#Speaking Through Smoke Detectors | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mourntheantagonist · 8 months

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I think that Steve and Billy turn into this super domestic couple when the summer of ‘85 hits. It’s the first time Billy can remember ever having so much freedom. Of course it’s not total freedom, and Neil still remains a looming threat, but Billy’s out of the house more than he’s inside it, and Neil doesn’t question where he’s going when he grabs his keys from the ledge. Billy graduated and has a job. He’s doing exactly what his dad expects of him, and the simple fact of him being a true adult grants him a lot of extra time outside his responsibilities.

Which means Billy spends a lot of time at Steve’s. Like. A lot.

He can only vaguely remember the last meal he ate at his house. It was just a week and a half after he graduated when he had an early shift and made himself some toast before heading out the door. He hadn’t had family dinner as he was normally working during that time. And when he wasn’t, well, he might’ve bent the truth about his work schedule those days.

He and Steve both got off work at similar times, clocking out just as the sun was beginning to set. Usually the person who was getting off last would pick up food from a local restaurant or fast food joint. They never really cared to have anything fancy. Steve practically lived off fast food since his parents started traveling more. Billy was the opposite. They never ate out. Not when he was a kid, and especially not after his mom left the picture. It was always the most bland home cooked meals or TV dinners.

Sometimes they’d cook for themselves, but it was rare. But those were some of the best nights. The two of them struggling to follow their way through Steve’s mom’s cookbook recipe, Steve not being able to tell apart the teaspoon and the tablespoon to save his life. Billy burning whatever was put in front of him without fail. Steve would insist Billy could burn a chicken breast without even having the stove turned on. Those nights were always spent giggling and frantically fanning the smoke detector as it went off every twenty seconds. Those nights they’d sit together in front of the TV trying their damndest to chew through overdone steak before admitting defeat and calling in an order for pizza.

He can’t remember the last time he did a chore at his house. He used to always have to help Susan with the dishes after dinner, but he was never there and eventually that task fell to Max. And speaking of Max, he didn’t have the responsibility of babysitting anymore, as she was going to be entering high school in the fall and everyone agreed she was old enough to look after herself. Billy still was expected to look out for her, but Billy never had to be told to protect her. He did that on his own.

With him having a job, Neil didn’t expect him to do things around the house. He was simply happy enough to be getting a third of Billy’s paycheck every month.

But Billy was sure he’d be happy if he knew Billy was still busying himself with chores anyway.

He always helped Steve out. They would take turns taking the trash out to the curb every week, they would do dishes together, they’d sit together on the floor in a pile of clean laundry and fold it together while something played on the TV—

Hell, he can’t remember the last time he did laundry at his house. Practically two-thirds of his clothes have wound up at Steve’s house. He even had his own set of drawers and a space in Steve’s closet.

Billy can’t even remember the last time he took a shower in his own house, because since summer hit he has only ever showered at the pool after work, or in Steve’s bathroom, where he’s never alone.

It was one thing he never knew he was missing until he had it—Steve standing with his arms wrapped around him, letting the hot water soak the both of them. Washing each other’s backs and just getting clean in each other’s presence. Billy used to see showering as his few moments of peace throughout his day, but he definitely didn’t mind having Steve there with him. Especially when they made the decision to rack up the water bill and stay in there a little while longer…

Billy still slept at his house sometimes, but that was only on nights when he had to. Usually when Steve’s parents were back in town or when a considerable amount of time had passed that may have deemed suspicious. Neil would believe the idea that Billy was spending the night at a girls house. However, he wouldn’t believe he was spending night after night at the same girls house, and there were only so many girls in Hawkins to keep up his charade.

So there were still days he’d come home at night and sleep in his own bed, that was notably no where near as comfortable as Steve’s. Billy wasn’t sure if it had to do with the mattress or just the warmth that came with having Steve there next to him. But on those nights spent without Steve, he didn’t stay for long. He come home early enough to make his presence known, but never too early he had to spend any more time not in bed than he had to. When he slept at home that was all he did. He slept. The only time he did anything more was when he’d stop by Max’s room on his way in and out, just to check in.

He was glad he didn’t do that often, because sleeping at Steve’s was the best. With Steve he wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore. He didn’t jump at every creak in the house. Steve made him feel safe. Billy never imagined that he’d enjoy sleeping with Steve in the most literal sense more than sleeping with Steve in the figurative.

Of course he enjoyed that too. God he enjoyed that. But it wasn’t everything that they did together. When they were still in highschool, that was all it started out with. They never hung out without sex as a promise. They were nothing short of the horny teenagers all the movies warn you about.

But now, with the showers and the chores and the meals and the shared bed and shared closet and giggling in the kitchen…they aren’t that anymore.

They are proper boyfriends. They’re a couple, a pair, a duo.

They turned into this and summer isn’t even halfway over. It’s only the end of June.

Who knows what the rest of the summer has to offer…

#hurting my own feelings with that last sentence hehehe #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #mandi writes tresh

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chicgeekgirl89 · 2 days

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Chapter 4 is up!

Tagging: @lemonlyman-dotcom and @kiwichaeng

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[6:22pm] Why do smoke detector batteries only die in the middle of the night?

T.K. is chowing down on some of Paul’s chili when his phone buzzes in his pocket. His dad is regaling the table with another of his New York exploits, this one about a rather scandalous call at a night club. T.K. had been off that night, but he’s heard the story so many times he could probably tell it word for word.

“An unbelievable amount of glitter,” his dad says as T.K. slips his phone out. As soon as he sees the text he smiles.

T.K.

[6:23pm] Are you speaking from personal experience?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[6:24pm] Yes. Two o’clock in the morning last night. Even though I change them every six months. Took me fifteen minutes to figure out which one. So tell me firefighter, why?

T.K.

[6:25pm] Bad news. Smoke detectors are sons of bitches. They’re like Santa. They see you when you’re sleeping. They know when you’re awake. And they choose to use that information for evil.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[6:26pm] That seems like a major design flaw for a life saving device.

“Why are you smiling at your crotch?” Marjan asks from across the table.

T.K. slides his phone back into his pocket. “No reason.”

“Nobody smiles at their crotch for no reason,” Judd says, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. “You talking to a guy?”

“I wasn’t talking to anybody,” T.K. says, scooping up another spoonful of chili. It’s true. He was texting. Not talking. He’s a professional at telling the truth without actually telling it.

“I bet it’s that guy from the other night,” Paul says, a smirk on his face.

“Ooh, the hot guy with the six pack?” Mateo asks.

“Son, if you are engaged in sexting I’m going to ask you not to do it at the dinner table,” Owen says, clearly flirting with the line of dad mode and captain mode.

“I’m not sexting,” T.K. says with a roll of his eyes.

“But it is the guy from the other night?” Paul says. “Come on. You can tell us.”

“Is this what it’s like to have siblings?” T.K. asks. “Kind of glad you and Mom never got around to having more kids, Dad.”

“You’re welcome?” his dad says in a slightly bemused voice.

“Listen if you’re gonna text during dinner you’re gonna owe us some answers,” Judd says. “Least you can do for not paying attention.”

“Fine!” T.K. says. “Yes. It is the guy from the other night. His name is Carlos and he’s APD. Happy?”

“Carlos what?” Marjan asks.

T.K. stares at her. “What do you mean Carlos what?”

“What’s his last name?” she says. When he doesn’t answer she sets down her spoon. “You do know his last name, right?”

“I—“

“Are you sure he’s real?” Mateo asks, adding more cheese to his chili. “Could be a catfish situation.”

“Catfish?” Owen asks, looking confused. “You think T.K. is talking to a fish that lives in muddy water?”

Judd shakes his head. “I’ll explain it later Cap.”

“I am not being catfished,” T.K. says. “He’s a real guy. A nice guy,” he adds.

“Ooooh you’re smitten,” Paul says with a grin.

“I am not smitten!” T.K. cries.

He does not share the part where he poured his heart out the other night through texts to Carlos. Apparently his New York sob story needed to be released and a somewhat faceless, hot ass phone man seemed like an appropriate person to do it with. He’s not sure if his therapist will be thrilled or horrified.

“Just be careful what you send him,” Marjan cautions. “The internet is forever.”

“Thanks Mom,” he shoots back.

“Marjan is right,” his dad says. “I am all for you sowing your oats or Netflix and chilling or whatever you kids are calling it these days. But you should be careful.”

“One time,” Mateo says around a mouthful, “my cousin thought he was going to some girl’s place, but when he got there, it was actually a dude named Knife. He stole my cousin’s wallet and his cell phone.”

“You know sometimes I really worry about you probie,” Paul says, eyes full of genuine concern.

Mateo’s story takes the heat off of T.K. and the team spends the rest of dinner ragging on him instead.

But T.K. is still thinking about Marjan’s words hours later when he’s laying in his bunk staring at the ceiling. Everyone else is asleep; he can hear Judd’s chainsaw snores, Mateo’s sleep mumbles, and Paul’s deep breathing. Crazy how quickly those sounds have become familiar to him.

He rolls over and grabs his phone off the nightstand, turning down the brightness so it doesn’t wake anyone else up. He gnaws at his lip for a second before sending another text off to Carlos.

T.K.

[10:41pm] You’re real, right?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:43pm] As opposed to…?

T.K.

[10:44pm] This isn’t a Catfish situation? You’re not really a woman living in Boise who’s going to steal my credit card information?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:45pm] You got me. You’re my third mark this year. What gave it away?

T.K. snorts then looks around quickly to make sure he hasn’t woken anyone up. His fingers fly as he types back.

T.K.

[10:46pm] Prove it.

Office Hottie- Carlos

[10:47pm] Prove what? That I’m real? How?

T.K.

[10:47pm] Idk. Send a picture of you holding a fork.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:47pm] …a fork?

T.K.

[10:48pm] Four tines? Used for food? Popular with mermaids?

There’s no response and T.K. sets the phone down on his chest. He’s stupid. This is stupid. What kind of stupid person asks someone who’s basically a stranger to send a picture of themselves with a fork at this time of night?

T.K. winces. Weirdest booty call ever.

His phone vibrates and when he lifts it up he has to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Carlos has sent a selfie of him holding a fork. His eyes are squinty, like he’s barely awake, and there’s a hint of scruff on his face. His hair is all mussed and he looks so adorable that T.K. feels a very strong urge to kiss him.

He’s also shirtless. Which makes T.K. feel a very strong urge to put his mouth other places.

T.K.

[10:55pm] Do you ever wear a shirt?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:55pm] I was in bed. This is how I sleep. And you’re welcome that I got up to prove my legitimacy to you.

T.K.

[10:55pm] Thanks. Do you want me to prove mine?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:56pm] No need.

T.K.

[10:57pm] No need? What does that mean?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:57pm] I know you’re real.

T.K. thinks for a minute and then his mouth falls open.

T.K.

[10:58pm] Did you background check me officer?!

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:58pm] …I plead the fifth….

T.K.

[10:59pm] You did!

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:00pm] Okay fine, I did. I wanted to know more about you.

Warmth blooms in his chest, but then is immediately doused like a bucket of cold water has been thrown on it. If Carlos ran a background check…

T.K.

[11:01pm] So…you know about the shooting then?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:01pm] Yeah. And the incident at the bar.

Shit. He’d really rather Carlos not know about the bar. He wishes nobody knew about the bar. Having his dad pick him up from jail had been a low point in their first few months in Austin. It had taken weeks for his split lip to heal. At least he hadn’t been charged. He hadn’t realized there was still a record of some kind though.

T.K.

[11:02pm] Great. So you’ve seen the highlight reel of all my finest Austin moments.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:02pm] I actually already knew about the shooting. It was kind of big news. I just didn’t realize it was you.

T.K.

[11:03pm] Yep. That’s me. Remembered for my near death experience and getting my ass kicked.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:03pm] I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked.

T.K.

[11:03pm] It’s okay. Like you said, you already knew about the shooting. And it’s my fault the bar thing is on record anyway. It was really stupid.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:03pm] Everybody makes mistakes T.K.

T.K.

[11:04pm] Well I already spilled my guts to you about New York. So you know I’ve made more than a few.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:04pm] So have I. You just don’t know them yet.

Why does that small bit of empathetic understanding make his heart ache? His therapist would probably say something about how he always feels like he’s too much for people to handle and Carlos choosing kindness instead of running away at the first signs of T.K.’s baggage.

T.K.

[11:05pm] Do you think it’s weird that we never met before the other day? Since we’re both first responders?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:05pm] Not really. Austin’s a big city.

T.K. rotates his phone in his hand a few times, getting his nerve up.

T.K.

[11:06pm] Would you want to hang out? Sometime?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:09pm] Like a date?

The alarm blares and T.K. immediately shoots upward, pulling on his boots and turnout pants as everyone else does the same. The fire is a big one and they don’t get back to the station until four am. By then it’s way too late to text Carlos back and honestly, he’s too exhausted to even form words. He drops into his bunk and falls immediately asleep.

#911 Lone Star #Tarlos #911lsfic #Tarlos Fic #Thirst Trap Thursday

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ghostedghouls · 10 months

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Random silly ghoul headcanons

The ghouls can't open child locks.

Even after being told how to open them, they struggle until growing frustrated and just ripping bottles open, resulting in a bunch of ripped plastic bottles around their den.

The push-and-twist caps are the worst. Swiss would probably eventually get the hang of them, being a multi ghoul and all. Now the other ghouls ask him to open stuff for them all the time and he enjoys being needed.

Dew loves pop rocks

He likes how they sizzle and pop on his tongue and how they make his mouth feel funny. Whenever he eats them you can see his face light up and his tail will swish exitedly, twitching with each strong pop. The others found out about his pop-rock-addiction because sometimes they would stand next to him and he would just emit a low sizzling noise.

They are suspicious of most electronical devices (except their common room TV which they love dearly). They especially hate vacuums. They are loud and noisy and just overall terrible. A roomba would probably give them a heart attack. They would be screaming, crying, throwing up trying to get away from the little cleaning devil if it swept through their den.

They also hate the smoke detector. Sometimes the little red light catches their eyes and they will be stuck staring the thing down menancingly. If it’s out of batteries and it starts beeping they will get rid of it immediately, throwing it out of the nearest window. Papa had to have at least three new smoke detectors installed in their common room, just this year (not even including their bedrooms). Papa is tired.

Mountain is embarrassed about his tail showing his emotions. He’s a pretty chill and quiet guy. He rarely speaks up about how he feels to avoid conflicts, if possible, but his tail will always give him away. Sometimes you can see him standing on the spade of his tail, trying to conceal a big emotion. Dew will always, without a fail, point this out to make the taller ghoul all flustered. But they all encourage Mountain to be more communicative about his needs and wants afterwards

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vasyandii · 7 months

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Hi :P

(Fun storytime: I was actually drafting this when I received your ask hahahahah)

I like Nak (and her relationship wih Krueger) a lot <3 and your drawings always make me smile, you have a great sense of humour, the way you colour is very warm and inviting, and how you portray those two sillies always crack me up

Had some questions!

1- Is Nak superstitious?

2 - Does Nak every cook for Krueger? Do they cook together? Do they cook each other food from their respective cultures? Do they enjoy it? (is Krueger useful or useless in the kitchen? :P)

3- Does Nak have a favourite insult/swear word?

I'll come back for more for sure :P keep it up, love!

Hiiiii Thank you so much for the Ask and the kind words!! I'm really glad that you like how I portray the two! I'll try my best to answer the questions!

It makes me really excited to get asks about Nak or KruegerNak, keep them coming >:33!!

1.) Is Nak superstitious?

Yes! She doesn't believe in like western superstitions (knocking on wood, etc.) Because she isn't raised on it. Nak is, however, more superstitious in terms of her culture; she doesn't like people's feet being near pillows, covers Krueger's mouth when he's whistling at night. She's not scared of many things but she's TERRIFIED of ghosts and spirits so she feels that doing these things will attract them to her. (Literally clinging onto Krueger while watching Thai scary movies)

2a.) Does Nak ever cook for Krueger? (I'll split these into multiple sections so it's an easier read :3)

Nak is usually the one who cooks for the both of them! She enjoys cooking and domestic work as a stress reliever, plus she likes taking care of him by making him food, it makes her feel cute to be taking care of someone :D

2b.) Do they cook together?

Nak cooks in a way that doesnt need much help; clean and quick. She prefers that Krueger isn't in the kitchen (maybe watching her over the counter) while she cooks because she doesnt want to get distracted with feeding him little bits and pieces of the meal as it's getting made; doesnt want him to get full quickly. Krueger helps with taste testing occasionally (he sneaks bites) so they're both involved with the cooking process in a way

2c.) Do they cook each other food from their respective cultures? Do they enjoy it? (Is Krueger Useless in the kitchen?)

Nak has tried Krueger's cooking before and honestly? She doesn't know how he's not dead from sodium overdose. He's not...bad at preparing and chopping, however he tends to over season or under season things. He makes a killer Apple strudel, though; Nak likes it, not too sweet.

-Calling over the kitchen counter, "You good over there or do I need to bring out the fire extinguisher?"

-"All good."

-"Make sure too not put the heat too high."

- "Relax, I got this. I'm finishing up anywa-" The smoke detector started blaring, followed by a series of curses as Krueger ran over to shut it off.

As for Krueger.. This man eats so much Lao food living with Nak he might as well be Lao himself. Nak tries to cook seperate meals for Krueger of stuff he's used to but ultimately stops when he kept stealing food off her plate even if it's too spicy for him.

3.)Does Nak have a favorite insult/ swear word?

Nak goes through phases of favourite swear words, but she likes Russian or Arabic swear words alot since alot of people in Allegiance speak Russian or Arabic xD

☆If you made it this far you've made it to the end of the post! Thank you so much for reading my brainrot :D

<3 Asks and reblogs are always appreciated!

#giggling and kicking my legs #i love writing these theyre so fun #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod krueger #art #cod mw oc #sebastian krueger #original character #phayvanh nak sotsvahn #Nak #KruegerNak #headcanons #asks #Vasyandii Art #cod art #call of duty art #COD fanart

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madds-is-ace-trash · 1 year

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Time for Chapter 7!

Chapter 7: To anger the storm is to get struck by lightning

Summary: Gotham handels sum rats, danny…. the poor baby, and conner gets some news that makes his heart sink.

Hey y'all guess who got a proof reader!

The lovely and super kind @itsallgoingtopot on tumblr! please send them some love.

Ok so this chapter is me having fun with gotham and some more set up. To the person in the comments who suggest that conner should kick the GIW ass….thanks for the brain worms time for big bro superboy.

The night crept on and the storm swelled over the cathedral, the rain deterring any of her wards or her people. The ground wept in excess as the rain reached its limit. The clouds settled low in the sky. Thunder rolled, sending static through the earth itself. Then the van the men had attempted to take refuge in blared.

“Holy Smokes!” One of the men shouted as he clambered out of the shrieking van. All devices in the van began to fire due to the excess energy. The wind whirls, soaking the man to the bone.

“G come look at this reading!”

“H you're insane, get out of the van! You're gonna get hur-'' All the ghost detectors on the van began to sing in their clamoring chorus. Sending the screeching sound into Gotham's stormy sky. She traps it, not letting it travel too far. For if it were to fall upon the ears of her new ward he would surely flee.

“H, please, I swear to god! Get . Out. Of . The . VAN!” The man begged his partner as he reached to pull him out himself. Gotham pulled back her storm just enough to allow the men to set themselves free, the pair standing with their hands over their ears in the middle of the flooded street.

She hisses, seeming to shake the very ground itself, but Gotham has control, and only the corner the white rats had decided to hide in is affected. Across the vast city her bats have begun their nightly flights, and she needs to dive the vermin out before they come her way.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The wind fizzled out with a pop in his ears, but his soaked suit was a constant wetness weighing heavily on his chest. Agent H had been trained in handling ghosts and he knew some of them could get violent. But this was something else. The readings on the meter had been off the chart. Whatever this thing was, they had entered its turf and were clearly not welcomed.

The static grew, making the agent feel as though his head were about to explode. The storm itself fell from the sky, encasing him and his partner in the dense gray and purple fog. His lungs felt heavy. It became increasingly harder to breathe as something squeezed his very being. Two eyes manifest from the haze, a striking yellow as they glare into his very soul.

He was supposed to be trained for this, he was supposed to be trained to handle vengeful spirits. So why, why can’t he bring himself to move, to reach for his gun, scream anything? His throat feels tight like it's filled with molasses, he tries to scream, to beg ,to plead for fresh air.

Then it speaks , if you can call it that. He hears the voice from inside his head. A hiss, accompanied by a constant static, rings behind his eyes. He covers his ears to no avail. It doesn't stop; it doesn't quiet; it is only loud and painful.

“ Y̵̧̨̨̛͕͎̞̣͚̳͎͎̫̫̭̬̾̃̂̑̈̋̾̇̄̏̕̕̚Ő̸̡̡͈͈̺̹̀̐̋͌͐͑̓͌͛̿͌̆̓̑͐͋͘̚͝Ų̵̩̤̮̝͔̗̥̬̝̪̤̳̦̘̖͎̝̟̻̄̈́͒̄̀͒̎́̀͜͝͝ͅ ̴̨͍̰̮͕͕̹̞̖̘̘͉̱͔̗̻̭̭͓̮̆͐̾̔̈́̐͐̃̀̋͘̕͠ͅͅĄ̵̟͖̝̯̻͇͔͍͚̝̳̂̕͜ͅR̵̨̛̛̪̱͚̲̝̣̣̺̩̹̉E̵̝̥̰̞̜̬̭̙̻͑̀͋͋͝ ̷̛̠̰̥̤̗̖̲̖̜̼̬̏̀͋͌̀̈̿̈́̿͌͐͗͂̒͘Ņ̷̰̹̖̞̲͈͉͎͎̣̯̱͔̙̩͓̐͒̔̾͋̿͝O̵̪̘̱̞̊̊̐Ţ̵̟̪͉̹̝̫̱͕̗̀̅̂͜ ̶̧̛̬̮͓̫̱̣̗̰͖̼̦̼͔̲̺͖͖̖̭̉͊̔̑̀̆Ẁ̸͙̠̩͉̌̽̒̎̔͋̈́̀̓͐̓͘͠E̶̟̥̘̮̟͇̲̘̦̝̫̓̏͐͆̍̅̍͂̎̌̌͆̑̈́͛̃̕͘͝L̷̨̢̡̨̻̜̰̙͍͚̭̖̹̹̝͍̮̓͛̃̄͋͆́̑̌̇͜ͅC̵̢̛̲̩̘̻͈͔̪̞͈̦̮̱̺̙̦̼͓̮̹̿̀̎͊͜O̴̧͎̩̱̘̳͇̮͈͉̒͗̂M̷̨̥̳̪̦̙̦͉̮̪͉̣̫̯̮̗̬̮̄́̈́Ę̴̨̧̢̧̛̦̤͓͕͙̦̼͍̻͎̹̻̀͛̿̋́͋̀̋̐̓̆̓̓̀͑͋͗ͅ ”

The words ring -a piercing whine like the reload of a camera.

M̵̨̢͉͇̼̘͔͈̪̜͕͈̥̯̘͛̃̃̏̑̔̓̈̇͐̓̓̍̾̑͆̚̕̕͝ý̵̨̢̢̬͇͕̩̱̯̗̋̽͒̏̇͛͑̍́̾̋͂̏̉̋̇̅͆̒͘ ̴̧̟͚̻͔̩͓̺̮͖͍̰̭̬̙͈͚̹̙̲͑́̀C̴̜̏̀̍̐̉̌̈́͑̓̓͑̏̅̑̓͋͠ï̴̮̫̪͊͗t̵̢̡͙͚̟͍̪̺̺̤̖̩̜̟̭̟̪͒̈͌̅́̀̇̈̂̄͛̀͐͜͜͝ÿ̷̖͈̄̃̏,̴̰̭̣̏̏̒̈́̐̑̅́͗̽͊̆̆̒̌̉́̉̚͠͠ ̷̨̢̧͎̠̰̤̲̣̯̙̼͈̜̬̣̺̾͊̍m̸̢͎͎̘͕̦͙̼̦̫̫̳̽̏̀̒̑͝y̷̨̧͇͓̖̗̝̺͙̻͖͔̹̰̲͌̓ ̴̡͙̩͚̂̆̐̐̈́̀͒͌͂̎̐̅̊̏͂̚͠͝P̶͇͍̠̥̥͚̭͍͕̥͇͎̼̦͔̼͓̭͙͒͆́͗͗̓͂̓̚̚e̷̡̡̢͇̯̺̰̜̠̗̱̹̞̞̣͈̞͉̜̿͒̈́̊͐̄͝ỏ̷̧͔̟̦͕͔̭̝͎͕͌̏̐̍̃͐̊̽̄͒͒̌̈͋̉̌̕͝͝͠P̸̢̧̯͙̳̖͉͓͉̫̩͈̦̫̼͍̩̺̳͐̇̀͆̕L̸̛̛̦̭̣̻̠̙̘̼͕̮̜̹̟̯͓̽́̀̑̆̎͗͌͗͑̂̇̈́̇̎͂͒͂̏͘Ę̴̰̹͕͉̙̼̗̻̖̩̭͔͇̣̱̦͑̾̈͌͐̉͂̕̚ ̶̡̧̡̲̮̞̙̞̞̣̳̫͂̀̉̑͒̂͛̓͛̄͆̈́̐̈͗́̃̎͝Ļ̷̢̱̱̤̹̗̻̙̫̻̩͔̝̩̘̤̤͈͎͐͊̐̆̾̏̈́͑̆̂̅̆̂̇̾̃͂̅̕̕͘͜͝ͅé̶̛̬̄̽͊̂̓̆̂͆̑́͗̋͗̈̈́̏͝͝͝A̴̡̺͕̤͍̰̺̘͕̦͎̗̖̦̥̩͕͓͎̽̆̓͊̆̓͒̈͑̄̏̑̆̕͜ͅv̴͎̤̳͓͛̓͂͋̿̊̇̎̔̃͘̕͠͝Ȩ̷̝̝͖̩̬͒͗͑̒͊

The demand booms in time with the storm’s waves of thunder, making his skin sting. This is wrong; he needs to run; he has to hide; he needs to LEAVE.

Ņ̴͚͇̼̲̖͍̺͑̐̂̔̐̈́͝ờ̶̧̠̻̞͈͚͕̟̥͔͙̮̯̻̆̌̓̓͛́̉̾̑͆̽̕͝ ̷̢̛̜͍̮̘͙͍̲͕̎̐̑͂̐͌̈̓̿̑̐̀̉̄͑̓́̇͠͝H̵̡̞̖̾̓́a̶̡̧̖̬̭͚̹͉͕̓̄͊̾̉͌̏͌̅͗͌͜ͅŔ̶̡͕̼̫̭̻̗͕̬̰̍m̸̡̺̻̻̖̺̝̞̤̌̈̽̎̈́̑̍͆̑̈̈̇̀̕͠͠ ̴̻̹̤̟̔͐́͋̎̾͐̾̎̊̓̾͂̏̈́̓̍̈̚ẁ̷̡̨̧̲̙͎̝̬̘̼̮̱̯̠̤̱̣̼̘͕̩̂͜i̶̲̻̝̾̎̈́͋̏l̷̡̧̧̧͇̭̙͉̺̗̠̭̱͔͗́͑̆͌̃̑͗̒̊̕ļ̷̧̺̘̭̺̹̹̠̳̭͇͙͓̩̠̖̮͍͓̼͌́͛̉̓̕͜ ̶̮̼͙̓̒̌͜͜C̶̨̟͕̲̩͙̲͙̟͒͋̋̓̍̽̋͌̎͌̌́̌̚ͅơ̴̧̡͈̣̰̠͍̟̙̞̈́͘͜M̴̢̧̛̻̳̥̼͇̹̞͉̜̱͙͚͕̬͚͂̌͋̇̊̏͂̀͌́ͅe̴̛̛͍̥̲̟̫͈͓͎̪̪̎͒̓̆̌̀̑̐̈́̒̇̽̏̕͜͠ ̸̮̋̑̆̌̾̍̈́̿̎̒̈́͝͠M̶̢̻͚̜̺̘͈͚̼̓̑̈́̋͆̏̉̂̋͝i̵̧̝̲͇̠̝̘͍͇̗̰̪͓͙̫̦̖̗͐́̔͐̓̒̏̋̈́̊̄̈́͘͜ņ̶̠̲̜̖͕̙̰̼͙͔̺̝̺̋́̋̈́͠ͅȩ̴̢̛̤̬̫͉̮̪̮̥̬̰̄̄̇̅̓̓͑ ̷̢̣̫͇̬̰̹̠̯̮̲͉͚͆̇͗̓͜.̶̢̛̟͖͖͖̪̟͔̟̯̭̙̠̟̓̇̄̆̄̽̌̊̎̇̆̆̈́̚͜͠ ̵̡̛̮͉̠̣̣̦̯̄̀͌͒̍͊̀̕͘̚̚

The spirit’s eyes twist and swirl, teeth form from the fog and the cloud squeezed tighter. His watch detector shatters, snapping him back into reality. With that, his lungs emptied, his limbs regain control and he runs. He doesn't know where he is going or how he's going to explain this but he needs to run. He doesn't think -he just grabs his partner and beelines it for the van. He is not coming back.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gotham retracts her storm. Her job is done; her wards are safe. She slinks off into the darkness -after all, she has to check on her knights.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Tim, you're seeing this right?” Barbara chimed in over the com he still had in his ear. He raised his head off of his knees pulling out his phone and opening the tracker that she had sent him.

“It's not the first time we've seen Gotham’s weird weather patterns before. Is something up with this one?” The storm was constructed in a pocket of Gotham, it happened occasionally.

“Yeah, look at the duration. They’ve never gone on this long before. And it seems to be centered around that van I flagged.”

“You think it's a meta?” Tim asked wearily. A rogue meta was the last thing they needed right now.

“Don’t know. Can’t tell since the storm took out the cameras. I'm trying to get them back online.” He can hear the click of her keyboard as Babara tries to reboot the cam feed. A grunt came from the other side of the line, so no dice.

“Okay, guess we’re investigating on foot,” he turns to his siblings who were still sitting with him in the hall outside of the room Danny was sleeping in, “ Somethings going on with that van over by the cathedral. We gotta investigate on foot.”

Cass popped up and Dick swiftly followed, all three on their way down to the cave. His brother stalled, pausing in the hall and turning towards Danny's door, a worried expression crossing his face. Cass softly tugs on his arm, giving their oldest brother a soft smile. ‘Safe’ she signs. Dick smiles back; Tim sure hopes she's right.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oracle chimed in not that soon after the bats and birds had flown the coop, reporting that the van had been spotted speeding out of Gotham. This was great news for Dick. It settled some of the worry sitting in his chest as he and Tim swung their way over to where the cameras had gone down. The entirety of the block was drenched, which wasn't weird for Gotham per say, but the storms were never this concentrated.

“Stay on high alert, we don't know if they made a drop off.” Tim called out through the coms.

“You got it, Red!” It had been a while since he and Tim paired off on patrol. It was nice to get to hang out with his brother. As they approached one of the alleyways that had been marked on the map, the scale in which the storm had raged became more clear. It had been strong enough to take out cameras but apparently had not washed away several scorch marks on the concrete. Dried patches blackened throughout the surrounding area.

“Red Robin, you seeing this?”

Tim already had his compact camera out, after all he had always been a shutterbug. Dick smiles to himself at the memories of Tim chasing them around with his camera, thinking of how far he had come. At Tim's affirmative, Dick ducked deeper into the alley scanning until he found something.

His gaze fell upon some freshly broken glass, and what looked like the arrows from a compass of sorts, not far from the ring of scorched earth. “Red I found something,” Dick called Tim over to get a shot of the debris before putting it in an evidence bag.

“Nightwing, I think whatever storm event this was must have broken a piece of their tech,” Tim observed, collecting a few good pictures of the scattered parts' location, then took note of their distance from the initial circle. “The street had some small scrap as well, and Oracle flagged the van due to it giving off abnormal radio signals.”

“Yeah? What do you think it means?" Dick quaint, placing his hand on his chin and rolling around the information in his head.

“Who knows, but they either found what they were looking for or were scared off based on how quickly they left.” Tim took the bag of parts from Dick and put it in a pouch. “And I'm not sure which is worse.” Tim scanned the area one more time looking for any more bits of whatever had broken. Not far off from where the van had been parked he finds it. A busted wrist watch, but it wasn't a normal watch. It had obviously been modified, but for what he wasn't sure.

“We should take it back to the cave", Dick says, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder to snap him out of his detective spiral. They still weren't sure if whatever (nature or a meta but honestly the storm had been too controlled to be anything but a meta) had wrecked the alley would come back. It was probably for the best they collected the evidence and dip.

“Yeah, you're right, best to report to Oracle. We also don't want to leave the little one alone with B. If he runs and none of us are there, we could lose him for real.” Tim agreed easily enough, which was weird. Tim was a total workaholic, but maybe he really was that worried about Danny. That was a touching thought for Dick, but then again his family had always been fast to take in any of B's new wards so he supposed this would not be all that different.

“Yeah let's head back,” Dick quickly pulled him into a side hug, and then shot his grapple.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny's eyes fluttered open, the sound of muffled voices dancing on the other side of the door. They were soft and warm, nothing like the hisses in his foggy memories. He phased through the pile of blankets and inched towards the door, placing his ear against it to listen to whoever was on the other side.

“We can let him sleep, B, poor thing's probably exhausted,” the man that Dick's daddy had brought home spoke in a light accent.

“ I know, Clark, but he’s so small, we've never had one that small,” the other man sounded so tired. “ I just… What do we do? He can't stay here -it's not safe.” Oh no, the big man was gonna send him away! Danny didn't want to leave! Uncle left him with Dick; he was supposed to stay with him. Big Lady said he was safe. So he had to be safe.

Danny's breathing picked up as he scooted himself back along the floor, pulling his legs against his chest. He wants Dick to come back, he wants ქმɀɀ. He wants to go home but he can't-home isn't there any more.

What happened? Why? Why is it gone?

His head spins, the voices outside the door don't stop, he wants all the noise to stop. His ears buzz and he can hear the outside, he can hear the cars driving on the city streets, it's too much. He needs it to stop.

A whine escapes from deep in his chest. He's scared and he wants it to stop. He's not sure what he did but he's sorry, he just wants to know why this is happening.

Then like a warm pack on his aching muscles, a hand is placed on his shoulder. He snap his head up, tears trickling from the corners of his eyes. “Hey bud, it's ok. You're ok. You're ok.” The now familiar voice rings out in soft tones.

Dick came and he answered his pleas, Danny's core buzzing in the relief. He launches himself into the man's arms burying his face in his chest.

“Loud -it's too loud….” he softly sobs, holding his hands over his ears. The noise still didn't stop and he doesn't know why, or how to make it stop. “ I want Ja...I… Big sister…where did she go?” Images of soft smiles and bright red hair dance around his head. He knows who that is, he just can't quite picture her.

“Your ears hurt?,” Dick asked, keeping his voice soft and low but it was still so loud. Why was everything so loud?

“May I?” The other man from the hall takes soft steps forward. “This happened to Jon a few times when he was little. I think he's having trouble reigning in his super hearing. He's probably overloaded, Gotham's a big city with a lot of noise.”

“ Danny, can Uncle Clark try to help? He's got really strong hearing too, he might be able to help,” Dicks whispered as soft as humanly possible.

Did Danny want his help? He was big and scary, but his aura was soft. Not like the other big man with his prickly one. He gave off waves of sympathy, love, hope ,worry, same , that made Danny's core reach towards him.

“ But don't leave, please don't leave,...” Danny tugged on Dick's sleeve. He didn't want him to leave because every time he did something scary happened.

“Of course star shine,” he moved Danny's bangs out of his eyes, “ I'll stay right here ok?” Danny nodded and Clark took a few more steps towards Danny. His heart raced and images of looming figures in white flashing in his head. He put his hands over his ears and shook his head trying to clear the fog.

Two large hands clasp his own gently lifting them off his ears, "What can you hear the softest, what's the furthest away Danny?” He asks in his soft tone.

“Cars, foot steps, owls.” Danny listed out as requested.

“ Ok that's good, good job, now how about some things that are a bit closer?”

Danny listens trying to find sounds closer than the rushing of traffic, “ Water, trees, crickets, bats”

“You're doing great! Okay how about things just in the manor?”

“ Talking, buzzing, pots and pans”

“ Ok see you're doing fanatic,” He said, placing a hand gently on Danny’s shoulder. “ Now things just in this room.”

“ Breathing, heart beats , bug” Danny's head doesn't ring so much any more- the far off noise being filtered out and his ears only focusing on the space around him.

“ Bug? Just one,” Dick chuckles, rubbing soothing circles on Danny's back. “ That's some pretty good hearing.” Danny flushes at the compliment, burying his face back into Dick's chest.

“Not used to the noise of the big city buddy?” Clark asks gently, his tone still low and even.

“Nuh uh,'' Danny mumbles out. His last home was a lot more quiet. He could hear a pin drop from across town. This new home was too loud.

“Well you're awfully brave,'' Clark offers.

“The bravest,” Dick agrees. Danny flushes up to his ears, hiding his face. His core humms, because they're telling the truth, waves of love and compassion waft off the two men. It was refreshing and warm and he wished it could last forever.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bruce took a moment to gaze upon the sight before him. His eldest son with a small boy held lovingly to his chest, and his boyfriend smiling fondly at the shy child as he offered comforting words. A small smile crept onto his lips. His son, his Clark, and his grandson. And wasn't that a thought, how the boy had latched onto Dick so fast.

In reality they were lucky he had, what would they have done if they had to force the kid into containment? It probably wouldn't have done them any good, the kid had already been through so much and they didn't even know the half of it. How had the Kents survived when their powers went awry?

Oh wait, that's right, Clark's parents lived in rural Kansas, with no surrounding cityscape to overwhelm them and they always had a place to go when they were.

“Hey Danny, what if you came with me to my parents' farm, just while you heal a little? It's where I grew up and we'll know how to handle your powers.” And this is why Bruce loved the man. It was like he read his mind.

Danny didn’t even respond, he just clung tighter on to Dick's shirt. If Bruce didn’t know any better he would have sworn that he stopped breathing all together. “Danny it’s safe there I prom-“

“I don’t want to leave!” Danny blurts out heaving in a breath. “ I can’t leave, Uncle left me with Dick! I have to stay.” Danny was growing visibly distressed, "How is he supposed to find me if I leave?”

Clark winced, setting a hand on his forehead for a moment. Strange, did Danny getting agitated influence how much the kryptonite in his system affected Clark? Maybe the faster his heart rate rose the more infected blood was pushed to the surface.

“Ok ummm…tell you what, how about we take a few days to think it over?” Dick offered, keeping his voice calm. The boy visibly relaxed at his words. “We can think about it over the next few days then on the weekend when I’m off we’ll try it out just for a couple days. Just a visit, how about that?”

Bruce knew that meant he would probably have to work a little extra to cover the lost ground. But to be honest he’s not sure if he minded, his new grandson obviously required a little extra care to adjust.

Plus he has to start following the trail before it goes cold. After all, no one hurts a child in his city and gets away with it.

——————————————————————-

Tim sat at the computer and huffed, Dick had rushed off to check on the new kid as soon as they got back from patrol, leaving him with a majority of the dirty work. Whatever, the analysis of the watch would probably go faster if it was just him anyway. Just as Tim had started laying out and photographing what little of the watch was still intact and the pieces that they had managed to find, Alfred walked into the cave.

He politely cleared his throat, causing Tim to turn towards the man who was basically his grandfather. “Master Tim, I’m aware you're probably busy but I have a request.”

“ Oh Yeah? What is it?” Tim dropped what he’s doing and sped over to Alfred by his spot on the stairs; it was rare for the man to make a direct request. “What is it, wait is it in that bag?” The butler was holding a little disposable bag from a med kit, clearly labeled as medical waste.

Wait a minute, “Is that- is that from Danny?” He knew that Dick had said Danny was bleeding, but the thought of the red stained cloth coming from the child he was just playing tag with, the boy who spent hours rambling about the stars, the one his brother held with all the fondness in the world, made his stomach turn.

“I'm afraid so. I believe it would be beneficial to get it analyzed as soon as possible. Not only to confirm any links to his origins, but also to check for infection if possible.” Tim gently took the bag from Alfred, suddenly the weight of just what they were dealing with resting on his shoulders.

“The green, what, what is that?” The cloth was littered with green like someone had taken green glitter and mixed it with the blood.

“The green was in his blood, still is I assume. The surgical wounds and the fear of medical procedures point to the boy being experimented on.” That meant Alfred also had no idea. Looks like this watch would have to wait.

“I’ll get right on it”, Tim rushed over towards the batcomputer he swung over the railing and pulled the chair out. But before sitting he turned towards Alfred. “Hey Al is he- is he ok? It’s just… Dick is just, he's really attached already, you know?”

“I hope he will be, but right now we just need to do our best to figure out what happened. I wish you luck, Master Tim, please get back to me as soon as you get the results.” He gave Tim a smile and made his way upstairs.

Turning to his new task, Tim just hopes this provides some answers.

——————————————————————

Conner sits on his bed in his room at Ma and Pa's house, headphones in his ears blocking out any sound around him. The headphones had been a gift from Tim, designed so he could block out the outside world. The warm Kansas breeze flowing through his bedroom window, the soft glow of sunlight caching the curtains as they flutter in the wind.

He feels a light tap on his shoulder, he turns to see Ma holding a phone. He takes his earphones out and sits up a little more so he can make room for her to sit. “Oh hey, how’s it going,” Conner chimed.

“It’s your father, we got some news and well I think you should hear it,” the look on her face was worried so not good news. Great, what now? Clark almost never called Ma with bad news. Conner took the phone and gently rested it against his ear.

“ Yes dad, it’s Conner. Is everything ok?”

“Hey bud,” oh no, Clark was calling him bud, "I think you should hear this but I need you to promise to not come rushing.”

“Wait what’s wrong, you went to Gotham right? Are you hurt? Is…. Is Tim hurt?”

“Yes I did; no I’m fine and Tim is safe. I promise.” Clark took a shaky breath in, Kon could hear the sound of someone running a hand on Clark’s shoulder. Probably Bruce if he was in Gotham. “Conner, we… we think we found another clone. We think someone cloned me again. And-“

“ No ”

It was all he could bring himself to say as his bed creaked under his grip.

Next chapter: chapter 8: Visiting hours

Jason stops by for a visit, dick is so done, and conner and jon make an appearance.

Also to those of you who couldn't tell, yes Dick is my favorite of the brothers, Why? Because i too am the eldest and the ginipiggu that my parents worked out all their screw ups on so they didnt fuck up the other ones. I RELATE to him on a personal level i to am the eldest in a family full of problem children but I still love them. <3

Tag TIME!

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@fisticuffsatapplebeesbees

@terzatheunderscorerima

@sweet-itachi-lovinovin

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#danny phenton #danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #ms&sc #de aged #deaged #hurt/comfort #fanfic #superbat

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 5 months

Text

Thanksgiving Reruns 2023--The Thanksgiving Dinner

It is crazy to me that it’s already time for this, but the holidays have officially arrived! I would like to wish all my followers who celebrate it a very happy Thanksgiving. As a thank you to you (as well as my followers who DON’T celebrate), I present you with 3 Thanksgiving related stories I’ve written in the past. Enjoy!

Title: The Thanksgiving Dinner

Rating: G

Words: 1573

Summary: When Emma and Killian host Thanksgiving dinner at their home for the first time, they want everything to be perfect, but things don’t always go the way we want.

Other Chapters: 2 3 4 5

The Thanksgiving Dinner

***originally written sometime during season 5***

CS genre: future fic

Killian shivered as he walked along the sidewalk that led to the house he shared with his wife, Emma Swan-Jones. A pleasant thrill shot through him at the thought. Emma was his wife! Against all odds, against death itself, they’d prevailed, and they’d finally been given the chance to embark on their future together.

The past few months had been difficult, to say the least, but the happiness he now enjoyed with his true love and her son in their house by the sea made every last moment of the agony worth it.

The cold, late autumn breeze picked up, scattering fallen leaves and chilling Killian to the bone. He took the stairs to his home two at a time, wondering idly if they were in for a snowstorm. He hoped so. Perhaps he could engage in a snowball fight with the lad. Perhaps he and Swan and Henry could build a snowman. Killian let himself daydream about a day spent with his family in the snow—not to mention the ways he and Swan could find to warm each other up after the lad went off to bed.

In fact…speaking of more enjoyable activities…the lad was staying with his other mother tonight, perhaps he and Swan should take advantage of the alone time. Smile draping his lips, Killian opened the door, prepared to call out an enthusiastic “Hello, love!”

But the greeting died on his lips.

No sooner had he pulled the front door open than his ears were assaulted with a piercing, pulsating shriek, and thick, black smoke slapped him in the face. Faintly, underneath the shrill noise, he detected the sound of crying. Emma crying.

Sprinting forward, his heart in his throat, he made for the kitchen. “Swan!” he shouted fearing the scene he might find.

He found her sitting at the kitchen table, her head in her hands, crying as though her heart were breaking. A sauce pan sat on the stove, smoking merrily away, apparently causing the device Swan had called a “smoke detector” to protest vigorously. As Swan didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger, Killian jogged to the stove, turned off the burner, and threw the offending pan into the sink, dousing it’s charred, lumpy contents with water.

Immediate crisis over (and alarm finally blessedly silent) Killian returned to his disconsolate wife. Kneeling before her, he put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Emma, love, what’s the matter?”

She raised a red, tear-stained face toward him, and then fell into his arms, the tears continuing. He held her for long moments, rubbing her back, whispering comforting nothings into her ear, brushing kisses against her hair, the top of her head. Finally, the worst of her emotion seemed to pass, and she pulled back, scrubbed at her face and then resumed her seat.

“Killian, I can’t do this! It’s an utter disaster!” she said, vaguely gesturing toward their kitchen.

“What is it you can’t do love?” he asked, taking a seat beside her and putting his arm around her shoulders.

Emma sighed deeply and then leaned her head against his shoulder. “This. Cook.”

Killian chuckled softly. “Not to put too fine a point on it, love, but you never could cook. Beyond the realm of breakfast provisions, you are hopeless, darling. Your lad and I have taken to learning the culinary arts out of sheer self-preservation.”

Emma sat up and glared at him, crossing her arms with a huff. After a moment, she wilted, dropping her eyes to the table before them. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

She looked so sad, so dejected that Killian leaned over and kissed her tenderly, slowly. Her arms wound around him as she returned the embrace, seeming to take strength from their intimacy.

Finally, he pulled back, looking into her red-rimmed eyes. “What is this truly about, my love? Your proficiency in this particular domestic art has never before been an issue that affected your happiness.”

“It’s just…” she said, getting up to pace, “I invited everyone over for Thanksgiving tomorrow. The whole crazy family. I told them I would make the Turkey and stuffing, the whole nine yards.”

Killian vaguely recalled people throughout the town referring to an autumn holiday called Thanksgiving. From what he’d gleaned from various conversations, the holiday consisted of eating gluttonous amounts of food and then viewing a sporting event called “football”.

Emma gestured toward the blackened pot in the sink. “I have to make the whole dinner, and I can’t even figure out how to make mashed potatoes!”

“Potatoes?” Killian asked as he poked at the congealed mess with his hook. “Is that what these once were? It would seem you didn’t add enough water when you set about to boil them.”

“I needed to add water?”

Killian shot her an incredulous look. “Aye…boiling requires liquid, love.”

The tears started flowing again. “I don’t even know how to boil potatoes. I’m so screwed.”

Killian took her into his arms once more, rocking her gently. “Again, what is this really about, love? If it were merely a matter of preparing a meal, I’ve no doubt your mother would be thrilled to assist you.”

Emma pulled back enough to look at him. “It’s just…it’s Thanksgiving, you know? I wanted to make this holiday perfect. I wanted to…I don’t know…try to make it up to everyone for the damage I caused when I was the Dark One. Say thank you for standing by me. That kind of thing.”

Killian smiled tenderly and reached up to catch a tear with his thumb. “None blame you, Emma. None hold it against you. I more than any know what you’re going through; the guilt and shame. I did far worse than you under the curse. But you’ve put all to rights; you’ve nothing left to atone for.”

She tossed him a watery smile. “It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it?”

He barked out a laugh. “Truer words were never spoken.”

Emma dropped back into her chair at the table and sighed again. “Regardless, we still have a whole freaking Thanksgiving dinner to host. What are we going to do?”

“We deal with it as we deal with everything, my love,” Killian said, sitting beside her, “together. You’re no longer alone; you’ll never be alone again. Henry and I would be honored to help you prepare this special repast.”

Emma leaned forward and kissed him slow and deep. “Thank you. What would I do without you?”

“Certainly not any edible cooking,” he said with a quirk of his brow.

Emma hit him playfully. He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, pleased to see the smile blooming once again on her lovely face.

“Killian, there was one more reason I was hoping this holiday would be perfect,” she said, looking at him shyly from beneath her long lashes.

“Aye, love? What’s that?”

“This is your first Thanksgiving, and I wanted to make it special because…”

“Because why?”

Emma abruptly got to her feet and darted toward the powder room off the kitchen. A moment later she returned holding a small, white wand of sorts. “Because, well, I have news, and I was planning to share it after everyone went home on Thanksgiving, but I guess now’s as good a time as any.”

Killian took the device she held out to him, peering in confusion at the tiny display showing two pink lines. Was this supposed to be meaningful to him? “My apologies love. I’m afraid I don’t understand…”

Emma took his hand and looked into his eyes. “This is a special test, Killian. One that can tell me…what’s going on in my body. Those two lines there? They mean I’m pregnant.”

It took him a moment to catch up to what she’d said, but when he did his heart stuttered and then began racing. “You’re with child? I’m to be a father?”

She nodded, her lower lip between her teeth. “Yeah. I just found out today. We’re going to have a baby!”

Killian whooped then took her into his arms, swinging her around as she laughed and the tears flowed once more. Finally he put her down and kissed her as he felt the tears prick his own eyes. A father! He was going to be a father! It was something for which he’d never allowed himself to hope.

“I hope this means you’re happy,” Emma said.

“Happy! Emma, nothing on this earth could bring me more joy.”

She smiled beatifically. “I hoped you’d react like that. But, I mean, we hadn’t really talked about kids yet, and I didn’t know how you felt, and…I don’t know.”

He chuckled. “Why do you think I selected such a large house, love? Of course I want to have a family with you. What better way to overcome our painful pasts than to share our love with a family of our own?”

As Killian and Emma celebrated their happy news and began planning for their upcoming Thanksgiving dinner, Killian couldn’t keep the smile off his lips. Though he’d never before heard of the custom, he very much looked forward to this holiday called Thanksgiving. With a wife he loved beyond all reason, a teenage son he adored, an entire family to care for and now a tiny son or daughter on the way, he had more blessings than he could count in three lifetimes.

There was much for which to be thankful.

Next Chapter-->

#captain swan #cs ff #cs thanksgiving ff #the thanksgiving dinner #my fanfiction #thanksgiving reruns 2023

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cator99 · 1 year

Text

One time many years ago I had decided to turn myself in to the police because I had a warrant and it was driving me insane to think that I might get arrested at any point - that sort of thing happened frequently back then - and nobody wants to be caught off guard by a warrant like the cells are cold and there have been many times where I was arrested in very thin pants and a t-shirt and they obviously don't give you blankets in there so anyways I figured I would go in prepared wearing thick clothes and additionally I had stuffed a ton of Ativan in my chest binder - I'd been through this enough times that I'd realized that they were deeply uncomfortable touching around there and they're not really all that thorough anyway when it comes to patting people down before putting them in a holding cell - the cell has a camera in it, they make you go through a metal detector, it's not like jail or anything they don't make you bend over and cough like it's really not that big of a deal but it is annoying because you have to sit there for usually around 40 hours until you can speak to a Justice of the Peace and get a court date set - that was always the reason I had warrants I regularly missed court dates because I was a fucked up stupid ass teenager who would spend all day lying around smoking pot I lost track of days all the time anyways this is all besides the point - I had just been laying on the ground underneath the bench that sticks out of the wall it's not like a solid bench but it's so bright in there the room is lit with blinding fluorescent lights making it difficult to get any sleep so whatever I went under there and then quickly swallowed a bunch of Ativan - it always makes time pass incredibly fast I mean that's the reason why I brought it in with me I considered it like a time travel pill I used to take it whenever I wanted to get something over with and back then I didn't particularly enjoy much of anything at all to be honest so I was just popping that shit endlessly - however I haven't used it since this specific occasion because I realized I was using it for all the wrong reasons and I was using a lot of it but anyways I kept popping em in my cell but for whatever reason I guess there were very few people in holding that day - it only took about 20 hours before I could see the JP and so I was still high on Ativan when they released me into the middle of downtown - it was dark but it was winter so it was probably early evening and I went across the street to the Tim Hortons and asked some guy if I could bum a smoke off of him...

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merwinspeaks · 5 months

Text

Dear You,

They say when you’re driving that the most dangerous spot on the road is your blind spot. It’s the part of the road that you can’t see, but you must pay attention to at all times. If you’re not careful, a collision is almost sure to happen. Most cars today have blind spot detectors installed in them. This takes away all the guess work so that you can focus solely on the path ahead. Unfortunately, I never had that luxury. That’s exactly where you came from. You were speeding along in the lane next to me right outside the corner of my peripheral vision. I never saw you coming.

There’s a funny thing that happens afterwards. You don’t seem to feel any pain at all. That’s because adrenaline is deployed into your system. It acts as a temporary guardian angel that shields you from the pain long enough to escape the wreckage. When the pain does come, it’s a sober reminder of what has happened to you. I fell in love with you by accident, but I stayed there on purpose. I was surrounded by the fire, smoke and debris that used to be my heart. Still, you nursed me back to health when I was broken. You stayed and never faulted me even though I was the one that wasn’t looking where he was going.

We spent nights together that now seem like dreams. We spent countless nights together just felt right somehow. We traded stories of the lives we lived before we crashed into each other. After the nights ended, we would end up on the phone competing with each other to see who would be the first one to fall asleep. Through all of the conversation, the words I wanted to say to you remained caged in my mouth like animals in a zoo; fearing that they would never be able to live and thrive in the wild. Imagine my surprise when it was you who said, “I love you” first. In that moment, my mind became filled with infinite possibilities, and all had had you in them. In that moment, reciprocity didn’t seem like some figment of my overactive imagination. It felt like something tangible that I could hold onto easier than just hope.

Before I knew it, I was helpless. I leapt off the edge without making sure that my bungee cord was secure. That’s when I realized that the scary part of falling is not the falling itself. It’s what happens when there is no one there to catch you. I remember hearing “I love you” so vividly and I was so caught up in the moment that I never heard the “but…”. I don’t believe it was ever said, but it should’ve been felt. I’d been down this road plenty of times before so I should have known what kind of love I was getting myself into. Love takes many different forms. Though we both said the word, we were still speaking in different languages. I mistranslated yours. I can’t blame you. I should have gotten on the back of the ambulance. I should have been transported to a facility that knew how to heal my wounds better than I. I chose to stay at the scene of the accident with no insurance and no way to cover the damages. This is how you become emotionally bankrupt. By investing your life’s savings in things that don’t ever yield a return. You are so starved for something that you’re willing to eat whatever scraps you find. That’s exactly what I was. I was a stray dog that never had a home so I would always return to the same place that left the best leftovers. Even though it wasn’t the meal I deserved, it kept me full long enough until the hunger pangs returned.

Over the course of the accident, I never once thought to think of the pain you had incurred. Not only was our love different, but we were also different. I am a stray dog and you; you are a dove. As soon as your wings healed, it was time for you to fly. I couldn’t keep you on the ground with me. It was never where you belonged. I had to learn very quickly the acts of humility, chivalry, and letting go. I watched you spread your wings, defy gravity and fly away. I watched as long as I could until you were out of sight, and I was now staring at an endless sky. Where you are now, I pray it’s where you belong. I hope you’ve built a nest in the highest tree, and you watch out for people who aren’t watching their blind spots. When you say, “I love you” I now will know the place it comes from. I will respond and it will be with the same fervor, but without the same selfishness. Love never is and never has been selfish. I know that now. It takes delight in knowing that you are happy, no matter what that happiness looks like. I’m back on the road now. I’m driving slower now and I’ll make sure to check all areas before I decide to change lanes. Godspeed.

With All the Love I Have Left,

Me.

#letters #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #love

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sassyfrassboss · 1 year

Note

The Sussexes' next big project? Harry and Meghan 'in talks with Netflix to film a documentary in South Africa where they'll help to build houses'

The Duke and Duchess of Sussex are in talks to front a new Netflix documentary which will see them meeting communities in South Africa, sources have claimed.

The Sussexes, who released their $100 million docuseries Harry & Meghan with the streaming giant last December, are thought to be discussing another project.

The Sunday Mirror reports Prince Harry, 38, and Meghan Markle, 41, will be shown helping to build houses in the villages they will visit with the series thought to take a 'humanitarian' focus as Meghan brings awareness to safe birthing practices.

A source told the newspaper: 'The cameras will follow [The Sussexes] as they visit compounds and share medical education'.

They added the production will be a combined project from Netflix and the couple's Archewell Foundation.

The source revealed: 'Meghan is particularly keen to share information about giving birth safely with the women she meets.'

Harry and Meghan's reported project in South Africa will be their third in conjunction with Netflix, following their bombshell six-part docuseries in December 2022 and their 'Live to Lead' series, which aired on New Year's Eve in 2022.

It will follow the couple's 'return to South Africa', according to the source, following their royal tour which saw them visit the nation in 2019.

During the tour, the couple met with community members in townships around Cape Town while travelling with Prince Archie, and were pictured smiling and laughing as they danced with locals.

Last year, when Meghan launched her Archetypes Spotify podcast, she revealed a frightening incident during the tour when the heater in Prince Archie's nursery caught fire

She recalled: 'In that amount of time that [the nanny] went downstairs, the heater in the nursery caught on fire. There was no smoke detector.

'Someone happened to just smell smoke down the hallway, went in, fire extinguished. He was supposed to be sleeping in there.'

Meghan went on to speak of her stress and fear at having to carry on with royal engagements despite what had happened.

'There was this moment where I'm standing on a tree stump and I'm giving this speech to women and girls, and we finish the engagement, we get in the car and they say there's been a fire at the residence. What? There's been a fire in the baby's room,' she said.

'As a mother, you go, 'Oh, my God, what?' Everyone's in tears, everyone's shaken. And what do we have to do? Go out and do another official engagement.

'I said, 'this doesn't make any sense. Can you just tell people what happened?' And I think the focus ends up being on how it looks instead of how it feels.

'And part of the humanising and the breaking through of these labels and these archetypes and these boxes that we're put into is having some understanding on the human moments behind the scenes that people might not have any awareness of and to give each other a break. Because we did– we had to leave our baby.'

Reports of the couple's new series come as the Duchess has signed with a new talent agency, William Morris Entertainment (WME).

Meghan and Archewell will be represented by the firm, which also lists Serena Williams and Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson as clients, Variety reported - although it is understood the former Suits star will not be focusing on acting.

Interesting to see they are hitting a Commonwealth country that recently had a State Dinner with the UK.

I don't know how well this will be received after she compared herself to Mandela.

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bardicfrustration · 2 years

Text

Carved by Fire

This little fic is brought to you by the letter F, this unused prop that i think is Amazing, @storiesbyrhi who posted about it and encouraged me to write, and readers like you. Thank you.

"C'mon." Eddie pleads.

He leans over to you and catches your eye before you could avoid his inescapable gaze.

"Don't you want to leave your mark?"

Then you smell smoke.

"Uh, Eddie?"

"Wha- oh fuck."

"MUNSON! PULL THE FUCKING FIRE ALARM!"

So far, Eddie Munson has set off the smoke detector 3 times this school year.

Once on purpose to ruin the basketball team's pep rally parade down the halls. A second time while trying to create a homemade fog machine for the drama department (that did eventually work). And now, when he accidentally set the woodshop on fire.

"ON IT!" He runs and yanks the lever while the sprinklers have started to soak the whole classroom.

To be fair, though, it kinda might be your fault, too, but Eddie would never let you take the blame.

You had only taken woodshop as an elective because it was your senior year and you figured, ‘easy A’.

You totally did not take it because the cute weirdo you had been kinda crushing on was loudly proclaiming that he was planning to take it. Not at all.

It was for sure a bonus. He was a hard guy to miss.

You liked watching him bounce around. He was like a cartoon that had escaped from the tv and was excited to be real and alive. Meanwhile, you were just quietly coasting through until graduation. A part of you wishes you could just stand the fuck up and ask him out.

The rational part of you went to class and worked silently on another wonky birdhouse.

"I like it." You hear over your shoulder.

You turn, confused, and see a pair of irresistible doe eyes looking at you.

Eddie is standing right there. Hands behind his back and leaning into your work space. "Your...thing. It looks cool. Super funky." He nods to the uneven cuts and the carvings you decided to have fun with on the little bird roof.

"It's a bird house." You relieve him from asking.

"Ohhhhh. I thought it was a race car." He tilts his head to reexamine. You laugh and he takes it with a smile.

"You think I'm making a race car without wheels?" You ask.

He holds up his hands in defense, "Not my place to tell you what to make. That's his job." He points over his shoulder to the grumpy teacher grumbling as he works on another rocking chair. "Either way, it's way cooler than what I'm doing."

"What are you working on?" You had been trying to guess from afar, but you really had no idea. With a grin, he leads you over to where he's working and hops up to sit next to his project on the table.He picks up a little bag that rattles and pours out a couple oddly shaped dice. They roll in his palm as he explains.

"It's a dice tower. You just plop one of these," He picks up a die, "into the top here. And viola. Random number every time."

"Can't you just roll it?" You ask him with an incredulous look. "Like just-" You emulate rolling dice like you're in Vegas.

"Suuure." He tips his head thoughtfully, "But this is more fun." The smile he wears as he speaks to you is infectious. "Plus, this tray at the bottom keeps them from rolling away and getting lost. You wouldn't believe where I've found some of these fuckers hiding." He lets the dice fall back into his palm and roll around.

You watch it and try not to be mesmerized by a small piece of plastic. Or maybe it's just him.

"Wanna try?" He asks.

You mentally shake yourself. "Uh, sure."

He gently cups your hand and drops a die into your palm. The touch feels charged, like just brushing his hand against yours could warm you from the inside out, and then it's over.

You follow his instruction and drop it into the top, listening to it clunk its way down the tower. You're focused on the tower, but you can almost imagine his eyes watching you.

The die lands into the tray.

"Oof. Critical failure." He hisses dramatically and it does nothing to hide the smile in his eyes.

"That's bad?" You ask, looking up from the die to him.

"Sure isn't good, bud."

"What happens then?"

"Well…" he leans in closer to pick up the die back up and examines it like a crystal ball revealing your fate, "It would certainly depend on your intent, dear traveler."

He's looking down at you and you’re looking up at him. The air feels like it's burning between you.

"Munson! Get your ass off my table." The teacher barks from across the room.

You flinch back, not the kind to get into trouble. Eddie hops off the table with a huff but he doesn't seem to really care.

"Are you planning to carve that in?" You gently trace the skull design on the front of the tower that he's drawn in pencil. The lines are beautiful and jagged and the hellfire name is written underneath in sharp letters.

His electric smile returns, "No. But trust me, this is way cooler." He clears away the mess of tools still lying around until he finds what he's looking for. "Check this shit out."

He picks up the pen-like tool, grabs a small piece of scrap wood and you watch how he etches his name in. His chicken scratch transfers well into the wood, turning the pale plank dark enough to rival his eyes. Smoke curls up from the wood and metal and your eyes water, but you can't stop watching. He adds two devil horns above his name for effect and you can't help but smile.

Just the smell of it feels like you're sitting around a campfire and a dangerous part of your brain wants to put your hand in to feel it burn.

An even more dangerous part wants to watch him burn your name into the wood.

He sets the pen down and shows off his masterpiece to you with the same vibrancy of a kid on christmas.

"Is that fucking metal or what?"

"It looks really nice," You trace the lines gently, feeling the grooves and the lingering warmth. "What if it catches fire?"

"Eh. It's been fine so far." He waves off the thought and perks up as an idea strikes, "You should try it."

You stare at him like he's asking you to chop off your finger. Sure, it doesn't look hard, but getting the nerve up to use the large mechanical saws had taken a lot of your courage up for the year.

You scoff at him. "So I can burn my nails off? No way." You shake your hands in emphasis.

"You're not gonna burn your nails off. See? Mine are totally fine. Ready for a manicure." He wiggles his fingers in your face and you swat them away.

"Buzz off, dude."

"C'mon, don't you want to leave your mark?"

He asks you so readily, as if it wasn't the giant nagging fear weighing on your shoulders. As if you weren't so scared to break out of your shell, but he says it like he believes in you.

Yes, you wanted to be more than a fly on the wall. Yes, you wanted to make something worth being proud of. Yes, you wanted to leave your mark on this world, this school, maybe even him.

Then you smell smoke.

And that's how he set off the fire alarm. Again.

You all get drenched by the sprinklers above you and your stuff gets wet, but everyone is fine. Well, not Eddie.

He gets reamed outside in front of everyone by your shop teacher for committing the cardinal sin of leaving burning hot metal on wood while he looks like a wet cat caught in a hurricane.

He takes it in stride though, and none of your classmates are mad to take the day out of class. Still, the guilt and embarrassment weighs in your gut like a pile of rocks.

So you watch from afar, finishing another bird house on the far end of the room, as he finishes his dice tower. It looks great. You want to tell him that, but every time he looks at you, you feel the guilt crawling up your throat and you look away.

Eventually, he catches you off guard just as you get into class. He’s holding something wrapped in newspaper and string.

"This, uh," He scratches at his neck, "I'm sorry. For trying to push you. It was too much. I just-" He sighs, and you miss his vibrant smile, "It's just a little something. If you want it."

He hands you the gift and walks away before you can even react.

You’re too impatient to wait until you get home. You ignore your woodshop teacher explaining the difference between different kinds of wood stains and delicately unwrap the gift, feeling Eddie’s eyes watching you from across the room.

You find a box, not large but well made, with your name carved by fire written on the lid.

You want to giggle and scream and dance until your heart feels like it isn't trying to twist out of your chest. Instead, you nab the closest piece of scrap wood and start carving your phone number in. After your teacher finishes his lecture, you bring it to Eddie with a smile growing on your lips and Eddie can’t help but smile. You make plans for a date that friday.

He pockets the wood and it sticks out like a reminder.

You sit back down to plan another bird house and open your box. Inside the lid is a note that reads, "You left your mark on me. -EM"

#Eddie Munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson fanfic #my writing #eddie stranger things #im impatient. posts at 5am

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