#thanksgiving stories

[fromgoy2joy]

There’s another episode of “Humorous Jewish Car Adventures with My Father,” where-in he is upset that I’m converting from Catholicisim to Judaism and things go wrong and in my favor.

Yesterday, we are rushing to get to our Thanksgiving meal in the countryside where my grandparents live. The rest of the family is already there so it’s especially a rush. Christian music is blasting over the speakers as my Dad makes ominous statements about Jesus’ blood and sacrifice.

Then he pauses- “wait! That’s a car in a ditch!”

I look out the window- “oh. They look like they’re okay. No injuries.”

“No!” He insists. “We have to help them.”

My dad is the definition of a city slicker. He can’t screw on the lightbulb. I love his enthusiasm but there’s absolutely nothing he can do to help. But he turns his car around, and quickly parks along the side of this country dirt road. We get out.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” He asks and the people looming around their unfortunate car turn. And they very clearly happen to be orthodox Jewish.

And right behind us, OUR car starts to slide into the same ditch because it hasn’t been put in park.

And that’s how my Catholic father and I spent three hours with a rabbi and his kids on a holiday, making awkward conversation as the tow truck kept on getting delayed.

[jessica-marie-baumgartner]

From Thanksgiving through New Years, This book is all about celebrating the wonders of the holiday season. Grab a copy now to find some extra smiles.

[aterimber]

Description: Sam and Gabriel have differing Thanksgiving priorities.⁠ ⁠ Sabriel (Implied), 2023's Thanksgiving story⁠

Prompt: Stuffing Month ⁠ Words: 487⁠ ⁠ Check out my latest short story on my Patreon!

I post new short stories every 2 weeks on Fridays and have 100+ already waiting for you!��

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This is the 3rd last story of 2023! I'll be taking the last half of December and first half of January off from posting. I'll be back January 12th, 2024 with the first story of the new year!

[spyboy2000]

ᴇᴢʀᴀ ᴊᴀᴄᴋ ᴋᴇᴀᴛs Artwork from his 1962 book The Snowy Day.

[horsesseedsandhummingbirdwings]

The Magic of Holiday Family Gatherings

Autumn’s leaves have been raked away, leaving only a memory of their musty smell.  Each day the coming of winter is more apparent in the sky.  The crispness in the air has turned bitter cold, heavy with the promise of snow. Long pasted are the sweltering months of summer and their elongated days. Like a jewel, the holidays descend upon our cities and towns, like a gentle hand of blessing ushering…

[blueshadesfandomstuff]

I thank you for live(ish) posting the story. It was an excellent time!

thanksgiving weekend, a saga:

-i get a notification my train is running 40 minutes behind schedule six hours before my train is meant to arrive

-10 minutes before i need to leave my apartment to go home i get a package that is the replacement keys for my computer keyboard that i accidentally broke a few weeks ago. this is the best timing because now my mom won’t ask me why several keys are missing from my keyboard.

-i get in an uber that reeks of weed and has no seatbelts to drive 40 minutes to the train station. the uber is not playing music and somehow has his phone clipped to the rear view mirror of the car. the uber is also determined to not hit a single red light which with the lack of seat beltage seems particularly dangerous.

-unclear whether or not train is still delayed

[gothamite-rambler]

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

*based off a story from the book

Jason (shocked): They… were just children.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bruce (too stunned and upset to speak): …

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cass (with a blank expression): Jason?

Jason (worried): Yes?

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

Jason (smiling): Thanks!

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

Bruce sighed, covering his eyes in frustration.

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

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

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

Bruce slammed his head on the table.

Dick: That means "God… Damn it!"

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

Thanksgiving at his Family's House

"Sorry, sweetie! Brandon didn't tell us he was bringing a guest! This is the only chair we have left! I'm just so happy that you're such a tiny little thing, that you fit!" Your boyfriend's mom told you as she slid the tray of the high chair in place.

At least you got to sit next to Brandon, you thought to yourself as you looked at the crowded room filled with the unfamiliar faces of your boyfriend's relatives.

It would have been nice if Brandon could have warned his family he was bringing you. It would have been nice if he would have had the time of dinner right. Maybe if you had been on time or his mom was forewarned, you wouldn't be dressed in your holiday best, locked in a high chair, waiting for Brandon to make you a plate like a toddler.

But, you weren't going to make a fuss and risk a bad impression the first time meeting his family. And you were glad you didn't.

As dinner went on, you found yourself happily chatting with all of Brandon's family members. They were all so kind and interesting that you totally forgot your childish seating arrangement.

As you chatted away with Brandon's sister, a 27-year-old woman just a few years your senior, you didn't even mind when he left, saying he was going to play football in the backyard.

At least, you didn't mind until all of the delicious food you had been eating started to make its way through your body.

"Hey, do you think you could let me out so I can help clean up?" You asked your boyfriend's sister timidly as you started to notice mother nature running it's course through your bladder and bowels.

"Of course not, sweetie! You're our guest! Make yourself comfortable! No cleaning for you," she said as she cleared your plate and utensils off the tray of your highchair.

You turned to Brandon's mother, hoping for help from her as a cramp rocked your body.

"Um, ma'am, could you let me out? I'd like to keep getting to know you all and don't want to be stuck at the table," you asked politely.

Your boyfriend's mother grinned.

"Oh, sweetie! You don't have to get out of your seat for that! I'll just roll you into the kitchen so you can talk with us while we clean!"

You blushed as the larger woman easily tipped the high chair back on its small wheels and rolled you into the kitchen.

You gripped your stomach and squeezed your thighs together as best you could as his mother and sister spoke with you while doing dishes.

However, after a little time, the sound of running water in the sink and the pressure of the large dinner you ate became too much. With zero fanfare, your bladder and bowels released at once, destroying your panties and cute holiday skirt.

Tears immediately pooled in your eyes at the humiliation of what had just happened. You were trying to plan a way out of the situation when Brandon's sister turned from the sink, and her gaze fell on you.

"What's wrong?" She asked just as the smell hit her. "Oh! Oh, no! Why didn't you tell us you needed to?" She asked rhetorically, letting the last words of her question drop off.

Tears began to roll down your cheeks in earnest.

The slightly older woman leaped into action immediately at your obvious distress. She whispered in her mom's ear then rescued you from your plastic prison. She easily lifted you onto her hip like an infant, embarrassingly smushing the mess in your panties into you, and carried you to an upstairs bedroom, decorated for a young girl.

"Don't worry, sweetie, we'll get you all fixed up and know one will be the wiser!"

Your boyfriend's sister expertly stripped you of your clothes and produced another holiday outfit, this time a red dress that looked a little big for you. She also pulled a large, white diaper out of a dresser.

You were too embarrassed to protest or ask questions as she had you lay on the bed and diapered you. You then meekly raised your arms as she pulled the dress over your head.

You spun for her at her command. She clapped her hands together, satisfied.

"Perfect! And no one else has to know! If anyone asks, I just thought you would look amazing in this cute little dress I used to wear to Thanksgiving in middle school, and you agreed to change!"

You nodded your head obediently, ready to agree to any story other than the truth.

"And, if you have any other little, um, accidents," your boyfriend's sister said conspiratorially, "just let me know, and your new big sister will be more than happy to take care of you again."

You blushed, but nodded your head in affirmation meekly, not ready to piss off the woman who just helped you after watching you mess yourself in a highchair.

She led you back into the rest of the house, where the rest of the family was now gathered together watching football. Brandon's mom gave you an empathetic look as you carefully walked over to your boyfriend and sat next to him.

"Hey, baby," he said, making your face turn as red as your dress, "Cute outfit! My sis is letting you borrow her clothes? I told you that she'd love you!"

You just snuggled into him and made a non-committal noise.

The rest of the night went blessedly smoothly. Everyone socialized amiably, updating each other on the happenings in their lives before it was time to leave. You were only reminded of the events earlier in the day twice, when Brandon's sister asked if you needed any more 'help.'

As you left for the night, his sister made sure to give you the last hug. She let her hand drift down your back and onto your padded rear-end, squeezing it before announcing to the rest of the family, "I've always wanted a baby sister, and I'm so happy my little brother has seemed to find me the perfect one! I can't wait to see you at Christmas!"

The rest of the family cheered in agreement as you walked out the door to the car, your boyfriend beaming at how much everyone loved you. You, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel like you were going to learn to dread holidays with his family as you let a little trickle of urine into the diaper wrapped between your legs.

"The Christmas Debacle."

[newwavesylviaplath]

sept 01

[enidtendo64]

the ‘Shauna gets Yolked’ saga

[devonpink]

A Thanksgiving Story

Arrogant, ignorant, and stupid, no three words could better describe my dad. I didn't always see him like that, though. Growing up, we were best buds—I admired and looked up to him as a role model. I truly felt like I could tell him anything, I could trust him. So, you could imagine my shock when after coming out as gay to him, he turned on me. He ignited into a homophobic rage, disowning me as his son. He couldn't stand the sight of me. The unpleasant feeling was mutual and I moved out as quickly as possible.

For almost a decade, there was nothing but radio silence between us. Until one day, I randomly got an email from him, inviting me to a one-on-one Thanksgiving. I read it over and over, completely stunned. As mad and hurt as I still felt, I knew I'd regret not accepting his olive branch. So, I accepted.

A few days later, in the early afternoon of Thanksgiving, I drove over to my dad's place, my childhood home. As nervous as I was, driving up the old driveway and parking in my old spot felt good. As I stepped out of my car, I was reminded of how sweltering it was for November, even for Florida. As much as dressing up sounded fun, wearing a white tank top, dark tan loose shorts, and flip-flops only made sense. My balls would have melted in a pair of underwear, so I freeballed.

My heart was racing, as I flip-flopped to the front door. I was expecting the worst but hoping for the best. I could smell the turkey cooking through the front door as I knocked, its mouth-watering scent calming me slightly. A few seconds later, my dad opened the door. Unsurprisingly, he was exactly as I had left him: bulky beyond belief, obviously my leaving had no effect on his serious workout routine. Then again, maybe he exercised to escape the pain, I know I did that. He was wearing nearly the same thing, the only difference being his loose shorts were black. His pit stains were just as bad as mine—like father, like son, I guess. To my relief, his nervous expression pleasantly told me he was just as anxious as I was.

Stepping inside, I got a good whiff of him as I passed him, that oh-so-familiar scent of cologne failing to mask the intense pit reek. The house, like my father's manly stench, was exactly how I'd remembered it, nothing had changed—it was nice. As my dad led me to the kitchen, with his back to me, I gave my hairy sweaty pits a sniff. They reeked, even worse than my dad's. Unlike him, I'd forgotten to put on deodorant or cologne. We both stunk, in slightly different ways, but that similarity was comforting—like father, like son.

I was expecting things to be insanely awkward, but it was like the good old days. We sat out on the porch, drinking beer and shooting the shit as we waited for the turkey to finish cooking on the barbecue. I forgot how much I loved talking with him, for an arrogant douch bag, he sure could make me laugh. Neither of us had brought up my leaving yet, I assume to not break the good flow we had going. In truth, I didn't want to bring it up. It felt good to pretend everything was as it was in the old days.

When the turkey was done, we brought it inside and gobbled it down like too starving beasts. Obviously, our nerves had calmed down quite a bit. Everything was fantastic, I forgot how good of a cook my dad is. We didn't say much to each other while eating, too distracted by our hunger to converse—like father, like son. Before we dove into dessert, he offered me another beer. As much as the pumpkin pie was calling my name, I couldn't decline.

Instead of the usual beer we were drinking, he brought a brand I'd never seen before, "Obedience." I didn't question why he only brought out a single can, I was too distracted by the pumpkin pie to care. I cracked it open and swigged it down, anxious to get to the pie. However, after I finished, I felt funny. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I felt different. I silently stared at my dad, watching an evil grin form across his face.

My dad spoke, dropping his nice-guy demeanor. "Now listen up, boy. It's time we finally get to the point of our happy reunion." My heart was racing, I knew something terrible was about to happen. Flashbacks of before I left flooded my mind. Strangely, as much as I wanted to move, I couldn't. My body was frozen like it was waiting for something. "Take another swig of your beer, down every last drop." What happened next shocked me to my core, my body moved on its own! It was like I was a bystander in my own body, only able to watch. I robotically brought the can up to my mouth and downed every last drop, doing exactly what he commanded. At that moment, I horrifily knew exactly why it was called, "Obedience," and why he only brought out a single can of it.

"Belch, boy. Like a man." My dad arrogantly commanded, knowing I'd helplessly comply.

"bbbbbbBBBBUUUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPpppppppppp!!!" Just as he commanded, the biggest manliest belch came out of me. I hated how good it felt to obey him, an obvious effect of the beer.

"Belch again, boy. Except this time, additionally, let out all that stress and worry. Also, uncross your legs and manspread! Sit like a man!" He commanded.

I wanted to resist but was helpless to his commands. "bbbbBBBBBBBuuuUUUUUUrrrPPPPPPPPPpppppp!!!" Like he commanded, all stress and worry had left my body. I then uncrossed my legs and manspreaded, just like my dad. Sitting that way felt so much better.

My dad laughed, like a cocky bastard. "Such a good and obedient son I have." I wanted to get up, scream, anything but just sit there. Except I couldn't move. No matter how hard I tried, I simply couldn't move. "Now, let's get to the good stuff," My dad excitedly proclaimed, unnerving me even more. "Let out all the useless liberalism! Become a rigid conservative, just like dear old dad! Like father, like son! Belch, boy!"

I tried as hard as I could to keep it down, but it was useless. "BBBBBBUUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPpppppppp!!!! With that, all liberalism and open-mindedness had left me. My mind was assaulted and reprogrammed to believe all sorts of small-minded conservative ideas and beliefs. It was overwhelming, yet electrifying. With conservatism comes stupidity, so my mind had become completely moldable, exactly what he wanted.

"Real men vote red, don't they, boy?" My dad asked, every word dripping with superiority.

"Sir, yes, Sir! Real men Vote-BBBBBBBbbbuuurrrrPPPPPPPPpppp!!!" Before I could finish, another manly burp escaped from me, making my dad bust out laughing. I couldn't help but laugh too, being more stupider now. It felt good to make my dad laugh. I felt like… a good son.

"Now, before we continue, I want to make sure you have no remaining resistance. So, let it all out! Give yourself to me completely! Belch, boy!" My dad commanded.

"BbbbbuuuuuuuUUUUUURRRRPPPPppppppp!" I did as he commanded, like a good son. It felt good, right, to obey him. Why would I want to resist him? He's my dad! He made me, I must obey him!

My dad was grinning like a king, as he should. "Belch again, boy! Belch as loud as you can!"

"BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" I was more than happy to obey.

"Fuck yeah, son! You sound just like your old man!" My dad enthusiastically congratulated me.

Having him praise me felt good, so fucking good. More, I wanted so much more!

My dad then got serious, obviously, this next one would be important. "Belch, boy, and erase all gayness from yourself. Become the straight man I've always wanted you to be! No man wants a faggot for a son! Blech, boy! Belch and become straight!!!"

"BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" Like a good son, I obeyed. "BBBBBBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!" And just like that, all my gayness was gone. I'm now as straight as a freshly bought nail. I like women, only women, like a normal man. Who'd want to be fag, anyway? Fags are sick freaks!! Thank god I'm not one of them anymore. Thank god I'm straight, just like my dad! Like father, like son!

We celebrated my much-needed transformation over two massive slices of pumpkin pie. Afterward, we returned to the porch and smoked cigars, some of his finest. I feel so much better now that I'm following in my dad's footsteps. I want to be exactly like him, in every single way. I want to be completely interchangeable with him. He gave me a matching pair of sunglasses and a red cap, to protect me from the blistering sun. I obviously wore my cap backward to match him. I'm so thankful for my dad. Without him, I'd be lost.

[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.”

[marlynnofmany]

A Feat of Minor Daring

(Related side project: Prank War!)

~~~

If you have to wait around for a client to bring you something to deliver, waiting on a landing pad with spectacular scenery is not a bad way to do it. Most of the rest of the crew was inside the ship — shuffling the boxes from our other client of the day, and doing any number of other mundane things — so it was just Paint and me enjoying the alien landscape. Their loss. 

I was appreciating the views, while Paint was really there for the smells. I kept pointing out particularly vivid splashes of color among the sea-anemone-shaped trees, while Paint caught whiffs of enticing things. 

“Ooh, what do you think that sharp scent is?” Paint asked when a cool breeze gusted past. She pulled her heat scarf closer. She was also wearing a heat sticker plastered to her scaly chest, which seemed like overkill to me, but I wasn’t a coldblooded lizard alien. I just had a sweater for the chill. 

“Your guess is better than mine,” I said, sniffing the air. “I’m going to go with ‘some sort of plant.’”

A cheerful jumble of musical notes chimed from the treeline where winged fauna hid among tentacle-branches. It sounded remarkably like several ringtones going off at the same time. I was about to ask Paint if she thought it was animals imitating tech, or maybe just a coincidence of evolution, when wild flapping heralded an explosion of feathers across the clearing. 

Colorful bird-things soared over us, their wings a riot of fiery shades and their bodies lined in speckled back feathers over bright blue scales. It was a glorious streak of color, and they sounded like a pile of phones all ringing at once. I had to grin at the sight. 

Paint just said, “I think they’re the source of the smell. How lovely.”

Then a straggler flapped out after the others, and I stopped grinning. 

It was trailing a plastic bag caught around its foot, just like the ones still causing trouble for animals on Earth. The poor thing must have been scavenging in town. By the time it collapsed halfway across the clearing, I was already moving, tugging my sweater off and sneaking up on the bird.

Paint squeaked, “What are you doing?”

“It needs help,” I said, keeping my voice low. The alien bird was breathing hard from the effort of fighting that much extra drag, and hopefully no additional problems. It hadn’t noticed me yet.

“Why is that your responsibility?” Paint hissed in concern. “It could bite you! You don’t even have scales, and you’re not wearing an exo suit! Why did you just take off your soft armor?”

“It’s not my responsibility,” I murmured. “But somebody’s got to.” I eased forward and took a long-legged jump to land with one foot squarely on the bag, then tackled the bird to wrap it in my sweater.

It, unsurprisingly, objected. And it was stronger than it looked.

“What are you doing??” Paint repeated. “You’ll get hurt!”

I fought to get a hand around the bird’s head and keep it from pecking me anywhere important while also holding its wings in. It did its level best to accomplish fight and flight at the same time. It even regurgitated a splash of food, which I managed to barely dodge. It smelled unpleasantly fishy.

But I got the bird’s head pinned down in a way that hopefully didn’t restrict its breathing, and I ended up crouched over the thing using my legs to keep its wings folded. My other hand was doing the important job of preventing it from wriggling free. That didn’t leave any hands for removing the bag.

“Paint! I need your claws!”

“What? No!” She sounded more than a little panicked.

“Just get the bag off its foot!” I said, jerking my head back to where the bag rustled behind me. “Then I’ll let it go!”

“That doesn’t look safe!” Paint insisted.

The bird bucked and thrashed. “It’s not going to get any safer! Come on, it needs help!”

Paint hissed a string of what were probably swear words as she darted forward and approached the talons. I couldn’t see what she was doing from my angle, but I heard the rustle of plastic. I wanted to ask how it was going and give pointers, maybe suggest stepping on the bag to hold it tight, though I didn’t know if that would help or not. I kept quiet.

“Got it!” Paint leapt back, holding up the torn bag in triumph.

“Great!” I said. “Does its leg look injured? Did the bag dig into it or cut off circulation as far as you can tell?”

Paint stepped forward gingerly, then shook her head. “No, the scales look fine.”

I let out a breath. “Extra great. Okay, stand back.”

Paint scampered over to stand by the ship, taking the bag with her, while I got my feet under me. In as smooth a motion as I could, I jumped sideways and rolled away, trailing my sweater. I would have preferred to stand and exit with dignity, but this was faster. Dignity wasn’t worth getting pecked in the knee.

In a whirlwind of feathers, the scaly bird scrambled into the sky. I sat up to watch it go. While I expected a dramatic arc into the distance, it only got as far as the biggest amoeba-tree. I worried that it was injured after all. Then I saw the cluster of tiny beaks that reached up as it landed.

I grinned all over again, watching the reunited family greet each other. A rustle of plastic told me Paint stood beside me. I looked up at her. “We did it.”

She watched the nest with wide eyes, clutching the bag. “We did. And it mattered.”

“It always matters.” I got to my feet with a wince, hoping that wasn’t going to be a bruise on my hip. “Thanks for helping. That was a deed well done.”

Paint was still staring. “Do you think it will have enough food for all the hatchlings? After spitting some at you?”

A glance told me the bird was feeding its young in the time-honored vomity fashion. “I hope so,” I said. “Scavenging for more might lead to another trash adventure, though maybe this was a learning experience.”

Paint stood up straighter. “Let’s check the species database and see what it eats,” she said. “That smells a lot like the canned fish I’ve been saving. We can put it out where they’ll find it.”

“A fine plan,” I told her. “Let’s get cleaned up first so we don’t leave bird germs in the kitchen.”

We’d only taken a couple steps toward the ship before Eggskin met us at the door with concern on their scaly face. “Kavlae said there was some sort of commotion outside, and someone might be hurt?” They brandished the medscanner.

Before I could answer, Paint held up the crumpled plastic bag. “We saved a creature that was trapped in this!”

Eggskin cocked their head, clearly about to ask why, but Paint was still talking. She gave a dramatic recounting of the whole affair. Eggskin turned on the scanner and checked us both for contamination while she talked. Clear. (Whew.)

“…And now it’s safely up in the nest with its hatchlings, and it wouldn’t have made it up there if not for us, and they would have starved and died, and we saved all of them!” Paint said, waving the bag. “It always matters! Now where’s the can opener? I want to leave them some of my fish.”

Eggskin blinked. “Third drawer on the right, where it should be. Unless someone’s misplaced it again. Put that in the biohazard bin and wash your hands.”

“Got it, thanks!” Paint was gone in a rustle of plastic.

Eggskin looked up at me. “Is ‘pack bonding’ contagious?”

I laughed. “I couldn’t tell you. But it always matters. Would you mind keeping an eye on that nest over there while I go change clothes? I’ll wash my hands too.”

Eggskin sighed. “Please do.”

They stood outside the ship watching the distant family of scaly birds, wearing an expression like they were trying to figure something out. I smiled and left to get cleaned up. I’d check the species database afterward. Maybe I had some food they’d like too.

~~~

Did I mention the Prank War?

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[aterimber]

Description: Hallucifer impedes Sam's attempt to make Thanksgiving dinner.

Prompt: Pizza & Beer Day

Hallucifer, Dark-ish, 2023's 1st Thanksgiving fic

Words: 1,560

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I post new short stories every 2 weeks on Fridays, have 100+ just waiting for you to fall in love with them and am now offering 7 Day FREE trials!

This is also the 5th last fic of 2023! I'll be taking the last half of December and first half of January off from posting stories! (And articles on my website) I'll be back January 12th, 2024 with the 1st story of the new year!

[sadhorsegirl]

it's so funny to me whenever i see a critic say wicked (Part One™) wasn't gay enough bc like. gelphie didn't kiss with tongue or whatever. which sure fair i guess but also the homoeroticism is such a load bearing narrative element for me that it literally isn't possible for me to see the story as anything BUT a deeply tragic lesbian parable lmaoooo

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Cover art by Walt Kelly (1945)