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espion7971 · 1 month

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SkyWing tribe sheet!

my computer always fucks up colors in export for some reason and its really obvious with these guys :( i promise they're more saturated my computer just sucks

anyway i really liked doing these guys, skywings are fun and i think they have a lot of potential. enjoy!

Physical Appearance + Traits:

-SkyWings, as their name suggests, are dragons made for the wind and sky. They are better fliers than any other tribe, with enormous wings and several birdlike features. Some can fly for more than a day without landing, and even when they aren’t flying they make their homes at the peaks of mountains, with the entire world beneath them.

-They are quite large, taller than any other tribe, with long necks, long tails, and regal figures. They don’t have any obviously deadly weapons, but they have no clear weaknesses either; they are generally successful dragons.

-Their coloration consists of almost entirely warm colors, specifically red and orange. Yellows and golds are sometimes seen too, and more uncommonly, purples and browns. Their colors are bold and striking; they are one of the few Pyrrhian tribes that has no need for camouflage.

-Young dragonets are hatched with a coating of feathers, particularly on their wings, necks and tails. Most dragons simply shed their feathers as they grow; some, though, carry a few into adulthood, usually lining their wings or making a thin ruff around their necks. These feathers are often even brighter than their scales.

-SkyWing horns are a mark of pride, and they continue to grow for as long as they live, meaning some of the oldest SkyWings have horns that resemble enormous and heavy antlers. Sometimes their horns are decorated with wires strung with jewels.

-SkyWing fire is the hottest and most powerful fire any tribe can produce. At its hottest it scorches through bone, and it can be used with accuracy from a long distance. It is their main weapon in combat, and quite a devastating one if their opponents don’t know how to properly fight it. They also use it for a number of other things, though. (More on this in the “society and culture” section.)

-Their wings are stronger than those of most tribes, allowing them to temporarily use them for balance rather than their front legs. This lets them hold and work on things more easily. (This headcanon belongs to @sidyashchiy-na-plakhe!! i saw your post and really liked it, hope you dont mind me adopting it)

-Not dissimilar to SandWings, they have darker streaks near their eyes to help with the glare of the sun when they’re flying, often facing the horizon directly.

Life Cycle:

-SkyWings are hatched in clutches between one and five, although four and five are a bit less common than one through three. SkyWing parents are not involved much with their dragonets. By tradition, they lay eggs in nests high in the mountain peaks, and return occasionally with food once they hatch. The rare unlucky SkyWing newborn may be snatched up by a large bird, but they’re big enough that it isn’t usually an issue. They are also hatched with disproportionately massive wings, big enough to make the fall less likely to be lethal if they fall before they learn to fly.

-Once the dragonets are large enough, though, or once they get hungry enough to search for their own food, they will leave the nest, often simply jumping out and letting the wind carry them, learning to properly fly quite quickly. Once parents notice that the nest is empty, they simply stop bringing food. They will never know who their dragonets are, but SkyWing superstition says all dragonets will eventually make their way to the kingdom, where they will be made a part of the tribe. And, truthfully, they almost always do.

-This practice, which some tribes find strange or even barbaric, is seen by Skywings as an important part of their life and tradition. Each of them took the same journey, and so did the generation before them, so they have faith that it will continue to work out well. It’s in their nature to leave their nest and find the kingdom, and it doesn’t result in enough casualties for them to try to halt the tradition. The only dragons this practice does not apply to is the royal family, for the sake of tracking bloodlines.

-By the time they are entered into the wider kingdom, dragonets usually know how to hunt and avoid danger, so all tribe life offers them is the ability to meet other dragons and find work. There isn’t much of an education system in place, with the exception of mentorships for some careers, such as metalworking, and military training. If they take part in work for the kingdom, they’ll have societal benefits and a secure place in the tribe, and most end up in that position eventually. But there are always a few SkyWings who simply live on the outskirts, uninterested in the larger tribe.

-They don’t form many close relationships, being fairly solitary dragons as soon as they leave their siblings. They do not very often form genuine romantic relationships, but marriage is fairly common simply as a formality or political maneuver. Royals in particular almost always get married, though they don’t usually form natural bonds with their spouses. The only responsibilities parents have is bringing food to their nest until the dragonets abandon it.

Culture and Society:

-SkyWings are proud and solitary; these things combined have given them a reputation of being rude, aloof and uncharismatic. They are powerful fighters and fliers, but their strength is not in diplomacy. Their kingdom norms, though, which allow every dragon to simply utilize for the tribe whatever talents they may have, at their own leisure and for whatever profit might be available to them, suits them well and has made for an uncomplicated but successful society. (This is excluding a few periods such as the reign of Queen Scarlet, who reshaped the tribe into something more dictatorial.)

-They are generally quite matriarchal; every tribe has a queen, but SkyWings tend to have a more overall unbalanced system. Females are a bit larger than males and are usually in higher positions of command.

-Fire is extremely important to SkyWing culture - it produces light, warmth, and without it they would be much less deadly in combat. It has its place in almost every tradition and is used in almost every career path.

-They are the most superstitious tribe in some ways, their lives dictated heavily by tradition and spirituality. The way dragonets are raised is one example; there are countless others, including funeral rites that involve burning, gladiator fights performed for glory, a general belief of night marking bad luck, and others.

-Continuing on this note, SkyWings - though most would never admit it aloud - are almost universally afraid of the dark. The caves and caverns in which they live are always warm and well-lit, via torches lit by their own fire, and they are almost exclusively out by day. They worship the sun and daytime, believing it to chase away the shadows in its glory. NightWings, for similar reasons, tend to be unnerving to them.

-And to elaborate on gladiator fights: The arena near the palace was originally constructed for SkyWings to prove their prowess by fighting other SkyWings and completing various challenges. During these fights they would wear a special set of ceremonial armor, which they could then keep if they succeeded. (Scarlet, of course, transformed this arena into a convenient way to execute prisoners, and later Queen Ruby reinvented it completely by erecting a hospital where it had once stood.)

-In general, SkyWings are one of the only tribes to wear armor, and the only tribe that has used it for entire armies during war. A particular emphasis is placed on wing armor that allows for comfortable flight while still protecting the wing membranes, as a flightless SkyWing is considered as good as dead by its tribe.

-Jewelry almost always involves precious stones, particularly rubies, diamonds and citrine. It’s very common to have these jewels embedded in scales; some royals have done this with such excess that they appear to have crystals growing out of them.

Diet: Carnivorous. They eat birds, mountain goats, deer, and occasionally fish, rodents or whatever else they can catch. Sometimes raw, sometimes scorched. They don’t typically make full and elaborate meals like other tribes; the only common seasoning they use is salt. Other than the rare use of herbs for flavoring, they eat no plants at all.

#wings of fire #wof art #wof headcanons #skywings #my posts

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jo-harrington · 4 months

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Disaster Preparedness (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Maybe it's time to put a name to whatever it is you and Eddie are...but not without some misunderstandings first.

Previous Part: Peak Sales Hours

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Angst, Jealousy, Fluff, and a series of unfortunate misunderstandings with a sweet ending.

Note: A day late, but what can you do. This was sort of always a pre-planned part of the Store Manager Verse (and actually set at Christmas Time at StarCourt) but a very special prompt made me switch it up. So without further ado @allthingsjoeq and @bettyfrommars please consider this collection of Holiday shenanigans inspired by I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus my take on Prompt 14 from your Holiday Prompt Party:

You can tell that the mall Santa is a babe under that beard, and you decide to get closer to investigate.

With a little twist...

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

The holiday season wasn't Eddie's favorite, per se.

Just like Thanksgiving, it was a time to make do. Couldn't really celebrate when you were reminded of the things you'd lost or didn't have in the first place.

Still it had its high points. Cookies were great, having a little extra cash between Wayne's holiday pay and bonus and the handful of parties he'd be able to deal at, and let it be known that...Eddie Munson was a sucker for snow and always wished for a White Christmas.

And for his friends? Eddie would always muster up the Holiday Spirit and Christmas Cheer. A special one-off campaign for Hellfire, a potluck dinner with Corroded Coffin, and handmade gifts that he spent way too much time on.

This year...working at StarCourt brought its own spin on Holiday cheer and it was a little annoying.

If he hadn't worked the closing shift on the 30th, and seen all of the overnight workers and maintenance vehicles that rolled out of the service corridors as he walked out, Eddie would have thought that it was magic that transformed StarCourt Mall into a true Winter Wonderland come December 1st.

Because it was night and day.

Lights were strung around every store entrance, wreaths and garland hung every 50 feet from the ceiling, soap snow fell down from special blowers in the vents onto the food court, and the space in front of Montgomery Ward suddenly contained a special gift-wrapping destination.

And suddenly the mall muzak had a festive flair to it.

It was honestly kind of sickening.

He wasn't a scrooge or anything, it was just overwhelming and appeared all at once. And after how overwhelming Black Friday had been, how was anyone supposed to cope with the bright lights, large crowds, and repetitive music? He intentionally started turning the shop radio to a higher volume to drown out the bells jingling and carols mingling for the next few shifts after the decorations appeared.

"It's Holidazzle," you told him as he leaned against the entryway to your store--"the conversion Eddie, for God's sake!"--and watched you hang a special banner in the window, featuring the Gift of Piercing and cartoon bears ice skating around a tree.

"It's overkill," he argued.

"It's Mall Life." You climbed down from your ladder and surveyed your work with a critical eye. "You get used to the big everything that is Christmas and just deal with it, and then, come January, it all dies. We're decorating today, and next week we start wearing reindeer antlers on the sales floor. It just is what it is. Gotta get the customers into the festive spirit so they buy more before it all tapers out.

"Surprised Kyle isn't already wearing like...a Santa hat and a cheesy sweater with ornaments hanging off it or something."

And Eddie wasn't sure if you were somehow clairvoyant or just knew his boss well enough, but that's exactly what Kyle wore to his next shift and, indeed, every shift for the remainder of December.

Santa hats in every color--and he'd bought hats for everyone else in the store--and if there wasn't a Santa hat, there was tinsel in his hair. A piece of glittery garland strung around his neck and a mug full of cocoa constantly present in his hand, even when he was on the sales floor. And, somehow, a different cheesy holiday sweater on every single shift he had.

Where did he even get them?

"Listen," he clapped a hand on Eddie's shoulder and shoved a candy cane in his hand. "I know you're Mr. Non-Conformity, but in this instance, you just gotta go with the flow. No one wants to give their money to the Grinch. But Jolly Old Saint Kyle? He's who they're trusting for their Christmas Gifts. You catch me?"

---

So Eddie tried.

He did. He tried.

For all of 3 days.

He wore the hat, he played the game, he did his spiel about gift certificates and BOGO, and he didn't even get a treat at the end of his shifts because you worked the opposite schedule from him. With school and all it was hard...

He just wanted to kiss you. Was that too much to ask for? It wouldn't be the most romantic place but he figured that he could set out some mistletoe by the baler and trick you into a festive smooch when you took the cardboard out. He could do that now, except he couldn't.

...but Wednesday night you'd both be closing. You'd swapped shifts with Mindy two weeks in a row so you could go to his show last week and she could go to her kids' Christmas Recital at the elementary school this week.

He definitely planned to make his move and get his reward. And give you a little reward of your own, seeing how hard you'd been working too. He wondered if this might be the chance to officially ask you to be his girl. Everyone had already made the assumption the two of you had been dating for months...why not put a name to it? And then he could take you out on a real date.

What could possibly go wrong?

Famous last words.

With a few minutes until his fifteen, anticipation building...Mike and Dustin ran into Tape World, looking out of breath and nervous.

Eddie was finishing up a special order for a customer when he saw them out of the corner of his eye. Little assholes, lurking by the door. Mitch had tried to walk up to them and give them the spiel but they waved him off.

"We're here for Eddie."

Great. This better not be about one of them missing Hellfire on Friday.

"What do you want?" he huffed, trying to be a little patient with them since it was the holidays after all. He picked on them enough at school. "It’s busy tonight."

"Well," Dustin shifted. "We were coming to see the new Ewoks movie--" Eddie snorted and grinned at them fondly. "--and we were just killing some time, when we passed by Mom's store."

Eddie couldn't help the bark of laughter he let out with that one. He told the guys to cut it out, this...continuation of calling you Mom since Halloween.

"You guys gotta stop calling her that," he scoffed. "Steve Harrington's your Mom. Get that straight."

"Well then Mom is upstairs right now flirting with not Mom," Mike sassed, hands on his hips.

Now that gave Eddie pause. Harrington? Upstairs with you?

Flirting?

“Kissing.”

Kissing?!

"What?" Eddie's voice broke a little as he reacted. He chuckled to try and alleviate some of his own nerves. "Isn't Harrington dating someone? Pretty sure I've seen him running around with that cashier from KB Toys."

"Well it was Wicks'n'Sticks."

"But we think they broke up!" Mike piped up. "Because Steve quit Scoops last week."

"Which means we need to pay full price for movie tickets again," Dustin nodded.

"But Nancy said that Robin told her…that he got a job at Santa's Workshop," Mike thumbed over his shoulder. "And we just saw Santa upstairs with Mom and she was wiping strawberry lipgloss out of his beard."

The first thought in Eddie’s head was that you didn’t wear strawberry lipgloss.

The next was that you didn’t wear strawberry lipgloss when you kissed him. What if you wore it for Steve?

No, that was ridiculous.

But unless Santa’s Workshop was operating as a functioning kissing booth and Harrington was looking for a quick and easy fix for a bunch of housewives smooching him after their kids asked for a new bike or Hot Wheels racetrack or Tina the Talking Tabby doll…there was no explanation.

Which, alright, Eddie wouldn’t normally consider himself a jealous person. An envious person. Yeah, he might have seen a little green at the edges of his vision when the kids fawned over Steve Harrington time and again, but ever since he was brought down a few pegs—humbled—he didn’t seem like the same old douchebag from Hawkins High that he used to be.

Eddie might even say Steve was kind of alright.

But you were his girlfriend…or something…

And the jealousy and possessiveness he often mocked others for over the years, as he watched meathead jocks tighten their arms around their girlfriends shoulders as he simply walked past, suddenly overcame him.

“Mitch I’m taking my fifteen!” He called towards the back of the store and strutted out of Tape World, all while Mike and Dustin called after him, fully intending to get to the bottom of this obvious misunderstanding.

---

He planned to ask you about Harrington the moment you opened the door to the loading dock, hauling the dolly of cardboard boxes behind you.

A simple "hey sweetheart, how was your day, anyone named Kris Kringle come to bother you?" and he would have had his answer and all of his doubt would have been alleviated once and for all.

Except that as soon as you appeared--with your disheveled hair and makeup, your slumped shoulders, and your groan of weariness--your eyes got brighter and you melted at the sight of him. So happy to see him, so relieved.

Then he melted.

"God, what a night," you groaned and let the dock door slam behind you. You abandoned your cardboard and walked right into his arms where he was standing by the baler; your arms wrapped around his waist and your face nuzzled into his flannel, just the way he constantly craved. "Some lady wanted an individual gift receipt for every single item she bought. Then Chrissy almost messed up this kid's piercing. Thank God I stopped her as soon as I saw."

"Oh yeah?"

"And then I swear I'm like...I just have one of those faces where everyone comes and complains to me as they're shopping. I have to hear about everyone's life story or their relationship issues, especially this one guy..."

Eddie's ears practically perked up at that.

"This one guy?" he urged you to continue, on the edge of his proverbial seat.

"I dunno," you sighed tiredly. "Not the first time he's come to me for advice. He's a nice guy and he means well, but it just seems I'm always the one. And I'm happy to help just...not during Q4, you know? He needs to figure out how to talk to his ex on his own. And not just...come in looking for extra glossy strawberry lip gloss thinking he's gonna kiss his way back into their good graces."

Extra glossy strawberry lip gloss.

Eddie wondered if he was pushing his luck if he were to ask if this nice guy was dressed in a Santa suit.

Still his heart soared nonetheless. He should have known that it was nothing to worry about, that those little shits just put two and two together to make five, and that mom wasn't actually kissing Santa Claus.

It was just a misunderstanding.

"How was your night?" you backed away from him slightly to look into his eyes. "I feel like I haven't seen you in days."

It was like a weight on his chest had been lifted, as he stared into your sparkling eyes.

"Same old, same old," he chuckled away the doubt. "Probably worse because no one knows what they want to give as gifts for Christmas and they're not listening to me."

"How dare they not take the advice of the great God of Music!" you feigned outrage.

"Gonna give me an inflated ego, sweetheart."

"You mean you don't already have one?" you teased.

Whatever fleeting bits of doubt remained disappeared as his fingers found your sides and he tickled you as punishment for the jab. Even more so as you grabbed his face and kissed him to get him to stop.

---

You'd spent the remainder of your break on Wednesday night softly kissing on the loading dock. You held hands as he walked you back to your store. Then once the mall was closed, you continued the kissing against the side of his van in the employee lot as the rest of the cars disappeared one by one.

With one last kiss goodbye, you agreed to Christmas movies and cocoa at his place on Sunday.

But as he sauntered into the mall on Sunday morning, twirling his lanyard on his finger as he headed to Tape World, Eddie swore that the universe was mocking him--

Or it was just that trademark Munson Bad Luck.

--because with a quick glance up towards your store, he saw you, holding the gate up with one arm, talking and laughing with someone conspicuously dressed in a Santa suit.

Well, he couldn't really see the holly jolly bastard that was up there making you smile, but just a quick glimpse of red velvet and white fur and all of his doubt was back.

The two of you still hadn't put a label on your relationship yet. He'd wondered the other night as he drove home if it was a little juvenile to want to call you his girlfriend. Was it too high school? What did a real life, grown up boyfriend do? He only had TV shows to go by and he figured you'd laugh if he tried to give you his '84 class ring that was stashed in his sock drawer. In fact, he was sure of it.

But how was he supposed to get past the visceral need to be your boyfriend when you were up there being wooed into potentially becoming the new Mrs. Claus yourself?

By Santa Harrington no less.

The doubt was back with a vengeance.

Kyle--decked in red onesie pajamas, butt flap and all--clocked his woes as soon as he walked into the store.

"Don't tell me she broke up with you," he guessed as he counted up the registers for the day. "I know it's not the end of the world, but you guys barely got started. What the hell did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Eddie answered honestly as he restocked the front display.

"Hmmm, actually come to think of it, that might be exactly the point."

"I don't think we were ever together, if I'm being honest."

"Dumbass," Kyle chuckled under his breath. Eddie, exasperated and just needing someone to commiserate with, explained the whole thing to his boss, who simply ate it up like a gossiping housewife and then laughed louder. "No seriously, you're a dumbass. This is the Mall at Christmas, dude. You're gonna start going cross eyed if you're looking around every corner for a suspicious Santa Claus flirting with your girl.

"Why don't you save yourself some heartache and just talk to her. You know, like you should have been doing this whole time? So, one time only because you're my buddy, I'm letting you take an extra break so you can go up there and talk to her."

And Eddie knew Kyle was right: it was all about communication.

Communication, or the lack thereof, was how the two of you had gotten this far, right? You'd known each other since May? June? And had only figured out that there was some mutual attraction in...what? September if Eddie was going to be honest with himself. Two weeks ago if he wasn't.

Lack of communication, caused by self doubt and fear, cost him...months...of getting to kiss you and hold your hand. And while he cherished the time spent being your friend, he was always gonna wish he had all that time being more.

So no, he shouldn't let it draw out much longer.

---

Unfortunately, he really was a dumbass.

So instead of taking advantage of it being so early in the day that there were practically no customers in the mall to go upstairs and clear things up with you and maybe ask you out on a real date...

Eddie booked it across the mall to Santa's Workshop.

There he stood, wasting his extra break in line with the handful of proactive parents coming in early to get their family pictures with the Big Man himself.

"What's on your wish list this year?" A little boy in a tiny navy suit tugged on the leg of his jeans and asked him.

"Uh..." He was at a loss when it came to kids and his hands wrung around his lanyard. But he couldn't just leave the little guy hanging. "A new amp...and maybe a Skeletor action figure."

The boy's eyes got wide and blabbered on about his desired Castle Greyskull while his mom ran a comb through his hair.

"Eddie?"

Eddie froze and his attention shifted from the kid, up and up green velvet clad legs then torso, to a familiar cherubic face and tousled curls covered by a pointy hat.

"Gareth?" he chuckled, staring incredulously at his friend dressed as one of Santa's Helpers. "...what is this? I didn't know you..." his eyes slid down to the little boy, then back to his friend. "...were an elf."

"I was trying to keep it under the radar," he shrugged and gestured down to his costume. "Especially since they have me dressed like this. Uh....anyway, why are you in line for Santa?"

"Uhh..." Eddie scratched the back of his neck then folded his arms across his chest. "Gotta get my wishlist in before all the good gifts are taken."

Gareth narrowed his eyes in suspicion and Eddie hoped that he would just chalk it up as another one of the million things he'd seen Eddie do over the years of their friendship.

"Can I keep the picture?" Gareth finally asked mischievously. "Or was Wayne planning on sending out a special card this year?"

"Nah man," Eddie nodded, grateful not to have to answer any more...invasive questions. "It's all yours."

"Nice." Gareth held his fist out for Eddie to bump and then let the family ahead of Eddie in to see Santa.

Which meant he was next.

Now, Eddie wasn't big on confrontation, so unless he was actively thwarting bullies and deterring them from picking on his friends, he wasn't the type to pick a fight. He also wasn't the type to have a calm and rational discussion and get to the bottom of a problem either.

So this was new territory for him.

What would he say?

What could he say?

"Now listen here Harrington," he muttered. "You...she...I..."

He ran a hand over his face and shook his head.

"I heard you're having some relationship issues," he tried again. "But you can't keep sniffing around my girl. My girl? Ugh...but what if she isn't."

There were a few flashes of a camera and by that time, Gareth was back to lead him to his execution.

"Alright, young man," he snickered. "Are you ready to meet Santa?"

"Shut up," Eddie shoved him and stalked along the carpet into the little photo area.

He was too preoccupied with the task at hand, too consumed with thoughts of you laughing with Steve Harrington and exactly what he was gonna say, that he didn't notice that it wasn't Steve under the beard and hat until he plopped himself directly on Santa's lap.

Santa groaned as Eddie settled himself and threw an arm over his shoulders.

"Aren't you a little too old for this Munson?" Santa deadpanned. "Or is this one of your little Hellfire pranks."

Eddie froze at the familiar voice, as years of hearing that grumbling gritty tone at Benny's and the police station and around town flashed through his memory.

"Hop?" he whispered in horror.

"Who were you expecting?" Hopper grunted.

"Why are you Santa?"

"...don't tell me you thought Santa Claus was real, kid?"

"No, I just--" Eddie stammered, looking for the right words. "I...Why?"

"I'm doing this to surprise Jane," he explained in exasperation. "Buddy of mine runs Santa's workshop and Joyce said she'd bring the kids to the mall today, maybe get a picture. So I pulled some strings. I don't know what to get her for Christmas; she's keeping her wish list under wraps."

It all started making sense for Eddie. Jane was friends with Dustin and the others so he'd seen her around Hawkins High, even though she wasn't interested in DnD. She was a good kid, if a little shy. Of course Hop was doing this for his adopted daughter, wanting to give her a perfect Christmas.

"But you...were up at Claire's earlier?" Eddie narrowed his eyes, the reason for him being there still eluding explanation.

"Because that's Jane's favorite store. I swear I'm single handedly keeping them in business with the number of earrings and scrunchies I buy every week. The manager promised she'd keep an eye out if Jane and Joyce popped in today, let me know everything Janie was looking at if this ended up being a bust."

Hopper shot Eddie a pointed glare and Eddie, correctly, looked ashamed of himself.

"Alright, less talking," the elf at the camera rolled their eyes and waved for Hop and Eddie to scoot closer. "More smiling. Say jingle!"

There was a flash and a polaroid was shoved into Eddie's hand as Hopper shooed him away.

---

"What is this?" you pulled away from Eddie's soft, warm lips as your hands felt something foreign in his back pocket.

The Year Without Santa Claus wasn't the most romantic Christmas movie, but Eddie was feeling a certain type of resentment when he had chosen the movies at Family Video, and it was mostly going ignored in favor of cuddling and kissing and sweet words.

Until your hands worked their way downward to pull Eddie's weight further into you, and you found--

"Did you go take a picture with Santa?" you giggled as you inspected the Polaroid. Eddie groaned and rested his head on your shoulder. "Can I keep this?"

"Believe it or not," he sighed, "Gareth already has dibs."

"May I ask why?"

"Because he likes to ruin my life. Pretty sure he's gonna take it to Fox Photos and get it made into t-shirts."

"No, why did you go take a picture with Santa silly," you shoved him. "It's really sweet."

He turned to look up into your eyes, to get the courage to just...tell you how silly he was being...to ask you out for fuck's sake...but the way you looked at him, the softness of your gaze, the way you reached out and pushed his bangs out of his eyes...he didn't want to ruin it all.

"I promised I was getting into the holiday spirit didn't I?" he shrugged pathetically. "Couldn't let the opportunity pass without getting photo evidence."

You stared fondly at the picture for another moment and then pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"It's perfect."

---

After Eddie had chickened out, you planned your get-togethers for the rest of December.

Or rather, the lack of them.

With finals coming up and the semester coming, and then mall hours getting later and later the closer to Christmas it got, the opportunities to hang out became sparse.

The best the two of you could unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it--come up with was Christmas Eve.

You'd fight off those final last-minute holiday shoppers, and come 6pm when the mall closed, you'd both be off to Benny's for the special pot roast dinner that he put up for anyone who didn't have family to go to, or didn't want to go see the family they had.

With Rick out making the rounds, and Wayne scheduled for that sweet time-and-a-half holiday double most years, Eddie usually ended up at Benny's anyway.

This year, with you, it would be perfect.

He just had to get through the next few weeks without a hiccup.

The universe, once again, decided to test him.

Mock him.

It was almost comedic at this point.

Santa was everywhere.

Of course, he would be, it was Christmastime but...everywhere in relation to you.

Thankfully, it wasn't Harrington he needed to worry about.

However, that meant it wasn't just Santa he needed to worry about.

It was all of the mall Santas.

Hop had shown his face in the red suit and beard once or twice more and scared the life out of him. Especially when Eddie walked smack into him on the way to drop an Orange Julius for you on the night you closed.

The church's community choir had spent one Saturday afternoon caroling by the Sears, all dressed as Santa Claus. As the two of you made your rounds window-shopping and chatting on your break, one of the Santas grabbed you and spun you around in a circle during a jazzy rendition of The 12 Days of Christmas where you, apparently, were the true love bestowing the many gifts.

How Eddie let a bunch of Santas serenade you before he got a chance to, he would never know. Nor would he let himself live it down.

And then one awful day, he found you sitting at your usual table in the food court with a charismatic older man in a Santa suit--sans hat or beard. The man sat in Eddie's usual seat and leaned quite close, making you look entirely uncomfortable; he couldn't help puff up his chest to ward off the intruder by the time he reached the table.

"This is Henry," you introduced as politely as you could. "He's gonna be the manager at the new Spencer's store when it opens in January."

"Figured I would do the neighborly thing and just say hi," he chuckled and looked down at his attire. "Oh? This? Figured that this would be a great way to do something nice for the community in the mean time."

"That's great," Eddie sniffed judgmentally, getting a weird feeling about this Henry. "Nice to meet you. You're in my spot though."

"Eddie!" Your eyes went wide and you bit your lip to stifle your laughter.

"Hey, nope, totally get it," Henry held his hands up and stood from the seat. "Those lunch breaks are short, especially when you want to spend them with friends and not a stranger like me. Nice to meet you guys. See you around."

Eddie dropped into his seat and you waited until Henry was well out of earshot to scold him.

"That was not nice."

"I'm not nice," Eddie grumbled. "He was looking at you weird, like he wanted to steal your soul or something. Did you not get creepy stalker murderer from him?"

"No, I totally did," you nodded. "He was like...dead behind the eyes. I know, that's awful to say. Anyway, are you feeling soft pretzels and cheese because I--"

"Are you a Santa magnet or something?" Eddie interrupted you and you looked like a deer in the headlights.

"What?" you giggled. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Seems like they're just always around."

"It's Christmas, Eddie," you frowned in confusion. "Even I have a little Santa dress that I'm gonna wear to work. Everyone's just in the spirit."

"Yeah well..."

"I thought you were trying to get in the spirit too," you reminded him and then reached over and plucked at the fair isle sweater Kyle had gotten the whole TapeWorld team so they could match for a group picture. "Exhibit A, Mr. Grinch."

"I am trying," he whined. "It's just hard to be extra jolly when someone's always sniffing around your girl."

"Am I your girl?" you asked. You were obviously teasing him, but still...Eddie froze. "You haven't asked me if I want to be yet."

Everything inside of him was on red alert at that moment.

Evasive maneuvers? No, that was a bad idea. All power to the forward shields, which were holding but weakened. He didn't have enough firepower for this.

"No..." he replied awkwardly. "I haven't."

The way your expression dropped broke him, and he knew he had fucked up.

---

"I'm disowning you," Kyle shook his head in disappointment by the time Eddie got back from lunch. "In fact. We all are."

"Jesus Christ," Eddie groaned.

"Mitch! Paulie! Eddie's disowned."

"You can't fire him, he's closing tonight," Paulie argued.

"Not fired," Kyle pointed across the store with authority. "Disowned. And such a shame; Edward Tapeworldington, first of his name...you shall never be king."

Eddie stewed in the laughter of his coworkers.

"Why don't you ever listen to me?" Kyle threw an arm around his shoulder. "You could have asked her out right then and there. Been like 'hey you wanna be my girlfriend?' And it would have been like...the happiest day of your life. Hell, happiest day of my life. Cuz then I wouldn't have to hear you bitch about it all the time."

"Didn't know I complained that much," Eddie muttered self-consciously.

"All the time," one of the other guys chuckled.

"It's not complaining," Kyle corrected. "It's just that...we want you to be happy. As cliche as this sounds, we're like a family right? Hey, psst, all of you? Savor it, you're only gonna hear me say it once.

"If one of us is miserable, we're all miserable," he continued. "And you've been kind of a miserable piece of shit for a while, Ed. I'm sure your buddies would tell you the same thing. Lovesick puppy act's only gonna get you so much sympathy until you're the one getting in your own way."

Eddie felt his stomach turn because getting in his own way really did hit the nail on the head.

He thought about it for an eternity--really only 30 seconds--went about asking himself what had held him up for all this time. Fear of rejection obviously but even he started to think that some of the things that had gotten him so caught up were just...excuses.

Even now that he knew you liked him just the way he liked you, they were just excuses.

"So why can't I just...say something?" he finally asked.

Kyle clapped his hand down on Eddie's shoulder twice and then turned so he could head out for his own break.

"Only you can answer that question kid."

---

"Hey do you wanna go out sometime? Ugh."

So he practiced.

"So remember how we're supposed to go to Benny's for Christmas Eve? No."

For days he practiced.

"You know how the first time we went out for pizza I mentioned it wasn't a date? Well this one is. No god, you're an idiot."

Through the rest of the semester, during band practice, he even almost flubbed the lyrics at the gig at the Hideout on the Tuesday before Christmas. There were only so many days left until your dinner together at Benny's and he really wanted it to be your first official date.

But if Eddie was gonna fix this, if he was gonna ask you out, he needed to get it right.

"Hey sweetheart." He muttered as he counted down Paulie's register at the start of his closing shift. "I know I really flubbed it last time we talked but I really like you and I want to know if you'd be my girlfriend.

"We've already kissed enough for it," he added at the end and then winced.

"How about you just lose that last bit," Paulie offered beside him and signed a few receipts. "And then it's perfect."

"Yeah?" Eddie asked hopefully. "Alright. Cool. Great."

He would do it after work tonight.

"Edddiiiiieeee!!!" a screeching voice called from inside the mall and Eddie and Paulie both watched as a Santa with flailing arms ran into TapeWorld. "Eddie man, I really need a favor. I need to use your bathroom."

"What the f--Gareth?" Eddie looked around the store to make sure he wasn't just hallucinating. Gareth was already shedding the hat and the fake beard and unbuckling the wide belt from around his waist. "What the hell are you doing here? Why are you Santa? I thought you were an elf?"

"There's no time to explain," Gareth panted. "But there's a line through the food court to use the bathroom and I couldn't wait, so you either need to let me into your back room or I'm gonna exorcise a demon right here on your sales floor man. Please."

"Ugh," Eddie wrinkled his nose and pointed towards the stockroom. "Yeah, sure whatever. Gross."

"I owe you one," Gareth tossed the fluffy jacket of his costume over the counter at Eddie and then ran into the stockroom. Hopefully just in time.

"So glad I'm cleaning the bathrooms tomorrow night," Paulie scrunched his nose in disgust. "Alright, you and Mitch need anything before I go?"

Eddie was about to say no, was about to send Paulie on his way.

But then he looked down at the coat and got an idea.

An awful idea.

Eddie Munson got a wonderful, awful idea.

"Actually, now that you mention it," Eddie grinned and shrugged the coat on, then the belt, and as he glanced up at Paulie, his coworker groaned, clearly able to read Eddie's mind.

"I thought we agreed no more gimmicks," Paulie exclaimed. "You're just gonna go up and talk to her."

"Yeah," Eddie nodded. "I, Santa Claus, am gonna go up and talk to her. I'm not even gonna take my full break, just five minutes, and then you can leave."

"This isn't gonna work man."

"None of my plans ever do," Eddie shrugged and pulled Paulie into a big hug. "But if it does, I owe you my whole life."

And off he went, across the mall, and up the escalator. He adjusted the coat and the hat and then remembered that he forgot the beard on the counter.

No matter, of course; he really didn't want to get fake beard in his mouth when he planted one on you.

There was practically a line out the door by the time he got to your store. He was able to see you through the window, on the register checking one customer out after another.

You were in the zone, but you didn't look stressed. You smiled a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, but every so often Mindy would crack a joke beside you and it did.

"This actually might be the worst idea," he muttered to himself.

But it was too late.

It was now or never.

You were gonna kill him.

Some of the younger kids in the store started muttering in excitement when they spotted him, only for their parents to say "that's not the real Santa" and "Santa doesn't wear ripped jeans" but you were oblivious until he was standing right beside you at the counter.

"Excuse me," he took a breath and lowered his voice like he would during Hellfire. "I heard there was something special on your wish list this year, young lady."

"Sorry sir," you answered without a thought. "I'll be with you in a second."

"You can't even take a second to help jolly old Saint Nicholas?"

You turned your head, obviously about to tell him off as you schooled your features into something plastic and robotic and customer friendly, until you realized it was him. Then something visibly short-circuited in your brain and he smiled brightly.

"I'd like to apologize to all the boys and girls shopping tonight," he announced to the customers theatrically. "But I have very important Christmas business with our dear Store Manager here. It'll only take a minute."

He was surprised when a few of them started laughing and clapping.

"Alright Santa," you finally composed yourself to answer, arms crossing over your chest in annoyance. "What official Christmas business can I help you with?"

"Well, I was reading over the wishlist that you sent up to the North Pole," he explained. "I don't have it with me, you see. Had to leave it down in the workshop so the rest of the elves could work on the scrunchies and the lipgloss you wanted."

"Uh huh."

"And the new windshield wipers that you refuse to let Santa replace."

You rolled your eyes and waved your hand to get him to go on.

"But there was one thing on the list that...maybe it's these tired old eyes--"

"Old?" you giggled and reached out to tug on his curls. "Your hair isn't even white Santa."

A bunch of nearby kids boo'd.

"Clock's ticking," you whispered. "Get on with it, or I'm gonna have to kick you out Ed."

"--maybe these tired old eyes weren't able to read. See I thought it just said friend. But my trusty elves Kyle and Paulie and Mitch assure me it says boyfriend."

Mindy cooed an awww from beside you and Eddie felt his confidence grow.

"So, Miss Store Manager," Eddie held his hand out to you. "Which one is it? Because I happen to have some high quality...boyfriend material that I can use to make your wish come true. Is that what you'd truly like this Christmas?"

Mindy immediately slammed a hand onto your shoulder and squealed, and although your lips were clamped shut and nose was scrunched, Eddie was sure that you were holding back a smile.

It was the longest 30 seconds of his life.

"Yes, actually," you finally responded. "That's exactly what I want for Christmas Santa."

Eddie's heart surely grew 3 sizes in that very moment as a bunch of customers clapped. And he was eagerly about to jump forward and plant a kiss right on your lips when your hand slammed against his chest to hold him back.

You laughed and your eyes sparkled with promise as you pointed to the door, a silent understanding that you'd continue this conversation later. But for now?

"Get out of my store!"

---

Eddie found you leaning against the side of his van when he clocked out. Your car was parked beside his, running idle, as you waited. The radio softly played the Nutcracker Suite and you hummed along to it.

"Alright," he began when he got close enough. "I know that what I did was a big no-no, but I think everyone was in good spirits about it."

"You're lucky they were," you glared at him in--what he hoped was-- fake annoyance. "I really would hate it if my DM got a call complaining about that. Then I'd have to break up with you before we were actually even together."

"I wouldn't blame you," he winced and then looked down at his feet. "So...do you wanna go out sometime?"

"Like a date?"

"Yeah," he glanced up at you and then back down at his feet. He shuffled them back and forth. "Dinner at Benny's on the 24th? How does that sound."

"Ugh, I dunno," you sing-songed and took a few steps to close the distance between you. You grabbed the lapels of his jacket and shook him a few times.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he questioned as you lifted his hair and turned his head back and forth.

"I'm looking to see if this was the quality boyfriend material that Santa just promised me a few hours ago."

"Hey now," he grabbed your hands in his. "I most certainly am. We've just...been friends for so long. I didn't know if..."

"I do," you answered before he could finish.

"But what if I..."

"You aren't."

"I was gonna say 'what if I fart under the blankets while we're cuddling.'" He deadpanned. "See, this is why it's important not to make assumptions."

"Alright, Fartmeister," you challenged him. "If you want to Dutch Oven your girlfriend, I guess I can't fight you. But don't be shocked when I do the same thing to you eventually."

"That's all I want from a girlfriend," he said. "A strong sense of retaliation and justice."

"Alright then."

"Alright." He shook your hand like you were making some kind of deal. "Christmas Eve at Benny's for our first date."

"Sounds perfect," you agreed.

"Good."

You launched yourself in his arms and pressed your lips to his and he swore, probably for the first time in his life, he believed in the spirit of Christmas.

---

Next Chapter: Standard Operating Procedures 1.06

#promptparty #Eddie munson x reader #store manager verse #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #Eddie munson #christmas fic

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vintagestarlight · 5 months

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Couple's Trip

Summary: you and John take a trip for your anniversary and John has a very special question to ask

Pairing: John Price x gf!reader

Words:~ 2.0k

Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst(?), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it folks :3), MDNI!!

A/N: so this has been sitting in my drafts for months and I finally finished it! Probably the longest fic I’ve written and I’m not sure how I feel about it(I feel like I’m better at writing fluff pieces rather than spicy ones maybe?)but let me know what yall think! I’m working on another Price fic and a Soap fic so stay tuned! :)

A/N: As always likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback of all types are welcome and my inbox is always open! Hope you guys enjoy!!

***beware of typos lol

Your mind wandered as you zipped your suitcase shut. John announced you were taking a trip for your anniversary and refused to tell you where. "You'll find out when we get there love," he said with a laugh after you pestered him to tell you. You walked downstairs and set your suitcase by the front door.

Through no fault of his own John wasn't always around for your anniversary. He always tried his best to to have his leave coincide but it didn't always happen. Usually you just had a nice dinner at home or John would surprise you with flowers; both of which you enjoyed. Needless to say you were shocked but excited when John told you he had a few weeks leave and had something big planned.

"Hey hon, remember to pack your toothbrush this time," you said, doublechecking to make sure you had everything. "You forget it every time," you mused. "I'm not going to forget my toothbrush dove. And I don't forget it every time," Price argued; he checked his suitcase and realized he forgot. He went to the bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush to pack it away without telling you.

"Are you ready love?" Price asked. "I want to get going," You noticed your boyfriend seemed to be acting weird. He was very fidgety and it wasn't like him at all.

"You okay?" You asked. "You seem anxious to get going,"

"Yeah I'm fine love I just want to get there before dark," Price replied, taking the luggage outside. He loaded the suitcases into the back of the car and slipped his hand in his pocket. His fingers brushed against the velvet box resting in his pocket. "Well if we want to get there before dark we should get going," you called out and shut the door behind you, locking up the house.

You noticed the scenery started to change from hilly landscapes to dense woods. You started to get excited about what was at the end of your little road trip. The car turned on to a cobblestone stone driveway that led to a beautiful cabin overlooking a private lake surrounded by trees. "Oh John this is beautiful!" You said, looking out the window. "How did you know about this?" You asked. "An old mate of mine offered to let us use it for the week," he smiled watching you try and take it all in.

"This whole place is for us?" You asked, wondering if you could possibly see everything in just a few days. Price squeezed your thigh. "Just us," he said, parking the car. "Here love," Price stated. He fished in his pocket pulling out a set of keys. "Here's the keys to the cabin. Why don't you go take a look around, while I unload the car" he suggested.

You smiled and took the keys from him walking up to the front steps. You unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The living room was decorated in a way you would expect a cabin to be decorated. A large sofa facing a tv mounted on the wall, a large red rug in the middle of the floor, an end table with a lamp beside the couch, a tv stand, large fireplace, and a chandelier made from antlers adorned the living room. There was also a full kitchen to your right when you walked in.

You made your way to the stairs and found the master bedroom. A king size bed was the centerpiece of the room with a wool blanket draped over the end. The curtains were drawn and a soft light emanated from a lamp sitting on a bedside table.

Your footsteps were hushed by the soft carpet as you walked to the bathroom. The master bathroom was beautifully decorated in finished wood and white accents with a big claw foot tub; definitely big enough for both you and John. A window that faced the lake and woods let in a nice breeze and you couldn't help smiling, the fact it was yours for a few days finally setting in.

You came down the stairs just as John set down the last of your luggage. "So? What do you think?" Price asked, smiling as you wrapped your arms around him. "It's perfect John!” you smiled. "It's so beautiful," you planted a kiss on his lips.

Over the next few days the ring Price carried around burned a hole in his pocket. He tried finding the right time to ask you but everytime he tried he got nervous. He was the Captain of the most elite special forces team in the world and he couldn't even ask you to marry him. He sat at the edge of the dock, his fishing pole in his hands. He looked at the water waiting for a fish to bite and thinking about how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. If only I could just ask her. With a frustrated sigh, he got up to stretch his legs still holding the fishing pole.

These few days seemed like a dream to you. Getting to spend this time with John was something you didn't always get to have. You noticed your boyfriend's behavior was somewhat off. He was anxious and fidgety when he's normally the calm and self-assured one in the relationship. You saw him sitting at the dock fishing and you smiled to yourself. His behavior may have changed but him fishing certainly hadn't.

You opened the front door and started walking down the cobblestone path the sweet air warming your skin. You saw little firefly's glowing in the garden flying around. "Have you caught anything yet?" You asked, siting down in a lawn chair with him standing holding his fishing pole. John glanced over and saw you wearing one of his army green t shirts and a pair of sleep shorts; he felt his heart skip a beat and his cock swell embarassingly hard despite the spirited romp in the sheets a mere few hours prior. For some strange reason, it made his thoughts drift back to the little box still tucked away in his pocket; he carried it with him everywhere since they got here. He still couldn’t believe he had trouble asking you a simple four-worded question. It was almost laughable that something so simple had the Captain racked with anxiety. The man who was feared just as much as he was respected in the field. What if you said no? What if you didn’t actually love him and this was the push you needed to leave him? He grimaced as his thoughts got more and more out of control.

“No I think I missed most of them,” he muttered and turned his attention back to the water. You furrowed your eyebrows; something was up with your boyfriend. Not much fazed the 6’2” Brit so to see him so lost in thought worried you. You got to your feet and wrapped your arms around your lover; your hands dipped underneath the shirt he was wearing and felt the dusting of wiry chest hair. You ran your fingers down the strong expanse of his chest and abdomen following the happy trail that disappears into his waistband. “What’s wrong hon?” You asked. “Nothing is wrong I’m fine love,” He grumbled. “You’ve been acting strange for the past few days and that isn’t like you,” You persisted. "I want to know what’s bothering you. You know you can tell me anything right?” You reassured him. John shifted his attention from the still water to you and tried to think of what to say.

“Do you…still love me?” He asked with uncertainty. “Would I have let you put me in those positions if I didn’t?” You teased, referencing the previous bedroom escapades. Seeing his face didn’t change, you realized he was serious. “Of course I do. Why would you think I don’t?” You asked. “Well…sometimes I can’t help but think you’ll wake up one day and come to your senses and leave me for someone who actually deserves you,” He sighed. It felt foreign to him to talk about his feelings but you made him feel safe enough that he could. You always brought out the best of him and it was one of the many reasons he wanted to marry you. “John Price, I am never going to leave you,” You told him, placing your hands on his muttonchops, framing his face. You hated it when he talked so badly about himself. “I love you so much and you deserve everything,” You said, gazing up at him. “Even if I am a grumpy old man?” He asked. “Yes even though you’re a grumpy old man,” you teased. “Hey! Easy now,” He said in mock annoyance. You placed your lips on his, capturing him in a heated kiss. You felt him kiss you back and the tension from his shoulders melted away. He groaned and pressed your bodies together, reaching down to grab a handful of your ass. He chuckled quietly when you whined as he pulled away. “In that case, there’s something I need to ask you,” He slipped his hand into his pocket while dropping down onto one knee. It’s now or never Price. He told himself. Your eyes went wide and filled with tears as you realized what was happening. “Y/N, will you marry me?” He asked, hoping, no silently begging, for you to say yes. “Yes! Yes I’ll marry you John Price,” you cried.

******

“FUCK!” You screamed. The headboard practically hit the wall with each harsh thrust from John. The room was filled with obscene yet erotic sound of panting and skin slapping against skin. “Fuck you’re taking me so well love,” John panted out, taking a glance down to where your cunt practically swallowed his cock. The sight drove him mad and he let out sounds he didn’t know he had in him. Those sounds he was making, the breathy groans and whimpers almost made you come then and there. “Fuck John!” You panted, feeling yourself get closer with every snap of John’s hips that hit perfectly inside you. John could feel you squeezing him like a vice and he knew you were close to coming. He grabbed the head board and pushed your legs to your chest to better plow into you and get as deep as he could into your pulsing cunt. “That’s it love,” He breathed out, his pace unrelenting. “Come for me love, come for me,”. John’s voice sounded strained as he focused on making you come before he did. You keened as you felt yourself go over the edge, coming on John’s cock. You squeezed him so tightly he swore he saw stars and came deep inside you, thick ropes of white staining the inside of your cunt. John rested his forehead against yours, strands of his hair sticking to the sweaty skin. You felt the sheer sheen of perspiration that had covered your own body begin to dry and cool off the longer the two of you stayed in each other’s embrace. "You okay love?” He asked, still out of breath as you both waited for your heart rates to slow. “More than okay,” you smiled lazily. Price gingerly pulled out his softened cock and walked to the bathroom, you admiring his bare ass as he walked away. John used a warm wash cloth to gently clean you up before grabbing a celebratory cigar and lighting it. You watched and admired his naked body as he poured himself a glass of scotch from the decanter sitting on the small table in the room before sliding back into bed with you.

You and John lay slightly tangled in the sheets with your head resting on his chest and his arm around you, relishing in that wonderful, hazy post sex daze. You couldn’t help but stare at the ring on your finger and smile; John was your fiancée and you could hardly believe it. “Careful now or I’ll think you love the ring more than me,” John’s deep baritone voice reverberating in his chest. “Well the ring is pretty great. And all I have is an old man,” you teased, looking up at him knowing he just proved himself to be anything but an old man. Your remark earned you a playful pinch on your ass. You squealed and laughed, swatting his chest playfully.

“Don’t worry Mr. Price I only have eyes for you my love,” You said, planting a kiss on his lips. "I love you,"

“I love you too soon-to-be Mrs. Price,”

#captain price #captain john price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #modern warfare x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price fluff #john price smut #captain price smut #john price x female reader #captain price x female reader #john price fanfiction #captain price fanfiction

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the-original-gays · 4 days

Text

Gaston, singing: I use antlers in all of my decorating!

*Not-so-distant sound of James Potter loading a shotgun*

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jamiekb · 1 month

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Exploring the new Welcome Home Update

So here's my journey through the new update and the little details that it has, this will be a very long post and of course full of spoilers.

Look at the new design for the loading screen, so Christmas-y! I particularly love the antlers on Home's chimney.

Looking good Wally! And now we have new little doodles that seem to go with the holiday.

Ok so according to the admins no more bugs so wonder what will be different this time. Onto the news page then

Also I'm really digging the new background

Ok starting the FAQ now and some questions and answers are interesting. So they've been receiving more material covered in goop. They kinda adress in universe the move of the website, due to malicious material and in the code of the page.

And there is one new hidden message in the answers (I think) "The numbers are so hard to read. Sometimes I can't see them" So do we have to look for numbers now?

Took a detour through the stickers and they have new ones! There is Wally making a Home out of snow, sleeping Julie, I think Frank singing Carols to a butterfly, Poppy with a Jello thing, Eddie with a ton of presents to deliver, Howdy with some relatives, Sally as the star of a Christmas tree and Barnaby with a snowman.

Also with the "Welcome Home" banners two are a bit more desaturated now. And now that I think about it there are some stains in the main banner too

Neighborhood

Anyway unto the Neighborhood! Looks so cute although I'll be honest the clock tower is a bit weird and the trees feel a bit more intense at the edges or maybe that's just me

Eddie seems quite normal though now apparantly he has a mother, I'm confident that didn't use to be there. Is it weird that other than Wally hes the only one that didn't add anything new to his home for the season?

I think Howdy's description also changed a bit but nothing alarming. His store now seems to have signs welcoming his family for the holidays.

Checking Barnaby's description they seem to all have a bit more background info, since he apparently left his farm life to come to Home. Ok what does "Barnaby’s middle initial was often rotated in terms of what it stood for" mean???

Poppy is so cute! Is she holding cupcakes decorated like the characters or did she already do that? Ok but her new details feel very interesting: she claims to be able to fly but it's never shown and she never leaves her house to the point of being excluded from some events (like Wally's Homewarming party I guess)

Sallys is fine. She's besties with Poppy I guess and she can shine??? How do you make a puppet shine?? Were they roommates maybe?

Oh Julie got quite a backstory. Named siblings, she has paws and used to live in the forest on the outskirts of Home in a cave with her family. And she hibernates that's too cute!

Great my dear Frank still gets no background info (which is very interesting) but he goes get forced heteronormativity.

Ok and Wally is kinda similar, no background info just very dedicated to Home. And I''l see about coming back to the As above so below page since I can't seem to click it, might just be me. You can still see the goop at the doorstep though

Merchandise

Ok so first off the Merchandise page has a different background to the rest, some colorful static and took a bit to load.

oooh they even changed the layout for the phone since you could hear Wallys call, that's such a cool detail

Maybe I'll go back and see if Eddies or Sally's stories have been changed in the audio or transcipt but I'll stick to the new stuff for now. Now that i think about maybe Sally's doesn't have the bit where the transcript couldnt understand it.

Finally reached the wish book and I love it so much, this is so much work all around! My favorites are the Frank and Wally pillows, Eddie Dear Lil' Mailman's Kit, the Home Clock and specially the tree skirt! I now have to make those cute neighbors

Oh my god the record has the perfect Santa voice. And.. interesting that the ad cuts off when we get to Eddie. I'm not really surprised thought it would do something when it got to him or Frank, still suspicious.

Homewarming Story

The sound editing for all this new items is amazing!

I love the bit of the characters tripping up the narrators, this one just hasn't been able to get it right.

Hey is it me or in this one they've been a bit more insistent that Frank is a bit too literal but in a not so good way, not that much more intense but can't help but notice it. Seems a bit meaner

The return of Walliford!

Good to know Home uses he/him I guess

excuse me the fuck was that sound distortion???

and then it ends kinda abruptly, so that's that...

Where's my Eddie by the way, they didn't ask him and didn't find him while out on the town. I better hear him at some point or I will riot.

We have a code!

Ok so I was skimming the rest of the material before choosing what to listen to next and saw the cereal and craft at the back! So I guess now I have to find all the little drawings in the page and see when come from that

So I did listen to a few more songs, nice to see Eddie and Frank interacting as always, and noticed that in the transcript pages there are some entries for Mistery Audio, which are actually three of the previously hidden videos so that's interesting

Also not all the pages have four drawings some only one, so I've been trying to keep track which symbols i found where in case it matters. Still don't know what they're for just going around collecting them

Ok nvm I was doing things out of order and now that I got to media can see they are mentioned there

So after finally getting all the little things and going back to tumblr cause honestly I didnt really get what to do, I'm guessing it leads to a website, since one of the pages just has www as the code, so I'll try that I guess since I saw that there is a secret website somewhere. If it takes me too long I'll just look it up

Secret website

Nvm I'm too impatient at this point and I think i was missing a few letters so I just looked it up

Ok so that's interesting, so this person is kinda like the one behind the scenes talking to us along with whatever had infected the website before. They mention how the curator got sick (???) but is better now and that they'll try to update this website with the weird things they find

So the phone is one, like the weird glitched audio from Wally. This audio is interesting cause it plays out technically in real life but Wally speaks as if they are living out their lives...

And then moving on to the commercial they are speaking again of being compelled to know more, to see and wait. I'm sure some is curiosity but that can't be all

ohmygod this is more than 20 minutes long, the effort it must have taken Clown and team is monumental

that little animation is so cute!!!

fast forward many commercials and we have Eddie!!! And even a whole hand helping Poppy or something.

god the tobacco comercial of course they would have one

My poor Eddie boy is so anxious and depressed, why is no one talking to you bud? Like not getting him a present is a thing but not even Julie called him to play... and now is he's spiraling and even mad, that's unusual for sure. Also what's with the perspective of his videos, everything is a commercial or in the case of the secret videos it's interactions with other neighbors. This is more like the secret videos that we're seeing from someones POV, but not even that, we're observing him not looking through his eyes

Oh my poor Eddie is certainly going through it, who let them expose him to The Horrors? The horror aspect of this ARG sure has started to pick up speed, even I picked up some anxiety from that last segment

Also I did notice that Frank eventually dropped the Mr Dear for Eddie when he got more worried, almost like hes more worried than for an act that he has to put up huh?

So that was the newest Welcome home update. I can say it was everything I hoped for and more!!! The team behind it really gave it their all. From VAs for the audios to all the visual and graphic artists for the commercials its all so wonderful

#welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home spoilers #welcome home eddie #welcome home frank #welcome home update #experiencing media #hey this is my stuff

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merakiui · 11 months

Text

11:11 — sugar dew sewn anew.

yandere!rook hunt x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, violence, murder/death of reader, description of blood/injuries, rook is rather morbid and creepy in this fic note - this fic is the result of a character fic poll, in which rook was the winner.

“You wear a very forlorn face when you paint, mon cher.”

You swivel on the stool, legs unfolding at the ankles, to properly peer past the easel at the man who sits in a gold-and-white satin chair, backdropped by various animal heads. They’re mounted with such care, each one organized according to where it lies on the food chain. They almost form a pyramid when you look at them from where you’re seated. From a dusky brown house mouse to a pitch-black crow, the heads range in species and size, all arranged on a vermillion wall.

The biggest one, sitting in the very center of the display, right above your client’s head, is a chestnut-colored buck with a pair of magnificent antlers curling from its scalp. From where Rook sits, it almost looks like those horns are sprouting from his head. Contemplating the discrepancies between man and buck, you swirl your brush through a muddy cup of water and survey the rest of the aureate placards until you reach the top.

There’s a mount lacking a head.

It was the first thing you took notice of after stepping through the halls of this quaint cabin to reach the sitting room. Although, after spending hours enclosed in cedarwood walls, it feels more like a trophy room—a place meant to showcase the spoils of every hunt rather than welcome people with disarming decorations.

Rook crosses one leg over the other and, resting his elbows upon his knee, steeples his hands. You peer at the antlers, noting the valiant curvature, before meeting his verdant stare. A grin slowly sprawls on his lips once he realizes you’ve caught his gaze.

“I concentrate on my source,” you explain with a shrug, still twirling the brush through the water. “Steady focus makes a steady hand…or something along those lines.”

“And yet you never smile, even when working so diligently to bring your masterpiece to completion.”

“If I viewed it as such, then I would have reason to smile.” Your contemptuous scowl slides to the canvas, where you’ve painted two dull green eyes set into a freckle-speckled face. The beginnings of a smile trace the portrait’s plush lips, withholding secrets no one will ever know. “I’ve yet to create a masterpiece. Therefore I can’t smile.”

“Oh, you’re much too critical of your art!” Unclasping his hands, Rook places one upon his chest, as if he must calm his heart after hearing your response. “I’ve studied your work, both through a screen and in person, and as your devout follower I can wholeheartedly say it is beautiful in every way, even down to the miniscule flaws other critics often spot with sharp, perceptive eyes!”

“You speak as if I lead a cult,” you admit with a sheepish chuckle. “I’m just painting the things I find interesting.”

“For a reason, I assume?”

“Usually it’s to find inspiration for what I hope will be my first masterpiece. I’d like to finally feel proud of my work.” The brush peruses the colorful selection on your palette, settling into the green you’ve mixed from yellow and blue. “It’s not that I’m unhappy. I just can’t find it in me to love what I produce.”

“But you enjoy creating, yes?”

“Of course. It’s what I’ve been doing for years. Painting allows me to understand the world and its inhabitants through my own lens.” You put brush to canvas in a series of small, significant strokes. “So when I’m painting… Well, I guess I just want to try to love the things I put on my canvases, even if it’s impossible.”

“Is that so? Then I’m beyond flattered you would ever consider using me as your most beloved muse!” He tilts his head, suddenly more animated than when he first sat down to pose for you, and adds, “I love you, too. Very much, my little artiste.”

“Are you just saying that so I’ll paint you handsomely?”

“Why, I would never say anything that would influence or persuade your process! Just as I love sweetly and solemnly, I also love monstrously and mercilessly. The primal facets of humankind are not exempt from my loving eyes. Even the most dirty and deceitful corners of this world—I love those just as fiercely. So should you choose to depict me as a fiend, I will adore your representation regardless of its harsh implications. After all, there’s beauty in tragedy.”

“And would that make life the greatest tragedy?” You hum as you add a sadistic glimmer to the eyes on the canvas. They pierce you with their unblinking stare, hollowing your soul until they reach unfathomable depths. “Or maybe it’s the ability to love with such a big heart?”

“Are you suggesting love is a tragedy? I suppose, in some sad sense, it is. Unrequited feelings, shattered hearts, lovers separated by way of death or divorce, and even the type of love that curdles like spoiled milk—oh, the misfortune! Each is a tragic tale spun from a mixture of melancholy or the intensity of hatred and all-consuming loneliness. But even so, no matter how horrendous it may seem, I hold each in my heart. They’re beautiful because they have the unique ability to shape a person into someone new—for better or for worse.”

You lower your arm, hesitating while the excuses rise to the surface, before turning to look at him. “I’ve never known real love, Mr. Hunt, which is why I’m trying to capture it while I paint. I suspect I’ll be able to smile at my work because it will be something I’ve fallen in love with. Only then can I consider it a true masterpiece.”

“Your way of thinking is simply très bien!” He drums his fingers along his knee, humming his contemplation. “I’d love to unscrew your skull and poke through your brain. I wonder what memories have shriveled your ability to love…”

“It’s not that it’s shriveled. It’s just…” You shrug, losing your previous statement. “The words ‘I love you’ are just that—words. I have no use for meaningless sentiments. If I force myself to love, it feels wrong. I can like people and things, but loving them is too much. I can’t cross that line. If I did, I’d be a liar.”

“Ah, so it’s like that…” Rook chuckles, but none of what you said was remotely humorous. His voice lowers to a whisper, ghostly and haunting, as if wrapping around your head and settling into the very folds of your brain. “I find it charming that you’re unable to love and I love too much. We possess many differences, and yet at the very center of it all we’re merely human beings composed of flesh and blood. It’s a beauty more stunning than the most radiant sunset!”

You pretend to have not heard him, resigning yourself to your work as you spend an absurd amount of time trying to illustrate the peculiar glaze in his eyes. They’re always so bright, but here you’ve painted them as soulless, viridescent sockets—a dark, dense forest having lost its vivid greenery with winter’s frost. But then there is not an ounce of ice within Rook’s eyes. They are always smoldering with many things: enthusiasm, intellect, new opinions just waiting to be shared regardless of whether or not you wish to hear them. It’s a genuine warmth, but something feels strange. Out of place. Much like the headless mount poised right above Rook to form the tip of the pyramid.

Why is that mount lacking a head?

Without realizing it, you’ve abandoned your task with fixing his eyes to start on the antlers poking from a head of canary-hued hair.

“You live up to your surname, sir.”

“Please, you’re much too formal with your fan. You need only call me Rook, should it suit your fancy.” He giggles when you pin him with a dubious glare. “Is it so wrong to label myself as such? I go to great lengths out of admiration and support of your work. Wouldn’t that, by definition, make me your fan?”

“I’m not very famous.”

“In my eyes, you are the famed sun and I am merely the moon who hopelessly pursues.”

“Really? Well, I wasn’t aware I had an eloquent hunter for a fan.”

“Do you find my hobby eccentric?”

“No. It’s normal to enjoy all sorts of pastimes. Hunting is as much of a hobby as it is a sustainable sport. In older times, most people would hunt for the sake of survival.”

Rook nods, his gaze flicking towards the heads on the wall. You dip your brush in brown paint to add more color to the antlers. “It takes immaculate patience to be a hunter. Most hunts are not always successful.”

“Is there a reason you hunt?”

“It’s in a human’s nature to obtain the unobtainable, and I seek beauty in its most visceral forms.”

“I see…”

“Do you?” Rook crosses his legs again, but this time his posture is stiffly statuesque. “Is obsession not the most flattering form of dedication?”

“It’s not exactly how I’d go about defining dedication… But then I suppose everyone has their reasons.” You steal a peek at the headless mount. “Do these heads mean anything to you?”

“Why, of course! They are the beautiful animals I have pierced with my arrow, whether or not I intended to. Often, when you trek through the territory of beasts, you might need to release a mortally wounded animal from its suffering.”

“So a mercy kill.” Your eyes return to the painting, where you set to work adding tiny blossoms along the curved antlers. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

“So goes the cycle of life, I’m afraid. I would be a daring fool to interfere with the balance of the world.”

“Have you ever lost any of your hunts?”

Rook hums, tapping out a rhythm against the top of his hand. The pads of his fingers fall in rapid succession: tick, tick, tick, tick. “As a matter of fact, I have! Just last week, after your departure, I lost the mouse I’ve been trying to catch for years now.”

“Years? Shouldn’t you give up?”

“Not until I feel that mouse’s heart beat within my enclosed fist.” He smiles wide, flashing flawless rows of pearly whites. Under the dim lighting, they appear sharp and predatory. “I suspect I’ll get lucky tonight.”

“How can you be sure? Mice are difficult to catch with bare hands. You’ll need a trap.”

“Mon cher, you wound me! I would never make such an amateur error.” He chuckles to himself, relishing in the cruelty of a joke that doesn’t quite land. “When I set my sights on something, it’s a guarantee I will catch it, even if I must play a dreadful waiting game.”

“My apologies. I was only passing on a helpful tip.”

You pull away from the canvas to inspect the strands of white dahlias curled around the man’s antlers. Frowning, you raise your arm, intending to slash through the portrait with a streak of black paint, when it occurs to you that you need only add red.

But before carmine, you return to nature reflected in wide greens.

“Has my dear artiste ever hunted before?”

“No, not really. I seek inspiration all the time, but I wouldn’t call that a hunt.”

“Oh? Please elaborate.”

“There are stakes in a hunt. Life and death. Danger. A battle of wits between predator and prey. Looking for inspiration is just a matter of searching and exploring. It might lead some down scary paths, but for me it’s a matter of reading more books or taking a stroll through the town. I don’t like dangerous things, so I tend to avoid them.”

“It pays to be cautious, no?”

“Right. Shouldn’t you be the same, Rook? As a hunter, don’t you worry about what might happen if you aren’t careful?”

“Of course there are worries! That comes with every profession and hobby.” He gestures to the plastic tarps plastered to the floor and walls. “You worried you’d sully my floors, and to ease such a fear I put these protective plastics up. My worries for hunting may be different, but they are worries all the same.”

“I guess that’s true… Well, what do you worry about?”

“Whether I’ll be fast enough to catch my prey when they’re unarmed and unaware.”

“O-Oh… That’s a little…”

Rook laughs a guttural laugh—a sound that comes right from the depths of his chest. “Imagine something you’ve always wanted. Picture it slipping through your fingers, just out of your reach, and now you’ve lost the chance to seize it. Is that not worth a worry or two?”

“I can’t say. I’ve never tried to chase after things I knew I wouldn’t be able to have.”

“Mon cher, you must learn to take risks. How else will you live?”

“I live perfectly fine without the need to step out of my comfort zone.”

Rook hums. “I think you’d change your tune if you found yourself in a risky situation.”

“Define risky.”

“Life and death.”

You pause, your brush poised at the pupil in his eye. “Everyone wants to survive. It’s in our nature as animals. A very basic instinct.”

“And despite our most dedicated efforts to stall the inevitable, death catches us all—some sooner than most.”

“This is getting kinda…morbid.”

“Haven’t you wondered,” he asks, and you don’t hear the wood creak under approaching feet, “what someone might do if they found your corpse?”

He’s behind you. Five steps away in this cubic space. The man with antlers has crawled out of the canvas that once confined him, and he’s behind you.

The mount on the wall lacks a head.

The man in the chair lacks antlers.

The creature in the portrait lacks humanity.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a voice recorder tucked away beneath the chair.

You swallow thickly, your heart in your throat. “I… I’m not sure. I’d hope they’d give me a proper, respectful burial if I died of natural causes.”

And if it wasn’t natural causes?

You don’t hear him verbalize the question, but somehow you catch it amidst the smothering silence.

“If it wasn’t natural causes…” You force a laugh, but it’s flat and misplaced just like the headless mount. “That would be murder, right?”

His shadow looms behind you, cast ominously dark over the earthly colored canvas. Slowly, so slowly, your free hand lowers to the pocket in your artist’s apron, where a dozen palette knives rest. Trembling fingers peruse the selection, locating the one with the sharpest point, and it’s the heaviest burden you’ve ever secured in your fist. You remain sitting horribly still on the stool, listening only to the frantic, slick sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Steeling your frayed nerves, you whirl just as he descends.

There’s a pause, a stumbled heartbeat, and then raw fear coagulates into confusion when you find him sitting primly in his chair, his verdant stare striking through you as if it’s an arrow he’s just loosed. It hits its mark, for it leaves you pinned in perplexity.

He was behind me.

“And… And what about you?” you ask, your tongue heavy and thick in your mouth. “If someone… If I found your corpse, what would you want me to do with it?”

He was behind me. I’m sure of it.

“That wouldn’t happen.” His lips curl into a cat-like smile, and he angles his head curiously. “Normally it’s the other way around.”

You see it, then. The silver glint of a sharpened meat cleaver. It lies in his lap, where his fingers curl around the wooden handle, and all while holding eye contact he continues to smile. His teeth are refined cutlery in the light: artfully honed, yet not quite serrated, they’re tough enough to bite and tear and chew. Like a deer trapped in the hauntingly hypnotic glow of oncoming headlights, you don’t dare move. Perspiration wets your brow, slides down your back between your shoulder blades. You lick your lips. Anticipation claws through your intestines, nestling in the very pit of your stomach. Bile creeps its way up your throat like acidic fingers.

What’s happening?

“Come now, ma souris, don’t give me such a sullen face! I’ve shown you my hand. Isn’t that a miracle more beautiful than life itself?”

Your hold on the little palette knife tightens. “One person’s going to leave this room,” you say, your eyes sliding to the recording device, “and it’s not going to be me. Isn’t that right, Rook?”

“I can’t possibly say,” he affirms, dulcet and smooth like rivers of blood running ruby-red from a broken nose. His finger drums a rhythm against the flat side of the cleaver. “But I can certainly guess.”

Carefully, you rise from the stool. His eyes track you, so full of the vitality of the color green. More than that, they’re bright with bloodlust and you’ve been caught in the crosshairs of his cutting gaze. He peers at your unfinished painting and chuckles.

“Even your interpretation of me is beautiful! It’s an honor to be your fan, ma souris. Truly, I’m quite happy.”

You brandish the palette knife as if that will do anything to protect you from him. He stands from his seat, a monster adorned in gloomy garb. Like a stain against the red wall of heads, he no longer fits into the picture you once thought he did. Rather, he is blight in human form, a sinister omen housed within a skeleton encased in friendly skin.

And he’s walking right towards you, putting one foot in front of the other, in no hurry to rush. The cleaver taps against his hip as he approaches, each bump mirroring every one of your heartbeats with startling accuracy.

“Are… Are you unhappy with my portrayal?” you ask, not particularly interested in his reply, but desperate to keep him talking at arm’s length.

For every step he takes, you take two backwards.

“Not at all! In fact, I’m flattered.” Rook narrows his eyes at you, sickly entertained. “You’ve made prey out of a predator. Not many are capable of such a generous feat.”

Your back connects with the door. Swallowing thickly, you search for the door knob. “Do you really see yourself as one? You don’t have to be one. Y-You can be neither. You’re only human.”

“Ah, but humans are the worst kind of predator.”

“What makes you say that?” Your fingers wrap around the metal door knob.

“Humans are afforded choices. We think through decisions. We make merry with our enemies and then hurt them after they’ve properly settled. We are complex in a way that differs from other animals. Predators are bound by survival, always trapped in high-stakes life or death, unable to truly make a decision that ventures beyond whether they wish to live another day or become sustenance for those who sit a rung above on the food chain. You see, we are not simple predators.” He raises the cleaver and points it at you. “As for humans, we can decide if we want to feel something when we hurt and kill. We can communicate in languages simple predators can’t use. Oh, the beauty of words!” He chuckles, elated. “To pluck a phrase from my vast lexicon: I’m going to take your life for myself, ma souris. Stow it within the depths of my very soul so that I may be the only one to treasure your rarity.”

The confession guts you quicker than his knife ever could.

Wrenching the door open, you turn on your heel and step through, ready to break into a sprint, when heavy footfalls make their way towards you from behind. He covers the meager distance in seconds, wrapping a muscled arm around your torso and yanking you back into the room. You scream, words and sounds mixing into something incoherent, and elbow him in the ribs with as much force as you can muster. He releases you and you, fueled with panic and adrenaline, drop to your knees just as he swings, your hand closing around the palette knife you had previously lost.

Somehow you manage to get back on your feet when he descends again, this time intentionally missing your shoulder when he brings the cleaver down. It cuts through the sliver of space between empty air and your own body, narrowly missing you by a hair. You throw yourself against the wall, entangled in a plastic tarp that comes loose from its hooks. They fall around you in noisy pitter-patters, something akin to metallic rainfall, and you hit the floor with a harsh thump.

And all the while, the mounts continue to peer at you with glass eyes.

“There’s no need to fall over yourself in a frantic haste. You’ll waste all of your energy, and even then adrenaline won’t be enough to fuel you. I’ll catch you if you aren’t careful…” He smiles at you from where he stands, green eyes cold with calculation. “Let’s take a moment to chat, shall we? I’d like to regale you with the five stages of the delightful thing known as prey drive. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

“No, of course not,” you spit, vitriol lacing every syllable. Your pupils flit about the room, tracing the cleaver in his hand and then flickering towards the chair. The recording device sits in shadow, just within your reach. If you can stand up, take two steps forward, and drop down when he moves to intercept, you might be able to retrieve it. “Enlighten me since you seem so eager to run your mouth.”

Rook chuckles and enunciates his every step with a whistle. He reaches the chair in three steps and kicks the recording device out from under it. You watch it skid across the floor towards you, settling mere inches from your feet. You glance at it; it’s still recording, seconds stapled into it with every tick of your heart.

“A dog searches.” His back is turned to you, and he gazes at the mounts on the wall. You lower just enough to swipe the device from the ground. It’s not heavy in your palm; rather, it’s palm-sized and it slips into your pocket like a silent knife through butter. “And when it finds, it stalks. Have you caught the pattern yet?”

His neck is right there. All you need to do is rush up to him, grab him from behind, and drive the palette knife so far into the side of his neck that it’ll surely cause some sort of distress. Or you could turn and run. You have evidence. You have his address. You have your car. You can escape. You can drive far away from this horrifying cabin in the woods and never return. You can live.

You can run.

“And from there…”

So you do.

He whirls just as you dart through the door, over the threshold into the hall, and you miss the crazed twinkle reflected in wild, untamed green eyes. Rook’s laughter follows you, airy and light like a comforting breeze. He’s alive with murderous delight, and you’re nearly dead with fright.

“Ensues the chase!” he calls out, so close in the cramped confines of the hall that his voice nearly grazes you.

You swallow your sobs, pressing onwards with hardened resolve, and follow the length of the hall until it spits you out into another room. It’s undeniably a kitchen, what with the refrigerator and microwave pushed into a corner, but it’s furnished more like a lab. Nearly every appliance is metallic and the floors are tiled, constructed with surfaces that are perfect for washing away pesky fluids. A drain is built into the very center of the floor, sticking out like the nastiest bruise. You spy meat hooks hanging in place of where spatulas and whisks ought to be—both of which are innocent culinary tools meant to assist in food preparation rather than something killer.

Spinning on your feet, you locate the door opposite of where you stand in the small kitchen-lab and take a momentous step towards it, hoping it leads you closer to an exit and further from your hunter, when a cold hand seizes your wrist, spidery digits curling into your skin. A shrill scream rips from the depths of your throat, surely shredding your vocal chords into bloody ribbons. You struggle, yanking your arm in vain, for his hold is impossibly strong. He tugs you towards him, his feet moving in time with the shuffling of yours. It’s a stiff stalemate of a waltz. You pull away and he pursues, his hand creeping up your arm in an attempt to pin it to the nearest surface. With another helpless shriek, you tear yourself free, staggering backwards against the metal table, which rolls further away on well-oiled wheels. Your horrified reflection blinks back at you in the shine, and with a sunken heart you realize it’s a dissection table.

“Mon cher, I must say, you wear disarray so naturally. It’s far too forbidden for my simple eyes to behold.”

“Why… Why are you doing this?” Your voice is thick with terror, sore from screaming, and you wipe furiously at your glossy eyes. “Please stop… You’ve had your fun. Now… Now let me go. I… I promise I won’t come back here again. Y-You can keep all of the supplies and the canvas. Just let me go…”

A secretive smile stretches slowly across his lips. “Oh, how Fortuna graces me with the benevolent opportunity to admire these special sides of yours. To be able to witness the rawness of pure horror after cornering the most dangerous animal of all…” He pricks his finger on the tip of the blade and adds in a breathy whisper, “Beauté.”

A disgusted shiver claws its way up your spine. You glare at him. “So it’s the thrill you enjoy, yeah? It doesn’t faze you that you’re going to kill an innocent person?!”

He tilts his head. “Rather than snuffing your light, I intend to give new life to your excellence. In many ways, aren’t I also an artist?”

“Like hell! You’re crazy!” You take a step back when he advances, moving towards you like a graceful panther stalking its prey. Your grip on the palette knife tightens. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this?”

“Nothing, mon amour.”

“N-Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing!” he reaffirms, rather conversationally, and the frustration-riddled tension in your body deflates all at once.

“But… But I thought—” You shake your head, hopelessly searching for a means of convincing him otherwise in his pursuit, and say, “I thought you… You said you loved me! Can you really hurt someone you love?”

Rook hesitates, his feet shuffling to a halt, and he peers blankly at you, all emotions veiled in a stoic mask. “While it’s true that I will always cherish you in life, I must also come to love you in death. If I’m unable to accept even the rotting and decaying sides of everlasting love that most shy away from, then I’m simply undeserving of my title as a hunter. If I seek the wonders of life, it’s only fair I seek the wonders of death all the same. You understand, don’t you?”

“No! In what world would I ever understand that logic?!” You point the palette knife at him. “You don’t have to kill me. You really don’t have to…”

“I suppose, if I’m to apologize for anything, I should ask that you forgive my greedy behavior. I’m hopelessly infatuated with your work, so allow me to thank you for all that you have shown me tonight. I promise to repay your tenderness tenfold.”

He smiles, stepping aside to allow you passage through the door, and foolishly you take the bait. It’s a run through tar—something you’d only ever experience in a dream, in which outrunning a villain is an impossible task. You make it through the door and out into the hall, and from there your only goal is to mindlessly flee towards safety. Tears obscure your vision, clinging to your lashes like fragile sugar dew.

You think you see the outline of a faraway door, but perhaps it’s just the illusion brought on by mournful tears.

You think you’ll make it to freedom, but perhaps it’s just the animalistic desire to survive that ignites your nerves.

You think you can escape the horrors of encroaching affection, but it slips into your hand, tight and reassuring.

Tugged into the kitchen-lab, your back collides with Rook’s chest. His grip is bone-crushing, and you don’t hear anything he’s saying—is he humming or waxing poetry?—but you feel the warmth of spreading blood as it soaks through your shirt and stains your artist’s apron. The palette knife slips from your grasp, landing on the floor with a noisy clatter. You peer down at your abdomen, where the cleaver is snugly nestled in your stomach.

The cleaver.

It’s in your stomach.

He’s stabbed you.

The cleaver.

It’s in your stomach.

It doesn’t hurt. Not at first. The shock snuffs the agony. He twists it gingerly, once or twice, before he yanks it out. Sticky strings of torn flesh and blood cling to the blade, connecting it to the injury he’s inflicted. Then you feel the rush of torturous, agonizing pain, and it stings more than anything you've ever experienced before. Red-hot, thick trails of blood trickle through your fingers when you shakily place your hand upon the wound, hoping to stop the flow. Rook clicks his tongue and guides you towards the dissection table, your feet dragging bonelessly upon the floor as you’re led along. You try to fight him, but everything’s so painful, and so all you can manage is a slight shake of the shoulders. Your world spins, and your mind reels as it struggles to process the dangerous gash.

“After the chase,” he says, lowering you onto the table despite your blubbery protests, “the dog grabs its prey in a sharp-toothed bite and then it kills.”

“S-Stop… You…” Your fingers curl into shredded skin, and you press down with as much strength as your shuddering body can muster. Blood continues to seep through the cracks between your fingers. “You… You’ll kill me…”

“Well, that’s the point, no?” Rook pets your cheek, fondness glittering in his green eyes.

You peer up at him through bleary eyes, reaching for his face with a trembling hand. “Please… I’m begging you… It h-hurts… Please…” A helpless sob wracks through your frail form. “Please, Rook…”

For a while—whether an eternity or merely a few seconds, it’s hard to discern—he watches you fade in and out of consciousness, your groans a haunting melody in the discomforting quiet. Eventually, his hand finds yours on the table, limp and twitching, and envelops it in a firm hold.

Blissfully ignorant to your wheezing gasps, he begins to murmur: “‘Out—out are the lights—out all. And, over each quivering form, the curtain, a funeral pall, comes down with the rush of a storm. While the angels, all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm that the play is the tragedy, ‘Man.’” He looms over you like a ghastly shadow, lips arranged in a gleeful grin. “‘And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.’”

The time is 11:11 at night when you finally fall into Death’s frigid embrace, never to wake again.

11:11 - the mystical time at which the universe tugs celestial cotton from its ears and listens to wishes and woes alike. it is not a promise that all wishes will be granted and all woes will be soothed at this hour.

The time is 11:11 in the morning, and sweet, twittering birdsong flutters into the trophy room through a window left ajar.

The sun has long since risen, casting radiant beams through the thinning slices between the trees. Rook Hunt hums as he works, deft fingers perusing various cosmetics arranged on a metal tray. Eyeshadow is applied to delicate, paper-thin eyelids, each one pinned open in the permanence of preservation. Glass marbles are set into hollow sockets, colored in memory of the eyes that were once attached to a brain via optic nerves. He matches foundation to the skin tone, which works well to hide meticulous stitching and mottled flesh. He’s humming in tune with the birds, the nearby rushing stream, and the swaying foliage caught up in a wind gust, relishing in nature’s symphony.

“You claimed you’d finally smile after you’ve learned to love,” Rook observes, petting the top of the head, feeling human hair beneath his rough, calloused palm. “And now you beam brighter than the sun outside! Perhaps it’s because of me? You’ve always been so honest with your heart. It’s a facet I most adore.”

His gaze slides towards the unfinished painting propped against the wall, where an antlered man smiles at his viewer, his green eyes filled with a mysterious forest.

“Have you always thought me to be prey?” Rook pauses, awaiting an answer, and snatches a lipstick from the selection. “Or maybe this is an artist’s ideal vision… Perhaps it’s a fantasy you’ve wished to see or a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Escapism is most magnificent when it’s comforting.” He opens the lipstick and surveys the color with his observant greens. He inhales deeply and catches notes of the cedarwood cabin walls and the floral perfume he spritzed on his dear artiste. “Though it may not be your masterpiece, it’s one that will forever fascinate.”

Red blooms on dry lips that can no longer scream or protest. He cups a cheek stuffed with the finest wood wool, palming an area that was once bruised and broken. The grisly mark has been painted over, and now it is out of sight and, as far as the hunter is concerned, out of mind. As the saying goes, before one can broach beauty, one must suffer some degree of destruction.

Rook steps down from the ladder and sets the tray of cosmetics on the gold-and-white satin chair. He lifts his hands, fingers forming the borders of a rectangle to frame you in his own portrait. At long last, the headless mount has its head and the pyramid of trophies is complete. There’s a crooked smile sewn into features expertly stitched to finalize beguiling taxidermy.

With a covert grin, Rook peers through his fingers at your head situated at the very tip of a tragic triangle.

“After all, prey are the prettiest when they’re dyed scarlet.”

#if i said jade's version of this concept was far more lighthearted would anyone believe me?#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere rook hunt #yandere rook hunt x reader #yandere rook #yandere rook x reader #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: violence

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otteropera · 1 year

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Protector (Jon Snow x Reader)

A/N - This doesn't really take place at any specific time in GOT, I kinda got the idea and went on a writing rampage all in one night lol. Its been almost two years since I've posted a fic on here, and I've found comfort in writing these silly little stories. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Warnings - violence, mentions of blood, attempted kidnapping(?)/adultnapping

Word count - 3.1k

My parents were almost assassinated in their sleep. I was only alive because of the guard who saw the assailant climbing up to my window. My father immediately demanded I go into hiding, and worked hard to find an able-bodied man he trusted to help me get somewhere safely.

The Starks of Winterfell had always been trusted by father, he’d known Eddard and Catelyn longer than I’d been alive. So it wasn't too much of a surprise when I found out who would be taking me to safety, and where I would be going. The journey from Barrowton to Winterfell is about eleven days, if you don't stop for any reason. If you do, then it's closer to fourteen. There are only a few inns and taverns on the way to Winterfell, and I’d only convinced Jon to stop at one of them.

The Riverside Inn was a small establishment in the middle of nowhere. There was a family that owned and ran it, who were very friendly to Jon Snow and I. We'd been on the road for the past few days and I was desperate to sit next to a warm fire and eat homemade stew, rather than biting off pieces of dried jerky and contemplating if my extremities had fallen off due to frostbite. The more we traveled, the farther north we were, and the colder it got. Jon had tied our horses up outside.

"Evenin' you two," the innkeeper smiled at us. The sun had just started settling below the trees. "What can I get ya?" His voice was brash, but welcoming.

"Two rooms and some food." Jon answered. "And whatever you've got that will keep us warm."

He chuckled. "I'll have your room ready right away. And what'll you have? Stew or soup?"

"Stew please," I said.

"Me as well."

He nodded. "You're lucky. It's really good tonight. I made it myself."

We both sat down at a table near the fireplace. It was nice to be sitting inside again. I took off my thick gloves and warmed my hands on the stones, I could have melted right there. I looked up at Jon who sat across from me, but his gaze was making its way around the room, like he was trying to study every inch, making sure it was safe. It was a quaint little inn, with wooden floors and furniture. A staircase led up to a lofted area, with a few doors that I assumed were the different bedrooms. The walls were decorated with tapestries and various antlers. The large hearth dominated the center of the common area. The innkeeper walked over with bowls of stew and some bread. The smell was heavenly, I had to hold back a smile on my face.

"How long has this place been here?" I asked the innkeeper. He put the food down in front of us as Jon fumbled in his pouch for some coins. He gave me a look that said 'Don't be too friendly, we don't know this man.'

"Oh, forever. This is my home," He laughed. "It's been here since before I was born. Me wife and son help run the place." He collected the coins from Jon. Thankfully, my fathers advisor had given us more than enough to get to Winterfell. The Innkeeper headed back to the front of the Inn.

I couldn't imagine it would ever get too busy here, we were in the middle of the woods, only a small dirt road led up to this place. I started digging into my stew, sopping up the bread with the hot liquid. I could eat this meal for the rest of my life. As I was shoveling scoops of stew into my mouth, I felt Jon staring at me. I looked up at him.

"What?" I asked, wiping my mouth.

"Nothing, My Lady," He shook his head. My stomach flipped. Gods, if he wasn't looking at me like that, this whole trip would be much less nerve-wracking.

"There's no need to call me that," I muttered.

He sighed. "Sorry."

"It's fine," I muttered, somehow even quieter.

He glanced at me. "Are you alright?"

I nodded. "Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"Just checking."

He stared at me for another moment and then turned back to his stew. I ate quietly for a while, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the company of him. I devoured my stew, and finished the last piece of bread. I wiped my bowl clean with a crusty chunk of bread, and placed it on the table.

"That was delicious," I said, looking up at the Innkeeper. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

I noticed Jon looking at me again, trying to suppress a smile, or a laugh.

"What is it?" I asked incredulously.

"I've just never seen a Lady eat like that."

I rolled my eyes. I supposed I was being quite sloppy, but in my defense, we'd barely eaten all day. I was famished.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," I said, standing up, I grabbed my gloves and the pouch of coins Jon had set on the table and walked over to the Innkeeper.

"Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to have any horse feed, would you?" I asked. He turned around, eyebrows raised. "We're riding out tomorrow morning, and our horses are getting hungry."

He smiled. "Of course, I'll be right back." He ran off towards the back of the inn. I heard him rummaging through the shelves. He returned with a sack full of grain.

"Here you go," He handed the sack to me. "Is this enough?"

"It should be," I replied, taking the bag. "Thank you," I handed him coins, which he seemed surprised at.

"No problem," He grinned. "Enjoy the rest of your stay."

I smiled at him softly and headed out the front of the Inn. The snow was starting to layer the ground, it crunched beneath my feet. I heard the same crunching a few paces behind me. It was Jon, not letting me out of his sight. I huffed.

"Do you mind?" I asked, turning around.

"Not at all," He said. "I just don't want you walking alone."

"Why?" I asked, feeling slightly offended.

"I was told to bring you to Winterfell, unharmed. That's what I plan on doing."

I bit my tongue. "You can't protect me from everything, Jon."

"I can try."

I gave up on the back and forth as we approached the horses, holding the bag of grain up to them one at a time. They sniffed curiously at the bag.

"They're pretty well fed," I commented, "I don't think they'll starve."

"I hope not," He chuckled.

The sun had gone down almost entirely, the sky darkening quickly.

"I know it'll be safer for me elsewhere, but I miss my home already," I commented.

"I'm sure you do," his voice was soft. I glanced up at him and saw him looking back gingerly. "But it will be safe there."

"How do you know?" I whispered.

"Because I'm going with you."

Once we finished feeding the horses, we went back inside and flocked to the hearth, but the Innkeeper wasn't anywhere to be seen. We sat by the fire for a while, listening to the crackling flames and talking about nothing important. I found that my eyelids were growing heavier, the warmth from the fire practically lulling me to sleep.

"You should probably get some sleep," Jon insisted.

"You as well. I am tired," I agreed, yawning. I stood up and made my way up the staircase, Jon following me. The rooms were small, but Jon and I each had our own. That was the most important thing.

"Good night, My Lady," he said, trying to suppress a smile. I let out a dry laugh.

"Good night, Jon Snow." I closed the door behind me, finally alone for a moment. I tore off my boots and stripped out of my clothes, leaving only my underclothes, and crawled into bed. I pulled the furs up to my chin and laid there, closing my eyes. I could hear Jon moving around in the room next to mine, the walls so thin. I found it comforting for some reason.

I drifted off to sleep, thinking of home.

***

I'd never been a particularly light sleeper, but this was something different. I'd been a bit on edge during the journey, less so with Jon Snow accompanying me, but still. This was more than I'd ever experienced before. I woke up suddenly, hearing a noise outside the window. I looked over at the wall, seeing nothing unusual. I listened carefully, hearing the sound again. There was definitely something outside the window. I got out of bed and crept over to it, peering out cautiously.

There was a figure standing by the horses. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but it appeared to be a man. He was dressed in dark colors, and wore a hooded cloak, making it difficult to see his face, but I could tell he was staring straight at me. I held my breath, hoping he would leave soon.

He did not.

Instead, he began to walk towards the inn. I rushed as quickly as I could out of my room and one door over. I yanked it open.

"Jon-" I started, but the bed was empty. Was this the wrong room? No, I remembered hearing him last night before falling asleep. Before I had more time to think, a bag was thrusted over my head, and I felt a blade at my throat.

"Don't scream," A deep voice said. "Or I'll slit your throat."

I froze, terrified. The knife pressed against my neck was cold and sharp. I couldn't move, my heart racing wildly. His grip, wrapped around my shoulders, started forcing me down the steps. I would have tripped if he hadn't been holding me so tight. I tried to keep my breathing even, but my chest sputtered with every breath.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I was pushed forward through the common room, toward another pair of arms that grasped me. How many of them are there? Hands roughly grasped my wrists, securing them together with an itchy rope.

"Where is he?" One of the men demanded.

"We don't know sir."

"Well, bloody find him!" The man angrily demanded. I could feel his hands on my back, pushing me further along. I stumbled, and the man grabbed my arm tightly.

"Let go of me!" I yelled, struggling to free myself. "What do you want with me?"

"Shut up," The man growled, pulling me closer. "Keep walking."

I could tell we exited the Inn by the sudden drop in temperature and remembered I was still only in my underclothes, suddenly feeling exposed. It must have been snowing still because the cold powdery substance stuck to my feet and sent a chill up my spine. The man shoved me to the ground. I nearly face planted, but rolled onto my back. I wish I hadn't because the man put his foot down on my chest to keep me from getting away. He made it much harder to breathe. The bag over my head forced me to use other senses to interpret my surroundings, but all I heard was the crunching of snow beneath my feet. And then shouts coming from the Inn.

"Stop! Stop right there!" I recognized the voice as the Innkeeper's.

The man released his foot from me, and I rolled over onto my stomach, gasping for air. I tried to push myself up, but the man kicked me in the ribs. Hard.

"Stay down," He commanded.

I struggled to sit up, but the man kicked me again, this time in the stomach. I cried out in pain, collapsing back to the ground.

"I said stay down!" The man screamed.

I heard the commotion of the men battling with the innkeeper, and from the sounds of it, it wasn't going too well. I took advantage of their distraction and scrambled to my feet, bringing my tied hands to my head and ripping off the bag, running as fast as I could. I didn't get very far before I was tackled to the ground, the force of the impact knocking the wind out of me. I felt hands grabbing my arms and legs, pinning me to the ground. My vision blurred, and I couldn't focus.

"No," I gasped, trying desperately to pull away.

The man threw me to the side, and I landed hard on my shoulder. I grunted, wincing in pain.

"You're no good to us dead, girl." The man laughed. "So you better behave yourself." I lay on the ground, unable to move. No more than twenty feet away was the Inn, with the Innkeeper lying lifelessly on the ground. I could hear the sounds of fighting coming from inside. One of the men seemed to notice the commotion as well and headed inside. I tried to stand on my feet with what power I had left, but the man who tackled me to the ground took notice and slapped me across the face. I fell back into the snow. I could hardly breathe. I wanted to cry. I wanted to see my parents one last time.

Jon Snow came barreling out of the Inn. He was covered in blood. I could see the red splatter on his armor, and he looked furious. The man next to me looked terrified.

"Get away from her," Jon roared.

The man hesitated. He seemed unable to decide whether he should stick to his plan or save his life. He turned to run, but Jon caught him. He held him close, slamming his fist into the man's gut. The man doubled over and Jon punched him again, this time in the head. Hard. The man dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Jon stood catching his breath. His head turned to me and his eyes immediately softened. He knelt beside me, pulling apart the rope that tied my hands together.

"Are you okay?" Jon asked quickly, looking at me worriedly.

"I'm alive," I said shakily. He raised his hand and grazed where the man had slapped me. No doubt the skin was red, it felt tender.

"I'm so sorry. I heard them and went out to see what was going on but there were more than I expected and-"

"Jon," I cut off his rambling. His eyes locked with mine. "It's okay. I'm okay." I wrapped my arms around myself. The snow plus my lack of clothing wasn't helping. He immediately noticed this and took off his cloak, wrapping it around me. It was bloodied but I didn't care.

"Come on," He said, helping me to my feet. "We need to get out of here." He wrapped an arm around my waist, but I hissed at the contact. He'd touched where the man had kicked me.

"I'm sorry," he said with sad eyes.

He led me to the Inn door, which was now open. I could see the fight inside was over. I counted six men in total who laid lifeless on the floor. There was blood everywhere. I couldn't believe Jon had taken them all by himself. He helped me sit down next to the fire, which was now only embers.

"I'll grab your things." He swiftly went up the stairs and into the room I had slept in. I was thankful he didn't have me try to climb the stairs. He came back down after less than a minute with the rest of my clothes, my boots, and the small satchel I had brought with me. I started dressing myself back up, and I could tell Jon was unsure about trying to help me or not.

“I-I’ll get the horses ready.” I almost groaned at the thought of riding a horse right now. Jon started making his way towards the door but stopped himself. “Are you alright? … Doing that?” It was almost funny to me, how he just murdered half a dozen folks with no problem but felt embarrassed asking me if I needed help getting dressed.

“Yes,” I replied quietly. He nodded curtly and was out the door. He came back after a minute or two, just as I was finishing lacing up my boots.

“The horse is ready, we should get going before anyone else shows up.” Jon held out his hand for me which I graciously took.

“Horse? As in one?” I asked, feeling a nervous pit in my stomach.

“They um… killed the other ones.” My brows furrowed in confusion. Why would they kill the horses? So we couldn’t escape? Why didn’t they kill me either? They had plenty of chances to.

We walked out the front of the inn for the last time, and I took one last glance at the Innkeeper, who was splayed on the ground, his blood turning the snow red. The horse sighed as we walked over to it. I wondered if it knew that it almost lost its life. Jon got up onto the horse first and I felt my cheeks redden as I further realized our situation. It was a bit awkward trying to get my leg over it, trying to stifle my whimper from the injuries I was aggravating. Did Jon get hurt at all? Did he even have a scratch? If so, he sure was good at hiding it.

Jon reached down and gently grabbed my waist, pulling me close to him. I tried to ignore the way his hands graced my sides. He pulled me tight to his body and I felt the warmth of his chest even through his thick cloak. This saddle definitely wasn't made for two people.

"How are you always so warm?" I asked as he brought his arms around me to grab the reins on the horse. Jon chuckled, his mouth so close to my ear I could feel his warm breath. Goosebumps prickled up my back and down my arms. He whistled and the horse started clopping away from the Inn.

"Maybe you're always cold."

We fell into a comfortable silence, and I felt myself relaxing up against Jon more and more. He didn't seem to mind. This was probably the warmest I'd been while traveling yet. I won't complain.

"Thank you," I whispered, "you saved my life."

"You don't need to thank me, I did what any man would do."

"No, really," I insisted. "You risked your own life for me. You could've run off when you first saw them. You could've left me there."

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to you."

#jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow fanfiction #jon snow imagine #got fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #asoif/got

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penname-artist · 5 months

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Merry Chrysler-

I MEANT TO POST THESE CHRISTMAS HEADCANONS A YEAR AGO

THIS HAS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS SINCE THEN

I'M SORRY CHILDREN YOU CAN HAVE YOUR CANDY NOW

I swear I am totally not biased when I say that I'll side with Shu's headcanon of Lightning being very into singing and then getting caught doing so and being good at doing so while putting up Christmas decorations. Okay. Maybe a LITTLE bit biased.

But I am NOT biased when I say that he and Mater BOTH do it and they have a habit of starting a lyric and waiting for the other to give them the next one so they can duet the rest. It's adorable, but it drives the town crazy just as much.

Red always puts something happy and festive on the old Stanley statue. Some years it's a wreath. Some years he has a red glowing nose. Sometimes he gets little antlers. It's a nice nod to his love for the holidays, and it makes Lizzie so happy.

Finn and Leland used to play that silly Hide the Pickle game on Christmas morning, except with very ramped up stakes because they loved a challenge. Since his passing, Finn's now dangerously taught both Mater and Holley to play. Mater tries his best, though he's not great at hiding them and he's lucky at best with finding, and Holley, well...let's just say that she did such a good job her first time trying to hide it that they all gave up looking, and ended up having to buy another one to use.

Every year, Dusty goes out and puts up tacky Christmas lights for the year. And every year, he and Chug get tangled in it. And every year until 2013, Dottie was tasked with helping them out. Since 2013, every year she puts it up to Skipper and Sparky to do instead. Never fails.

You ever heard of something called a "Drive thru nativity scene"? I've been to one, once. You sit in your car and drive through a live reenactment of the towns and the nativity, and you pay fake coin taxes at certain stops, and dad almost got put in fake jail by Roman soldiers because he wouldn't pay those taxes anyways the point is they have one that they do at Radiator Springs now and over the years they have garnered a lot of traffic. Sally and Lightning only did the Mary and Joseph bit one year, and it ended in Joseph being run over by fans and backing up the line, so he lent his role to someone else (it changes every year)

During his reign over the Lodge, Cad Spinner went above and beyond for Christmas light displays during the holidays, which ate up the electric bill for one and left a fire hazard for another. When Jammer took over his position, though, the annual display had become wildly popular, so - with the assistance and better pay of the Piston Peak fire and rescue - they kept the event running. So long as Ryker stayed close by.

The Smokejumpers pulled an Epic Christmas Prank on - or rather with - Cabbie one year. He had no idea what everyone was giggling about, as they boarded up to drop over a fire. And then later, Maru held up a photo he got of him while he was taking off with them. He rolled his eyes at the sight of the bright red "ELF BACKUP" sign written across his hatch.

Blade's not really a Christmas guy, but, there's one thing he enjoys during the Christmas season, and that's peppermints. He's fucking addicted. Maru will catch him swiping them from the little bowl Patch puts out in the mess hall, and they go through a whole bag in less than two weeks. Addicted I tell you.

Specifically in humanized land, Cabbie has whittled - while Windlifter paints - simplified wooden nutcracker statues, reflecting the features of each of the Smokejumpers. There's five on the mantle in the mess hall for them, and another shelf that holds a handful more for the jumpers past.

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juno-infernal · 4 months

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the first christmas after my brother died, my family—with gritted teeth and grim, unspoken determination— went through the motions of tradition. our efforts produced varying degrees of success. we purchased gifts and (mostly) managed to wrap them. we put up a few strands of lights, though only inside the house. we bought a christmas tree and plopped it down in the center of the living room, where it sat entirely undecorated and mostly ignored.

none of us had the willpower to dig through my parents’ garage for the box of decorations, or to see my brother’s toothy grin in cheesy childhood photo ornaments, or to remember the way he’d take charge of the tree-decorating process whenever he was around, cajoling the moodier family members (like myself) into resentful participation and relaying our grandmother’s aesthetic directives with great seriousness and purpose. i looked at that tree and i could see him so clearly, in his battlejacket and stupid light-up reindeer antlers, telling me to turn off the shitty emo mixtape and be part of the family. remembering was like touching a hot stove. it was another unbearable task in a season that had been full to the brim with them.

on christmas eve the year my brother died, we all looked at the bare tree, and at each other’s hollow, exhausted faces, and collectively decided to go to bed early. there was nothing else for it.

it was the first time my then-partner spent the holidays with us. he didn’t know my family very well at all, and he’d never met my older brother. he did his best with my grief, but it was hard. he hadn’t experienced that kind of loss. often he did not know what to do or say, and i did not know what i needed, and it was a painful mess that ensnared us both as we struggled to build a relationship in its shadow.

that night, when everyone else headed to bed, he tracked down a box of scrapbook paper languishing somewhere in the house and set to work. he spent the entire night carefully cutting and folding and affixing, and when the rest of us got up the next day, the tree was strung with dozens and dozens of beautiful origami hearts. my family is not the “crying in front of people” sort, but everyone cried.

5 years later, my mother still has all of those paper hearts in a box in her bedroom (except for a few my sister took home with her, and the one i keep in my wallet) and they make an appearance in the decorations every year.

the heart-maker and i aren’t together anymore or even on speaking terms, but i think i will carry that act of kindness with me forever. now when i reach out to love someone in the deep trenches of new grief, i remember that no words of condolence ever reached me there. but i also remember how it felt to wake up and see all those folded hearts, and my grandparents’ teary-eyed joy, and someone who loved me passed out on the couch, surrounded by bits of paper.

#m #grief #suicide cw #Christmas cw //#long post #(i myself a m neither a christian nor a christmas-enjoyer at all but that’s not the point.)

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candycandy00 · 4 months

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Christmas Past - A Gojo x Reader Drabble (with a side of Gojo x Geto)

Just a little Christmas drabble. Gojo x Reader with Gojo x Geto in flashbacks. No Smut! Some angst though.

Basically me venting my complicated feelings on Christmas through fic (I both love Christmas and despise it). Any comments or feedback is greatly appreciated!

When Satoru comes to your apartment one evening he finds you in your living room, decorating an artificial tree with lights and ornaments. He knows what’s approaching, the decorations springing up all over town refusing to let him forget. But somehow he had succeeded in blocking out the exact date from his mind.

Until you beam at him in your cute Christmas sweater and say, “Merry Christmas Eve!” with a giggle.

Christmas Eve. His least favorite day of the year. Because it’s also an anniversary that he doesn’t want to think about.

But you wouldn’t know that. Of course you wouldn’t. You’re from a sorcerer branch in the U.S., relocated to Japan only a few months ago.

So you stand there smiling, Christmas music playing in the background, lighted garland strung around the room. “In America I decorate in November, but I didn’t want to be obnoxious,” you say. He notices a large plastic star in your hands. “Could you put this on top? I can’t reach.”

He takes the star from you and looks down at it. What can he say to his girlfriend? It just doesn’t seem right to blurt out, “Sorry babe but I can’t celebrate your favorite holiday with you because I killed the most important person in the world to me on Christmas Eve.” So instead he says, “Sure,” as he crosses over to the tree and places the star on the top branch, careful to keep it straight.

He stands back and looks at it, you wrapping an arm around his waist. “Doesn’t it look beautiful?” you ask.

He smiles down at you. “Nowhere near as beautiful as you.”

“Oh stop,” you say with a laugh, playfully slapping him. Then you take his hand and pull him toward the kitchen. “Come over here.”

You stop in the doorway and look up. He follows you gaze and grins. “Mistletoe?”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’m not sure if the tradition is the same here, but when two people are under this, they’re supposed to-“

He suddenly kisses you, right on the lips. It’s a deep and sensual kiss that has you wrapping your arms around his neck. And he can’t help remembering a different kiss under the mistletoe, at a Christmas party so long ago.

There were laughing friends and delicious snacks and Jingle Bells playing from someone’s CD player in the empty classroom. The teachers had agreed to let the students use it for their party so long as they cleaned up the mess afterward. Satoru wore a Santa coat open over his school uniform, Suguru wore a headband with antlers attached, lighting up in red and green. Shoko was dressed as an elf and Haibara wore a full reindeer costume. Someone had placed a Santa hat on Nanami, who shockingly had not thrown it off yet.

“Look up, guys,” Shoko had said, pointing at the ceiling above Satoru and Suguru. Mistletoe was hanging there over their heads. The two of them had acted disgusted but then laughed. And then, on a whim, Satoru pulled his friend closer and kissed him. Shoko laughed, probably assuming they were just goofing off as usual. Haibara whistled loudly. If Nanami had any reaction, Satoru didn’t remember it.

But he did remember Suguru’s. The other boy kissed him back, deeply, and Satoru had been surprised by how much he liked it. There would be many more kisses to follow.

Still, that Christmas Eve night with his friends had been so special to Satoru. It was the last Christmas they all spent together. By the following year, one of them was dead and one of them was gone.

You finally break the kiss, needing to come up for air and wondering why Satoru is so clingy all of a sudden. His hands are clasped behind your back, holding you close as if he might lose you if he lets go. He wouldn’t survive that, he thinks. He couldn’t live through losing the love of his life twice.

So he grins and jokes through the evening, putting on a Santa hat you gave him, drinking alcohol-free eggnog and singing along to Christmas songs in a loud, intentionally off key voice, all to make you smile. And behind the laughter and the merriment, his heart aches over his final memories with Suguru. Finding his dearest one near death, bleeding out, wanting to help him but knowing he had to finish him off instead… it very nearly killed Satoru.

You notice something off about his attitude tonight. He’s a little too friendly, a little too cheerful. He’s hiding something. “Are you alright?” you ask him, and the fact that you can peek through his mask makes him love you all the more.

He puts his arm around you again. “I’ll tell you all about it someday,” he says. “But not tonight. I want to make some happy memories tonight.”

You smile and snuggle closer to his side. “Merry Christmas, Satoru.”

He hugs you tightly, smiling genuinely for the first time tonight. “Merry Christmas.”

#gojo x reader #Gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #x reader #gojo x geto #Christmas fanfic #christmas fic #Gojo x reader fluff

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doe-eyed-fool · 1 month

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Prey | Chapter Two

Alastor x Fem!Reader

It was another busy day, rushing and trying not to trip as you brought food and drinks to awaiting costumers, and cleaning up the tables when they left. Thankfully, near the end of the day was somewhat easier. Most people would not be attending the diner that late in the evening, but you still had a few that would come in. Maybe five at the very most, if you were lucky.

As you were cleaning up a table, you hummed a tune. It was a song Alastor had played on his radio show earlier that day, and it had gotten stuck in your head. You sang a few words before going back to just humming them.

You always loved music, ever since you were a child, you would use any free time you had to settle by the radio and listen in. Your parents were just as passionate about music as you were, in fact, encouraging you to sing. When you were a kid, you loved to sing, especially if your parents joined in.

It was a fun thing to do as a family. You'd even put on "performances" for them sometimes. You'd stand up on a chair, and sing your little heart out for them. And they loved it, ate it up practically.

However, when your parents died a few years ago, you didn't feel that same passion for singing like you use to.

But every now and then, you'd find yourself singing. Whether it be looking back on memories of your parents, or just out of boredom.

While occupied by cleaning, you hadn't notice the person walking up behind you.

As you turn, you let out a quick gasp. "Oh!" Then you calmed as you noticed who it was. "Al, my goodness, don't do that." You sigh. How was he so quiet?

Alastor chuckled. "My apologize. I wanted to surprise you." You roll your eyes and cracked a small smile. "Well, you were successful. What are you doing here?" You ask. "Your shift is about to end, right? How about after you finish up here, I take you back home with me to celebrate?" He suggests. I give him a confused look.

"Celebrate my shift ending?" I raise an eyebrow. Alastor returned the same confused glance. "Y/n, dear, did you forget? It's your birthday."

Oh, that's right! Today is my birthday. "Gosh, how could I forget that?" I sigh, putting a hand to my head. "Perhaps, because you are overworked." Alastor smirks. "Better watch what you say Al." I say quietly. "My boss might hear."

My boss didn't care for Alastor, or people who looked like Alastor. It's a shame you have to work for such a man. If you had any choice, you'd give him a piece of your mind and storm out. Alastor's offer became more tempting every day, when it comes that old bigot...

"Let him." Alastor says bluntly. "I'm not afraid of lowly men like himself."

"Alastor. Please." I say firmly. Alastor backs off, for now. "Alright, alright. Anyhow, what do you say? I'd like to treat you to a nice dinner, maybe have a drink or two. You deserve it, you work so hard after all."

My smile returns to my face. He really was too sweet. "Ok. Just let me finish up here and I'll be right out."

The walk to Alastor's home would have been too long, so he drove the two of you there. With the money he had, he could have the best looking car out there. But he had one just like any other person did. As long as it drove, it was fine. That's what he would always thought.

His home on the other hand, was a different story.

It wasn't a mansion, but it was one of the more decent looking homes in town. Bigger than his old childhood home. Anyone could take one look at that house and think, "yeah, he's got money".

Alastor pulled up to the house, got out of the car and walked to the passenger side to let me out, like the gentlemen he is. I thank him and step out.

He leads you up to the house and let's you inside. The inside was just as, if not more, beautiful than the outside. Spacious and well kept, wonderfully decorated. Alastor liked hunting, deer specifically. So of course, he'd have a few antlers hung on his walls here and there. But of course it wasn't all antlers, he had framed pictures like any normal household.

Mostly of his mother.

Alastor lost his mother some time back. He was only seventeen when she died. It was one of the darkest times in his life. The worst you've ever seen him, depressed and unkept. He barely ate, he didn't even want to stay in that house. It hurt him too much, to be in the very place she died. It was haunting.

There so many memories made in that house. And after she died, he couldn't even bare to look at it.

But eventually, he accepted things, and went back. That's were he would stay as he would start his radio show career.

As you walked further into the house, a delicious aroma filled your nose. "You cooking something?" You asked. "It's my mother's old jambalaya recipe. I finished it a while ago, but I made sure to keep it warm for you."

"Ooh, I already know it's gonna to be good." Your stomach growled just thinking about it. "Your mother was always a great cook."

"She was." Alastor smiles fondly. "Come on." He leads you to the dining room.

Dinner was amazing, Alastor inherited many great qualities from his mother, and cooking was most certainly one of them. Throughout the meal, you and him talked about lots of things, but decided to keep work out of the discussion. Even Alastor had enough of his job at certain times, especially when inspiration failed to find him.

"Oh, I really shouldn't have anymore Al. I have work in the morning. I can't work with a nasty hangover, now can I?" You laugh lightly, as Alastor pours you another glass. "I think you can handle one more. You did when you went dancing with me some time back." Alastor says with a smirk. "Why don't we ever do that anymore, Y/n?"

"Well, we did all that when we weren't fully committed to work. You, with your radio show. Me, with the diner." You sigh. "But those we're good times, huh? Oh...to be young again."

"Y/n, you're twenty five as of today." Alastor chuckles. You laugh and take another sip. "See what this does to me." You say, holding up your glass. "I do wish things could be easy as they were back then though. We were new adults, just trying to have some fun before life finally settled in."

Alastor hums. "I don't life is suppose to be easy." He starts. "But I do understand what you mean. Responsibility comes for us all, in the end. Otherwise, we can't really call ourselves adults, now can we?"

"Mhm." You nod. "Al?"

"Yes?"

"What would you be doing, if you didn't start your radio show?" You ask. Alastor took a second to think before answering. "I don't know really. It's always been a passion of mine, the radio. I can't imagine a life without doing it. What about you?" He asks. "If you weren't working in that diner."

"I'd want to sing." Maybe it was the alcohol that made you truthfully answer, because normally you would have kept such a dream to yourself. You set your glass down, not really looking at Alastor as you spoke. "But, I'm afraid I missed the chance to chase after that dream. Like you said, we all got responsibilities. I can't waste my life trying for something, I know I won't be able to achieve."

"What makes you think that?" Alastor asks. You look at him, and smile weakly. "Look at me. Do I look like the type of person that screams, potential?"

Money was always the bane of your existence. You could never afford to make yourself look "proper", it was usually hand-me-downs or dirt cheap dresses you had to mend yourself to fit right. People would take one look at you, and know just what your financial status was.

"I'd be turned down right away." You tell him. "Y/n. I've heard you sing." Said Alastor. "If they heard you, they would have no choice but to accept you...I tell you what." He begins. "How about I talk with Mimzy and-"

"Alastor, you don't have to do that." You cut interrupt him gently. "I don't even know Mimzy that well."

"Oh, but I do." Alastor smirks. "Me and her go way back, she'll listen to me." He stands up from his seat and walks over to you. He takes your hand and you stand as well. "Y/n, you wouldn't let me help you before. And I think it's because you think you can handle yourself and earn whatever money you get. That's fine." He continues. "But, if you are really wanting this, then let me help you take the first step. I want you to be happy Y/n, and I know you're not happy at that diner. Not really. So please..." His hold on your hands tightened slightly.

"Let me do this for you."

You sigh softly. "I get the feeling you wont stop pestering me if I say no." Alastor shrugs, you smile. "Alright. But if she says no, I don't want you bothering her with it any further."

"Wonderful! I'll stop by her lounge, first thing int he morning! You won't regret this, Y/n. I swear it."

You hope you wouldn't. But, you trusted Alastor. If there was anyone who could convince someone to do a favor, it was Alastor. He was just gifted with that charm of his. And the smile didn't hurt either, in fact, it's what landed him in a lot of good situations.

Maybe you had a chance after all...

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel

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