happy holidays! this is arguably a little late but i’ve had a rough go of it these past few days so i only just finished this tonight lol. Ii insist that i’m not late because we’re still in 2022 and the new year hasn’t hit yet!
anyways this is just a relatively short fluffy feel-good thing because i wanted to feel warm and fuzzy. so it’s absolutely self-indulgent.
word count: 3,229
warnings: swearing, it’s christmas eve and that’s important so that should probably be a warning, no y/n, no mention of gender but ravenloft reader is AFAB, minor ravenloft spoilers if you squint
for reference, this scene (with a bonus crown) is what the reader would’ve drawn.
and for the record, since it was mentioned on ao3, i'm very well aware it shouldn't have been a perception check! ravenloft!reader was never written with the intention of making them a tabletop rpg wiz, they just know enough to get by and follow along if they're sitting in on a game.
𝕽𝖔𝖑𝖑 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓
When the phone rang, you didn’t even greet the speaker. You immediately answered with ‘what do you want you fucking menace’ because there’s really only one person who’d call you near midnight like a heathen.
“What’s your favourite colour?”
You snort and wedge the phone between your chin and shoulder and sit back down at your dining table to keep sketching.
“Dunno. Like, all of them?”
“Dude that’s the epitome of unhelpful,” Eddie deadpans, and you can’t help but laugh.
“Right, well like, is there any context to this? Cause you should know I don’t have a favourite colour,” you reply, frowning and erasing a small portion before swiping the eraser shredding away.
“Come on,” Eddie whines, and you can practically see him throwing his head back in annoyance. “Not even one? Like, something that just always makes you happy when you see it?”
You hum for a second and put your pencil down. “I guess maybe black? I—“
“Nah, nuh uh. Boring as hell.”
“Rude, what—“
“Black’s not even a colour, that’s what you constantly say!”
You scoff and pick your pencil back up, switching the phone to the other shoulder.
“Did you seriously just call me in the middle of the night to bitch at me for not having a preferred perceptible wavelength of light?”
There’s an unusually long silence on the other end of the line. You frown again and pull the handset away and follow the coiled line. Confused but satisfied that it hadn’t somehow gotten unplugged from the cradle on the wall, you wedge it back where it was.
“Ed? You good?”
“Yeah, no. Yeah, sorry, just thinking.”
“Jesus, don’t burn yourself out there bud.”
“Oh fuck off.”
The rest of the phone call is relatively short, and colours aren’t mentioned again by the time you hang up. You don’t go to bed until nearly two in the morning, and by then you’re content with having gotten down the main lines of your portrait.
The snowstorm that rolled in on the 23rd was entirely unexpected but wholly welcomed. You were scheduled to work on the 24th, but with the state of the roads and the fact that nearly half of Hawkins was running off of generators, you were graciously allowed to stay home until the new year. And given that this is your first Christmas in your new home, you were more than happy to hunker down and, ha, weather it out.
You’d had plans, sure; Harrington had already made sure everyone knew to show up at his place on the 24th, your parents had been expecting you on Christmas morning and the rest of the day would have been spent going around to see extended family. And though the thought of not being able to fulfill your annual Christmas traditions did dampen your mood, just thinking about the astronomical amount of energy you’d save made it a bit more palatable.
If the same thing were to happen next year, though, you might cry.
You’d already called Steve to let him know you were staying home. Pleasantly surprised, he’d admitted he’d had a whole speech prepared about how he’s have The Swarm tear you a new one if you even dared thinking about touching your car keys. (Which would have been an effective threat, honestly. You really had no interest in giving Dustin a reason to get uppity at you, and you definitely didn’t want to have to deal with Max’s ire. Girl held grudges like you did trauma.)
Your parents were only slightly less understanding, with your mother trying to insist that your father could come pick you up. A little resistance put that all to rest, though, and with a promise to call on Christmas morning, that was dealt with as well.
You’d just settled down on your couch, swaddled in the fluffy blanket you’d gotten from Eddie the year before, mug of hot chocolate held in both hands for warmth, when the doorbell rang. Confused, you look at the time—just after dinner on Christmas Eve—and sigh before heaving yourself off the couch to buzzer by the door. You hesitate for a second before pressing the button to let the mysterious visitor in. You’re already on your way back to your couch, having assumed it was just a neighbour who’d locked themselves out again, when you hear heavy footsteps outside your door.
You quietly walk back up and carefully lean forward to look through the peephole.
“What the…” you mutter, leaning back, nearly jumping out of your skin when the knocking finally comes. You quickly unlatch the chain and unlock the deadbolt before pulling the door open. “Ed, what the fuck—“
“Merry Christmas,” Eddie blurts out, thrusting a box out at you, though it really sounded more like ‘murr cr’sms’.
“Merry Christmas to you too but Jesus come inside!” You pull Eddie through the door by his arm, quickly shutting the door behind you and getting started patting the snow off of him. “The hell did you do, walk here? You look like a damn yeti!”
“Y-yeah I kind-kind of d-did.”
You pause in your patting before grabbing Eddie’s arm again and turning him around to face you. You ‘reabout to ask if he was serious, but a quick glance at his face—reddened cheeks and nose, frosted lashes, dry lips—tells you he has, in fact, told you the truth.
“Fuck me, okay,” you whisper, before shaking your head and getting a move on. “Stay there and take your boots and coat off and then get your ass on that couch, I’m making you coffee.”
You don’t hear any complaints. And though normally you would’ve been glad for the silence, even perhaps proud to have shut him up, Eddie’s silence is, once again, unsettling. And this time you’re pretty sure it’s not because he’s thinking, and most likely because he’s borderline hypothermic.
You try to be quick; you grab that one pair of sweatpants Eddie leant you when you got splashed by a car outside of the arcade. That one metallica shirt you borrowed one time when one Friday movie night turned into an impromptu sleepover. You make your way back to the living room, where thankfully Eddie’s listened to you, and has made himself at home swaddled in the blanket you’d left on the couch. You throw a quick glance to the front door, where his jacket and boots are slowly leaving a growing puddle of snow water.
You definitely need to get a welcome mat or something if this is going to keep happening.
Your first instinct is to chuck the clothes at Eddie’s head. What you would usually do. But it’s Christmas eve, there’s a god damn storm outside and this maniac walked to your place. For some reason. You feel like you owe him to be nicer than you usually would be. Call it the ghost of Christmas conscience.
“Here,” you say quietly, holding out the sloppily folded shirt and sweats. “You can change in here. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Eddie mutters a very stuttery thanks and takes the clothes from you. You pause for a second to see what’s on the TV—seems like A Christmas Story is about halfway through—before hastily turning away when you see Ed starting to lift his shirt over his head.
Coffee, right. You said you’d make coffee.
You’re being so normal about this, it’s absolutely fine. You’re totally fine.
By the time you return to the couch in the living room, Eddie’s clothes are exceptionally neatly folded on your coffee table and he’s even more huddled up in your blanket than he had been before. You place his mug of coffee in his waiting hands and have to bite back shocked laughter when, even outstretched, underneath the blanket, he looks like a frozen T-rex.
“Alright,” you huff out when you finally take your seat on the other end of the couch. “You wanna tell me what’s in that box that was so important that you felt you had to walk here in a storm?”
Eddie sputters in his coffee a bit. When he brings the mug back down, he does look a little sheepish.
“Yeah, y’know it sounds pretty stupid when you say it like that.”
You nod and take a sip of your own coffee. “M’hm. That’s cause risking hypothermia to deliver a gift that very well could’ve waited until the storm passed is pretty stupid. No offense.”
Despite your disclaimer and your attempt to sound light about it, Eddie lapses into silence, again.
“Okay, you keep going quiet, is there something—“
“I didn’t want you to be alone.”
You stop yourself, mouth agape. You bring your coffee mug back up to your lips to try and shake off the surprise.
“I—okay. What, uh, what about Wayne?”
Eddie gestures vaguely under the blanket, and you assume he’s waving the issue of. “He’s with the Hendersons.”
“Oh. That’s…”
“Dustin asked me to go. I said no.”
You frown. “In favour of walking though the snow to get to me?”
“Yeah, well,” Eddie starts, but he doesn’t continue until he takes another long sip from the coffee mug. “Walking wasn’t the plan. Van broke down halfway here.”
“Oh thank god,” you sigh, leaning back into the arm of the couch and pulling your legs up and under you. “I literally thought you walked from your place!”
“God, never,” Eddie laughs, pulling his own feet up on the couch to sit cross-legged. “But I was halfway here and there’s no power at the trailer, so.”
You hum and nod, but otherwise keep your silence. And you both stay like that for a few minutes. And while you’re taking the time to try and bring your BPM down to something a nurse might not scream about, Eddie seems to be appreciating the warmth that you’ve thrown at him.
“So,” you say after a while, clearing your throat and putting your mostly empty mug on the coffee table. “What’s in the box?”
Eddie grins and puts his own mug down. The blanket falls away from his shoulders when he reaches toward to grab said box, and he turns it around in his hands before passing it over to you.
“Wait,” you rush to say, just as he opens his mouth. “Shit, wait, I have,” you trail off, and nearly jump over the back of the couch to run to your room. You quickly snatch the gift bag you’d left on your dresser and run back to the living room, nearly tripping over your own feet. You throw yourself back down onto the couch and shove the bag towards Eddie.
“What—“
“Gift for a gift,” you explain shortly, a little out of breath.
Eddie laughs lightly but takes the gift bag from you, and you eagerly snatch the box from his hands. You’re about to start tearing into the tacky Santa-print wrapping paper, but glance up to make sure it’s okay. Eddie chuckles and nods and motions for you to go ahead.
You make quick work of the paper and nearly tear the top off the box before turning it over in your hand and letting its content drop into your palm.
“Oh my god,” you breathe, turning over the giant cut glass piece in your hand. You hold it up to the do lamplight, and it looks like it’s shimmering from the inside. Every which way you turn it, it’s like each facet is a different colour that reveals itself to you with each new angle.
You don’t miss the fact that there are nineteen carefully carved and painted numbers on each face, and the last one has a little flame where the 20 normally would have been.
You look up to thank Eddie, throat a little tight, but you nearly choke on your own tongue when you see his expression.
He’s holding your gifted frame in his hands like it might break if he holds it too tightly. You can’t really understand the expression on his face, and the more time he spends staring unblinkingly at it, the more unsure you feel.
“I, uh, is it… do you not like it?”
Eddie slowly shakes his head before lifting his eyes up to you. He tries to start a few different sentences before clearing his throat.
“Is this—this is really what you see?”
You let your hands fall into your lap and nervously turn the massive D20 around in them and nod.
“Yeah, I mean. The crown might be a bit much,” you chuckle lightly, looking up and away towards the TV. “But yeah. You look really, uh. You look happy, when you’re DMing for the kids. Really cool. Thought you should be able to, I dunno. See it for yourself.”
When you do muster the courage to turn to look back to Eddie, he still has that absolutely confusing look on your face. You lift the heavy dice in one hand and wave it around a bit.
“This is why you asked for my favourite colour, huh?”
Eddie blinks a bit owlishly at first, but laughs and shakes his head. Slowly, carefully, he puts your gifted portrait on top of his folded clothes. Leans forward to pluck the dice from your hand and gently put it down on the coffee table next to your mug.
“Ed, what’s wr—“
You inhale the rest of your question when Eddie reaches out a hand to grab and pull at one of your ankles. You screw your eyes shut when your head meets the couch cushion below your with a soft ‘thump’. And when you open your eyes, Eddie’s hovering over you, hands braced on the couch arm just above your head. You swallow thickly and promptly forget to breathe for a second.
The end credit music for A Christmas Story feels like it’s playing from miles away.
“You good?” Eddie asks, quietly, and all you can do is nod. “You sure?”
“Yeah, uh huh. Fine,” you whisper, holding your hands close to your chest. Close your eyes when he leans in to rest his forehead against yours. “Why did you really come over?” You whisper, hesitantly uncurling a hand to place it on his chest.
“Missed you.”
“You see me almost every day.”
“Worried about you.”
You snort and lightly slap at his chest. “Bullshit. I own more knives than you do guitar picks.”
Eddie exhales sharply before pulling back a bit. When you open your eyes, you almost want to hide from the tenderness you see in his.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, turning your head to the side to watch the TV turns from black to blue, now that the tape’s over.
“Like what?” Eddie asks, and you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice when he nuzzles at your neck.
You grunt. “Like, I don’t know. Like you—like…”
“Like you’re the only person I’d drive and walk through a snow storm to see?”
You hum but keep your head resolutely turned away. Shiver when you can feel his lips ghosting against your cheek.
“Like you’re in love with me,” you mutter quietly, screwing your eyes shut.
Eddie slowly peels a hand away from the arm of the couch to turn your head to look at him. You still avert your eyes. He brushes the hair away from your face instead.
“Come on, don’t be like that,” he says, almost whines, tilting his head to try to catch your eyes. “You’re smarter than me, you’re not that dumb.”
You huff and cross your arms and finally look up at Eddie. There was some kind of combative quip on the tip of your tongue but it dies there as soon as the look on his face properly registers.
“You’re not fucking around,” you say frowning.
“I’m not fucking around.” Eddie sighs and moves up to kneel on the couch, both knees boxing in your legs. You move up on your elbows and scoot up a bit to lean your back against the arm of the couch.
“Since when do you—“
“Dude, you literally saved me from a swarm of hell bats, somehow managed to team up with a super powered teenage girl to save the world, still don’t think I’m an absolute coward and show up at my doorstep if I call you when I can’t sleep,” Eddie lists off, starting to wave down at your a bit frantically. “And you actually listen to my shitty garage band music!”
“It’s not shitty!”
“You’re proving my damn point, woman!” Ed shouts, swatting your hand away when you go to slap his chest again. “Merry fucking Christmas, I’m in love with you!”
You let yourself slide back down to lie on the couch and laugh when you throw an arm over your face.
“The fuck, this isn’t funny!” Eddie whines, trying to slap your arms away from your face. “This is serious!”
You choke your laughter down enough to say, “Roll for perception.”
“Excuse me?” Eddie squawks, indignantly, pausing his assault on your arms. You lower them just enough to be able to peek at him.
“You heard me, roll for perception.”
Eddie scoffs but turns to grab the massive dichroic dice from the table and gently rolls it along your carpeted floor.
“Huh. 18. Do I get to add my wisdom modifier to that?”
Though you bring your arms down from your face, you still cover it with your hands.
“You’re the only name and phone number I keep in my address book,” you start quietly, biting down on your lips before continuing. “That portrait of you isn’t the first one I’ve ever bothered trying to do. The photo of us Max took in the hospital is the only one I have framed. I hate cashews.”
“But you keep a tin of cashews in the cupboard on top of the f… fridge…”
You nod and part your fingers to catch a glimpse of Eddie. He sighs before shouting and shaking his head.
“Ed, what the—“
“Why are we so stupid complicated!” He shouts again, but it peters out into laughter. “Jesus, why can’t we just say shit like normal people?”
“We hate normal people,” you deadpan, slowly letting your hands slide down your face. “So, uh,” you start, curling your fingers under your chin. “Merry, uh, Merry fucking Christmas, I lo—I love you too?”
Eddie closes his eyes and tilts his head back to sigh like you’ve just given him a glass of water after spending weeks in the desert.
You move to half sit up on your elbows again.
“Hey, you—“
“Does this mean I can kiss you now and you’re not going to think I’m just doing it because it’s the holidays and there was mistletoe over your door?”
You blink for a second and pull yourself up on the arm of the couch and twist around to look at your door. Huh. Sure as shit, there it is.
“Oh. Mrs H must’ve put that up when she came over,” you say nervously, but when you turn around you’re shocked, both because of the still-freezing hand that comes up to your jaw and the lips that are pressed almost chastely against yours.
“God bless Mrs H,” Eddie whispers, and your laughter is a quick huff before you loop your arms around his neck to pull him down against you for another kiss.
She knows. She knows that timid accountant is actually one of the loudest and most eccentric heroes in the area. She knows that thin man in the corner doubles as an indestructible keeper of justice. She can tell that wedding planner is the super who saved her cousin, just like she can tell his partner is the one that put her cousin in danger. She knows. She can tell.
She acts like she doesn't notice, just treats everyone like they expect her to.
She laughs with the others when a little girl tells a goth group they look like vampires. She can tell the goth in the back actually is a vampire. She doesn't show it.
She's an expert in feigning obliviousness. She's never made a noticeable slip up in her acting ignorant... at least... not until today.
-------------------
You can start with the same few sentences and end up with a completely different story.
If you use it, please leave a link to my account so people can find me. Also, if you use it, please send a link to me! I'd love to read anything you write with it, I'm curious how our stories will differ (≧▽≦)
Writing is learning. You don't have to be perfect so long as you're growing.
“So I’m a level 2 Tiefling Warlock named what?” Talon asked as he sat down at the Naysmith dining room table, his mother busy clearing it off for them so that his younger brother Treant could properly set up for the night, practically bouncing as he responded with Erembour. Talon raised his eyebrows when his brother handed him his character sheet, impressed not only with the fact that he went through the trouble of making characters and writing out a whole campaign for them, but that he found the time to do so. Nevertheless, he was happy to see he wasn’t sinking too much of his energy into his studies that he could still make time for game night.
As his eyes scanned the paper, there was a light knock at the door, to which Treant hopped up to with almost superhuman reaction time while Talon stayed put to get more familiar with his character. It was so long since he played a game of Dungeons & Dragons that he was afraid he might be a little rusty. “Who’s coming over to play again?” He asked to his mother who sat down to look over her own character sheet, looking as perplexed as ever.
“I think one of his study partners?” She replied, flipping the page over to read what was undoubtedly Treant’s tips for her in case she got lost if her relieved expression was anything go off of. “I think it’s just the one though so it’ll be the four of us unless you want to invite Thalia over...” She trailed off, looking up to share a cheeky glance with Talon, who’s response interrupted by Treant pointing out where the kitchen and bathroom were in the house.
“And this is is my mom and brother. They’ll be our wizard and warlock for our party. I know you made your sheet already, but what did you say you were again?” Talon stayed glued to his seat, figuring the setting was informal enough that he could just wait until everyone was sitting down to meet his friend. Still his latent curiosity prompted him to turn his head to look over his shoulder, shocking him to what- or rather who he saw standing in his home as he lived and breathed. He locked eyes with Bo, and while a hundred thoughts rushed through his head, mainly having to do with what sort of lottery tickets he should be buying with these odds.
The last thing I expected when I was sent to the west was for a renowned alchemist to end up being my first patient. I wasn’t ready for that. Or anything else.
Annelise has spent her whole life working hard and breaking barriers to get herself somewhere she can say she's content. But these strange dreams and stranger men… well. Women have thrown away their hearts and ambitions both for less.
𝐑𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐟𝐭 (complete)
𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
Whenever you end up participating in a campaign, even if it’s just to sub in, you always end up being the god damn party cleric. Stands to reason that nothing would change when you end up having to plane shift for real. Fucking figures.
𝐈𝐭❜𝐬 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 (drabble)
𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
It's October 31st 1986, Labyrinth came out a few months ago and you're only human. You have eyes, you know what David Bowie looks like. So what if you want Eddie to wear a fucking suit?
𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (oneshot)
𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
The weather certainly doesn’t seem to care about your plans, or the fact that it’s Christmas Eve. Eddie does, though, even if he’s a bit stupid about it.
You've found the body of a serial killer's latest target. A friendly neighborhood Old Man. You're more honest than most of the kids that have run through the CBI offices. And you're a fortune teller. Alright, so Jane's found the honey pot in you. Now where's the hatchet?
Lucid Dreaming (noun) a form of dreaming in which the conscious mind takes control over the contents of the dream
𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭. updated 19 jan 2025
𝘈𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘥!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
Your resident vampire spawn is a complicated man. He terrifies you, but he also inspires something in you that you aren't sure you have a name for. Yet.
AFAB bard reader, undetermined race.
prompt from @alovesongtheywrote: my prompt for you is: orange light!! good luck deciphering that!!
𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 (grief diary)
My mother passed away on March 29th, 2025. I've been writing short things, passing thoughts, memories. I'm just trying to process not having her around anymore.
