#third of december

I’m back in your hometown

where art thou?

fuck if I care now

you’ve gotta figure out your shit

Chimney: And what did you say?

Buck: I said “I do.”

Chimney: So now you’re—

(for those who don't know bc this is also outside of the conehead community): heather day is for conan gray's hit song heather! it's about a girl he knew in high school, addressed to the person she is dating, who he likes. the first lyrics are: i still remember / third of december / me in your sweater / you said it looked better on me than it did you / if only you knew / how much i liked you. so it's kind of a whole thing to yearn for a sweater from the person you like on december third.

of course, many of us here on tumblr are either hopelessly romantic losers with little to no chance of getting sweaters (why do you think we listen to conan ffs) or our partners live across the atlantic ocean (cough @cranberry-branflakes cough).

how do we solve this problem? digital sweaters!!

on the legendary third of december, send your beloved mutuals and/or partners a sketch, design, or picture of a sweater to show your love for them!! tag it with #tumblr's heather day 2025 (the tag is a work in progress okay if y'all have better ideas then pls tell me)

let's get some sweaters guys!!!!

It’s the third of December and the wind cuts deep, Your sweater on my shoulders feels like a promise you didn’t keep. I wear it anyway, though it shakes me apart, ’Cause it still knows the shape of you better than my heart.

I saw you today with her, sunlight in your grin, And that stupid teenage rush came crashing in. My breath stuttered, my pulse went wild, Like I was sixteen again, wrecked and beguiled.

She held your hand like she’d practiced the right, Like she’s the one you’d text at midnight. And jealous heat rose sharp in my chest, A quiet little storm I couldn’t suppress.

Your sweater warms nothing now but the hurt, Threads heavy with memories I never deserved. Still, I clutch it close when your name starts to burn, Winter growing colder with every turn.

I wanted to hate her, hate you, hate fate, But all I could feel was the ache you create. Standing there frozen while you walked away, Taking all my December warmth with your easy smile that day.

And when you passed me, you said quietly, “You still have my sweater?” As if the question didn’t shatter what I was trying to hold together.