#savory turkey gravy

[camdennelson]

Side Dish - Gravy - Savory Turkey Gravy

Without a delicious serving of this extra simple homemade turkey gravy seasoned with poultry seasoning and celery salt, Thanksgiving dinner would not be complete.

[adanshaw]

Side Dish - Gravy - Savory Turkey Gravy

Without a delicious serving of this extra simple homemade turkey gravy seasoned with poultry seasoning and celery salt, Thanksgiving dinner would not be complete.

[legid]

Recipe for Savory Turkey Gravy Thanksgiving dinner isn't complete with a delicious helping of this extra easy homemade turkey gravy seasoned with poultry seasoning and celery salt. 1 cup water, 1 teaspoon poultry seasoning, 1/4 cup all-purpose flour, 5 cups turkey stock, 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper, 1 teaspoon salt, 1/4 teaspoon celery salt

[federicoerra]

Side Dish - Gravy - Savory Turkey Gravy

Without a delicious serving of this extra simple homemade turkey gravy seasoned with poultry seasoning and celery salt, Thanksgiving dinner would not be complete.

[davisrandy]

Side Dish - Gravy - Savory Turkey Gravy

Without a delicious serving of this extra simple homemade turkey gravy seasoned with poultry seasoning and celery salt, Thanksgiving dinner would not be complete.

[dalekfactor]

Side Dish - Gravy - Savory Turkey Gravy

Without a delicious serving of this extra simple homemade turkey gravy seasoned with poultry seasoning and celery salt, Thanksgiving dinner would not be complete.

[blenchandbloom]

Recipe for Savory Turkey Gravy Without a delicious serving of this extra simple homemade turkey gravy seasoned with poultry seasoning and celery salt, Thanksgiving dinner would not be complete.

[turbinefashion]

Gravy - Savory Turkey Gravy Thanksgiving dinner isn't complete with a delicious helping of this extra easy homemade turkey gravy seasoned with poultry seasoning and celery salt.

[ravenclawinthetardis]

McCormick Savory Herb Rub Roasted Turkey - Turkey

[trashmouth-richie]

eddie x fem! reader

masterlist

w/c 7.8k

summary: things heat up in more ways than one for the roommates, thanksgiving makes everyone thankful.

warnings: NO MINORS, language, fighting, mentions of child neglect, mentions of murder

a/n: thank you to my beta readers: @jo-harrington @sweetsweetjellybean pls check out their work they are both so amazingly talented 🩵 thank you to @blueywrites for screaming with me on certain parts of this story + @fracturedarkness for helping me plan future parts for this series.

again— I’m no longer doing a tag list for this series— this week as really opened my eyes to a bunch of shit in this world and I’m fucking pissed off about it.

“Do you think it’s enough food? Last year Mike ate all the mashed potatoes so I’m just hoping there is enough for everyone.”

The holidays were always a stressful time for most people, housewives stressing over meal planning, guest lists and matching outfits for their Christmas cards—ones that coordinated well and hid the fact that they were miserable with their lazy, limp dick husbands. Poor Nancy fell into that category all too well.

She’s walking circles around her dining room table, counting the dishes on her fingers. Ham, turkey, cheesy potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, corn, green bean casserole, a relish tray, strawberry fluff, gravy, two pumpkin pies, two pecan pies, a jello mold, two dozen caramel Rice Krispie bars, a pan of iced banana bars, and one can of jellied cranberry sauce on a crystal plate.

When Nancy asked you to join the Wheeler/Byers/Hopper’s gang for thanksgiving this year, you quickly accepted the invitation, asking if there was anything you could bring. She requested you bring the dessert. So the night before Thanksgiving, you started the tedious task of keeping Eddie from eating all the icing and caramel.

“Eddie! Have you seen the caramels I just bought? They were on the counter next to the flour canister.”

“Nope! Haven’t theen ‘em,” he answers all too quickly, “you thur you bought ‘em?”

“Yes I’m su—,”

Goddamn him.

Walking into the living room you approach the metal head, splayed out on the couch, fingers shoved in his mouth picking at his teeth, “oh Eddie?”

“Mhmm?” He hums, innocently, looking at you with big doe eyes.

“You wouldn’t happen to have caramel stuck in your teeth, the same caramel I bought and said, ‘please don’t eat these they’re for the Rice Krispie bars,’ would you?”

Rose colors his cheeks, “what? Me? Not listening? Ok O’Donnell,” he says with a scoff.

“Eddie,” you say sternly, hip thrown out and arms crossed over your chest.

“Ok! Fine! They were just so fucking good! But I’m dying right now— my teeth feel practically glued together— do we have any floss?!”

“Nance, I think there is more than enough here, you and Jonathan will have leftovers for weeks, months possibly.”

Fretting, Nancy wipes her fidgeting hands on her apron, “I just want it to be perfect— you know how I am.”

Type A, that’s how she was.

“It’ll be perfect, Nancy,” Jonathan agrees, coming up behind her and holding her around her small waist, “just like you.”

Scarlet heat accentuates her rouged cheeks. “Ok ok, no kissing the cook just yet,” she says, peeling herself from Jonathan’s arms, “can you and Argyle set the card table up in the basement?”

-

The turkey almost melted like butter on your tongue, the gravy was rich and savory. Karen’s cheesy potatoes were creamy and the crunchy cornflakes on top were to die for; the entire meal was delicious. The labor of Nancy’s love for her family and friends showing through her craftsmanship of amazing cuisine. You hadn’t seen Karen or Ted since the wedding, being the closest thing to parents you had, you were ecstatic when Karen joined you over the hot water and soapy sink, washing the china plates.

“So sweety, how have things been going lately? Nancy said you have a roommate?” Her tight blonde permed curls shaking behind her as she scrubs the pot used to make the gravy.

Drying the freshly rinsed dish, you answer with a coy smile on your face, “I’ve been good, doing better than I have in a while, yeah, I have a roommate, uhh Eddie Munson.”

“Oh Mike’s friend? He always was so kind to him, taking him under his wing and showing him the ropes in high school,” she looks at you then, her lavender eyeshadow catching the light over the sink, “I’m happy you two are dating.”

Dating.

Dating Eddie Munson.

Scenarios fly through your mind, Eddie holding your hand at the movie theater, him behind you—his chin resting on your shoulder helping you play video games at Arcade Land, watching him write songs and play his guitar, kissing his lips sweetly, deeply— moving down his neck, his chest. His fingers on your thighs—

You’re sweating.

Head dizzy and full of visions of you loving Eddie and Eddie loving you back dance in your head.

“W-we’re not dating, just—”

How would you describe your relationship with Eddie? Roommates? Friends? Waiting for him to kiss you?

“—friends,” you say, enunciating the word slowly, rolling it off your tongue.

“Well,” Karen says, a hidden smile on her knowing lips, “I’m happy you two are just friends.”

Friends.

Such a complicated word. Because you and Eddie were more than that, but definitely not dating. The tension between you was electric, and sometimes jarring, but you went to bed thinking of him every night, hoping he would just open the door to your room, slip beneath the sheets and hold you while you dreamed.

-

[Two weeks prior]

The morning after you had comforted him, you woke up alone— his side of the bed still warm as if he had just gotten up. Sleeping so soundly you weren’t sure what day it was, or the time. The alarm clock on your night stand said 7 o’clock but that couldn’t be right. You and Eddie had both slept for over twelve hours, the comforting kind of sleep that lulls babies to sleep, gentle, sweet, pillowy dreams in one another’s arms. Getting dressed for work, you slip a pair of jeans on, and change into a long navy blue cardigan, headband to match. Lacing up your converse, you open your bedroom door.

Eddie’s in his room getting dressed for work when you find him. Knocking on the opened door gently, you poke your head in, his eyes lift and meet yours, a sleepy, coy grin colors his face, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, stopping mid button on his work coveralls.

The black bandana around his head presses his bangs nearly flat, the soft waves of his chocolate dipped curls reflect the sun light with a honey oranged hue.

“Hi,” your voice is small and meek.

An overwhelming feeling of dread* clouds your mind. Where would this new found friendship and comfort lead you both? Maybe Eddie was regretting the entire night. You haven’t been on this comfort level with someone you were physically attracted to ever. Steve was like a brother to you. And Chad— you were never comfortable with him, your skin crawling just thinking of it. But Eddie? The sight of him gave you butterflies, his arms holding your waist while you slept was an intimacy you haven’t experienced before, and you wanted to relish in the feeling of it.

He fiddles with his rings on his fingers, rolling them around and around before his mouth opens to speak, “I’m sorry for yesterday,” he blurts out, looking down in shame, unable to meet your curious eyes.

Barely comprehending that he’s apologizing for being vulnerable, you walk towards him slowly. He notices your staggering steps and inches backward. His walls are back up, caged in with his feelings, barbed wire on the top so you couldn’t find a way in, electric fence surrounding the brick walls—the highest voltage imaginable.

“Ed—”

“Please,” he begs, voice cracked and broken, wavering on another breakdown, “please don’t… I don’t need your sympathy.”

Tears well in your eyes at his recoiling. How can a night of comfort turn into despair and hostility the next morning? Nose burning, signaling your brain that tears would be falling any second, you wipe your eyes hastily.

Eddie felt like his neck was out, exposed to the world, waiting for the guillotine’s blade to slice his skin, until the crimson of his blood spilled in the basket, severing his head, a trophy amongst the weak.

Munson’s didn’t accept charity, his whole life that's what he felt like to Wayne, a charity case, a goddamn roadblock in Wayne’s life stopping him from finding a girlfriend, sleeping on a real bed, forcing him to work overnight just for Eddie— he’d never forgive himself for the pain he’s caused him— and now you? Offering your bed to him, your fingers twirling through his hair as he came undone. Whimpering like an infant, coating your thighs with thick tears. Sure it felt nice to have someone there with him, to reassure him it was all going to be okay, sweet, angelic voice of reason. But when he woke this morning he felt disgusting, like a predator, a vicious wolf preying on a sweet innocent lamb offering herself to him because he was upset.

He didn’t want that for you. He didn’t want to taint your soul with his past.

“I’m not giving my sympathy,” you voiced into the void, whether he heard it or not you weren’t sure.

Eddie breathing heavily, trying to contain his emotions from spilling out of him, “good, because I don’t want it.”

He walks around you in a huff, the muted scent of cigarettes and cologne hit your nose, as he passes you and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door all too hard. Following him, you’re certain you are full fledged crazy at this point, like in a scary movie when the lead actress stays in the house instead of running away.

Opening the door, opening Pandora’s box, you push it til it swings wide, he’s hovering over the sink brushing his teeth, white and blue toothpaste decorate the corners of his mouth.

“Tooty,” he groans, spitting a dollop of toothpaste into the sink, “seriously— I don’t want to talk about it, whatever you have to say save it for the human Care Bear Harrington—I don’t want to hear it.” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Stones would be impressed with how still you’re standing, head raised waiting for him to look you in your eye. Refusing to break. A storm in your eyes threatening to flood. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything,” Eddie grunts impatiently, “are you ready?”

When you don’t say anything, he moves you out of the way, large hands around your arms, stepping around you and going into the kitchen.

Following him, you won't let up, his head in the fridge he pulls out the orange juice carton, drinking directly from the jug, “Eddie, you can talk to me about it, I’m a good listener.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, gasping for breath as he swallows the citrus liquid, “I said— I said, I didn’t want to talk about it and I meant it, I’m a grown ass man— ”

Interrupting him, not giving him time to finish you blurt, “Doesn’t make you less of one just because you’re upset.”

His teeth clench so hard they almost crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides, the orange juice container crumbling in his grasp. Years of therapy as a child did nothing to help him. And neither could you.

“Stop,” he snaps, his eyes pinched tight, a wave of fury washing over him, only seeing red. “Jesus Christ enough! I don’t need this shit right now, I’m gonna be late for work!”

He stomps towards the door, shoving his boots on haphazardly, throwing his leather jacket under his arm, the same leather jacket you had worn the night before, your perfume lingering on the inside.

The smell of you lighting his fire even more, he’s losing all self control.

“What’s your problem anyway?” he grumbles, kicking open the front door, waiting for you to follow. His eyes are wide and full of hurt, anger, crippling anxiety so deep he didn’t even know if he was breathing. But no matter how mad you looked, how many tears you kept wiping away from your lash line, he couldn’t stop.

Keys in the ignition he puts the van into reverse and yanks the wheel quickly, driving like he robbed a bank.

Anytime you try to speak he cuts you off.

“Do you like getting involved with people's lives? Why are you so desperate to know what happened? Need something to gossip about at the salon? So you and your boss can whisper shit about me again? Hmm? ”

“What the fuck are y—” you try to say, but he cuts you off again, he’s raging war on himself and on you, it’s far from over, no surrender flag in sight.

“That must be it right?” he preens, barely stopping at the stop lights as he flies to your work, tires squealing around corners, “I’m here because you need something to talk about, the well full of hot gossip of Hawkins must have run dry. Well guess what sweetheart? It’s not anything I haven’t heard before.”

He’s so clueless, so expertly out of sync with what you were trying to convey, what you were begging him to understand. The tears are free falling and you don’t stop them, screaming at him, “Eddie!”

“What?!” he barks back, chest heaving with hatred filled lungs and venomous words so toxic they’re burning your skin.

Aching soul and self doubt at an all time low you try to will the words to not shake as you deliver, “do you really think I would hold you while you were sad with any other intention than consoling you!? You were upset and the least I could do after you helped me was try to make you feel better!”

He tried to argue but it’s your turn to cut him off, holding up a hand as he fumed through his nose. He parks in back of the salon, slamming on the brakes as you both jolt forward. “Let it go, Too—”

“I care about you, you stubborn asshole!” You grab your purse between your feet and open the door and jump out.

“Just stop,” Eddie pleads, his eyes brimming with tears, “don’t.”

“I can’t,” you say back in a whisper, your voice breaking at the last syllable, you reach for the door, out of breath and holding in your sobs the best you can, “oh, and for the record— Josie was telling me to be nice to you and give you a chance— my mistake.”

Slamming the door you don’t hear him break, you don’t hear him thrust the heel of his hand into the steering wheel until it aches and burns. His nerves shooting pain through his entire arm. You don’t hear him scream and hate himself as he drives to work, his body soulless, empty, fragile.

-

“Tooty, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell Josie for the tenth time.

You definitely were not fine.

Distracted the minute you got to work, your mind raced with questions of the unknown. Hurt, confused and pissed off, you had mixed the wrong color formula for your clients hair, resulting in money down the drain from your own paycheck as you threw the mixture away and started it again, for the third attempt.

At 10 o’clock you were folding towels in the back when you realized you had bleached an entire load of darks. The once rich black towels were now faded with splotches of orange.

Eddie’s words had ripped through your heart, hurdling themselves into the deepest parts of you that were sheltered away from anyone, taking up solace in your forbidden soul, hollowing it out.

By noon you were crying while rolling a client's perm rods into her hair, having to step away multiple times before Josie gently told you enough was enough and that you should go home for the day.

Not wanting to call Eddie and get a ride you decided to walk the half mile through town back to your home on Cherry lane.

Kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe for most of the walk home, you mull over the events of the day. Wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan as you tread along the sidewalk.

-

[Thanksgiving Day]

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to Nancy and Jonathan’s? It’ll be fun!”

Eddie is leaned against the driver window of his van, his finger tracing a smiley face into the dust in the dash. “I wish I could, but Wayne and I go fishing every year on Thanksgiving— it’s a tradition.”

Every year since Eddie was ten years old, Wayne took him fishing on Thanksgiving, starting early in the morning and going until sundown, ending the night camping beneath the stars, cooking their daily catch for supper, “save me a piece of pie okay?” he finishes, ruffling up your hair, a shit eating grin on his lips.

Feeling horrible that your car was still out of commission, Eddie had let you borrow the van for the night after you dropped him off at Wayne’s. “And you’re positive it’s okay if I take the van?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Eddie’s laugh spread across his cheeks, the black beanie he has on his head inching closer to falling off every second, “Tooty,” he breathes, his brown eyes dipping into yours, “take the goddamn van and have a good time—and hurry up, you’re gonna be late.”

[2 Weeks prior]

🎶 it was the third of June another sleepy dusty delta day

I was out choppin’ cotton and my brother was baling hay

Bobbie Jo’s tune was ringing in his ears all day— no matter how loud he cranked the radio in the shop, no matter how many times he tried to hum a different tune— her -* words rang through his mind like silk, coating his skin and implementing old memories he didn’t want brought up.

He was filled with fury. A ticking time bomb. It should have been no surprise when Sean and Aaron started poking at him, how unhinged he would become.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Munson,” Sean sneers, changing the oil on the Ford truck, “your little girlfriend finally figure out you’re a fucking loser?”

Eddie had already thrown a wrench across the shop out of frustration when he realized he forgot his lunch. He slammed the hood of a blue minivan on his fingers right after morning break, and now Aaron and Sean were starting in on him.

His breath erratic, trying to breathe through his nose to calm himself down but failing. His misery over taking his nerves. He grunts through barred teeth, “We aren’t dating,”

Sean perks up at the news, his wiry mustache splattered across his top lip like a squashed caterpillar, decrepit and sparse. “Oh shit, so she’s single, huh?”

“Damn,” Aaron chimes in, his hands cupped around his junk as he shakes it back and forth between his greasy hands, “what I wouldn't give to be balls deep in that pretty little mouth, that’d shut her up for good.”

“You’re skating on thin ice, fuck rag, I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Eddie’s shoulders are tensed, adrenaline at an all time high. Fight or flight screaming through his blood racing through his heart and speeding up his heart rate.

“Whatchya gonna do about it, freak?” Sean spits pushing Eddie in the chest, “ ‘Name the time and place’ yeah motherfucker? How about right here right now?” Standing toe to toe with Eddie, but a foot shorter he peers into Eddie’s face, egging him on.

“Ever since you moved in with that whore you’ve been such a little bitch about everything— I mean I get it, honestly— Chad always said she had the sweetest p—”

Sean chokes on the last word as Eddie’s fist connects with his cheek, his rings would end up leaving bruises in their shape on his skin for weeks to come.

Sean throws a punch at Eddie but he is quick to dodge it, years of fighting in the trailer park giving him an upper hand. Blood spews from Sean’s mouth as Eddie upper cuts him in the chin, his tongue almost split in half as he bit down from the impact.

Eddie is blinded momentarily as Aaron socks him in the eye, a deep purpling plum colored bruise that took weeks to heal. Stumbling backwards his back hits the red sun faded tool box, Sean came swinging a crow bar out of nowhere and hit Eddie in the ribs, a groaning thud as the sound of his bones shatter in his body.

Behind his back, he reaches for whatever is closest, a wrench wrapped tight in his fingers gets thrown in the air at Sean, hitting him in the throat and knocking him over onto the smooth concrete of the shop floor, gasping for breath.

Aaron tackles Eddie, sending him into the air compressor, four fists are swinging and bodies shifting as they both struggle for dominance. Eddie’s lip is cut and his eye is swollen almost shut. Aaron’s nose is dripping blood on Eddie’s shirt as he punches him in the same place that Sean hit him with the crow bar. He’s able to get a knee up between Aaron and himself and twists his body to get above him, and when he does he lays punch after punch into Aaron’s swollen bloody face.

With each rocking fist connecting with flesh, Eddie has one thing on his mind, you. He thinks about the foul way they had disrespected you. The way you had cried when you told him you couldn’t stop caring about him. How he was close to losing you because he couldn’t open up and let you in. How terrified you must have been for all those years when you were scared and alone, nobody there to hold you and comfort you. And while he’s pummeling Aaron into a bloody pulp of cracked teeth and swollen eyes, it finally clicks for him.

-

The fight didn’t last long, but was effective enough to get Eddie suspended for the rest of the work day— and Aaron and Sean got a nice week's vacation with no pay.

Eddie’s knuckles are coated in a mixture of blood and spit. His jaw aches as he drives home with one eye open, it’s the clearest he’s seen in a long time.

[Thanksgiving]

“Fish ain’t bitin’ much are they?” Wayne and Eddie have both cast and reeled in their rods multiple times with zero luck. The small boat Eddie had gifted Wayne with for Christmas 3 years ago stood at still waters of Lover’s Lake, both men chilled to the bone.

“Nah, they sure aren’t. Probably no fish left in here after the summer you had.”

Since Eddie had graduated, Wayne dropped down to part time at the plant and went to dayshift. A true dream for him and for Eddie, offering to pick up most of the bills, a silent thank you for all the years that Wayne has taken care of him when he didn’t have to, but did anyway— the only caring person in his life, until you.

The wind whips through Eddie’s hair, tugging the curls out from the confinements of the cotton stocking cap snug on his head. The once crisp autumn foliage is soggy like forgotten cereal in a bowl of milk around them from the previous nights rain, chilling the usual humidity from the air and adding a depth of ice in their veins as they shake and shiver in their jackets, Eddie in his leather jacket, Wayne in a weathered faded khaki canvas coat.

Ruddy hands with silvered rings light two cigarettes, passing one to a pair of calloused, aged hands. Inhaling deeply and blowing warm smoke in the whispering winds of the quiet fog around them.

Wayne runs a rough hand over his sunned scalp, itching the small patches of hair left, as he readjusts his tattered cap, letting the nicotine settle into his bones and soothe the stubborn ache in his jaw, like ointment on an arthritic joint, “you ever gonna bring that girlfriend over to meet me or you keepin’ her alls to yourself?”

“What girl?” Eddie says quickly, coyly, blowing smoke into the space between the two of them, hiding his mouth with the curtain of his curls, opening the coffee can full of mud and worms, pushing another worm on the end of his hook.

Wayne hadn’t talked to him about girls since he was fifteen when he walked into his room and tossed a box of rubbers at his chest and grumbled, “use ‘em,” under his breath.

Irritation blooms against Wayne’s brows, “boy, don’t play dumb with me,” he cracks at Eddie, a false stern voice in his gruff voice, “the one you’re dating you little wise ass.”

“I’m not dating anyone, Wayne.” Eddie says, pretending to be preoccupied with the tackle box full of neon fishing lures and bobbers. He runs his thumb over the rough cracked surface of the faded red and white bobber, the same one Wayne gave to him when they started fishing all those years ago. The memory brings a smile to his face.

The gruff scoff from Wayne’s throat suggests bullshit to his ears from his nephew’s mouth, a noise Eddie has heard many many times in the two decades he had been living with Wayne, one that told him that he better tell the truth, and right the hell now. No matter that he now towers over Wayne, he’ll always be his boy, the wide eyed boy with a mountain of guilt on his shoulders, his son.

And as Wayne always knew— the more he poked and prodded, the more Eddie would clam up. They sit in comfortable silence, the slight breeze rippling the water on Lover’s Lake, rocking the small fiberglass boat and swaying the two Munson men gently.

How could he describe the relationship between you and him? Not dating, but hopefully more than friends. He didn’t have many friends that he’d willingly let help him battle his inner-most demons. In fact, Gareth and Jeff were still left in the dark about it. The breeze continues to grow frigid and burrows itself between the layers of his clothing, freezing his skin and peppering it with goose bumps. The chattering of Eddie’s teeth remind him of Steve’s birthday when he offered you his jacket, and opted to freeze the rest of the night just so you wouldn’t be chilly.

It’s simple really, he admitted it to Steve, but somehow admitting it to Wayne was worse than the hit from the box of condoms against his chest.

He says it all too fast, out of breath, and barely audible. But he says it. And a smile spreads across the weathered leather of Wayne’s face, pulling his mustache up, a glimmer of a sparkle in his eye, “see, now was that so bad?”

-

[2 weeks prior]

His knuckles ache, and he’s not positive if it’s from the blows to Aaron’s face or the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. His realization while busting open Aaron’s cheek made him eager to get home. Eager to clean himself up before he went to pick you up from work.

The house is silent as he walks through the garage, his angry hurtful words bounce back to him off the kitchen walls, the counter. The orange juice was still where he left it, crumpled and misshapen.

He truly was an asshole. Hurting the one person who cared for him other than Wayne. He sits down in a chair and unties his boots, blood splattered on the toes. Peeling the sweat stained work coveralls from his body, he tosses them down the steps to the basement, leaving them for later.

He stands partially naked in the kitchen, clad in only his underwear and socks, the kick of adrenaline wearing completely off, the promise of pain against his broken ribs rings searing heat through his body.

A glance around the kitchen stills the breath in his lungs. The kitchen is a wreck from the waffle night, the colossal beginning of a budding relationship that he was currently in the trenches hoping to fix. The once silky batter is now hard, pale concrete cemented onto the sides of the glass mixing bowl. The waffle iron was open, sprayed with cooking oil that was sitting with its cap off on the counter. The plates were sticky with cold syrup and now styrofoam resembled waffles, still on the table from where you had both sat. Forks and knives laying atop the ceramic plates in a haphazard way, awaiting the return of warm hands to finish their job.

Without thinking he starts to clean up, filling the sink with hot water, scraping the food from the plates into the garbage, putting away the orange juice and the left out butter and cooking spray. In no time the kitchen is sparkling and Eddie’s body is screaming at him to rest. The cuts on his knuckles are cleaned but swollen, soap stung from the water. His side aches, adrenaline slipping away with every growing minute.The pain is almost unbearable.

A clicking noise from the front door has him turning suddenly, a slight panic in his nerves as he stands stone still.

-

A block from the house, your tears return, cold, and stuck to your face like ice on poles. You’re exhausted, stomping the entire way home drove shin splints up your legs, the cold cramping dull in your calves. Thinking of Eddie the entire way home you are dumbfounded— completely and utterly confused at his reaction. How could he not know how you felt about him? Why was he begging you to stop? Wondering if you’ll ever get the answers to those questions you wipe your nose with the sleeve of your cardigan. If he was going to guard himself again, and put the barriers back up— so could you.

The door is stuck as you try to open it, pushing and shoving your shoulder into it, it finally gives, stumbling your way into the living room in the most ungraceful way. The scent of freshly wiped surfaces sting your nose and stop you dead in your tracks. You weren’t expecting to be relieved from seeing Eddie, but the relief is short lived as you notice the deep violet and indigo bruise painting his eye.

“Ed—,” you gasp, covering your mouth as you run towards him, foregoing the screaming in your legs, “wh— oh my God!”

His eyes melt at your appearance, scarlet rimmed eyes and wet cheeks take him in, eyebrows dipped into unease and apprehension. He feels your hesitancy, thick like fog surrounding you both as you reach your fingers up to his cheek. Ice cold pads of your fingertips skim the tender skin of his face, brushing the wispy hair of his bangs from his eyes with your fingertips to get a better look at him.

He doesn’t speak, barely breathing at your gentle touch on his face. The frosty coolness of your fingers burn his skin with every silky movement of your hands. He tries to avoid your eyes, avoid the pain he knew was from earlier and his cowardice.

Fingers dancing along his skin, you scan over his torso, the same way you did on the morning after Halloween, the bruising from the mishap of the steps is replaced by a pattern of splotchy deep bruising.

“They’re broke,’’ Eddie groans, his split lip ripping open, from him trying to force a smile, “looks cool though right?”

Using humor to deflect the true way he feels was an easy defense mechanism for him, but you won’t bite. Won’t take the bait he’s dropping into your waters, won’t nibble at his small offering.

Trying not to break, you stand your ground, “what happened?”

“Nothing that wasn’t deserved,” Eddie says, eyes casted downwards at your hands near his ribs, “I was just having a shitty enough day— my own fault—“, he adds quickly, his eyes flicking to yours, not wanting to put salt into the already festering wound he created, “I—uh—I took care of it.” He says in a final explanation.

“And now I’m going to take care of this,” he motions between you both, sliding his hands down your arms and settling them in your hands.

“Tooty— I,” he exhales as deep as his lungs will allow given the break in his ribs, spilling his stitched up heart to you, letting the walls fall with each word, “I’m sorry— I’m so fucking sorry. Nothing I do or say will ever amount to how shitty I feel for making you cry, for pushing you away. I’m a coward when it comes to this type of shit, and it was too heavy— too muddy for me to explain. I figured if I’d shut you out you’d go back to how it was before— before Harrington’s birthday, before Halloween befo—,”

A shake of your head and a sharp intake of breath come from your body. Did all of this mean nothing to him? The flirting, the gentle touching, the sweet gestures? It was all just something he wanted to forget?

Voice small and shallow, “Is that what you want Eddie? To go back to how it was before, when you first moved in?”

A single tear falls from your face, and without thinking, without second guessing himself or wondering if you would think he was being weird, Eddie is quick to brush it away with the curl of his forefinger. His swollen knuckles are tight and achy. He tries to hide a hiss from his teeth, wanting to live in this euphoric moment for as long as he can, as long as you will allow him to. He extends both hands now to your face, his rough thumbs rubbing over the expanse of your cheeks, fingers behind your ears, curling into your hair.

“I want,” he breathes easy now, as if the touch of your skin on his fingers mended his broken bones, his eyes soft where it allowed, one still swollen shut, “I need you to know that I care, too— and I don’t want you to ever quit caring about me— baby, I’ve cared about you for years—- and I can’t get myself to stop.”

And when a sob breaks from your chest, he pulls you into him, “c’mere,” the sensation steals the breath from your lungs, you’ve never been touched with such gentleness, such care. He’s holding you as if you’re glass. Fragile, cracked and held together with shitty Elmer’s glue that was a tempting snack for children. It’s so delicate the way he’s stroking your skin.

Minutes or hours pass you’re not sure. His warmth engulfs you, his musky cologne and spiced deodorant is a gentle blanket around you. Wrapping you in a swaddle of his admiration.

His hair tickles your cheeks, tattooed arms are twisted in your hair,and wrapped around your back. The shine of your tears coat his bare chest, his chin rests on top of yours breathing in your hair shushing you gently.

You spend the night working Eddie’s rings from his already swollen fingers, pressing ice packs to his bruises and spreading neosporin on his cut lip, rubbing it gently with the tip of your finger, Eddie giggles at the concentration on your face and the way your tongue is poked out.

He’s infatuated with the way you make him feel. His heart soaring higher and higher with each delicate touch of your fingers on his skin.

He’s up late that night, stomach full from your homemade chicken noodle soup and his heart even more full. Flying higher than cloud nine, your sweet face on his mind.

-

[Thanksgiving]

A sadistic voice echoes from your tv screen, “a little young for ya isn’t she Richie? BEEP BEEP RICHIE!”

Richie Tozier sips the Dixie cup of water, leaning against the bookcase in the Derry library, Pennywise continues his antics of torture as balloons drop from the ceiling, popping with blood spluttering on the library go-ers faces, oblivious to the fantasy nightmare Pennywise ensues.

The front door opens with a thud as a shriek and the popcorn bowl on your lap goes flying through the air. Eddie walks hurriedly through the door. A shivering spine of fear and realization hits you all at once. His boisterous laugh reverberates the living room walls as he picks popcorn from your hair, and places it in his mouth, a loud crunch between his teeth as he plops down next to you on the couch.

“Think you got your holidays mixed up, sweetheart— it’s Thanksgiving, Halloween was last month.”

Rolling your eyes you make a face to mock him, which only fuels his fire and has his cold fingers jabbing into your sides and tickling you so hard you scream out. Begging him to stop.

“Don’t!,” you squeal, holding your breath and giggling at his unrelenting tickling. He finally gives up after your face has gone red and your hair is a mess, laughing tears rolling down your cheeks.

Eddie sits back on the couch taking a huffing breath, a wild smile spreading from ear to ear, “that’s what you get for watching IT without me!”

Scoffing, you pick up the bowl of popcorn and the paled yellow crunchy kernels spilled on the ruby red throw blanket, “wait, weren’t you supposed to be camping with your uncle tonight?”

Eddie breathes out a sigh, bending at the waist to gather the kernels off the floor. The rest of the fishing trip with Wayne, Eddie spent it quieter than he had ever been, contemplating his next move, how could he show you that he was serious? How could he let you in? Show you his ugly past without scaring you, without you running for the hills? The answer was easy.

“I have something— somewhere I wanna show you,” he whispers, standing to his full height. Looking for the familiar mischievous glimmer in his eye, you are surprised by the genuine sparkle replacing it. His face his earnest, almost a look of doubt on his lips, scared of your reaction.

He peels the blanket from your lap and reaches down, his hand held out extended to yours, “come with me?”

-

The air is bitter. The driveway is glittering with a sequined frost, dancing with the shine of the street lights. Warm breath fills the inside of Eddie’s van as he slots the key into the ignition and fires it up, cranking the heat. Snuggling further into your knitted scarf, hiding the chill of your nose as Eddie backs down the driveway, heading out of town.

It doesn’t take long to get to where he was going, the drive in silence had you questioning what was going on in his mind. The path was overgrown, hidden from the road, hidden from anyone who didn’t know that it was there. The headlights of the van bob along with each sunken hole on the dirt drive. Jostling the van this way and that.

Nestled into thick trees past an old loose and corroded barbed wire fence, in place for property lines, sits a small house, paint chipped and barely visible. The roof was caved in by a large tree falling on it, the sagging porch still had bleached yellow crime scene tape hanging on by threads to the moss eaten pillar.

Eddie throws the van in park, sniffling slowly and looking around. “This uh,” he stutters, clearing his throat, “this is where I lived with my mom, my old man was in and out most of the time—drunk or in jail, I don’t remember him being here that much except the last time.”

Silence is golden, and you give him your undivided attention as he twists in his seat, bent knee leaning on the door frame.

“That,” he says pointing to the fallen tree in the back, “was an apple tree, apples this big around I swear,” he motions his hands in a circle, a chuckle in his throat, “we didn’t live here for very long, a year, or two maybe…”

His voice fades, and at first he second guesses bringing you here. He can imagine you piecing this puzzle of woe together, his life. The tragic tale of Eddie Munson, he didn’t spin a web of luxuries for you to pretend with him for a moment, a second, that he was anything other than what he was—but when your cotton gloved fingers slide into his, interlacing them—it gives him the courage, the resilience to continue.

“…I was six when it— when she was… he—,” he trails off, unable to finish, but it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. The abandoned house, the barely-there flicker of yellow tape, she wasn’t only dead— she was murdered, by his father’s hand.

Comprehending what he’s getting at, you can practically hear his heart breaking. Eyes never leaving his face, you take him in, his eyes are wet as he blinks back tears, using his other hand to pinch the inner corners of his eyes, and hide behind his hair, his face is ashen, once ruddy cheeks from when he came home and tickled you is now swallowed by stale ash, sucking the life from his eyes, his cheeks, his soul.

“.. right in front of me…” he hangs his head low, sniffing quietly, “Wayne took me in after that.”

Eddie and you were alike in more ways than you had thought, although your parents were still alive, they were equally absent from your life, much like Eddie’s parents. Sure you both had people who took care of you, and as sweet as the gesture was, it was never really the same. The aching torture of having to defend for yourself, put a brave face on for your temporary care takers so you don’t seem like a bother to them, so they won’t worry about the weight of taking you in— was all too familiar.

“Eddie,” you whisper softly, rubbing his hands with your thumbs.

Yearning and breaking for him, the cords of your heart reach to his, tethering them together as you slide over the center council, and carefully land into his lap. He’s surprised at first by your brazenness, but once you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him into you, he melts like chocolate at your heated touch.

Your fingers tug into his hair at the nape of his neck, his nose and lips make their way in between your scarf and your neck, the slight chill against your skin sends goosebumps down your spine, a throbbing in your core.

Realization spreads through your heart, your brain, the hair follicles on your head, the painted nails on your toes. Holding him, him holding you, his arms around you, your arms buried in his hair, his fingers rubbing patterns into your back as he sighs deeply and regulates his breath—for the first time in your life, you realize this is what love feels like.

To be loved and to be in love. It was undeniable. Right? Friends didn’t do this. Roommates didn’t do this. But two people who cared deeply for one another and were bonded together by more than just traumatic circumstances? That was love.

In this moment, nothing else matters.

It’s just you and him.

Him and you.

The flutter of your heart short circuits as it seeps hot sticky love all over your face, blooming warmly in your cheeks. Grasping him tighter, you pull away, settling your forehead into his. Whiskey poured eyes staring back into yours, for a brief second you swear you can feel his heart flutter with yours, beating as one.

Eddie doesn’t play his music loud on the way back. A comfortable echoing still in the van as it clunks along the road. His voice barely above a whisper when he speaks. He feels satisfied. Happy even? Like the weight of the world was off of his shoulders by you simply knowing his past. You didn’t ask questions and in the moment he didn’t need you to. His arms wrapped around you was more than enough, your fingers twirling in his hair, the smell of your perfume behind your ear. The way you let him grieve, let him take you somewhere he hasn’t gone in years, was something he’d appreciate for a lifetime to come.

Once home it’s like any normal night, only he doesn’t tease you. He doesn’t fight over the bathroom or use your toothbrush, he doesn’t argue when you pop Christmas Vacation into the VCR, even though you can quote the entire movie. He’s completely engulfed by you, watching you brush your hair, the extra roll of the waistband of your pajama pants. The ridiculous colors of your fuzzy socks you insisted on wearing now that the weather was colder.

He’s never felt nervous around a girl before, usually throwing himself around, showing off his exquisite rack like a stacked buck in rut, rubbing his antlers on trees, showing his mighty dominance.

But you weren’t just another lonely girl looking for a night with a lead singer, or a girl pretending to be in love with him just so she could score coke from his supplier while also fucking him behind his back, and you definitely weren’t a faceless girl that he plowed to forget it all.

Meaning much more to him than just some silly fuck, or a high school “sweetheart” that ended up being a heartless cunt, or a dumpster for his cum.

No.

You were much more than that, to him.

More than a roommate, more than a friend, more than Eyeball’s bratty fucking sister.

He could write sonnets about the little lines in between your brow when you pulled your eyebrows together, usually when you were mad at him. He could sing songs about your laugh, not the small polite one, the loud one, the one that rang every doorbell to his heart and and he gladly answered. He could hum a tune of gratitude about your cooking and the silent ways you care for him and your close friends. He’d get his ass kicked by the entire male population of Hawkins if it meant keeping you safe.

You were it for him.

The only one to make him feel, the only one he wanted to see at the end of the day, in the morning when he got up.

Watching you giggle and let out a yawn, he places a couch pillow between his hip and yours gesturing for you to lie down. He almost goes into cardiac arrest when you move the pillow entirely, your head resting in his lap. A sleepy smile on your face as you tug the blanket under your chin.

Yup.

You were it for him.

And he's a sucker, addicted to the way you made him love you so effortlessly.

hope you all enjoyed this volume! volume ix is where it heats up 🔥

@big-ope-vibes @br0ck-eddie @b-irock @loveshotzz @mopeymopeymouse @shiftingtherain @courtingchaos @nightonblogmountain @word-wytch @ghost-proofbaby @hanobe8 @abibliophobiaa @joejoequinnquinn just a few of the coven 🩵🩷

READ MORE

This is for you

*sacrifices 🖕🏼

[archiemcphee]

Gravy Candy Canes

Gravy Candy Canes are here to save Christmas the same way that actual gravy saves dry turkey. No matter how bad a holiday meal is, you can always count on gravy to cover everything up and make it better. This set of six 5-1/4" tall, gravy-flavored canes with brown and white stripes will improve all the other parts of the holidays. Every time you get suckered into a difficult conversation with an inebriated relative, just suck on the savory goodness of a gravy candy cane and your troubles will melt away.

[icycoldninja]

1st Class SOLDIER boys spending Thanksgiving with their S/O

A/N: HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!!! This year, the SOLDIER boys decide to spend Thanksgiving with their beloved Y/N; I wonder how it'll go...?

♡Sephiroth♡

-Shows up to your house bearing a large bottle of pumpkin pie flavored wine (Yes, that exists) and a jar of Cool Whip, thinking that's a suitable dessert.

-Due to having grown up in a lab, the man has no idea what you're supposed to eat for Thanksgiving. He thinks it's just a day where your entire family gets together and eats for no reason.

-This man cannot cook a turkey for the life of him. Don't even let him try, he'll find a way to burn the turkey and make the baking dish explode in the oven, regardless of what it was made of.

-Drinks the cranberry sauce, not understanding it's for the turkey, and tries to mash potatoes with the hilt of Masamune.

-Fortunately, this man is not entirely hopless; he's tall enough to hang all the decorations without a stepladder, so there's that.

-When the Thanksgiving dinner is finally ready, he'll find that he actually enjoys eating turkey, especially the crispy turkey skin, and soon becomes addicted to sweet potato casserole. Potatoes with marshmallows!? He had no idea such a combination could exist and taste this good!

-He had a great time at your place; it was a welcome change of pace, being around all your family members at once, experiencing the familial love he never had.

-He ended up eating way too much, just so he could continue hanging around you guys, and had to literally waddle out the door because of how stuffed he was. 🌝

♡Genesis♡

-Unlike Sephi dearest, Genesis actually knows what Thanksgiving is and how to celebrate properly. His cooking skills are pretty basic, so he ends up gifting you an apple pie cobbled together from store-bought dough and canned filling.

-Very talkative; gets along quite well with all your family members and gets on all their good sides by talking about memories with you.

-His favorite foods are mashed potatoes and gravy. He just cannot get over how creamy they are and how delightfully savory the gravy tastes.

-As mentioned earlier, his cooking skills are basic, so he can help out in the kitchen, but only to a certain extent. He can help mash potatoes, mix sauces, keep an eye on the turkey, etc., basically, he does the stuff an eager 10-year-old does.

-Unfortunately, with Genesis, not everything has a happy ending. Just when you think the night is progressing properly with everyone socializing jovially and having fun, Genesis decides to cause some drama over something as small and insignificant as a housefly that had the misfortune of buzzing over his head.

-The minute he caught sight of that fly, his mind snapped into Total Bitch Mode. He rises from the table with fury, knocking his drink over and sending silverware flying everywhere, shocking you and your entire family.

-He will scream like a banshee, then send a massive fireball hurtling past all your heads and crashing into the wall where that poor little fly once rested. Everyone is in shock as they try to comprehend what the actual fuck just happened.

-Despite this inconvenience, and the fact that there's now a smoldering hole in your wall, everything was quite fine. Genesis had a good time and so did everyone else.

♡Angeal♡

-Angeal is a man of dreams an honor. He knows how to cook. In fact, he knows so much, he takes over as head chef and magically turns into a dad overnight.

-According to him, it is now his solemn duty to cook the turkey, heat up the stuffing, and prep the dessert all at once, by himself. He adamantly rejects all assistance, claiming that a man with true honor can do all the cooking alone.

-Surprisingly, he pulls it off. The turkey was only a little bit burnt and the pie was only slightly too sweet.

-Angeal gets along well enough with most of your family and friends, and even ends up swapping recipes with several of them, though he very much preferred talking to you.

-His favorite foods are the deserts, believe it or not. He adores pie, especially pumpkin pie, and eats so much of it, he gets a massive sugar rush and a bloated belly. Poor guy.

-After everyone was done eating, his honor compelled him to tackle the mountain of dishes that everyone left behind, something you told him not to worry about. However, Angeal refused to listen to you, stating that it was his dream to do the dishes.

-Giving up due to his stubbornness, you left him to do his thing, only to come back an hour later to find an overflowing sink, wet dishes piled up literally everywhere, and a passed out angel on your kitchen floor. Turns out he'd eaten too much, and his food coma combined with over exertion from the daytime cooking caused him to fall asleep on the spot.

-All in all, everyone had a great time, and Angeal ended up sleeping in very late the next day.

[salt-clangen]

Oakclan

Inventive, authentic, and boastful.

This took longer than the other clans so if there’re mistakes it is what it is.

Lifestyle:

Oakclan was the original clan, they’re the blue print, the source code. When you think clan, it’s them, when you think cat, it’s them. They’re well rounded and basic in the most charming way. While they may seem simple at first glance and second…and fifth, this clan is full of cats with ingenuity and a cooperative spirit.

They’re extremely proud to be the first clan created, valuing innovation and progress while still retaining a sense of nostalgia. They can seem a bit stuck in their ways despite all the talks of progression, but it’s their believe that convention doesn’t have to sacrifice tradition. This clan is known for their vast resources and wealth of knowledge, it’s natural for them to feel a bit prideful, though some cats take it a bit too far.

Beneath the prestige and honor of the clan lies a subtle predilection for favoritism. Though Oakclan cats may tout themselves as open and altruistic, they’re really no different than Duskclan when it comes to their mistrust of outsiders however Oakclan hides this prejudice well, so well that many cats don’t notice it until they’re in the line of fire.

While other clans accept and even embrace that cats may choose to leave the clan, be it for romance or guided by starclan. Both Honeyclan and duskclan can understand why a cat might leave, Duskclan a little more critical. But in Oakclan, you don’t leave, why would you? Starclan called you to be in duskclan? Well maybe you should check again because our clerics will say they got a prophecy that says you stay right here. Oh your mate is in Honeyclan? Well they can come here, the more the merrier in Oakclan. You want to wander and explore? And abandon your clan and family! Shameful you would even think of that, the deputy will keep a close eye on you until you prove you’re responsible.

It’s not so much that they force you to stay, most of the times it’s not a conscious, singular effort to retain warriors, but rather an entire culture that reveres the collective so much that they can’t see past it. They’re blind to this bias, how can devotion be a bad thing.

The clan is open to newcomers, though they certainly put them through plenty of tests to make sure loyalty is engrained. But even after passing assessments and assimilation into the clan, new cats are still treated as outsiders for quite a while compared to other clans. (Think thunderclan tpb with fireheart) It takes a long time for someone to shake that label, usually by risking their lives for the clan. Once they do, cats that were once new and treated like a foreigner all of a sudden turn around and do it to other new cats. It’s like hazing rituals, everyone thinks that since they went through it, it’s now their turn to haze someone.

Food:

Duskclan is spicy, Saltclan is fishy (umami), Honeyclan is sweet, and Oakclan is savory. They love roasted prey, filleted open and stuffed with seasoned organ meats and flavorful mushrooms. Gravy is also a popular addition. They’re the clan that ate the most fish before saltclan, having access to Turtle pond as well as the great river. They also have a regular supply of eggs and mushrooms all around their forest. (Turkey tail, hen of the woods, morel)

Their territory rarely has large game, but they do see the occasional boar crossover from Duskclan and it’s a very popular meal. It takes a lot of effort to hunt boar and they’re not as polished as Duskclan, but often they’re very willing to trade for it.

It’s often joked that Oakclan cats will eat anything, but they absolutely have preferences, opting to eat fresh meals over preserved foods. Smoked meats and fish are saved for winter but in the old growth forest their prey populations are stable enough that they don’t have to eat it until nearly half way through. They prefer rich, tender meals, hot and fresh out of the oven.

Because of this they have 2 fire pits the camp and the keepers are constantly working to prepare meals throughout the day. Eating isn’t considered a group activity and cats usually group up in pairs or trios to eat.

This habit of preferring freshly cooked meats over preserved dish can seem excessive, this is the clan of excess. They truly have the resources and numbers for this type of lifestyle. Keepers recruiting warriors and carers to help butcher prey to be used within a short time frame. And while they prefer not to smoke or preserve, they aren’t above doing so in times of famine or disease outbreaks.

Crafts and Trades:

Let me stress the difference between arts and crafts, because the clans see these as two very distinct activities. Art is anything that was made to be pretty and functionless, crafts are anything that serve a purpose. Ie a clay bowl is the craft, the paint on the bowl is art. Both have their place in life, but while Honeyclan is the artistic clan, Oakclan is the crafting clan.

Their main forms of trade are high quality red clay products, twines of different materials/strengths, and utensils. Ladles, oven mitts, fire pokers etc are quite popular for trade due to the quality of the craft. This clan has a slew of materials to choose from and the best artisans have their own signatures that they pass along to their apprentices. It’s not uncommon to hear “oh this masher was carved out of cherrywood, it was probably made by Cedarpelt or maybe his granddaughter Daisyfur.”

Construction also falls under their list of expertise, and while they can’t really trade with it, repairing and upgrading dens and other structures are treated similarly to other artisans roles. Keepers are expected to have a certain craftsmanship to their projects vs other clans. In the Artisans knoll some keepers will teach lessons to other clans on den structure if asked.

With so many impressive crafters in their clan, it made natural sense to turn the clans former camp into the Artisan knoll. A project proposed by Dovestar, who had the leader before Froststar and Archstar (the current leader). So this project is relatively new and a few elders remember how crafting and trading had been before the knoll. A much more closed off practice, artisans weren’t as willing to share their knowledge even within their own clan let alone the others. Some cats may even prefer that.

But Oakclans desire to show off out won their need for separation, the by product of their flaunting actually fostered a better environment for teaching and learning. They might say that was their intention all along, but Duskclan is doubtful.

Camp:

Oakclan has been in their current camp for about 5 leaderships(~25years), the original camp chosen by the founders of the clan was much closer to the gathering stone. It was originally on a slightly elevated hill with fallen oak trees for dens and try as they might the bramble wall surrounding the camp was very weak in certain areas. Due to how easy it was to access and how poor the border wall was, raids launched against the camp were very successful.

Yet despite all the damages suffered, it was an extremely unpopular decision made by the leader of the time, Fishstar. The clan argued the proposition heavily and a few cats even threatened usurpation if she was to go through with it. They argued for nearly 3 days, refusing to complete patrols or tasks. On the third night of near rioting, the commotion was stopped when a fox entered the camp. No patrols or guards meant no one had noticed it getting closer and closer to camp. And no fires going meant no one saw it enter until it struck.

The fox only killed one cat that night, the leader of the argument against moving camps, Leafbounce, before it was killed single handedly by Fishstar. After that the clan took this as an omen that it was starclans will to move to the new camp. This story is likely true, but it definitely gets embellished when being retold. It’s often told to kits as a bedtime story, weirdly enough.

Oakclans camp is located in a dry gully surrounded by bramble bushes that were planted for defense. Between the thorns and the steep walls, the new camp is much more secure. The nursery is an old badger set dug into the side of the gully bank, while the sick den, cleric den, and apprentice den are made of rocks. The warriors den and elder den are fallen tree branches covered with lichen and ferns. The leaders den is the hollow center of the of a large, dead oak tree, on clear nights the leader and their mate sleep in the branches.

Roles:

Because of their territory’s size and wealth of predators, solo patrols are done only by senior warriors. Staying near camp though is fine, as long as an individual is within shouting distance they can have a semblance of privacy. Apprentices and noncombative roles must be with at least one warrior, otherwise you risk being cornered by a fox or badger. Swimming in Turtle Pond also requires a buddy system to avoid drowning or injury.

Artisans- easily the most common position after warrior. Just like the other clans these cats are in charge of crafting. Every apprentice learns how to make a pot, a bowl, a plate, and a ladle before they become warriors and it’s usually taught by the lead artisan. This role also includes camp building as that’s just considered a large craft project. This role has about 8 cats in it at any given time and about 3 apprentices on average.

Camp keepers- this role doesn’t have to build or maintain the clan’s dens like in other clans so they get to spend more time cooking and butchering. There’s usually about 5-6 keepers with 1-2 apprentices.

Care takers- unlike Duskclan whose carers focus on herbal plant care or Honeyclan who focuses on floral plant care, Oakclan is very balanced about territory management. Carers in this clan work hard to manage both herbal and non-herbal plants as well as the local fauna. They learn when the best time to hunt certain prey is and the local predator populations. Due to the rich resources in their oak forest they deal with foxes, badgers, and coyotes more often than the other clans. Occasionally they even see elk, wolves, lynx, coyote-dog hybrids migrating down further south during particularly harsh winters. They’re very prepared to drive out these visiting animals, typically with nuisance behavior like scent marking near their dens or coordinated taunts to distract and steal food. This is usually pretty effective.

Lore keepers- this role is ideal for cats with a flare for dramatics. Oakclan has a particular interest in theatre and performance, so their stories are often played up for drama. This leads to some less than accurate accounts but historians are diligent about knowing the correct history. This role is also very inventive and most of the cats in this role have a few inventions under their belt, not always successful. Currently they’re trying to work on a writing system on paper, similar to twoleg accounts from kittypets. There’s already a glyph symbol system used on trees to indicate different scenarios, but they’re hoping to translate this to written word. They’re working with artisans on writing materials and parchments. This role usually has ~5 cats in it and 1 apprentice who’s trained by the group.

Queens- kits are wild and no matter how tight you weave the dens and bramble wall, those little fuckers are gonna find a way out. And with how dense the forest undergrowth is it’s very easy to get lost, so queens are strict and sharp eyed. This is a good role for cats who like order but are flexible enough to not lose their cool. Trips to the artisan knoll and Turtle pond are common and most kits are taught to swim in the shallows while they’re young.

Code keepers- they monitor the border closely and accompany non combat cats on their tasks. Like other clans they represent cats that have been accused of breaking the code. This roles has about 5 cats in it.

Clerics- Oakclan’s clerics are a nice medium between Honeyclan’s casualness and Duskclan’s strictness. A nice mix of healing and spiritualism. They tend to answer to their leaders as much as they answer to Starclan, which can be both good or bad, depending on the cats. This role tends to be a bit uninvolved in the day to day clan activities.

Warriors- the most common role, just like the other clans this is the catch all role that does all the hunting and assists other roles in their tasks.

Leaders and Deputies- unlike the other clans Leaders do all the patrol planning and day to day, the deputy works on more specialized projects like camp repair.

Apprentices- all apprentices (aside from clerics) are trained as warriors until 12 moons, then they get their warrior name. After that they can choose to pursue a secondary apprenticeship.

Mediators- similar to Honeyclan these cats are in charge of trades and resolving interpersonal conflicts.

Alright I think that’s everything to cover, just like my other posts here’s a few cats from Oakclan. We have Onebranch an average Oakclan artisan, Oakstar the founder, and Archstar the current leader.

[lionsongfr]

Crystalline Gala Cuisine

Been a bit since I made a festival cuisine, and since my old ones have been circulating, I guiltily figured I should make one for the Gala before it ends.  Gaolers and Tundras are both herbivores (though Gaolers also eat meat), but I headcanon that like most herbivores they will opportunistically eat fish, insects, and meat when given the chance. The dishes have a bit more mixing than the previous cuisine; in the Icefield you eat what you can and as much as you can to survive. Potato Onions are my replacement for potatos, because FR needs potatoes (and citrus and tomatoes and wheat and rice and spices).

Seeker Stew- originally a stew of necessity for traveling Seekers, it was made of dried Sea Grass, small Cragside Mussels, canned Common Minnows, Sour Elk milk, and spoiled Turnips. The dish was transformed back home, using fresh Spinach, meaty Olympia Oysters, Jumbo Shrimp, new Potato Onions, and…sour Snowfall Elk milk. Funk is flavor!

Shalefin in a Fur Coat- this uniquely named dish is a layered salad, like the layers of a Tundra fur coat. It is made of finely sliced pickled Shalefin fillets, grated Potato Onion, Gradish, and Honeycrisp Apple, and chopped hard-boiled Flecked Bushrunner eggs. The key binding ingredient is a flavorful mayonnaise made of Elk tallow, Dappled Clucker yolks, and dill.

Bear in a Cave Dumplings-a favorite of the Fae scholars of the Frozen Sanctum. It is a boiled or fried Potato Onion dumpling filled with fried Wooly Bear, Wild Onion, and Dryad's Saddle. It can be served with melted Elk milk butter and Winter’s Delight jam or a white sauce spiced with dried Dusky Mealworm and imported Golden Pepper.

Tundra Grub- a dish named after the main protein of the dish: a sausage filled with Tundra Grub meat, Longneck-grown oats, and Elk blood. The sausage is fried along with strips of Tundra Cactus before being added to an earthy brown sauce of Mycena Mushroom and Earthworms. It is typically served with an unleavened flatbread made of rye or Longneck oats, or a mash of Potato Onion.

Woodland Turkey Dinner- this was once a seasonal dish, but now is common year-round. While the star of the dinner is the roasted Woodland Turkey, the side dishes are just as essential. The most common is: Deep Sea Lobster and Jumbo Shrimp stuffing, roasted Winter Brussel Sprouts with a Superberry vinegarette, Tundra Grub and Potato Onion mash with Mycena Mushroom gravy, and Stonecorn rolls with Elk cheese and White Lace Honeybee honey. And last but not least, a Cinnamon and Honeycrisp Apple pie. A heavy dinner said to put even Sentinels to sleep!

Trunk Cheese- not actually cheese, but a cold meat dish made of fresh Bullephant Trunk (or Mammophant, though it is not as tasty).  The meat of the trunk is removed and cooked in a mix of spices and Wild Onion, and then poured and set with gelatin in the skin of the trunk. Slices are cut from the trunk and served upon rye bread with strong Wild Mustard and pickled Gradish.   

Edamame Soup and Pancakes- a popular yet odd combination of savory and sweet. This dish features a Chilled Edamame soup (heated of course, the chilled variety of plants grow better in the hot houses of Icefield) with large chunks of smokey Elk bacon, a sprinkle of thyme, and a dollop of Wild Mustard. The pancakes are made of nutty and mildly sweet Amaranth flour and served with Winter’s Delight jam. The soup is traditionally dished with a silver spoon, after a mighty Tundra king was poisoned by his favorite soup.

Warden’s Delight- a dessert, a snack, a spread upon rye bread, and a delight to every hatchie. It is a mix of Elk tallow, Spotted Seal or Wooly Walrus oil, fresh snow, and Winter’s Delight. As the mixture is whipped into fluffy peaks, it is traditional to sing “Warden’s Delight to fight off the night, no Shade or beast shall fill my sight. Drive away the hunger, drive away the cold, fill my belly and make me bold.”

Frozen Bouquet- flowers are rarity in the Southern Icefield, but this bouquet is made from flash-frozen flowers and fruits. After thawing they are quickly coated in a thin layer of crystalized maple syrup and then arranged into a bouquet. Often the bouquets have hidden meanings like Pretty Pink Mums for courting. Winterbelle for strength, and Wolfsbane for warning. But what every Tundra fears the most is a bouquet of Black Tulips.

 Crisp Morning Cider- Vodka is life to Ice Flight, the warmth in one’s chest in a land where winter never ends. And while most drink it “neat”, when rations are low then cocktails are the answer!  This drink is a common morning warmer and is a mix of White Lace Honeybee honey with hot water, Vodka, Honeycrisp Apple cider, and Cinnamon.

Boreal Brew-a tea made from the leaves of whatever green tree is available. Birch, Fir, Spruce, and Pine can all be brewed into an astringent tea with a citrus-y aftertaste. Unfortunately, Birch, Fir, and Spruce are typically harvested during Spring-Summer- but Pine is harvested during December. To help remove the bitter taste, Pine can be fermented with sugar for a week to a month (fermentation time depending on temperature) and then filtered and served as cold tea.

[sofiaispunk]

dbf!Joel Miller x Reader - Part 2

Your heart raced as you heard the knock at the door. You knew who it was before your parents even got up to answer it. Joel had arrived for Thanksgiving dinner. You felt a mix of excitement and nervousness at the thought of seeing him. Your palms were slightly starting to sweat.

He was dressed in a tight blue t-shirt and a light blue Jeans jacket, and as always, he looked impeccable. Irene and Sarah were with him, both of them smiling politely as they greeted your parents.

Your mother hugged Irene and Sarah tightly, welcoming them warmly.

"Joel, my boy! It's good to see you! How have you been?" your father said, giving his friend a big bear hug.

You watched as Joels expression changed, his smile faltering slightly. "Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Just trying to keep the business afloat."

Your father nodded, his smile never faltering. "I'm sure you're doing great. I heard you landed that new contract."

As they chatted, you found yourself drawn to Joel, unable to take your eyes off of him. You were struck by how handsome he looked in his tight fitted shirt, and you couldn't help but notice the way his toned shoulders filled out the jacket.

"How's college treating you, darlin'?" Joel asked suddenly, turning to you with a warm smile.

You blushed, suddenly feeling self-conscious being caught starring so openly at him. "It's good. Busy, but good."

Joel chuckled. "That's good to hear. I'm sure you're doing great."

You couldn't help but feel a thrill at the way he was looking at you, his deep brown eyes seeming to see right through your soul. You knew it was wrong to feel this way, but you couldn't help it. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

As you all settled into the living room, you tried to ignore the way your heart was racing. You sat down next to Sarah who was so happy to see you. 

Everyone was seated and the conversation started to flow freely. The smell of roast turkey and savory stuffing filled the air, making your mouth water.

Your mother had gone all out with the cooking, making sure that everything was perfect for the occasion. There were mashed potatoes, green beans, gravy, cranberry sauce, and of course, the delicious pumpkin pie for dessert.

As you started to eat, you noticed that there was an icy mood between Irene and Joel. They were seated next to each other with a small distance but barely acknowledging each other's presence.

You wondered if anyone else had noticed the tension, but it seemed like everyone was too caught up in their own conversations to pay much attention.

Thankfully Sarah, was as bubbly as ever, talking about her school and her friends with enthusiasm. She was telling you all about the latest drama in her theater class, and you couldn't help but smile at her energy.

"So, we're doing this play, right? And I got the lead role! Can you believe it? I was so nervous at first, but now I'm super excited. We've been rehearsing every day after school, and it's been so much fun."

You smiled at Sarah's excitement, "That's amazing, Sarah! I'm so happy for you. What's the play about?"

"It's a modern retelling of Romeo and Juliet," Sarah replied, her eyes lighting up. "Except instead of Verona, it's set in New York City. And instead of the Montagues and Capulets, it's two rival gangs. It's going to be so cool!"

"That sounds really interesting," you said, impressed. "I'd love to come see it when it's done."

Sarah beamed at the idea, "Oh my gosh, that would be awesome! I'll make sure to let you know when it's showing."

As the conversation turned to other topics, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Sarah's infectious energy. She was a bright spot in the midst of all the tension between Joel and Irene. The conversation moved on but you were to focused on the meal in front of you and Sarahs school stories to pay closer attention on what was going on. 

At one point, Joel started to speak, his tone a sharp whisper, "Irene, I don't think now is the time or the place to discuss this."

You felt uncomfortable listening to their exchange, unsure of what exactly they were talking about but you could tell it was serious.

Irene ignored Joel's plea, her voice getting louder, "What, you think you can just sweep everything under the rug and pretend nothing's wrong? You've been distant for months, Joel. You can't just expect me to ignore it. You are even ignoring me here, at your best friends house."

Joel's tone was low and measured, "Irene, I know we have things to talk about, but can we please do it privately? Not here, not now."

Irene didn't seem to be listening, "I'm tired of pretending everything's okay. It's not fair, Joel. I deserve better than this."

Joel looked down at his plate, his eyes heavy. You felt a pang of sympathy for him, wondering what he could have possibly done to cause such a rift between them.

Your mother cleared her throat, breaking the tension, "Why don't we all take a break and enjoy some pie?"

The conversation shifted, and everyone started talking about the delicious dessert.

After dinner, you excused yourself from the table and stepped out onto the patio. You breathed in the cool, crisp air and felt a sense of calm wash over you. You heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Joel approaching, holding two beers in his hand.

"Mind if I join you?" Joel asked, gesturing to the empty seat next to you.

You hook her head, "No, of course not. Thanks for the beer."

Joel took a sip of his own drink, "No problem. I figured you could use one after that dinner."

You chuckled, "Yeah, it was a bit intense."

Joel's expression softened, "I'm sorry about that. I know things got a little tense with me and Irene."

You nodded sympathetically, "Yeah, I could tell. Is everything okay?"

Joel sighed, "No, not really. Irene and I are going through some things right now."

You immediately felt a pang of sadness for Joel, "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Joel smiled at you, "Just talking to you helps, sweetheart. You always know how to make me feel better."

You felt her cheeks flush at the compliment, “ I'm here for you y’ know, if you need anything."

You sat in silence for a few moments, sipping your beers and looking out at the night sky. There it was again, this connection forming between you, a bond that went beyond just friendship, an understanding without words. There is no way he doesn’t feel it too, right? You shook your head to shake those thoughts away. Of course he doesn’t. He’s married and you are half is age. 

Joel spoke up, breaking the silence, "You know, I've always admired your spirit. You're so driven and passionate about the things you believe in. I wish I had half the energy you do."

You felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words, "Thanks, Joel. That means a lot coming from you."

Joel leaned closer to her, "You're special, kid. Don't ever forget that." Kid. There it was, the nickname you dreaded. Of course he saw you as a kid, his best friends kid. But you had no time to dwell on your heartbreak this little word caused, because you heard Sarah calling out your name.

“Oh hey, guys! Are you still out here?" she called out from the doorway.

You turned to see Sarah standing there with a bright smile on her face, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Yeah, we're out here," you said, smiling back at her.

Sarah stepped outside, "I was wondering if you wanted to come to the fair with me tomorrow. Uncle Tommy is coming too!"

Your eyes immediately found Joel's and you gave him an unsure smile, "Oh, um, I don't want to intrude on your family time."

Joel interjected, "Nonsense, darlin’. We'd love to have you come with us." 

Your heart skipped a beat at the prospect of spending an afternoon with Joel.

“Okay, I'll come."

Sarah clapped her hands together in excitement, "Yay! It's going to be so much fun!"

Joel turned to you, "We should probably get some rest then. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

Joel stood up and offered his hand to you, helping you up from your chair. You noticed that his hand lingered a second longer on your hand than necessary. Or were you just imaging things? At this point your mind was clouded with excitement for the next day and there was no way you could form a single straight thought. Both, your body and your mind was consumed entirely by Joel Miller.

Part 3