling because a girl should probably not be establishing cult rituals around her barbies.

He can’t react, can’t let people know he’s dying from anxiety because his math teacher sighs when he hands over his test. Can’t let anyone know that he has to put his head between his legs and take deep breaths before he can go into the cafeteria. His only solace is that all of the foreign language teachers love him, it’s easier to accept a compliment or comment in a language his family doesn’t use.

His step family treat him like the guards outside of Buckingham. Anything for a reaction y’know? He tells himself he does not care and for the most part he doesn’t.

He signs up for Exy in middle school because he just wanted something to do and it was the sport that had the same meeting days as his grandma’s bowling league. She picks him up from practice and they get ice cream together afterwards, she’s the only thing he has since Great Gran passed not too long after he got free of the medication.

He still feels her fingers checking behind his ears on occasion, a joke now that he’s off his meds referencing when he was too zoned out to care about hygiene. He still remembers her looking at him and feeling like she was seeing more than just him, “You’re a Smith. The last one when me and my daughter go. We’ll all be with you whenever you need us.” She promises.

He thinks it’s just respectful to get her favorite scent when he needs her help. He was raised to be respectful.  Lavender still makes him think of her and he hopes his grandma left some on her grave recently.

He knew he’d have to wait to go to college. His mom is putting on the pressure now that he’s 18 saying he will have to pay rent even though Greg is older and definitely isn’t. He plays Exy and thinks about how he’ll handle his life between 18 and 25, he puts all his anxiety into the game and maybe the coach notices something.

He must have noticed something.

The Foxes don’t offer positions to kids who don’t have something going wrong for them.

Coach Wymack and Dan Wilds wouldn’t be there in his little bum fuck nowhere town in Washington if his coach hadn’t sent a tape and an explanation.

He could admit that he knew about the Foxes. He looked up to the vice captain a fair bit not just for his game but also…well the Butcher was national news. Vice Captain Neil’s story was all over the news and maybe he was just a little bit in awe of someone who could stand his ground after all of that. Watching Vice Captain Neil Josten give shit to every last reporter who gave him any shit? Inspiring.

He just didn’t think it’d be a good fit for him.

He’s not like the rest of the Foxes. Dan talks about them all in broad terms, how they’re all fighting to become something and grow beyond the unfairness that was out of their control. FF is tough to convince but he’s a pretty good defensive dealer, Dan and Coach Wymack both want him.

Dan eventually has to go because she has an interview for a coaching position out this way but Coach Wymack just hands over the rental car keys and Coach Wymack stays.

Coach Wymack stays and they keep talking. FF talks about everything and Wymack eventually just says “Well, you’re still here despite all of that aren’t you? Sounds like a fighter to me. I think you’ve got what it takes to carry that weight with some help and I can promise that you won’t have to deal with those jerks past your high school graduation. You’re not going to be the first Fox who I help out from under some asshole parents and you won’t be the last.”

So he signs a contract, he’s 18 he can do that AND buy cigarettes now (he won’t. That’s how Gran lost gramps when dad was still young but he COULD. Much like he COULD go into the town’s only sex toy shop but that would be back to his grandma faster than the cigarette purchase to be honest and he isn’t THAT interested in what’s in there.)

He finishes up school but the assistant coach is a friend of his step dad and mentions that he’s signed to the Foxes. It’s just one week between his graduation and when Coach Wymack is coming to grab him

Suddenly he exists in his house for the first time since they all moved into it after the wedding and it’s the WORST. The want things, they want promises, they want assurances, they want to pretend and act like he’s always been there.

He flees to his Grandma’s house and texts Coach Wymack asking if there’s ANY chance he can get picked up early because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to talk if he calls the man.

Coach Wymack comes for him and shoulders him past his ‘family’ to the rental car but the panic attack he sees in the car ride to the airport when his family’s car follows them all the way to the rental drop off means that he HAS to see Betsy.

Betsy is nice. Betsy teaches him how to breathe through stuff. Betsy teaches him how to ground himself in reality. Betsy tells him that the Starbucks girl probably doesn’t hate him. Betsy suggests he get on some medication.

He said No.

He’s scared out of his MIND in Palmetto but it’s better than-

He prefers to feel things.

Betsy tells him that it shouldn’t have been like that. His mother should have taken him back and gotten his prescription adjusted until it wasn’t like that.

He still declines.

Andrew gets suspicious about him knowing Russian after that game of Never Have I Ever and Nicky keeps almost letting it spill right by him. His stomach hurts the CVS girl keeps pepto for him behind the counter.

He still declines.

He prefers to feel things.

You can’t enjoy the thrill of a 100% on a Kanji Basics midterms without the anxiety of the Oral presentation. You can’t feel the true satisfaction of getting a blender for 25% off + 50 dollars of in-store credit without the flop-sweat of the searching eyes of a woman wearing PINK branded lounge wear. You can’t keep friends if you have no ability to empathize with them even if you’re worried you’re annoying them or ‘humble bragging’.

Fear is better.

Betsy tells him if he’s ever ready then she will help him. His Gran tells him she loves him. Nicky says “Look there’s a strain called White Russian. That’d be funny right?!”and FF agrees but declines to sample it.

Right now, as Nicky smudges eyeliner under his eyes and tugs at his shirt for the 80th time, he thinks it might actually be better to feel nothing.

He’d woken up from his…nap? He might have fainted actually? But he did it on a bed and it lasted for like 4 hours? So does that count as a nap? He wants to ask but also doesn’t want to worry anyone, maybe he could ask Aaron that if a Friend faints and doesn’t wake up for four hours is that a nap or a medical emergency? Just curious.

When he had emerged from Nicky’s room Captain Neil and Andrew had herded them all into the Maserati and they’d gone out and gotten McDonald’s for a late lunch. The only comment he had gotten when he’d asked for a happy meal (his stomach could not handle anything more) was whether or not he wanted the toy.

“Yes.” He answered panicked at the sudden question.

He got his Megamind toy, accidentally shone it into Aaron’s eyes when he pushed a button. “Shit that’s bright” before he apologized and shoved it in his jacket pocket.

They hung out at the house for the rest of the day.

They watched movies, played Mario Kart (how is Captain Neil this bad when his reflexes on the court are so good?) and did some homework. Andrew seemed to actually like the brownies which is why FF probably woke up from his... still haven’t asked Aaron if it’s a nap or a medical emergency.

He has a square and even at room temperature they taste great.

When it started to get dark they all went to go get ready. FF had gone to get whatever clothes Nicky had prepared on but had found himself sat on the man’s bed (so much glitter, seriously how can one bed have so much of it?) and Nicky holding a pencil to his eye and telling HIM not to flinch.

“Gonna have all the….” Nicky pauses and adopts a look on his face that means that he’s thinking incredibly hard about something. “Wait how have we been friends for MONTHS and I have no idea how you swing?” FF is caught off guard for a few moments because it’s the first time that Nicky has verbally confirmed that they are, in fact, friends and…

Wow.

That’s so nice.

He thought it was just Nicky’s innate inability to leave something to suffer needlessly that had the upperclassmen helping him. (FF has watched Nicky go out of his way to give cats food, turn turtles back onto their stomachs, and walk into traffic to stop cars so that a duck family could make it to a pond. He just sort of figured he was the same level of pathetic)

Wait.

What.

“Wait, what?”

“How do you swing?” Nicky repeats.

FF knows what he means but doesn’t want to. “With my left hand.” He responds and hopes Nicky drops it because the long and short answer is: he doesn’t know. He has no idea.

“Ohh dirty!” Nicky makes a jacking off motion with his left hand and FF feels embarrassed sweat cover his body, “NO! Don’t ruin my work!” Nicky yells fanning him with his hands so the eyeliner doesn’t run. “You know what I mean Smithy. Swing for girls, boys, both, neither? What am I working with here?” He asks wiping at FF’s cheek.

“I don’t…know.” He admits because deflecting is OBVIOUSLY not his strong suit. Twice in a row it’s brought up weird sex stuff.

“C’mon don’t be embarrassed. Even if you’re straight you’re obviously an Ally.” Nicky smiles.

“No it’s not…” he flushes okay he is embarrassed but that’s because he REALLY doesn’t know. Like how the hell did he get to college and have ZERO idea about what he’s attracted to or if he’s just not attracted to anyone? He’d been focused on not screaming for the last decade and that hadn’t really left a lot of room to consider how anyone looked. He’s getting used to having friends and three whole group chats (he’s bad at responding to them, overwhelmed by the idea that whatever he says can be revisited and picked apart forever but still, THREE!)

“I really have no idea.” He repeats.

Nicky blinks at him. “Okay well, college can be all about figuring that out then! No worries my sweet boy, we will figure this out.” Nicky pats his cheek.

He feels a little better.

“Alright, let’s go to Eden’s!”

Oh fuck that’s right.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lilyndra @themugglemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio​ @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​

The requests to be added to the tag list got spread out across a few different mediums on this one so if I missed you then just ask in the replies!

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you  didn’t  get a notification there might be something switched around in  your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

[sinningtamer]

For thanksgiving requests: who the characters are is up to your discretion but I'd love person A with a hefty, stuffed belly being greeted by person B, who thinks person A is pregnant and showing because of their distended tummy, and poor person A has to tell them that they're not "due", this is a food baby...

Slightly modified scenario to match something I’ve brainrotted about before, because this is an R,TSpi,ff prompt if I’ve ever read one