#thanksgiving fic

[bifuriouswaterbender]

Thanksgiving Traditions

Written for the @steddiemicrofic November prompt rest with 387 words. Rated G.

"I couldn't eat another bite," Eddie declared, putting his hands behind his head. "Thank you, Joyce. It was delicious."

"Don't just thank me," she said. "Steve and Will did as much of the work, and it was Wayne's gravy."

"I made the pie!"

"Here I thought it came from professionals." Eddie winked at Eleven, enjoying her beaming grin.

"Still," Wayne said, "you all did a nice job."

"Which means," Eddie sighed, "it's time for a nice post-Thanksgiving nap."

"Oh no…" Steve leaned across the table, his face a clear challenge. "We have a specific set of rules around here."

Eddie blinked. "And those don't involve naps?"

"Oh, they do," Steve said. "Some of us will get some quality rest in a few minutes."

"Some?" Eddie repeated.

Will chimed in, "Those who cooked."

"There's two jobs," Joyce explained with a twinkle of mirth in her eye. "Cooking and dishes. If you didn't do the cooking…"

"It's time to do the dishes," Hopper finished. "You, me, and the two yahoos when they come back from their walk."

His tone made it clear he didn't believe Jonathan and Argyle were on an innocent walk. Eddie thought it was cruel they hadn't warned him.

"Off to work then?" Eddie asked.

"Start picking up plates," Hopper grunted.

Eddie shot Steve a panicked look, but didn't the acknowledge the plea. "Have fun."

Eddie and Hopper didn't have quality time together. As an ex-member of the Hopper's Stern Warnings Club, Eddie had never pushed to try and fix their relationship now. He and Wayne had been invited as a curtesy to Wayne and a fondness for Steve. Eddie did not factor into the equation.

He swallowed hard and began scraping leftovers onto one plate to make cleanup in the kitchen go as smoothly as possible. He could do this.

An hour and a half later, Eddie trudged into the living room and collapsed on top of Steve on the couch.

"Hard work?" Steve teased, pressing a kiss to Eddie's head.

"My hands are pruney, and Hopper sprayed me on purpose three times."

"Don't worry," Steve said. "That means Hop likes you."

Eddie looked up and caught a smile on Hopper's face as he watched them from the doorway. Eddie felt a surge of fondness, even as he said, "I'll take your word for it."

#steddie #steddie fic #steddiemicrofic #thanksgiving fic #thanksgiving #my writing #my fanfic

[viking-raider]

Thankful

Summary: For Thanksgiving, you decide to take part of a military support group event and host a Veteran, having them over for dinner. Forming a lasting bond with a certain Captain.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warning: G - Cotton Candy Goodness, Angst, Mention of Loss of Family Member, Mourning, Cold Mother, Embarrassed!Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Use, Fluff, Friendly Bets, Southern Charm

Inspiration: It’s for Thanksgiving. 🍗

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS! My Syverson's first name is Austin.

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY

You had received the message from one of the countless Military support groups you were a part of about the Sponsoring a Veteran for Thanksgiving event, and if you were interested in participating. You had hesitated for a couple days, before finally caving. You didn't have much family left of your own, just your mother. Since your father passed, when you were a kid and your only sibling, a brother, had been killed in the line of duty. Which was why you were a member of the support groups, looking to keep a closeness to him, and find some sort of peace with his death.

“All right.” The lead organizer, retired Lieutenant Sarah Timmans, sighed, looking over her clipboard at the list of names of all the Veterans that had been signed up for the event. “Your mother knows you're hosting a Vet, right?” She asked, cocking a brow at you, knowing how sensitive and touchy your mother was still about being around anything directly Military.

“I told her, I was bringing a friend over.” You answered, biting your lip nervously, knowing your mother's own mood swings on the subject.

“Girl, she's going to flip out on you.” Sarah said, shaking her head, eyes bulging. “Maybe, you should just do something one-on-one with them?” She suggested, trying to bypass a disaster.

“She's expecting us, and I'll get an earful, if I skip another family gathering.”

Sarah snorted at you, smirking. “It's your KP!” She teased, going down the list to find your name and who you'd been assigned. “So, your Vet is Captain Austin Syverson. He just retired seven months ago after nineteen years in the service of the U.S Army. Special Forces.” She informed you, looking up from the clipboard to scan the crowded room for a moment.

“Ah, there he is!” She smiled, motioning behind you.

Turning around and following her gaze, you were surprised for a moment, standing on the other side of the room, in a small cluster of other Vets, was a tall, thickly muscular guy, with a shaved head and well groomed beard. Everything about him exuded authority, self-confidence and calm. He was so damn handsome in his pair of dark wash blue jeans, brown cowboy boots and fleshly ironed, black dress shirt that was tucked in, showing off his belt buckle. Your insides tingled as you stared at him, throat going dry.

“Damn, that's a Texas boy.” You mumbled under your breath.

“Sure is.” Sarah agreed, checking him out as well. “You should go introduce yourself, before he thinks you stood him up.” She added, a hint of encouragement in her voice.

“God, you're right.” You started, frightened he just might, then weaved through the crowd towards him, pausing for a moment, until he noticed you. “Hi there.” You beamed up at him, your knees like a nervous jelly.

“Ma'am.” Syverson greeted you back with a Southern drawl, tipping his head forward.

“I'm your host, Captain Syverson.” You informed him, introducing yourself.

“Oh.” He replied, giving you a proper look over, a smile pulling over his lips as he took your lovely figure in the white, knee-length dress covered in delicate yellow flowers, paired with black flats. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” He said, his bright blue eyes meeting yours once more. “You can just call me, Sy.”

“Nice to meet you as well, Sy.” You answered, cordially extending your hand.

Smirking broader, Sy gently took your hand in his, shaking it. “I'm grateful that you've allowed me impose myself on you and your family's holiday.”

“Oh, it's quite all right.” You waved it off, shrugging your shoulders. “It's really just me and my mom, so nothing major.”

“Well, I'm just a Captain, so it'll literally be nothing Major.” Sy quipped, making the group around him crackle at the inside joke.

You dropped your head, hiding your amused smile, knowing the two of you were more than likely to get along, if he had that sense of humor. “Fair.” You nodded, lifting your head. “More than fair. Well, we can leave whenever you like.”

Sy turned over his wrist to glance at his watch. “We can go now, if you like.” He replied, twisting to a chair that was behind him and picking up a black, denim Sherpa coat off the back. “I'll see you boys later. Have a good Thanksgiving.” He bid the men, patting a couple on the shoulder, before following you out of the building.

“You can follow me to my place or we can ride together.” You told Sy, standing on the sidewalk with him, chewing on your lip.

“I can follow.” Sy answered, smiling down at you. “My truck's just over there.” He said, motioning over to the big, 2021 Dodge Ram, parked a short distance away.

“Okay. I'm just right there.” You informed him, pointing out your little KIA Niro.

“On your lead then, Major.” Sy quipped, winking at you, before heading off towards his truck.

“Christ,” You huffed, watching after him for a moment, your hand moving up to a necklace around your neck. “He reminds me so much of you, Phelan.” You sighed, then made for your vehicle.

Pulling out of the parking space, your phone started to ring, so you connected the car's Bluetooth. “Mother.” You answered, glancing in your rear-view, to make sure Sy was behind you, before you started out of the parking lot and into the street.

“How much longer are you going to be?” Your mother snapped through the car's speakers.

“I'm just leaving now, mom.” You sighed, pressing your lips together. “I had to find my friend and now we're heading there now. We should be there in about ten or so minutes.”

“Why is he spending Thanksgiving with us? Doesn't he have his own family?” She demanded, clearly pacing the house.

“I'm sure he has a family, mother. But I invited him over to ours and he accepted. So, please, be nice to him. He's a very polite and outstanding person, who doesn't need to be pestered and guilt tripped, or reminded his mother is lucky, that her son is still alive and not in the military and so on.” You hoped to warn and deter her from her usual interaction with the males she came into contact with. “Let's just have a nice dinner, for once.”

“How can we, when your brother isn't here.” She growled, then the line went dead.

“At least, I'm here.” You sighed, deflated by her words. “I should really warn Sy before we get into the house.” You thought, then pushed that unpleasantness aside.

Sy managed to keep behind your car, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. He felt a little nervous about going to a random, pretty young lady's home to have Thanksgiving dinner with her mother. However, he didn't have any other plans for the holiday under his belt, other than staying on the ranch he'd started up on his return home with Aika.

“Idle hands are the devil's workshop.” He commented aloud, following you off the on-ramp.

It would have just been him and his pup, working the horses all day, before making another ten minute meal and sitting in front of his laptop, since he still hadn't gotten around to buying himself a proper tv for the living room. So, he let one of his buddies nag him into signing up for the event. Sy wasn't at all disappointed either.

You were more than easy on his eyes.

Finally making it outside your place, you got out and met Sy in your driveway, shifting glances between him and the front door.

“Are you all right?” Sy asked, squinting down at you.

“Okay, look.” You blurted out, not looking back at him. “My mom is super touchy about the military.” You started to explain to Sy, giving him an embarrassed glance.

“Why?” He frowned, confused.

Your shoulders slumped slightly and a tired expression washed over your face. “My brother died in Afghanistan six years ago. My mom has taken that to her heart and soul. So anything military tends to set her off.”

“Then, should I even be here?” Sy asked, concerned about causing your mother any distress.

“It's my house and you're my guest.” You told him, bluntly. “I want you here for dinner. It'll be nice to have someone over that might actually engage with me.” You said, heading up the footpath towards the front door. “And not remind me that I'm not my dead, older brother.” You added under your breath, but Sy's sharp ear heard you all the same.

“Mom!” You called out, toeing off your shoes as you stood in the entry with Sy. “We're here.”

“Took long enough.” Her voice echoed back somewhere in the house.

You looked up at Sy. “I'm so sorry.” You mouthed, shaking your head.

“It's all right.” He smiled, his hand touching the back of your arm.

“Do you want something to drink?” You asked, showing him into the kitchen and pulling open the fridge. “Got wine, a couple bottles.” You twisted your upper half to peek at an upper shelf. “Looks like she's left my Ardbeg whiskey alone.”

“I wouldn't mind a little whiskey.”

Nodding, you shut the fridge and got down two glasses with the whiskey bottle. “Straight or on the rocks?”

“What are you having?” Sy asked, leaning back against your sink, a twinkle of mischievous curiosity in his eyes.

“The rocks.” You answered, a playful smirk tugging on your lips.

Sy drew a breath in through his nose, pressing his lips together as he nodded. “Impressed.”

“Thank you.” You chuckled, grabbing a couple ice cubes from the freezer and dropped them into your glasses, then poured you and Sy a generous amount of amber liquid. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” Sy tipped his head, taking the glass from you and took a sip. “Damn, that's smooth.”

“Mmm, for a twenty year old bottle, it should be.” You snorted, taking a gulp of yours.

“Twenty years.” Sy choked slightly. “Damn, almost as long as I was in--” He caught himself, eyes shooting to the two kitchen entrances. “Well, you know.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, a little stiff, praying your mother was lurking nearby, and polished off your drink, before moving over to the oven, revealing a nice sized turkey, just starting to turn a golden brown, filling the kitchen with a mouth-watering scent. “I started this about an hour and a half ago, so it should have about another hour or so to go. While it does that, I can show you around.”

“And, if you're as much of a Texan as I think you are, I'll pop the football game on.”

“You don't have to put the game on.” Sy laughed, feeling called out. “We can watch whatever you and your mother want. I'd hate to impose.”

“Captain Austin Syverson, you're not imposing.” You informed him, putting your foot down.

Sy's eyes widened and he gave you a half smirk. “I do love a woman that takes charge. Yes, ma'am, if you say so.”

“Besides, I'd love to see the Chiefs kick the Cowboys ass.” You added, teasingly.

“Oh, you're a traitor to your home state!” Sy gasped, horror on his face.

“Texas isn't my home state.” You giggled at him, then tisked. “Kansas isn't either, to be far.” You snorted, amused by the banter. “But I like Mahomes.”

“What's wrong with Dak Prescott?”

“Nothing! He's a great QB. I'm just a Chiefs girl.”

“I may have to call this Thanksgiving off.” Sy said, draining his whiskey glass and set it on the counter behind him and pushed off the edge. “To eat at the same table as a Chiefs girl, may just be too much for this ol' Texas boy.”

You were worried for a moment that Sy was genuine, and felt terrible for bringing it up, until you finally noticed the look in his eye and relaxed. He had a dry humor and pulled it out on you, catching you good.

“Shoot, you had me there.” You chuckled, breathy.

He winked at you, amusing you more with his cute double blink.

“Well,” You sighed, looking at the kitchen. “This is the kitchen.”

“A very nice kitchen.” Sy echoed, nodding and rubbing a hand over the counter top. “Nice and clean.”

“Thank you, I do my best.” You replied, bowing your head. “Out that way is the dining room, where we'll be having dinner.” You said, motioning to your right, and Sy peeked in, finding a long, glass table already set for three people with nice little autumn decorations as a centerpiece. “Over here, is the living room, where we'll probably be starting our football rivalry.”

You showed him into the living room, just as your mother came downstairs, in nothing but a pair of loose shorts, a tank top and an open bathrobe, a half glass of white wine clutched in her hand. You felt a cold shard of embarrassment go down your back. You had hoped, when you told her you were going to get Sy, she would have dressed into something—anything.

“Mom, this is Sy.” You told her, keeping your voice even. “Sy, this is my mother, Dana.” You introduced them, chewing the inside of your lip to bits.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma'am.” Sy greeted her politely, nodding his head kindly, like nothing was out of place.

She looked Sy over, taking a gulp of her wine. “How do you and my daughter know each other?” She inquired, lifting a brow at him.

You stiffened, you hadn't considered fielding that question from her while Sy was over.

“Work.” Sy said, casually.

“So, she's your accountant?” Dana pressed and showed no sign of easing off.

“I am.” You chimed in, hoping to get her to drop the subject and leave Sy alone.

“That she is.” Sy confirmed, backing you up. “Helps me out with my ranch.” He told Dana, tapping that belt buckle at his waist, bearing the Hook Hill Ranch logo on it.

“Hmm.” Your mother grunted, not sounding convinced. “Why aren't you spending Thanksgiving with your family?” She asked, giving Sy a hard look.

“Mom!” You snapped, horrified.

“It's all right.” He assured you, giving you a soft smile. “I'm an only child. I've never known my father and my mother ran off, when I was ten years old, leaving me to be raised by uncle, her brother. He had a heart attack three years ago, while milkin' his cows. So, it's just me and my dog, Aika, nowadays. Your daughter was kind enough to ask me over to your Thanksgiving dinner, and I accepted.”

“Satisfied?” You asked, annoyed your mother caused Sy to divulge such personal information.

Rolling her eyes, your mother turned in a flare of her bathrobe and headed back upstairs.

“Turkey will be done in an hour!” You called after her, with no reply. “I'm so sorry.” You said, turning back to Sy.

“It's okay.” He said softly, more concerned for you. “Is there anything I can do to help you finish up with dinner?”

“Um,” You tapped your foot. “No, I don't think so. Besides, you're my guest. You should relax.” You told him, waving over to the couch. “I can handle everything.” You assured him, rounding the arm of the couch to swipe the remote of the coffee table and turned the tv on, quickly finding the football game. “Ooh, Cowboys are beating the Chiefs by two points!” You hissed, casting a glance over your shoulder at Sy.

Sy moved to join you, holding your gaze. “I bet you a round of drinks, at a later time, that the Cowboys beat your Chiefs.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Syverson?” You asked, surprised.

“I am.” He admitted, unashamed.

“Then, you're on.” You grinned, giving him a cocky look. “But, if the Chiefs win, I want to see your ranch.”

“Bold.” Sy smirked, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “I'll even cook for you.”

“Sold.” You agreed, extending your hand out to him.

He shook your hand, then sat down on the couch, getting comfortable to watch the game, while you returned to the kitchen. Pausing for a moment, you refilled his whiskey glass and took it out to him, giving him a soft smile as you set the cool glass down on a coaster and went back to prepping dinner. Sy watched you over the back of the couch, moving and bumping about, taking a deep breath and taking all the lovely smells of your hard work wafting towards him and making his belly rumble.

Lord have mercy, she's gorgeous.

“You sweet on my daughter?” Dana's voice came up behind him.

Sy's head swung around to look back at her, seeing she'd finally gotten dressed, now wearing a pair of black leggings and a loose, cream colored jumper, but no shoes or socks. “I just might be.” He answered, meeting her gaze head on. “She's a sweet, generous young lady.”

“Young lady, how old are you?” Dana huffed, dropping down into a recliner at the end of the couch.

“I'm thirty-eight.” Sy replied, with an odd amusement.

Dana looked Sy over, her gray eyes scrutinizing. “At least you're both in your thirties.” She huffed, curling her legs underneath her and glared at the tv.

What a curious woman. Sy blinked, shaking his head at her.

The two of them sat quietly, not speaking or interacting with each other any further. Which didn't bother either Sy or Dana. You peeked in at them from time to time, scurrying out to fill Sy's glass, whenever you noticed it was empty and always asking if he needed or wanted something, before vanishing back into the kitchen or dining room.

You wanted the dinner to be as great as possible for Sy, and your mother.

“Dinner is ready, everyone!” You declared, coming into the living room, glancing at the football score, discovering the Chiefs had recovered since the last time you'd entered, now ahead by four points.

“Smells delicious.” Sy complimented you, as he and your mother came into the dining room, finding the set table.

The turkey was juicy and golden-brown, slices already carved and on a plate beside it, with sides of stuffing, mashed potatoes, rolls and cornbread muffins, yams with marshmallows, peas and asparagus, accompanied with pecan and pumpkin pie. There were two decanters of red and white wine, a bottle of Ardbeg, and a pitcher of iced tea.

“Thank you.” You grinned with shy pride, biting the inside of your lip. “Sit wherever you like and dig in.” You said, motioning to the chairs around the table, before slipping into one.

Sy joined you, winking at you, as he picked up a plate and started helping himself, piling his plate with meat, rolls, yams and cornbread. “Mmm, this is amazing.” He hummed, nodding his head and chewing his mouthful of turkey and mashed potatoes.

You were giddy that Sy was so in love with your cooking, glancing towards your mother, who was at the end of the table. But found she was sipping a glass of red and nibbling on a buttered roll, to your slight dismay. Pushing the feeling away, you fixed your plate and dug in, moaning at how tasty it was.

“So, your team was winning.” Sy commented, giving you a side brow as he continued to eat.

“Yeah, I noticed.” You smirked, feeling bubbly, as you poured yourself some wine. “Looks like we'll be spending some more time together.”

“That it does.” He nodded, feeling your mother's eyes on him. “I'll have to show you the new foal that was born last week.”

A flood of excitement filled you, you loved the thought of seeing a baby horse. “Oh! I bet they're just the cutest thing on the planet!” You gushed, eyes bright with love already. “What did you name it?”

“Oh, I haven't named the little rascal, yet.” Sy laughed, watching you just gush. “Maybe, you could help me come up with a name for her?” He suggested, looking at you over the rim of his whiskey glass.

“Hmm.” You hummed, falling into a meditative state as you brewed over a name for the baby horse.

“So,” Dana cleared her throat, eyes narrowed between you and Sy. “You're a Rancher?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Sy nodded, turning to regard her, nothing by polite respect in his expression.

“How long have you been one?” She questioned, swirling the wine in her glass.

“Ranchin' has been in my family for generations.” Sy replied, not letting her trip him up. “My many great-grandfather came over from Ireland, just after the American Revolution. Then, when the Civil War happened, my family fought and were granted land at the end, for their service. We've been doing it ever since.”

“So, your family fought for the South.” Dana said bluntly, causing you to choke on your food.

“Mother.” You rasped, eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“No, ma'am.” Sy said coolly. “We fought for the North.” He told her, and left it at that.

“Are you satisfied?” You asked her slowly, eyes still wide and mouth agape.

“No.” She answered, getting up and leaving the room.

“I'm so sorry, Sy.” You stuttered, ashamed of your mother.

“It's all right, love.” He shook his head, wiping his hands on his napkin. “It's not your fault. It's not hers either, really.” He said softly. “She's mourning her son, and doing so takes the form in many ways. That's how your Ma is coping with your brother no longer being on this Earth.” He told you, resting back in his chair and fixing his blue eyes on you. “You're coping by going to support groups and trying to understand the kind people that he was, that he worked with, that he died surrounded by.”

You bit your lip, a lump of emotion strangling you and blurring your eyes; Sy was right. You wanted to be surrounded by those like your brother. It was like still having him there, in a way. You felt the strong, rough warmth of Sy's hand slip into yours, squeezing it and rubbing his thumb over your wrist as the two of you sat there, quiet and surrounded by your Thanksgiving feast.

“You know,” Sy spoke, breaking the silence. “I could actually use an accountant for my ranch.” He said, smirking over at you. “Plus, how about drinks at my place, while you figure out a new name for my foal? Who cares who wins the game.” He chuckled, arching a suggestive brow at you.

“Are you hinting at a sort of date, Syverson?” You asked, playfully thumb warred him.

“It's possible.” Sy laughed, letting you pin his thumb. “Maybe, I'll even cook you Christmas dinner.”

“Oh, I think I'd like that.” You told him, grinning, thankful you'd decided to host him for Thanksgiving.

#Syverson #Captain Austin Syverson #Thankful *fic* #Thankful #Viking-Raider Fics #Captain Syverson x Reader #Captain Syverson/Reader #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfiction #Syverson x Reader #Syverson/Reader #Fluff #Cotton Candy Fluff #Thanksgiving #Thanksgiving Fic

[eddiemunsons80sbaby]

Gobble You Up

Pairing: EddieMunsonxReader

Summary: Visiting your parents for Thanksgiving and you show Eddie your old room. He takes the opportunity for more.

18+ only

 You gave Eddie a reassuring smile as the two of you approached your childhood home. You had been dating for a few months now and he agreed to come home with you for Thanksgiving and meet your parents. You could tell he was nervous, he'd told you parents didn't tend to like him on sight, but you had no doubt he would win your mom and dad over. Your parents were not hard to impress.

Your mom threw open the door, beaming from ear to ear at seeing you back home, standing on her porch. She pulled you into a big hug and then immediately pulled Eddie into one too. He looked a bit surprised, eyes going wide. But then he smiled, his arms coming around the small woman, touched at her affection that she gave so freely. You knew his mom hadn't been around since he was a kid and it was probably a bit shocking to experience a mother's warmth when you'd only just met but that was your mom.

"I am so glad you two could make it!" she exclaimed. "You must be Eddie. We've been dying to meet you. Y/n talks about you non-stop on the phone."

"Oh, hopefully all good things," he said, his neck flushing from the compliment and he pulled at his collar slightly. He was just waiting for the ax to fall, for her to give a reason why he wasn't right for her daughter.

"You should hear her gushing about how wonderful you are," your mom laughed, pinching his cheek gently. "Sorry, just had to prove to myself that you're real. The way she makes it out, you're just about perfect."

Eddie laughed, his cheeks blazing red at the compliment. "I promise you I'm as real as they come. Thank you so much for inviting me."

"Of course! Anyone who makes our daughter so happy is always welcome. Come in!"

The two of you entered your childhood home, the home that hadn't changed since you were a kid. Eddie paused at the pictures of you through the years that lined the buffet in the entryway. He grabbed one of you as a child and held it out, smiling.

"You were adorable," he commented, clutching it to his chest, those lush lips pouting.

You rolled your eyes, "Shut up. That was when my mom cut my hair herself."

"Well, I think you're cute as a button," he said, his finger pressing gently against your nose. "Still are."

The same floral pattern couches sat in the living room that your mom bought when you were ten. And there was your dad's recliner with your dad in it, as usual. He rose up as soon as he caught sight of you two and pulled you close before offering his hand to Eddie.

"Good to meet you, son," he boomed, patting Eddie on the back.

"You too sir," Eddie responded nervously.

"Oh, no need for that," your dad laughed, "just call me Keith. You're practically family now the way our girl talks about you."

Eddie's eyes widened. "Wow. You guys are really welcoming. I have to admit, I was a bit nervous."

"No need to be nervous," your dad assured him. "You make our little girl happy and that's all we care about. You're more than welcome."

Eddie reached over and squeezed your hand, that dimple you loved so much appearing on his cheek. A warmth spread through you at how quickly he was made to feel at home because you knew this was where he belonged forever. It may have only been a few months, but you knew this was it for you. He was your everything.

"Y/n, why don't you show Eddie your room? You guys can relax for a bit after your long drive," your mom offered. "Your dad and I have to run to the store real quick to get a few things for dinner tomorrow and I want to make it there before they close."

"Oh, are you sure you don't want me to run with you mom?" you ask.

"No," your mom laughed, "you guys just got here. It was a long day for you. Just go on up and rest. I am sure you need it. We'll only be gone for about an hour or so."

Your parents headed out and Eddie glanced over at you. You could tell what he was thinking without him even having to say it. His eyes had darkened, a little smirk playing along his lips as he grabbed your hip, pulling you close against him.

"We have a whole hour to ourselves, whatever will we do to fill the time?" he teased.

You could already feel his excitement pressing against your lower belly and it flared white-hot desire in you. You slid your hands along his arms and up his shoulders, looping them behind his neck.

"Well, my mom did say I should show you my childhood room," you replied.

"I would very much like to see where your bed is."

You grabbed his hand, dashing up the stairs and pulling him behind you. Your bedroom was the second one on the left and you threw open the door, intending to shove him on the bed and rip off all his clothes but he stopped in the doorway, his hand tugging against yours.

He was gazing around your room, soaking in every detail. You looked around, trying to see it through his eyes. The blue comforter covered in daisies, the stuffed animals propped on a beanbag chair in the corner, the desk with the typewriter where you did all your homework in high school, the posters that covered your walls. Your mom hadn't changed anything since you'd left. Your train of thought was broken when you heard Eddie chuckling.

"Bon Jovi," he snorted, pointing.

"Shut up!" you snapped, glancing at your life-size poster of Jon that still hung on your wall. "Maybe Bon Jovi isn't metal enough for you but Jon is sexy as fuck."

"Ohh, is he now?" Eddie purred, slowly walking toward you. Grabbing your arm, he spun your body so you were facing the poster, your back pressed against him. His hands slid around to your breasts, massaging them through your top as his lips pressed gentle kisses along your neck. "And is Mr. Bon Jovi hotter than me?"

"No," you breathed, struggling to focus as his hands moved down along your abdomen, brushing the bare skin above your jeans. "No one is hotter than you."

"Good girl," he growled, nipping at the tender flesh on your neck and you cried out. His fingers nimbly undid your jeans, his hand sliding underneath your panties. "Did you used to lay in here and touch yourself while you looked at Jon?" His index finger found your clit, making slow, torturous circles. "Oh, you're so wet already princess. Is that for me or Jon?"

"You..." you struggled to say through the waves of pleasure that were sweeping you under. It was always the same with Eddie. You lost all sense of the world around you when he was touching you.

His finger slid along your folds, gently pushing inside of you and you gasped, bucking your hips against his hand. His other hand gripped your jaw, pulling your head to the side so he could have full access to your neck. A second finger joined the first, the rhythm of his movement picking up speed. A litany of curses and sounds no human should be able to create erupted from you.

"Mmm...is this just how you sounded when you lay in that bed touching yourself?"

"No," you whispered, "because I could never make myself feel as good as you do."

"That's right. No one can make you feel as good as I do," he responded, his fingers sliding out of you.

You whimpered at the sudden loss of him but then he grabbed your jeans, pulling them down your thighs and away from your feet, tossing them across the room. He placed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you until your back hit the wall.

"I know what I want for Thanksgiving dessert," he said, a wicked smile on his face as he dropped to his knees, hiking your thigh over his shoulder. "Mmm...gobble, gobble baby."

It was so ridiculous you wanted to laugh but then his tongue was on you, teasing along your clit, sliding along your folds, dipping into you and back out and you for anything else but the feel of him. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you lost all focus but you had to focus on keeping your one leg steady. It was the only thing keeping you from falling over. Your palms spread wide as they held the wall behind you, desperate for any support you could find.

"Jesus Christ Eddie..." you groaned.

His tongue swirled lazy circles around your clit before flicking at it rapidly. The sudden change in sensation was overwhelming. He continued this torturous pattern as his hands slid along your thighs and then his fingers were back inside of you, relentless in their pulsing.

"Fuck Thanksgiving dinner," he growled, sucking your clit in between his lips. "I just want to feast here all goddamn weekend."

One of your hands left the wall, the other remaining to hold yourself up. You buried your fingers in his hair, grinding yourself against his face, keeping him right where you needed him. He moaned against your pussy and the vibrations sent more waves of pleasure rocketing through you.

"Oh baby, I'm so close..." you moaned.

His tongue swept over your clit quickly, back and forth and then up and down. His fingers curved, rubbing against your walls in the exact perfect place to send you barreling over the edge. You screamed his name, shaking from head to foot, your leg giving out from under you.

Eddie caught you, sliding you into his lap and you sighed, resting your forehead against his shoulder. He pressed kisses along your cheek, nibbling on your ear, moving along your jaw, following a path to your shoulder. You could already feel yourself stirring again just at the feel of his lips along your flesh.

You grabbed his face, smashing your lips against his, gently pulling at his bottom lip with your teeth. He moaned against your mouth, gripping your ass in his hands. You stood up, him following suit, and feverishly worked on his jeans to get them off of him, quickly followed by his shirt.

Pressing your hands against his chest, you gave a sharp shove, sending him backwards onto the bed before crawling slowly over top of him, straddling his hips.

"Goddamn baby," he murmured, his eyes hooded with desire, his hands digging into your hips. "I like when you get feisty."

Smiling, you gripped his cock in your hand, sliding yourself along it but not letting it enter you. He cursed, his head falling back against the pillow, those beautiful mahogany waves splayed out like a mane. You slid the length of him all along your folds before allowing just the tip to slide past your entrance before pulling back.

"Jesus Christ..." he moaned, those fingers on your hips digging in so hard you were sure you'd have marks tomorrow. You didn't mind. Eddie had never truly hurt you, but you liked a little rough play. It gave you pleasure to wake up and see a little mark from his teeth or imprints from his fingers, reminding you that he was completely yours and you were his.

You slid the tip of him around your clit, using his cock for your own pleasure. Gripping him, your ran your hand up and down his length, allowing just the tip of him to enter you again before denying him once more.

"Shit baby, stop teasing me," he pleaded. "I need to be inside you now."

You slowly lowered yourself, taking all of him in. You moaned softly at how he completely filled you. Your hands gripped his shoulders as you began to ride him, propped on your knees as you lifted and lowered yourself on his cock.

"Fuck, you feel like heaven," he groaned, his fingers splayed wide over your hips, gripping them as he moved with you, bringing his own up as you brought yours down.

Your fingernails dug into his flesh and he hissed softly through his teeth. His hands slid from your hips, along your stomach, cupping your breasts. His thumbs began to brush over your nipples and you bit your lip, moving your hips in circles. This motion caused Eddie's cock to hit the most delicious places within you.

"Jesus Christ," you breathed.

Eddie gripped your hips again as he began to thrust up faster and harder. You gasped, gripping his chest for dear life as your body bounced vigorously with his thrusting.

"God, I love watching your tits when you ride me," he growled. "You look like a fucking goddess."

His thumb found your clit, stroking it as he continued to thrust. You arched your back, your hands moving to his thighs, whimpering as you moved closer and closer to the edge of sweet oblivion.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" you screamed, gripping his thighs for dear life as you rode out your orgasm, your whole body convulsing.

Eddie hand left your clit and grabbed onto your waist, steadying you as he drove into you even faster. His thrusts were causing you to feel like you might bounce right off of him. He screamed out your name as you felt his release.

"Jesus Christ..." he moaned, grabbing you and pulling you down on top of him. "Fuck, you are amazing."

"Mmm...you're pretty amazing yourself," you murmured, pleasantly numb from your head to your toes.

Eddie's hands grabbed your face, placing a gentle kiss against your lips.

"Well, I know what I'm thankful for," he said with a grin. 

#eddie munson #eddie the banished #stranger things eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x femreader #thanksgiving fic #eddie x reader #eddie the freak munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine

[smashing-teacups]

Thankless: Of Ruined Holidays and Changing Hearts

Canon-compliant, showverse, missing scene(s). Oneshot.

Thanksgiving 1960 and 1772 - Frank's POV, then Jamie's.

Two very different husbands, two very different family dynamics, the same unexpected wrench in the holiday plans.

1960 - Boston, Massachusetts

The phone rang just as Brianna was setting the table.

I shot Claire a warning look that went completely unheeded as she shouldered past me in a swish of silk and clacking heels. The instinct to call after her still rose to my lips after all these years; the knowledge that the breath would be wasted kept it there.

“Hello, this is Doctor Randall…”

Our daughter froze instantly, the last salad fork hovering inches over the placemat. 

“How many? Nancy, slow down. How many wounded?”

Just like that, I watched the light drain from my twelve year old’s face. She masked it well, brave girl; unlike her mother, she had a talented poker face. Quietly and without fanfare, Brianna took the cutlery, plate and wine glass from the third place setting and returned them to the china cabinet.

I crossed the room slowly and laid a hand on her shoulder, heavy with unspoken understanding. It wasn’t the first holiday her mother had ruined with her selfishness, her pigheaded insistence upon putting career over family. Bree flashed me a wan smile and reached up to squeeze my fingers appreciatively.

“More mashed potatoes for us, huh?” She tried for levity, and would have pulled it off had she been trying to fool anyone but me.

“We won’t leave a single bite,” I promised sotto vocce.

Drawing in a breath through her nose and releasing it in a sharp sigh, Bree clasped her hands together as she turned back to the table. “Shall we? Or do we wait for her to come back in and—”

“Darling, I’m so sorry…” Right on cue, Claire appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, already slinging her purse over one shoulder, the car keys jangling in her opposite hand. “There’s been a terrible accident on the Longfellow Bridge—”

“Yeah, I’m sure there was. It’s always something, right?” Even I was surprised by the venom in Bree’s voice; day by day, the little girl eager to defend her mother’s choices was yielding to the dark cynicism of an adolescent. Normally, I would have chided her for taking a tone — it was unbecoming of a young lady — but I couldn’t deny that a part of me had been anticipating the day when Brianna finally learned to stand up for herself. It had been far too long that she’d dutifully shouldered the burden of her mother’s negligence. 

Wounded, wide, golden eyes blinked twice before Claire took a half-step forward. “I understand,” she said with a physician’s practiced calm, “that it’s disappointing when I’m called away on the holidays. Trust me, this isn’t how I wanted to spend my Thanksgiving either.”

“So why are you?!” our daughter demanded, throwing her hands up and letting them flop back at her sides. “Why does it always have to be you? Why can’t the other surgeons take the call this time?”

Keep reading...

#Thankless #Outlander fanfic #Thanksgiving fic #jamie x claire #family feels #writing Frank's POV nearly killed me just fyi #smashingteacups

[frostandflamesfanfic]

Recipe for Family (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Recipe for Family (Rated G)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: None, except tooth-rotting fluff (I was in a mood guys)

Summary: Set Post-ST4. The year is 1990. Everyone has moved on since the events of Vol. 2 and living their lives, Steve more than others. He finally has everything he's ever wanted. Now it's Thanksgiving in Hawkins and he begins to realize more and more about what he's grateful for...and a lot of it has to do with you and the micro-clones you call your family.

“Are we sure that’s everything?”

“Potatoes, cranberry sauce, turkey’s in the oven…I think that’s everything, babe.” Steve’s eyes raked over the rows of platters which were currently littered across the kitchen island. This was one of the first times he could really remember seeing his parents’ kitchen full of this much life and chaos.

Actually, that was a lie.

The first time the Harrington family kitchen at this level of chaos was in the early days of your relationship, when you had first started dating. Steve had mentioned how much he had disliked the holiday season. What point was there to celebrating the holidays if you didn’t have people to share it with? This had evidently been a mistake to tell you, as on the morning of that Thanksgiving, you and Dustin were perched on his doorstep with an abundance of shopping bags and baked goods.

The three of you had spent most of the day together in the kitchen, crafting a holiday meal fit for the whole party. Well, if Steve was being honest, it was more so a duo rather than a trio effort. Dustin had thought it would be helpful to “monitor” your progress by shouting random encouragement from his spot at the island, a bag of chips at his side. Steve couldn’t complain though. It had been one of the best Thanksgivings of his life. He tried so hard to memorize every detail of the day, from the way you shared your grandmother’s secret sweet potato recipe to how many times a stray lock of hair would fall into your eyes.

Now here he was, five years later in the same situation. Except things were a little different now. Thanksgiving was still meant to be shared with his friends, but now everyone had all grown up. The kids he used to babysit were college students now, having just come home to Hawkins for the first time since August. He and Dustin still spoke every chance they had, the young genius being the reason Steve’s phone bill is so damn expensive nowadays. The kid just had to be smart enough to get into Columbia.

Another big change was that Steve now owned his parents’ home. After some protest, they moved out after giving their son the keys and lived in a retirement community just outside of Hawkins. They still don’t talk to him, but that’s okay. He finally came to terms with something truly important: they may have been family by blood, but they weren’t the family that mattered. No, because that was you. . .

. . .and your two daughters: Amelia and Emery.

One year after the chaos of Vecna and the great Hawkins earthquake of ‘86, during your two year anniversary, Steve had finally mustered up the courage to ask you the big question. Proposing seemed a lot easier when he first bought the ring. He planned the whole night: a movie, dinner by candlelight, he even wrote an entire speech. Yet in the heat of the moment, all words simply left him except for those four crucial ones.

He still can’t believe you said yes, not to mention that you gave him two little miracles at once. The twins were three years old now and looking more and more like you every day. However, you still swear that Em has the start of his famous hair and striking hazel eyes. There was nothing Steve loved more than coming home after every long shift to his girls. Every day, without fail, they put the biggest smile on his face as they clung to his leg and held on for dear life as he made exaggerated steps toward you to share a gentle kiss of hello.

“I still feel like we’re missing something,” you mused to yourself as you absentmindedly wiped flour off on your apron. You had been cooking for almost three days straight to make sure that there would be enough food for the stampede of guests arriving in the next few hours. “Did we get the rolls from that bakery Max likes? And the special butter for Will? I know certain dairy bothers his stomach.”

“Babe, relax.” Steve pressed a kiss to your flour-covered cheek. “We have everything. Don’t forget, Robin and Nance are bringing over the green-bean casserole. Jonathan and Will were in charge of the stuffing and Eddie’s bringing over the mulled cider with Argyle.”

“I better not see any weird pineapple covered sides or joints being passed around,” you said with a sigh. Steve watched as your nose scrunched up into that little wrinkle he loved so much. He wished he could lean forward and kiss it off your face entirely, but there were much more important matters at hand. You would certainly kick his ass if he fell behind schedule due to stealing some private time.

Instead, Steve turned his attention to his current challenge: baking the perfect pumpkin pie. “Don’t worry, beautiful,” he tried to soothe as he prepped the pie tin. “Everything is going to be okay. Just head upstairs and get ready. I’ll finish up what’s left.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, now go before I pick you up and drop you in that bedroom myself.”

You smirked. “Is that a threat, Mr. Harrington?”

“No,” he replied. “It’s a promise. Although I can’t promise I’ll be too willing to leave if I have to take you up there myself.” He picked up a nearby dish towel and playfully snapped it in your direction. “Now hurry up. Our guests of honor will be here soon.”

You shook your head with a ghost of a smile, making sure to press a kiss to his lips before you sauntered over to the stairs. Steve rolled his eyes and felt the corner of his own lips pull up into a smirk as you purposefully swayed your hips when taking the first stair.

As he rolled out the final pie crust on the calendar, Steve felt a squeeze around his right leg. Looking down, he caught sight of messy sun-kissed chocolate ringlets and big hazel eyes that shone as bright as stars. “Daddyyyyyy,” came the high-pitched and dramatic cry from his daughter. “When can you pway?”

Steve chuckled. “Soon baby, okay?” He reassured her with a warm smile. “Daddy has to finish making these pies. Why don’t you go and make a card for Uncle Dustin with Amy?” He gestured to the living room, where her lighter-haired sister was happily scribbling atop the paper on the coffee table, eyes glued to the television before her.

His mini-doppelganger gave a huff of indignation far too mature for any five-year-old girl. “But ‘wan play wiff you!”

“Soon, Em. I promise. Daddy just needs to finish the pies.”

Emery tilted her head and Steve had to fight the urge to push back a loose strand of her hair back with flour covered fingers. She appeared to be contemplating something, raising a tiny index finger to her lower lip in thought. The action reminded Steve of you and how you’d nervously play with or bite your lips when deep in thought. “Can I helps?”

A warmth blossomed in Steve’s heart and flooded his entire body. He felt the smile which toyed on his lips threaten to split his face in half. His daughter was asking to help him with something; he could teach her something. “Of course, sweetheart,” he mused. “Now let’s wash those hands before we put the crust in the tin, okay?”

One singing of “happy birthday” and cloud of flour later, Steve held Em’s tiny hands in his own as they pressed the pie dough into the tin together. She was standing on the step-stool the two of you decided to buy early on. It was a preparation purchase for when the girls were a bit older and you wanted to encourage them to do things themselves. The fact that his three-year-old– his very own daughter– was standing in front of him using the steps shocked Steve to the core. This little person was someone he helped to create. She was growing up a little more every single day and it amazed him that this could happen with someone so tiny.

He watched as she stuck her tongue out in concentration when stabbing the dough bottom with a fork. It was only meant to get the air pockets out of the crust, but to young Emery, it was a life or death mission. After they pre-baked the crust, Steve let Em mix up the bowl of pumpkin filling…and maybe be the unofficial taste tester. Someone had to make sure it passed inspection, right?

“WAIT!” Em screeched as Steve reached over her head to pick up the tin to put it in the oven once they finished scooping the filling. He smiled in confusion as she reached over to stick her finger in the filling and dragged it through.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Uncwe Will says a good artist always signs theiwe work!” Em answered proudly. She leaned back slightly once she was done, tiny index finger pointing to the squiggles now etched in the pie. “Emewy…and Daddy!”

Steve could have melted into a puddle right then and there if he could.

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

Nothing could have prepared Steve when he saw you come down the stairs a few hours later. While he had dressed up in a navy button down and slacks, you had somehow transformed into a work of art. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you moved from setting the table to adjusting the pigtails you put in Amy’s hair. God, how did he ever get so lucky?

When you finally caught his stare, you smiled and walked over in his direction. “Hey there, handsome,” you quipped. “What’s captured your attention?”

“You,” came the smooth reply. “Always you. Can’t believe I got so lucky."

“I think,” you started as you smoothed out the collar of his shirt, “that I’m the lucky one.”

Before he could say more, guests began arriving and the rest of the night sped by in a blur. The Harrington household was filled with the sounds of laughter and silverware tapping against plates. Eddie and Dustin caught up with Mike and Lucas, lamenting about the various adventures of their Dungeons and Dragons groups. They had planned to get the rest of Hellfire to complete some kind of oneshot over the break, but Steve lost the ability to understand what they were talking about somewhere around the introduction of the land of Frotsgaard.

You were catching up with Nancy and Robin, who had moved out to New York to focus on their education and careers. After graduation, Nancy started work as a cub reporter for the New York Times, whereas Robin decided to study theater and English at NYU. They had just gotten a small apartment near 8th Ave that they absolutely couldn’t wait to decorate. Robin was already talking about Christmas trees, much to Nancy’s chagrin.

Em was practically bursting at the seams to talk about her pumpkin pie that she had baked with Steve. She told everyone about her design and proudly showed off her signature to Will, who grinned and ruffled her hair. He called her a natural artist, which only made her squeal with happiness more. Amy took that as an opportunity to show off her latest drawing to Dustin, who promised to hang it up in his dorm as soon as he got back.

At one point in the evening, Steve reached over to tuck a stray hair behind your ear and kiss your temple. He brought his chair closer and wrapped an arm around your waist. As Robin continued to describe her latest class in a very animated fashion, he could feel you relax in his hold. He pressed another kiss against your skin, this time against the corner of your mouth. “I love you,” he whispered in your ear.

This was all he truly needed.

Growing up, the holidays may not have been anything special for Steve. He would have traded anything to have a kinder family, to have parents that cared. But with the family he has now? The love he found with you, the happiness he feels with your girls? He wouldn’t change that for the world. For once in his life, Steve spent Thanksgiving happy and actually thankful for those in his life.

And that’s all he could ever ask for.

======================

Author's Note: To my American readers, happy thanksgiving! I'm actually surprised I was able to draft and write this idea just in time for the holiday. In all, this took me about 3 hours to write and format. As you can tell, I am still head over heels for domestic Steve Harrington, especially dad!Steve. I had this idea and just knew it needed to be written down. I hope to write more dad!Steve in the future because his interactions with little Em are just precious.

If you want to see more fics like this on my blog, make sure to drop a comment and reblog this post. Likes are appreciated, but it's the reblogs that really help spread the word about my writing and send the happy emotion chemicals into my singular brain cell. Want to join my taglist? Shoot me a message, an ask, or even reply to this post and I'll be sure to tag you! :)

Finally, if you have ideas for dad!Steve, send me your thoughts and maybe I'll have the motivation to craft a fic from it. Either way, I'll definitely be responding and sharing the love for our guy. Until next time, my lovely sparks! <3

Taglist: @bakerstreethound

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #gender neutral reader #dad!steve harrington #thanksgiving fic #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #frostandflamesfanfic #joe keery #joe keery imagines

[wheels-of-despair]

The First Lazy Thanksgiving Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie comes to stay with Evil Woman during Thanksgiving Break '85 for a lazy and turkey-filled few days... but do holiday plans ever actually turn out the way they're supposed to? Contains: Lazy plans gone awry, unscheduled visits from unwanted family, food prep, stolen moments, fast-forwarding through stressful things because it's my story and I can, cunty relatives, smokin' the reefer, a proposal, leftovers, lots of time spent with Team Evil Woman. (If you're not into the family fics, I won't hold it against you.) Words: 7.8k

Note: This one goes out to everyone who'd rather be spending today with Eddie.

"What's your favorite Thanksgiving food?"

Eddie looks over at you without missing a note in the song he's practicing in his chair. You're lying on your side on his bed, one hand propping up your head and the other still on the book you've abandoned in favor of watching him play Other Sweetheart.

He shrugs and looks back down at his flying fingers. "All tastes the same to me."

"What." It doesn't come out as a question, because it is an outrage. You know that Wayne works so much overtime during the holidays, he doesn't even bother coming home, and that the Munsons aren't big on family meals… but has no one ever invited him over for Thanksgiving dinner? Even for a round of leftovers? Or sent him a plate?!

"We usually grab a few Thanksgiving-y TV dinners for when he gets off work." Eddie holds his guitar upright and plays a more complicated tune to downplay his explanation.

You feel guilty for leaving him alone last year. You'd only been with him for a few months, but you'd gone back to the place you'd just escaped from to spend another stuffy Thanksgiving with your family. That's what he did while you were away? Ate a tasteless TV dinner?

"No, wait," he says quickly, "Jeff's mom made him bring me a plate last year. Stuffing was the best."

You try to mask the pity on your face, but he notices. His eyes turn to steel.

"I'm not a charity case. The Munsons don't need to celebrate meaningless shit whenever The Man tells them to." This sounds a little rehearsed. He holds your gaze, but his face soon softens. "Don't go gettin' all mushy on me, woman."

"How dare you. This cold black heart does not get mushy," you insist. He raises an eyebrow. He knows better. "Unless there are pictures of really cute baby animals," you continue. "But you tell anybody that, and this'll be your last Thanksgiving, Munson." You point a finger at him in warning.

He snorts and looks back to his guitar, starting a new song.

"I was merely doing as my mother instructed," you explain, rolling onto your back and looking up at his ceiling. "Because you're coming to Lazy Thanksgiving, and she wanted to make sure we had plenty of your favorite." You pause, waiting for his curiosity to get the better of him. He stops playing. You've got him.

"…what's Lazy Thanksgiving?"

You smirk. "It's is our first Thanksgiving without all of my annoying-ass relatives, so we're doing it OUR way, all week long. Which means food we actually like, people we actually like, and pajamas all damn day. Just like we've always dreamed of. So pack your best sweats, Munson, 'cause you're staying with us 'til Wayne's off doubles."

You glance over to check for a response.

"Is that an invitation or an order?" He's fighting a smile. He's coming.

"That's up to you, babe." You bat your eyelashes at him.

He rolls his eyes, sets his guitar aside, and crosses the room to crawl on top of you. His chin rests in the valley between your breasts, and you reach up to brush his hair out of his face.

"You really want me?"

"Like right now, or over Thanksgiving break?" you tease. Before his lips can even form a pout, you continue, "'Cause the answer to both is a definite yes."

There was only half a day of school on Tuesday, but it felt like longer than usual. You wanted to be OUT of there.

The groceries were bought, the turkey was thawing, your family was hours away, and Eddie was coming to stay for several days. It really was the Thanksgiving you'd always dreamed of. There would be no awkward catch-ups, no uncomfortable clothes, no arguments or hostility, and no weird dishes with undesirable or un-pronounceable ingredients. You couldn't wait.

You and Eddie were out of your seats and on the way to your shared locker before the final bell of the day finished ringing. You shoved all the crap you wouldn't need into the metal prison - rescuing Eddie's discarded history notebook with the intention of making him study, which earned you a whine - and slammed the door shut.

He hooked his arm around your neck and marched you through the hall and out the doors, where you took your first breath of free air.

No school for a week. Just what the doctor ordered.

You climbed into the van's passenger seat and waited for the rest of the boys to show up. On today's menu was band practice - in lieu of their usual Hideout gig, which had been called on account of the owner not wanting to scare off the home-for-the-holidays crowd with teenage metal - then breaking for family stuff 'til a special Hellfire session on Saturday. Other than that, everybody was on their own.

The boys chattered about their plans for the week until the van jerked to a stop in your driveway, and everyone piled out and headed into the garage. You went into the kitchen, to see what kind of snacks you could dig out. Nevermind that they'd just eaten lunch half an hour ago; you cannot practice metal without fuel. It's against the law. (According to Gareth, anyway, who would make a terrible lawyer.)

The look on your mother's face stopped you in your tracks.

She was holding the phone in a white-knuckle grip. Eyes narrowed. You could practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

What have you done? You quickly scan a week's worth of Hawkins High shenanigans, but can't think of any mischief that would warrant a call home for you. Your brother, either. What the fuck?

She gestures for you to close the door, and you do… definitely not thinking about stepping on the other side of it before you do so.

"Alright. See you soon," she says through gritted teeth. She stands to hang up the phone on the kitchen wall, then knocks her head against it. You're still frozen to the spot.

Finally, she removes her head from the wall and turns to you. "Get your brother in here."

You reach for the door handle, point to Gareth, and crook your finger in a 'come here' motion. He comes in, stands next to you, and waits.

"Your grandparents have decided to grace us with their presence."

You both groan.

"They'll be here by dinnertime."

"Tonight?!" you both shriek.

"It's only for a day. They want to be back home in time for the real family Thanksgiving."

"So we're upending everything we've planned to accommodate them?" You can feel the rage swirling inside you.

She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I've gotta make a new grocery list, if there's even anything left at the store, find the recipe for that stupid pie, make something for dinner tonight, get that turkey thawed a day early, clean, drive my car into the quarry…"

"We can handle dinner and cleaning," you say at the same time Gareth asks, "Why do you need a new grocery list?"

"Can you imagine your grandmother's face if she found out I served her a dinner roll I didn't make from scratch?"

"She'll live." You roll your eyes.

"And she doesn't, that's one less thing we have to wor…" Gareth clears his throat, and you try not to smirk.

"Go practice, it's the last fun you'll have 'til they're gone."

He turns on his heel at her suggestion and disappears into the garage.

"Where do you want me, Coach?"

"Help me with this damn grocery list."

You made a list of all the foods you thought you were leaving behind, flipped through recipe cards until you found the things your grandparents expected, and checked the cabinets to see what you already had. So long, Lazy Thanksgiving. You were a nice thought.

When the page-long list was complete, your mother set off to the grocery store. Again.

You hid all the food your grandparents would disapprove of, then dug through the freezer and found pizza rolls for the boys and a forgotten lasagna for dinner. You popped the pizza rolls in the oven and tidied the kitchen to the sounds of Corroded Coffin. Possibly the last decent music you'd hear for the next 24 hours. Your grandparents would probably call for an exorcist if they saw your tape collection.

Your head was buried in a bottom cabinet when the oven timer dinged, catching you by surprise and making you bump your head. You back out on your hands and knees and grumble, rubbing your sore spot, when you feel a burst of hot air.

"Watch it, hot stuff." Eddie grins, pulling the pan of pizza rolls from the oven with a potholder shaped like a turkey.

You stand and lean against the counter, exhausted already.

"Told the jackals they couldn't eat 'til they cleaned the garage," he grins proudly.

"Thank you." You hadn't even thought about having to clean the garage.

"You want me to stick around, or just get lost 'til the coast is clear?"

"What?" You look up in confusion.

"I mean…" he gestures to his clothes and flips the end of his hair. He's a little sweaty and his hair's a little tangled, but you don't know what he's getting at… oh.

"You think we're uninviting you?"

"I'm not exactly grandparent material." He forces out an awkward chuckle that makes your heart sink. You step forward and wrap your arms around his middle, pulling him close.

"You're not going anywhere unless you take me with you." You nuzzle your face into his chest, and he gives you a squeeze. "And I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to go anywhere unless I take Mom with me. Wait." You pull back, wide-eyed, and ask, "Can we all just hide out at your place until the old people give up and go away?"

"I wish," your mother grumbles, back from her grocery run. She drops a load of bags on the table, and the boys follow with more.

"Okay," she says, scanning the room. "Kitchen looks good. Garage looks good. Did you find something for dinner?"

"A frozen lasagna from your meal prep era."

"Okay. We have three hours to clean. Then I need you in a dress."

You groan, and Gareth snickers.

"And YOU," she turns to him, "in khakis." That wipes the grin off his face.

"Eddie?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You are absolutely still invited. But if you want to run and hide, we will not think less of you." He smiles. "Do you own a pair of pants without holes in them?" He nods. "Okay." And then she starts putting groceries away, and that was that.

You catch Eddie's eye, then nod to the pan of now-edible pizza rolls. He picks it up and leads the boys back outside, where they descend on it like locusts, while you tackle the mountain of groceries.

When Eddie returns with the empty pan, he addresses your mother.

"I'm gonna go drop Jeff and Grant off. Are you sure you…" he trails off nervously, hovering near the door.

"Honey." Your mom places her hands on the table, leans forward, and stares into his soul. "I want you here more than I want them here."

He chuckles. " I'll go home and grab some clothes. Do you need me to pick up anything else?"

"Nope, I think we've got everything," she answers. "But I appreciate the offer."

He nods, gives you wink, and leaves to take the nerds home.

Your family whirls through the house like cyclones, dusting and scrubbing and straightening everything in view. Eddie joins in when he returns, which makes things move even faster.

The house is deemed acceptable with an hour to spare. You pop the lasagna into the oven, take rushed showers, and change into clothing acceptable to grandparents.

"Woah," Eddie says when he steps back into your room with dripping hair and a towel around his waist, seeing you in your modest (hideous) dress.

"Shut up."

"You never wear pretty things like that for me," he teases.

"Keep it up, Munson, and you're gonna be feasting on one of these stupid fucking shoulder pads."

He cackles and throws his towel at you. You catch it, and get a delightful idea when he turns around to get dressed.

You wind up the damp towel, and when he bends over to pull his boxers on… SNAP.

He yelps, jumps a foot in the air, and grabs his ass with both hands.

"YOU'RE THE DEVIL!"

You howl with laughter. Was it mean? Yes. Was it funny? Yes. Did he deserve it? Also yes.

"Look what you did to me!" he shrieks, rubbing at a red welt rising on his pale ass.

Your jaw drops.

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get you THAT bad." All traces of amusement are gone as you go to him and trace the mark.

"Guess you could always kiss it and make it better," he pouts, sticking his lip out and activating the dreaded Puppy Eyes.

You fall to your knees and plant a trail of light kisses around the raised mark on Eddie Munson's ass. When you look up, he's staring at you with wide eyes, like he hadn't really expected you to do it.

"What? Never had a girl kiss your ass before?"

You both dissolve into a fit of giggles until a knock interrupts.

"Are you decent?"

"Never," you answer together, grinning at each other.

You can hear your mother sigh through the door. You stand, and Eddie hastily continues getting dressed.

"Eddie, I need you to sleep in Gareth's room tonight. He's setting up his sleeping bag for you."

"Okay," he agrees.

"Best behavior."

"Yes, ma'am," Eddie says.

"I wasn't talking to you."

Eddie snorts.

"Yes, Mother," you call, giving him a shove. He loses his balance and falls onto your bed with a grin.

"Alright." She raps her knuckles against the door once more and walks away.

Eddie's lying back on your bed, feet on the floor and hands laced behind his head. He's in a plain white t-shirt and dark, unbuttoned jeans that reveal his plaid boxers… and just a liiittle bit of his happy trail. He smirks when he sees you looking.

"Quit dripping on my bed." You pick up his discarded towel and throw it at him, letting it hit him in the face. He sits up, unbothered, to rub his wet hair with it. At least he didn't shake it out like a dog. (Although you have seen him do that before.)

You give your room a once-over, straightening a few books and smoothing out the blankets on your bed. Eddie stuffs his things into a duffel bag and drops it on the floor of your brother's room, where he'll be sleeping tonight.

The plan had actually been for the three of you to camp out in the living room and watch movies all night, but that would have to wait. Your grandmother would probably pitch a fit about Eddie being allowed to sleep under the same roof as you. You'd love to see her face if she found out you'd slept in the same bed before.

You hear the oven timer ding again; dinner is ready. They'll be here soon. You get up to go set the table, but decide you want just one more minute alone with Eddie before the invasion. You go in for a hug and stand still in the middle of your bedroom, just enjoying the quiet.

"Should I button this?" he mumbles when you pull away, looking down at his flannel shirt and then back at you.

"Up to you. You'll look nice either way."

He bites his lip and pulls his shirt together, fingers fumbling. He gets three buttons done before realizing it's crooked. His face starts to turn red from frustration.

You put your hands on his, then move them to his sides. You calmly unbutton, and then re-button his shirt, straightening out his collar when you finish for good measure.

"Should I tuck it in?"

"Edward." You take his face in your hands. "You look perfect. Stop worrying. It's gonna be fine." You kiss the tip of his nose.

"What if they hate me?" he asks, his big brown eyes boring into your soul.

"Babe…" you begin gently, brushing his hair out of his face. "They will. But that's okay. Because I think they kinda hate me too. Smile, nod, don't mention anything fun or cool, and you'll survive. And next time I get you to myself, I will make this worth your while."

"Really?" he grins.

"Really." You lean in for a kiss… which is interrupted by the sound of a car horn honking twice. You groan. Gareth walks by your door, in his khakis and button-down, and announces: "They're heeere."

You peel yourselves apart. You straighten your stupid dress in the mirror, and Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair.

"Promise you won't stop loving me after you endure this torture?" you ask, reaching for his hand.

"Could it be any worse than the time you made me watch Grease?"

"Are you still pretending you didn't love that movie?"

"I absolutely did not," he lies.

"C'mon, stud, let's get this over with."

The reunion with your grandparents went about as expected. Thankfully, your mother took the brunt of their displeasure.

"Is this a store-bought lasagna?" "No, Mother, I made it from scratch."

"Are you seeing anyone?" "No, Dad." "That's the price of being a working girl, I suppose. Women these days think they can have it all!"

"When's the last time you had this carpet professionally cleaned?" "Last month, Mother."

And then, when your mom was properly worn down, they turned their focus to you.

"What grade are you in now, dear?" "12th." "Oh, you'll graduate this year! Where are you going to college?" "I don't know." "You really should be focusing on that. Can't have any… distractions."

And Gareth.

"I heard you're playing the drums now!" "…yeah." "Are you in a band?" "…yeah." "Well, what kind? Jazz? Symphony?" "…marching?" "That's exciting! And good exercise!"

And Eddie.

"What do your parents do, Edward?" "They're… gone." "What do you mean gone?" "Eddie lives with his uncle," your mother supplied. "He works at the power plant. He's the reason we're not eating in the dark." Your grandmother pursed her lips, but your grandfather nodded his head in approval.

Finally, after the longest dinner in the history of the world, your grandparents decided to turn in.

They retreated to the basement, where the pull-out couch had been made for them - and was probably re-made before they got into it - and you had the upstairs to yourselves again.

Which is when the real work began for everyone else.

Leftovers were put away, dishes were washed, potatoes and carrots were peeled, ingredients were measured, and everything that could be prepped for Wednesday's pre-Thanksgiving meal was prepped. You finished around midnight. Your mother would get up in a few hours to put the turkey in the oven, but the rest of you were off the hook until breakfast.

You kissed Eddie goodnight and went to bed alone.

At nearly five in the morning, the door creaked open and someone entered your bedroom. You cracked an eye open, hoping it was Eddie coming to crawl under the covers with you and steal a snuggle before everyone else woke up. But it was your grandmother, checking to make sure you were alone in your bed. Bitch.

She crept back out, and you glared at the door for half an hour before finally going back to sleep.

The next time you woke, it was because two bodies dropped on either side of you. You kept your eyes closed.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." That one's Eddie.

"Please. Have you ever tried waking her up? She's more like the dragon." Shut up, Gareth.

"Right. Good thing we've got pinned under the covers. She'd probably claw us to shreds."

"Dragon breath is probably the bigger concern right now." You can hear the smirk in Gareth's voice.

"Fuck you both," you grumble. They laugh. "What time is it?"

Eddie looks at his watch. "Almost eight."

"How long you think we can stall before they come get us and drag us into the kitchen for another thrilling conversation over breakfast?"

The three of you sigh, just before your mother peeks her head in.

"Why are you in here? Whatever, I don't care. Get dressed and come eat before she starts in on the 'young people sleeping all day' crap again." She closes the door without waiting for a response.

"Alright, you heard the lady, be gone." You try to stretch, but you don't have much room to move, being pinned beneath your own blankets and all. You lay there, defenseless, until Eddie kisses your cheek and rolls off the bed. Gareth follows.

You grumble your way into another dress you hate, fix your face, and wait in the hallway for them. No way you're going in there alone.

The three of you appear in the kitchen doorway together.

"There they are! I thought they were going to sleep all day!" It's 7:58 on a day when there's no school, you old bat.

"When I was your age, I was awake at 4:30 every morning!" Good for you, gramps.

"Why don't you grab plates and eat in the living room?" Finally, someone speaking sense. Thanks, Mom.

The three of you grab plates and start filling them with sausage, eggs, and silver dollar pancakes.

You look down at the silverware drawer while you retrieve a trio of forks, and when you look up again, your grandmother is staring at you. And then at your plate.

"Remember, dearie: A moment on the lips, forever on the hips!"

Your face flushes. Your blood boils.

"Perhaps you'd like a piece of fruit instead?"

As soon as you're able to move again, you're going to stab her.

"Mother, does this say teaspoon or tablespoon?" your mom asks, holding out a hand-written recipe on an index card. "Go," she mouths when your grandmother turns her attention to the card.

You hurry into the living room and sit on the couch with the boys, staring down at the plate in front of you, still shaking with rage.

Eddie takes the forks and rests his chin on your shoulder. Did he hear it? Oh god, you're going to burst into flames right here.

"Hate to tell you this, but uh…" his voice drops to a whisper. "Your grandma's a real bitch."

You snort. He kisses your cheek and straightens.

"I'll drink to that," Gareth raises his orange juice and takes a swig. He puts his glass down and digs into his breakfast, but you hesitate.

"Stop."

You glance at Eddie. He stabs a piece of his scrambled egg and lifts his fork to your mouth. "You're fucking perfect. And you need fuel to survive today. C'mon. Eat up. Can't have you snapping any little old ladies in half 'cause you're hungry."

You laugh and lean forward to take his offering, then dig into your own plate. Just a few more hours. You can do this.

You let your empty plates sit on the coffee table as you stall, not wanting to go back into the kitchen and remind your grandparents that you're here. You rest your head on Eddie's shoulder, wishing your Lazy Thanksgiving hadn't been derailed.

"What are you just sitting around for when there's work to be done?" Your head snaps up off of Eddie's shoulder when your grandfather enters the room. Busted. The three of you begrudgingly pick up your plates while he settles into an armchair.

"Boys! Tell me about the local team!" he booms.

Oh. Cool. It's just you who needs to be working. You collect the plates without a word and leave the room with mouthed "I'm sorry" to Eddie. He and Gareth look at each other in panic; like they know anything about ANY local team.

"There you are! Did you think this cranberry sauce was going to make itself?"

You think the only person invited to this dinner who actually likes cranberry sauce bought a can of it that's been pushed to the back of the cabinet, but you don't say a word as you drop your breakfast dishes in the sink and fetch the bag of cranberries.

"How long have you been seeing that boy?"

The way she says "that boy" makes you bristle.

"It was a year in September."

"Oh, he didn't waste any time, did he?" You rip open the bag with a little more force than necessary, sending a few berries flying. She tuts from her place at the table, mixing something you wouldn't be eating, as you pick them up.

You take the bag of cranberries to the sink and dump them into a bowl.

"You should be using a strainer for that," she says, after you've already stuck the bowl beneath the faucet. You clench your jaw and start digging for the fucking strainer.

"Do you really think he's the kind of boy you want to be spending so much time with? I'd be ashamed to be seen with him in public. You know, dear," she turns her attention to your mother. "Gareth's getting a little shaggy too. Aren't there any barbers in town?"

This is it. Your last Thanksgiving. You're going to spend the next one in jail. You turn slowly, but before you can face her…

"Don't you have to be at church soon?" You whip your head toward your mother in confusion. Church? You? Has her own mother officially driven her insane?

Her eyes widen and say "get with the program, dummy."

"Oh! Right!" You say cluelessly.

"The kids volunteered to help with the church's Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless," your mother explains to both your grandmother and you. "The youth group is supposed to be at church in a little bit to start cleaning and setting up tables for tomorrow."

"I can't believe I almost forgot," you say, putting the cranberries aside and drying your hands on a towel. "I better go get the boys."

"Yes, you better," your mother nods knowingly. Whatever you were planning to get her for Christmas is no longer enough.

You dart past your grandmother's narrowed eyes and enter the living room. Your grandfather is droning on about defense, and the boys' eyes have glazed over.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt," no you're not, "but we better get going soon, if we're going to get to church on time."

Both boys raise an eyebrow, and you mimic your mother's "get with the program" look.

"Church? Today? While your grandparents are in town?"

He doesn't bother to turn, so you're able to smirk at the back of his head as you remind him, "Well, Grandpa, we didn't know you were coming until the last minute, or else we would've made time for you."

He grunts, not daring to argue further about commitments to a church, and you all disappear to "get ready." AKA reconvene in your bedroom to explain how your heroic mother is allowing you to escape, grab your jackets, and flee.

Two minutes later, Eddie's van leaves your driveway, and you all heave a sigh of relief.

"Where to?" Eddie asks.

"Literally anywhere but here," you answer.

"Think anything's open?"

You run through a list of options in your head before your brother chimes in, "I'm not going out in public dressed like this."

Right. Grandparent Clothes.

"My place?"

Eddie's place.

It's chilly when you walk in. "Sorry," Eddie mumbles, turning the heat on. "Set the heat back before I left."

"It's fine," you smile, pulling him close. "Body heat is better anyway."

"Why's it so cold if I'm in Hell?" Gareth grumbles.

"Would you like to go back home and talk sports with gramps?" Silence. "That's what I thought."

Eddie grabs a stack of blankets, and you all pile onto the couch and cover up. The next several hours are spent watching re-runs of game shows and shouting at contestants on the tiny TV.

This is the kind of Thanksgiving break you'd planned on.

When it begins to approach the two o'clock dinner-time your mom had shouted at your backs as you fled, you turn off the TV and fold the blankets and Eddie turns the heat back down.

Your spirits begin to dampen again as you pull back into your driveway.

"Two hours, tops," you remind them. "They'll be outta here before we know it. Then we can get back to Lazy Thanksgiving."

"Just like the pilgrims intended," Eddie jokes. You grin.

You drag yourselves back into the house. Your grandfather looks like he's spent most of the morning napping, your grandmother looks smug, and your mother looks like she's about to snap.

Your very early Thanksgiving dinner went by without major incident. Forced conversation, food you didn't really like, and your grandma complaining that she could've made it better. Things to be expected.

The food was the same kind of food you'd always had on Thanksgiving, and exactly what you were hoping to avoid this year. The dressing with mysterious chunks in it. Greasy gravy. The controversial casserole that once caused a screaming match between your parents. The pie that two competing aunts once brought on the same year, which made them stop speaking to each other until Easter. The made-from-scratch rolls that your cousins used to mash into little balls and throw at you when the grown-ups weren't looking. The fancy dishes that only came out on special occasions; God help the fool who scraped a metal utensil across it. Police interrogations were less brutal than the year your aunt noticed a crack in her best gravy boat.

And then, the happiest part of the day: their departure. You gave them awkward hugs, wished them a safe trip, and watched them pull out of the driveway. All four people standing in the garage held their breaths until the car was out of sight, and let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Thank GOD!" your mother exclaims. You and Gareth scrub the greasy lipstick marks off your cheeks. Eddie reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes.

"Gimme one," your mom insists. You haven't seen her smoke since the divorce. But seconds later, she's blowing a puff of smoke and looking more relaxed than she has in the last 24 hours.

You stand in the garage in silence, enjoying being back to a foursome, and thinking about all the leftovers you didn't want.

"Eddie?" your mother asks, slowly blowing out her smoke and gazing into the distance.

"Yeah?" he answers, stubbing out the cigarette he'd burned through at twice her speed.

"If I were to leave a crisp $20 bill on the kitchen table and go take a nap, is there any chance it could turn into something greener by the time I wake up?"

He looks at you. You look at him. All of your eyes eventually land on her.

She glances toward you and scoffs. "Children, please. I went to college in the '60s. Can you make it happen or not?"

"Uh…" he chuckles awkwardly, "Yeah?"

"Good."

"You uh… you want anything specific?"

"I would like to be calm and happy for the rest of the week."

"Okay."

Your eyes dart between them during the strangest conversation you've ever witnessed.

"Okay," she repeats, flicking her cigarette like an expert and walking into the house.

After a moment of silence, you have to ask: "What the fuck just happened?"

"Our mother just bought weed from your boyfriend."

The three of you laugh in disbelief. This is officially the weirdest Thanksgiving ever.

"I gotta cruise by Rick's real quick, wanna ride?"

"Sure… you think he'd want a plate?"

Eddie gives you a strange look.

"We've got plenty of leftovers. And we're making the good shit tomorrow, so there'll be even more. Wayne's getting a heap too."

"Kay."

You're piling food onto a styrofoam plate - well, two, for reinforcement - when the phone rings. Gareth answers, rolls his eyes, and mouths "Dad."

You cover Rick's plate with aluminum foil and hand it to Eddie. "Go on, tell Rick I said hi and Happy Thanksgiving. When you get back, all of the annoying relative shit should be over."

You send him away with a peck and pick up the phone in the hallway to join the conversation with yet another relative you didn't want to talk to. How thoughtful of him, to call the day before Thanksgiving so he could spend the real holiday with his new family.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, looking through Black Friday ads from the newspaper when Eddie returned. He quietly closes the door and plops into the seat across from you.

"Rick's in love with you now."

"Oh yeah?" you grin.

In a pretty decent imitation of his reefer-loving friend, Eddie drawls, "Thanksgiving food on a Wednesday? It's like Christmas came early, man… except it's Thanksgiving. Are those real mashed potatoes? And pie too?! You tell your girl and her mama that I really appreciate this."

You try to muffle your laughter as he plops the requested bag of green on the table, exactly where the $20 had been an hour before.

"Think I should roll those for her?"

You shrug. "I just found out she smokes like an hour ago, don't ask me about her drug preferences."

He contemplates for a second, then pulls the bag toward him and reaches into his pocket for rolling papers.

"You wanna hit the mall Friday morning?" you ask, flipping the brightly colored pages. "Ought to be some decent sales."

"Mhm," he hums, tongue poking out of his mouth, trying not to break his concentration.

"Are you trying to impress my mother with your joint-rolling abilities?"

"Maybe," he grins, finishing another.

Gareth wanders in the kitchen and sits at the table hesitantly, watching Eddie work. He's smoked with you a few times - better to keep an eye on him that let him go off with people you don't trust, you figure - but he's never rolled on his own before.

"You wanna try one?" Eddie asks. Gareth looks to you nervously. He's still not entirely convinced the DEA isn't going to bust down the door every time he touches the stuff. You crook half a smile, and he gets up to sit next to Eddie.

He's more patient here than he is at school. No jocks to unsettle. No reputation to maintain. No need to rule with an iron fist. He wasn't Eddie the Freak or Eddie the DM or Eddie the third-time senior here. His guard was down, and he was just Eddie. You love all the Eddies, but this one's your favorite.

You watch him teach proper rolling techniques out of the corner of your eye while you pretend to browse ads. They'd finished almost half the bag when you hear your mother coming. Eddie slides the rolled joints into the bag and puts it back where he was supposed to.

Gareth grabs the ad on top of the stack of papers and opens it to a random page, blushing crimson when he's greeted by Sears lingerie models. Flip, flip, flip. He becomes very interested in power tools, and you and Eddie try not to make eye contact, because you know you'll laugh.

Your mother enters the kitchen with a yawn and a stretch and spots her loot.

"Well, what do you know, looks like the Cannabis Fairy paid me a visit."

You snort. Eddie tries to hide a smile.

She looks down at the bag, and then at him.

"What, you think an old lady can't roll her own joints?"

"Just trying to save you some time." He smiles and bats his eyelashes. Moron.

"Riiiight," she says, pulling on her coat and picking up the bag. She steps into the garage… and leaves the door open. You look from it to Eddie, until she pokes her head back in. "Are you coming, or are you still pretending to be good kids?"

The three of you exchange glances, rooted in place until finally you shrug and get up. The boys follow. You grab jackets and step down into the garage.

She's sitting in a lawn chair, arms crossed like she's waiting to bust you for breaking curfew… with a lit joint in her hand.

"Et tu, Gareth?" she sighs when he steps down and closes the door.

"Uh… peer pressure?"

Everyone laughs.

You and Eddie drag the battered loveseat that the previous owners abandoned closer, and drop into it. Gareth unfolds another lawn chair and sits uneasily.

And that was how you found yourself passing around illegal substances in your garage, on the eve of Thanksgiving, with your boyfriend, little brother… and your mother.

You melt into Eddie once you begin to feel the effects. You lean your head on his shoulder and wish you'd thought to bring blankets out. His hand rests on your leg, radiating warmth into your skin, and you wish you were small enough so that you could fit your whole body in his hand. He could just carry you around and keep you in his pocket and let you attack people who irritated him. They'd never know what bit them. (You. You'd be what bit them.)

"Alright, what'd we miss?" Gareth asks.

"Let's see…" your mother ponders. "I'm a terrible mother who's raising disrespectful delinquents. My marriage failed because I emasculated my perfect bread-winning husband by insisting on working outside the home. He is blameless. The new church I selected must not be much of a church, to let in such shaggy youths. My son will become a devil-worshipping drug addict. My daughter will become impregnated before she graduates because I let that boy sleep in my house. Good news though: If you get knocked up, they probably won't come down for graduation, because they'll die of shame. Oh, and my turkey was dry."

You take a moment to process all this. Where do you even start?

"Dude…" Gareth begins. "Grandma's a cunt."

After a moment of stunned silence, your mother starts to laugh. And then you all join in. Minutes later, tears are streaming down your face, and you still can't stop laughing. You're clinging to Eddie, shaking together, finally feeling warm and happy and comfortable after a day of hell.

"Oh, man," your mom finally gets out, wiping the tears from her eyes. "What do you say we go finish up their leftovers so we can start over tomorrow?"

"That is the best idea in the history of Earth," Gareth says with genuine awe. Which sets you and Eddie off again. Your mom and Gareth go inside, and you and Eddie eventually pull yourselves together and off the loveseat.

Your mom has decided not to bother with individual plates; she's thrown all the grandparent-specific leftovers onto a glass pan and stuck it in the oven to reheat. You gather around the table and wait. When it comes out, you each grab a fork and go to town.

That's one way to get rid of leftovers you don't want.

"I'm going to bed," your mother finally says, getting up with a stretch. "I cooked all day today. Tomorrow's your problem. Wake me up when dinner's ready."

"Kay," you mumble through the last mouthful of the casserole you weren't generally fond of, but tonight found pretty good.

You left the dish in the sink and retreated to the living room to finish off the night with a movie.

"Ugh," Eddie groans, leaning back into the couch and sticking out his belly. "Why did you make me eat so much?"

"Yeah, that was definitely my doing," you laugh, pulling a blanket across your lap. Gareth puts in a tape and settles into his favorite spot on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket cocoon.

"I can't even breathe," Eddie whines.

You roll your eyes, reach over, and pop the button on his jeans. He falls silent as the previews begin, but you can feel him staring at you.

"What?" you finally ask, turning your head when you can't stand it anymore.

"Will you marry me?"

"What?"

"That was like the hottest thing anyone's ever done to me."

A laugh escapes you. "You are such a dweeb."

"But you love me," he grins.

"…yeah, I guess," you sigh, pretending to be defeated.

His jaw drops in mock offense.

"You two are gonna make me puke up all that old person food if you keep on," Gareth chimes in from across the room.

You laugh and snuggle into Eddie's side, pulling the blanket over both of you.

"Love you," you whisper.

"Lots?"

"Lots and lots," you confirm, nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder.

You woke when the screen turned to static, shook the boys awake, and dragged your corpses to bed.

"Best Thanksgiving ever," Eddie mumbled when you crawled under the covers beside him.

"Babe?"

"Hm?"

"That was Grandparent Thanksgiving. Tomorrow is Lazy Thanksgiving. It ain't over 'til the last piece of turkey's gone."

He chuckles. "So what exactly are we doing tomorrow?"

"We'll make the food, since Mom did everything yesterday. Turkey's done, so we just need sides. It'll be easy, pretty much everything has instructions on the box. There's rolls and a pie hiding in a cooler in the garage. So we'll make food, eat food, lay in front of the TV and watch old Thanksgiving specials I recorded and whine about how much food we ate… until it's time to eat more food."

"I think Thanksgiving might be my favorite holiday."

"Mine too, now." You smile a sleepy smile, not wanting to say goodnight and go to sleep just yet. "Still wanna hit Starcourt Friday morning? Lots of stuff on sale. If we strike out, we can always go back to your place… if you don't mind being alone with me for a little while… I'm sure we could find something to do…"

"You know, Black Friday's sounding pretty good too."

You chuckle and lean in for a kiss.

"I'm so happy you're here with me," you breathe.

"I'm happy you wanted me here," he says, giving you another kiss.

"Sorry about the grandparents," you wince.

"It's alright… we'll have it at our place next year." Your heart soars at the thought of getting to be like this with him every night. "And we won't tell them where we live."

You laugh and snuggle closer. "Sounds good to me, Eds."

He sighs happily and kisses your forehead, and you both drift to sleep in a comfortable silence.

You woke up so warm and comfortable, you almost didn't want to get out of bed, even though it's nearly eleven.

But today is Lazy Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving you've always dreamed of. No unwanted guests. No hard labor. No stuffy clothes. You turn over to look at the clock, and Eddie pounces.

"Where you think you're goin'?" he mumbles into the back of your neck, holding you in place with an arm around your waist.

"Food," you yawn.

"This is all I wanna eat." He nibbles at the back of your neck, and you shrink away from him with a laugh.

"Not on the menu today, I'm afraid."

"Hmph." He lets you go and flops onto his back. You turn to look at him. Arms crossed. Pouty. Hair a mess. Perfect.

You slide closer and sling a leg over his. You put your arm across his middle and rest your head in the crook of his neck. He doesn't budge.

"Tomorrow, however…" you whisper with a soft kiss to his neck. He finally uncrosses his arms to run a hand up your thigh.

"Tell me more."

"Hmmm…" you hum, nuzzling into him. You can feel him melt. "Nope." You nip at his neck and haul yourself out of bed. He growls, but you're already out of the room before he makes a move.

Your mom is drinking coffee and watching the parade in the living room. "You sure you've got this?" she asks.

"We got this," you confirm. "We'll wake you up when it's ready."

"Like anyone could sleep through this thrilling display!" she says with mock-offense, gesturing to a high school marching band. You smile and return to the kitchen, hoping she enjoys her first uninterrupted parade in years.

Both boys wander into the kitchen a few minutes later, while you're pulling things from the cabinets and moving them to the table.

"Eddie, you're on stuffing. Gareth, you've got mashed potatoes."

"And what about you, Your Highness?" Gareth grumbles.

"Everything else, Prince Ass."

Eddie snorts and picks up one of the four boxes of Stove Top to read the instructions. He looks at you apprehensively.

"I have faith in you." He smirks and reads the box again.

"How many potatoes?" Gareth asks, skimming the instructions. Potato flakes from a flimsy cardboard box. If that didn't finish your grandmother off, the packets of gravy mix would.

"A buttload."

"That's not on the box."

"Then whatever the biggest batch is."

"Kay," he shrugs, reaching for the measuring cup you've left in the middle of the table.

The three of you work together in a shockingly harmonious manner. Pots on the stove, dishes in the oven, bowls in and out of the microwave, and nearly an hour later, the table is as set as it's gonna be. No serving dishes saved for special occasions; everything remains on the stove and counter, in whatever vessel it was cooked in. You were all fully capable of getting up and fixing your own plates.

And that's exactly what you did.

"Are we gonna hold hands and say what we're thankful for?" your mom teases.

"I'm thankful that Grandma and Grandpa are gone," Gareth says quickly, causing a laugh to spread around the table.

Screw it. "I'm thankful that all my favorite people are here."

"Awww," Gareth mocks, causing you and Eddie to both kick him under the table. You smirk at each other when he hisses.

"I'm thankful for the invite," Eddie smiles, making your heart soften.

"And I'm thankful for brown-and-serve rolls," your mom says, ripping hers open and slathering it with butter. "Okay, you little dorks, raise a roll."

You each pick up your roll and raise it, as instructed.

"To Lazy Thanksgiving!"

"To Lazy Thanksgiving!" you all echo, then take a bite out of your perfectly adequate rolls that took 8 minutes to prepare. (A great improvement from the traditional 4-hour ordeal.)

Lazy Thanksgiving really was the holiday you'd always dreamed of.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman #thanksgiving fic

[jimmyjrsmusoems]

brother-in-laws fic brother-in-laws fic brother-in-laws fic

this might be my magnum opus

thank you again a million times @drawthethingdoppelganger for making this masterpiece to go along with this fic. i owe you my life and my never-ending gratitude and love 😭🫶🏻💖

this is a (aged-up) tinimmy AND louigan fic, so if either of those aren't your thing, no prob! i'll see you next time! (or not, because my next few fics are ALSO tinimmy and / or louigan??? 🫨)

brb i'm going to go throw up this is my first published louigan and i hope you all likeeeeee it ahhhhhhhhhhh

#tinimmy #tina belcher x jimmy jr pesto #louigan #louise belcher x logan bush #fic stuff #bob’s burgers #thanksgiving fic

[childlikegoblinqueen]

Thank You Consequence Chapter 5:

"How 'bout that ever elusive kudo?"

The Next SCOM chapter is almost done! It will be out tomorrow or Saturday, latest!

Of course I have to put some angst in this story!

Rumor also had it that the previous Golden Guard was given a grand feast to enjoy in the Emperor’s personal dining quarters after these events. 

So, when Hunter had been called to dine with Belos one evening after a particularly daunting mission, he knew it must have been some sort of reward for a job well done. 

Or a test? He never could be sure. 

#toh hunter #spotify #toh fanfic #the owl house #sweet child o mine #willow park #hunter noceda #willow x hunter #huntlow #a03 fanfic #a sweet child one shot? #sweet child o mine side story #thanksgiving fic #vee noceda #noceda siblings #luz noceda #camila noceda #masha toh #veesha #vee toh #gus porter #Spotify

[jule1122]

Malex Thanksgiving Ficlet

Just a little holiday fluff.

Read it on AO3

When Michael decided he wanted to host Thanksgiving, he imagined a table covered in delicious, picture perfect food, with their friends and family gathered around it, smiling and laughing.  It was nothing like that.

Michael was so worried about undercooking the turkey that it was quite possibly the driest thing any of them had ever tasted.  Alex had underestimated the amount of time it would take the mashed potatoes to boil so by the time he finished them, the sweet potatoes were cold and had to be reheated.  The crock pot blew a fuse, and Michael cut his hand opening the green beans and bled into the casserole so they had to start it again.

But Maria brought Mimi’s famous cornbread stuffing, and Greg had taken up baking during the pandemic and made rolls that rivaled any bakeries.  The turkey wasn’t bad if you poured enough gravy on it, and no one was more surprised than Alex when his mashed potatoes were deemed worth the wait.

Michael - exhausted from getting up at 3am to start the turkey - fell asleep during Dallas’s blessing.  But Dallas made Max cry so everyone was too busy teasing him to notice Alex nudge Michael awake.  Kyle keeps checking the football scores on his phone, and Bonnie and Rosa get into a loud debate about some band only the two of them have ever heard of.

Liz forgot the pies, but Isobel brought double the wine requested and that seems to make up for it.  After Isobel breaks three glasses trying to clear the table with telekinesis, Kyle takes over and cleans the kitchen to surgical precision.  Alex makes popcorn everyone is too full to eat, and Kyle finally gets to watch the late game.

Alex and Michael fall asleep on the couch while Max and Dallas are bringing the tree in from the garage.  When they wake up the house is empty and quiet, the tree is up, the lights strung, and the ornament boxes stacked neatly next to it.

Alex yawns and hugs Michael to him.  “Wow, that was. . .”

“A disaster.”

“Perfect.”

They say at the same time.

“Best Thanksgiving of my life,” Alex tells him sincerely.

“Mine too,” Michael agrees.  “But we’re not doing it again, right.”

“Hell no,” Alex says, then catches the way Michael winces. “You already invited them for Christmas, didn’t you?”

“I love you,” is Michael’s only reply.

“I love you too,” Alex sighs. “There’s always catering.”

“Or a Christmas miracle.”

#malex fic #rnm fic #my fic #thanksgiving fic #holiday fluff

[viking-raider]

Thanksgiving with Sy is underway!

Synopsis: You participate in having a Veteran over for Thanksgiving. None other than Captain Austin Wyatt Syverson, recently retired from the Army.

If you want a tag: 🍗🍗

#Henry Cavill #Syverson #Austin Wyatt Syverson #captain syverson #Thanksgiving Fic #Thanksgiving

[kellanved-ammanas]

Fine to Meet Everyone

Summary: Scout brings Sniper home for Thanksgiving.

~

Scout’s childhood home was obvious before they’d even reached it. Much like the rest of the houses they were driving by, it was a bit worn and visibly weathered but obviously well taken care of. What made it stand out was the three cars jammed up into its driveway and a fourth parked just in front, partially on the sidewalk. The garage was closed but could’ve easily held another car or two. Which given what Sniper had heard about Scout’s family and their Thanksgiving tradition of everyone returning to his mother’s house for it, was very possible. Regardless of any extra cars though, there were a lot of folk already here.

“Damn,” Scout said as he pulled their rental to a stop uncomfortably close to the bumper of the car partially parked on the sidewalk but not on the sidewalk himself. “I was kinda hoping that maybe we’d be early enough to arrive before a few people at least. Guess that’s hard to do with how little time we’re given off for this even though it’s a gosh dang big holiday in the States which is where we are most of the time so we should get more time off but the Admin wants to be a bitch about it instead.”

“I thought you said no swearing while we’re here.” Which, Scout hadn’t specified but it was probably a good idea to include Australian swears too unfortunately.

“God… gosh dang it. It’s hard, okay? It really only matters we don’t do it around Ma or any of the kids. But anyway, if you don’t wanna go through the front door and meet everyone all at once we could climb the fence and go in the back door. The key’s probably still hidden in its usual spot but if not, I can pick it.”

Tempting. The idea of being confronted with a bunch of new people all at once was fairly anxiety inducing but he’d agreed to come knowing such might occur no matter what steps they took to try to buffer it a bit. Plus he wanted to make a good first impression on Scout’s family, sneaking in around back didn’t seem like a good way to do that. So… “Nah, I should be okay, I think.”

“All right. If it gets to be too much though just tug my shirt sleeve and I’ll be stricken with the sudden idea that I gotta take you out back to see the tree house. And then we can hang out alone up there for however long you want, in the hammock too if its still there and not dirty or torn apart or whatever.”

With a grunt of acknowledgment, Sniper unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car. He waited for Scout to make his way around to him before starting up the side of driveway towards the front door. Part of the railing along the stairs leading up to it was broken and held together with a single wrapping of duck tape. That didn’t seem quite trustworthy so he avoided touching the railing as they made their way up to the door.

Upon reaching it, Scout didn’t hesitate before pressing the doorbell. It was the kind that was loud enough to be heard from even out here, though faintly. He pressed it quickly twice then a third time for a couple seconds before pulling his hand away. “That’s the secret code to let them know it’s family and not a door-to-door salesman or some religious nutjob trying to sell a different kind of bull-poo.”

“Those kinds of folk that big a problem out here?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

Before anything further could be said, the door opened. It was Scout’s Ma looking much like she did in the family photos Scout had shared, though a bit grayer in the hair and shorter than Sniper had expected.

“Jeremy, you’re earlier than I’d expected. Not that I’m complaining of course. It’s good to see you.” Her voice matched her face perfectly as she leaned in to give Scout a quick hug.

“Yeah, yeah. I wanted to try to get here before everyone else did but failed.”

“Oh hon, that’d be real hard to pull off with how early the twins like to get here.” She turned her smile onto Sniper now. “And you must be Mundy It great to finally meet you.” She held out a hand of him to shake. It was warm and only slightly less callused than Scout’s. “Jeremy here talks about you on the phone all the time. I’m the one that told him to ask you out after how many times he mentioned that he liked you. Except, the reason he hadn’t yet was because he didn’t know how to approach men and was afraid to try. I had to give advice. Nothing wrong with needing advice of course, just a fun bit of info.”

“Ma,” Scout sounded just like he must’ve as a petulant child, “you didn’t need to tell him that. I asked you to try not to embarrass me, remember?”

“Dear, before you two leave, he’s probably gonna hear far more embarrassing things than that about you. But a man’s not worth keeping if he leaves you over hearing a few stories from you family about you being a bit silly sometimes. But anyway, come inside both of you.” She stepped back, gesturing for them to follow her inside. “Since you two just flew in and have to fly back tomorrow morning, you’re exempt from helping prepare dinner. There’s plenty of help already anyway.”

Inside the house was warm and already smelled of cooking food. She lead them a bit further to the living room. The TV in the center was on but no one on the couch or seated in the various chairs – some clearly always there, others dragged in from elsewhere – seemed to be paying much attention to it. A corner of the room was sectioned off as a children’s play area. All together, the room was quite full. Scout had a big family. Luckily everyone was too wrapped up in their conversations, play in the case of the kids, to notice the three of them enter.

Scout’s mother clapped her hands just loud enough to cut through the conversation, drawing everyone’s gaze. If Sniper weren’t taller than them, he might’ve tried to step behind Scout to hide a little. As it was though, he just managed to hold himself steady.

“Guess who arrived early,” Scout’s mother said. “Meaning we’re all here now. Remember to be nice to our guest. Jeremy really likes him so let’s not try too hard to scare him away. Also it’s time to change who’s working in the kitchen.”

Evidently having discussed this, a handful of the adults in the room stood and started making their way towards presumably the kitchen. Scout’s mother patted him on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear before starting that way herself.

Even with those people gone, there were still a lot of people in the room, all of them looking at him and Scout. If Sniper had ever been in so small as space with so many people before, he couldn’t recall it. Some of the faces he recognized from the photos Scout had shown him, though he couldn’t put a name to any of them. Names had always been difficult for him to remember and until recently he didn’t think he’d ever meet any of Scout’s family. But they weren’t just casually sleeping together anymore and so… here he was with a bunch of strangers staring at him.

Scout looped his arms through his, pulling him closer and breaking his frozen spell. “I’ll introduce everyone to you unless you wanna go see the tree house or my old room first.”

It was tempting to accept that offer to flee but… with Scout here holding his arm through his, it wasn’t so bad. “I’m uh… fine to meet everyone, I think.” He could do this.

“Awesome. Don’t forget the signal if you need to leave though.” Keeping hold of his arm, perhaps because he wanted to or because he knew it helped, Scout pulled him deeper into the room to start meeting everyone.

By the third introduction, Sniper had already forgotten the first but he was also more relaxed. Having grown up with so few people around, being around this many at once was a lot, but if he was going to continue his relationship with Scout, he was going to have to get used to this type of thing. That wasn’t necessarily bad though, even if it was a stressful thought. But maybe one day, he’d even be able to remember all these people’s names and enjoy their company.

#my writing #tf2 #team fortress 2 #scout #sniper #speeding bullet #thanksgiving fic

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "And All the Trimmings"

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

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

by: @snowbellewells

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#self promo sunday #ouat ff #ouat one shot #5b canon divergent ff #thanksgiving fic #and all the trimmings #captain swan #outlaw queen #snowing

[morithenerd]

Here have a Nimona (the movie) drabble/oneshot type thing.

Also, this has some of my personal headcanons so yeah! Enjoy :>

Pink: Nimona

Red: Bal

Orange: Amb

Purple: Diego

Warnings: mention of homophobic family members, I guess Bal saying hell, and a not technically mangled turkey (it's not full blood and gore it's just ruffled up and a little shaken and still very alive)

- Bal and Amb are talking about who to invite to their Thanksgiving while they're at the store leaving Nimona stuck at home.

- "Okay but Nimona scares the absolute hell out of him!" Bal mentioned as he picked a fruit tub for their fruit punch. "Oh come on Bal! They're my nephew! I know him and Nimona don't get along after... Well... Her scaring them with her little... Weird... Demon child- thing-... But! I think Nimona and them should get to each other better." Ambrosius sighed. He knew that his cover-up reasoning wasn't convincing Balaster to let Diego come to their Thanksgiving dinner.

- It was up until they were in the car that Bal decided to bring it again. "Amby, baby... I know you have something on your mind." That's when Ambrosius broke. "Okay, okay fine you got me. So... You know how I wanted to invite Diego? And the reasons weren't exactly the best? I'm just come out and say it. Do you remember how Diego came out to our family as bi and a demiboy? Well, some of our family isn't all that accepting, and since it's Thanksgiving he's going to be surrounded by them and... I want him to feel welcome. Like they belongs."

- And with that, Bal immediately went to Diego's house and picked him up or... As I should say: snuck him out through his bedroom window.

- Once they got home told him to stay in the car until they talked to Nimona.

- They head inside and see Nimona in her wolf form with a mangled turkey in her mouth. She had her teeth wrapped around it's neck as if it were a squeaky toy. "Oh hi bosh!"

- "Nimona please let that poor thing go." Bal groaned as he pinched his nose bridge.

- Once Nimona lets the somehow still-alive turkey go the boys sit her down and talk to her about Diego.

- "Soo... Don't scare him by acting like a possessed little demon baby?" "Yup. We want him to feel as welcome as possible so no weird shapeshifty bs. If you want to shapeshift into something then go ahead... As long as the house stays intact and it's not meant to scare Diego."

- Once Nimona finally agreed to the ground rules they brought Diego in and formally introduced them to each other.

- After a couple of hours the two had finally gotten on good enough terms to start talking about interests and things along those lines.

- Some time goes by and all four of them are dancing to music and singing along as the turkey and other food cooks in the oven and stovetop.

- Finally once the food and drinks were done and ready they all sat down and said what they were thankful for.

- "I'm thankful for... The ability to shapeshift and... For barging in on Bal being Mr. Dark Edge Lord™ because if I hadn't I wouldn't have you guys." "I'm thankful that I my lovely family that's sitting right here at this table." "Heheh... What he said... And you Diego?" "I-... Uhm... I'm thankful for... You guys... because you guys made me feel at home when others didn't."

- Then they all dig in and have an amazing time together.

That's all! This was just a fun little thing I made while stuck at relatives' house during Thanksgiving because I didn't want to socialize :p

Edit: I've fixed the mistakes and minor adjustments to the writing after waking up and rereading it.

#drabble #oneshot #nimona #diego the squire #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #thanksgiving #thanksgiving fic #thanksgiving drabble #kinda hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #fluff #fanfic #headcanon #personal headcanon #color coded #idk man

[yespumpkindoodlesthings]

Much Ado About Stuffing Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow Characters: Darcy Lewis, Brock Rumlow, Shawn Spencer, Burton "Gus" Guster, Juliet O' Hara (mentioned), Selene (Psych TV 2006) Additional Tags: TripleAgent!Rumlow, Darcy Lewis is Shawn Spencer's cousin, Psych MCU Crossover, Thanksgiving shenanigans, psych au Series: Part 63 of Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics Summary:

Darcy's cousin--the psychic detective from Santa Barbara--brings his best friend to DC for a visit.

#taserbones #psych x MCU crossover #thanksgiving fic #darcy x brock

[illiana-mystery]

With the holidays coming up, I have decided to write some one-shots to celebrate the greatest time of the year! I will be writing three SFW ficlets and one NSFW ficlet within this collection of festive one-shots. 

This one I'm sharing with you first is one of the SFW fics, specifically for the Thanksgiving holiday. Read the summary below: 

It's Thanksgiving and Norman and Otto are spending it in Atlanta with the Salazar-Tate Family. Unfortunately for them, their girlfriends' abuela, Nana Augustine, is none too impressed with them dating her granddaughters and makes it well known. But they are determined to make the most of the holiday, enjoying every little new cultural tradition they learn about throughout the dinner. However, there is one problem that still plagues this holiday. That being Norman's vivid memory of Thanksgiving past.

Stay tuned for my next SFW ficlet where Jim Bussey is Santa at a local library event, reading to the kids and asking what they want for Christmas. This ficlet will also see the return of Heather Mattis, Jim's girlfriend in my fic, Memories of Autumn. 😁

Taglist: @dreamlikedesires, @iobsessoverfictionalmen​, @goodoldcharley, @ghnaim24​, @sparrowforstarsandsorrow​, and @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky​

#hope you enjoy #this was fun to write #mostly because it was good to vent my own family issues #also if you like soft norman #than this is the fic for you #because i love writing soft norman #thanksgiving #thanksgiving fic #thanksgiving fanfiction #norman osborn #spiderman #raimiverse #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 link #ao3 fic #archive of our own #willem dafoe