#a blue ridge mountain christmas

[gardenbicycle]

Cold (2022) by Charlie Fitzgerald

[tendertennesseechristmas]

Santa’s village

[newriverartist]

Hope I can paint today

Hope I can paint today

Tree of Joy Original acrylic painting NFS Wall Prints and Prints on other items available with link https://kendall-kessler.pixels.com/featured/tree-of-joy-kendall-kessler.html I am giving my right arm a long vacation so that messed up muscle will completely heal. I am pretending I am left handed and doing as little as possible on the computer but I really want to paint. Many years ago a…

[coff33andb00ks]

Mountain Mama - LH

Lewis Hamilton x unnamed ofc summary: You can take the girl out of the country, but can you ever really take the country out of the girl? songs: Take Me Home, Country Roads by John Denver and Is This Love by Bob Marley & The Wailers a.n.: am currently soft for Lewis and had to write to get him out of my system spoiler alert it didn't work warnings: discussions of prejudice and racism, pure disgusting fluff, author unabashedly shows her love for country music, author also is fully in love with one sir lewis Hamilton now

She wasn't worried about her family liking Lewis. Her sister had already met him and was doing her part to talk him up as the greatest man that ever lived to the rest of the family. She knew there was a wary level of respect between her parents and Lewis after their unofficial meeting over FaceTime. He'd been a little shy but very sweet, telling them a little about himself, and later her mother had said well he seems like a nice young man.

High praise from mama, who'd called her last boyfriend dried up dog shit.

Her father hadn't said anything about him. He didn't follow formula one, only knew about it because of her photography, so he didn't know who Lewis was. But when he'd texted her to tell her he'd watched a bit of the race after she'd confirmed Lewis was coming home with her during summer break she knew he was at least trying.

So here she was, behind the wheel of the rental car, driving to her parents' home with Lewis in the passenger seat and Roscoe in the back. Music was on, the windows were down, and with each mile she traveled closer to home she felt both more relaxed and more anxious.

She needed them to like him. They didn't have to love him, call him the son they'd always wanted, or even add his name to the Christmas card list. They didn't need to learn everything about him. She just needed them to like him enough to want him around when she came home for a visit. She needed them to like him and understand how very much she loved him.

They would bristle a little bit. Especially Grandma. Because he was older. Almost 40 and never married? Hm… And all those tattoos… She could hear Grandma clicking her tongue in disapproval over the tapestry of artwork that covered most of his body. And her father's eyebrows would hit his receding hairline when Lewis inevitably dressed as though he'd just stepped out of Vogue to go down to the diner in town for lunch on Friday.

"Babe." Lewis spoke just loud enough to be heard over the music. She glanced over at him, saw his playful little smile as he lifted his phone.

"No," she laughed when the song playing ended and another began. Immediately recognizable because it was one of her lifelong favorites. The one her grandpa had sang on summer nights around the bonfire when he was a few slugs of moonshine deep.

Lewis held up his hands and swayed in time to the music. "Almost heaven, West Virginia… Blue Ridge mountains, Shenandoah river…"

And she had to sing along, because she always did. Because it was her favorite, yes, but also because he always sang it. The man who shook his head in disappointment over all the other so-called embarrassing songs on her Spotify never failed to belt out John Denver with his entire soul.

She slowed, turning onto the path that wound through the trees, anticipation growing as the trees grew further apart, spreading into the dusty lawn she'd learned to ride a bike on. A turn and she saw it. Home. The front porch where she'd sat on her grandma's lap sipping lemonade. The ever present barn cat sitting on the top step, black tail twitching. Her dad's truck was parked crookedly near the back of the house and she could just see the sheets rippling in the breeze on the clothesline in the back yard.

Stopped, song still playing, she stared at the place she'd grown up, trying to view it as a newcomer. The grass needed mowing, the barn needed a new coat of paint. The roof on the old smokehouse was sagging a little. The porch railing looked crooked. But for every imperfection she saw a beautiful memory. How many millions of dandelions had she picked when the grass got a little tall? Up in the hay loft of the barn her name was carved into the top plank. The smokehouse, which had always held the lingering aroma of curing meat, had been the best spot during hide and seek. And she'd been leaning against that porch railing when she'd had her first kiss.

Her throat tightened with emotion.

Home.

"C'mon, mountain mama," Lewis said softly, unbuckling his seatbelt.

She wanted to apologize for not growing up rich, for not having a stately home to show him. She knew she didn't have to. Lewis didn't care about that, and he hadn't grown up much better than she had. He only cared about seeing where she'd been raised and meeting the people who'd raised her. What had he said when she'd asked him to come home with her?

I already love that little town because it made you.

She climbed out while he got Roscoe out of the backseat, and was opening her mouth to tell him they could get their bags later when the screen door banged.

"Is that my baby finally come to see me?"

It wouldn't matter if it had been two weeks or two months or two years, she would get that greeting. Not even bothering to close the car door she broke into a run, jumping the top step and laughing through tears as she was wrapped in her grandma's arms.

"Oh I miss these hugs." Grandma kissed her cheek, gripping her shoulders and holding her at arm's length. "Look at you. That boy of yours is treating you right, huh?"

"He is, Grandma," she promised, looking back to see Lewis closing the car door.

"Oh." Grandma squinted her eyes a bit. "He is handsome."

She giggled. "Heart of gold, Grandma."

"What's his name again? Louis?"

"Lewis."

As if he knew they were talking about him he glanced to the porch, smiling. Roscoe was already making his way to the steps, looking warily at the cat.

"Go on, get," Grandma said, shooing the cat away.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Grandma's shoulders were a little more stooped, her hands a little more shaky. Why oh why did time have to go by so quickly? Pushing away the invasive thoughts of her beloved grandmother not being around forever, she slid her hand into Lewis's once he was on the porch. "Grandma, this is Lewis. Lewis, this is Grandma."

"It's so nice to finally meet you, ma'am." He extended his hand and as soon as he smiled she knew her grandma was smitten.

"Oh honey aren't you sweet." She shook his hand. "Well, c'mon in – is that dog house trained?"

"Better than some humans," he promised with a grin.

They'd barely gotten into the house when her father came to greet them. He wasn't nearly as smitten as grandma, and she recognized the old macho act he'd played on all her old boyfriends. Then her mother came hurrying out of the kitchen, bringing with her the aroma of lemon meringue and peach cobbler.

There was overlapping chatter. Greetings and questions and the beginnings of an interrogation. Roscoe was cooed over by Grandma, given a begrudging welcome by her dad.

"I straightened up your old room," mama said when Lewis excused himself to go get their bags. "And got new sheets for your sister's old room."

"Is she staying too?" she asked in confusion, squatting to give Roscoe ear scratches.

"Of course not – you know her and Dale are almost finished the new addition on the back of their place? The twins will have a nice big playroom."

"Are the twins staying?" Why would mama need to do anything to her sister's room?

"No… It's for your boyfriend."

She froze. Oh god. Of course her mother would think… "Mama…"

"It's not fancy or anything but I don't think he'll mind do you? It's got plenty of room for him and Roscoe."

At that, Roscoe nudged her hand, silently begging for more scratches. "Mama, I thought he'd sleep in my room."

"Oh. Well you two can switch." Her mother shrugged.

"Jesus, Kathy, she wants to sleep with the boy," her father said loudly.

Surprise, Mama, I'm not a virgin!

"I don't think your dad likes me."

She looked up from unpacking her suitcase. Usually she didn't, usually she just rummaged to get what she needed, but she'd wanted a break before the rest of the family arrived for the cookout. The time change was affecting her a little and she wanted to get a nap in.

"What makes you say that?" she asked, setting her toiletry bag on the dresser.

"He calls me boy." Lewis was standing at the window, hands in his pockets, looking out at the back yard. Where her father and brother in-law were firing up the grill.

"He doesn't mean… He calls anyone younger than him boy," she promised.

"I get it. Really, babe," he said, looking over at her. "It just rubs me wrong."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" she asked, crossing the room.

"Will it change anything?"

"He's not like that, Lewis. He's southern, yes, he's a good ol' country boy, pickup truck, cold beer, guns and 'Murica, Toby Keith and Hank Jr, but he's not racist. If he's told that the way he says something is offensive, he stops saying it." She slipped her arms around him from behind, pressing her face to his back.

"It'll just make him like me even less," he sighed.

"No, babe… If he didn't like you, you wouldn't be in my bedroom."

He chuckled, covering her hands with his and interlocking their fingers. "Not only am I boy, I'm the asshole that deflowered his little girl."

She snorted at that. "Please, like I was an untouched virgin."

"How you were able to have sex way out here is a mystery to me."

"There are so many spots where you can go to be unseen," she told him.

Lewis hummed, unwrapping her arms and turning to face her. "Were you shagging farmer boys in the woods, babe?"

Leaning up, she pressed a kiss to his lips. "Once, yes. Most of the time it was in the cutoff down the old service road. Or out at the powerline."

"You weren't seduced in a bed?" He shook his head in disappointment. "I'm so sorry."

"And where was your first time, hm?"

He rolled his eyes. "Coat closet."

"That's even worse than a pickup truck."

"Didn't count, I wasn't in love."

"Oh see you didn't tell me that." Pulling on his hands, she walked backwards towards the bed. "That changes everything."

"Hotel room? Back seat of a car?" he guessed, letting her pull him along.

"A penthouse, actually," she murmured as she fell onto the bed.

He hesitated briefly then joined her, holding himself above her. "Penthouse? In Bumfuck Virginia?"

"You said it only counted if I was in love, right?"

"Mhmm."

"Penthouse. Monte-Carlo. Afterwards he took a bubble bath with me and we danced to Bob Marley." She watched his eyes soften and leaned up to meet his lips in a kiss. "He was the first one that made me feel loved."

"Does he still make you feel it?" he whispered between kisses.

"Every day."

"If he ever doesn't make you feel that way, will you tell him?"

"Yes." She kissed him again.

"Promise?" he whispered.

"Promise."

The food was delicious, and she was so happy her parents had made vegan alternatives for Lewis she could have cried. He seemed happy too, and during the meal she watched him talk with her dad and Dale, heart swelling each time he turned to praise her mama's cooking. Roscoe was parked between them, his gentle snoring just barely noticeable above the music playing.

It was a balmy evening, lightning bugs flashing as the sun sank low, and she watched Lewis's head drop back with a groan after he finished a third helping of Grandma's peach cobbler. "I think I hurt myself eating, ma'am."

Grandma glowed, patting his hand. "It's how I won her Papa," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Lewis chuckled, rubbing his abdomen with his free hand. "If I was twenty years older…"

She beamed as Grandma giggled, so obviously charmed she looked twenty years younger in the golden glow of the sinking sun. "Oh bless your heart, honey, I don't think you could handle me."

"I can barely handle her," Lewis told her in a stage whisper.

And she knew her family liked him. Their laughter was natural, the conversation flowed. Her twin nephews kept coming over to him, asking him questions about his tattoos, his jewelry, and she fell in love all over again at how patient and gentle he was with them.

When he insisted on helping with cleanup she saw the warmth of approval in her dad's eyes. The twins said they would help, too, and she could only look on as they followed him back into the house, Roscoe taking up the rear.

"He's a good one," Grandma said.

"He's alright." This from her dad, and it was the best she knew she could get for now.

"I like him a lot, honey. You ain't looked this happy in a long time." Mama squeezed her shoulder on her way past, and right behind her was her sister, flashing a grin as she helped gather the platters.

"You wanna take a walk?" her father asked.

It was a callback to her childhood. Dad always said it was to work off what he'd just had to eat, but she had figured out in her early teenage years it was his way of checking in on her. Their walks after dinner had been when they'd bonded, and as she fell into step next to him and they strolled beyond the barn she realized how much she missed these walks.

"I didn't want to like him."

She pressed her lips together to keep from asking why. Always best to just stay silent and let him get all his thoughts out in his own way.

"He's a little older than you. But I think that's what you need. Someone to keep your head from floating with the clouds." He sighed, snapping a leaf off the old oak tree as they walked under the branches. "And… You know how people are around here, honey."

She nodded. "But not you, dad," she whispered.

"I don't give a shit, you know that. But even Dale said something, and… I know you always worry about what people think."

"I used to," she said.

"You always hid away from the world. And I let you. Thought I was protecting you from how bad it can be sometimes." He twirled the leaf between his fingers, sending it swirling. "You're out in it, now. Can't protect you anymore."

"I don't need protecting, daddy," she promised.

"You telling me your knight back there doesn't protect you?" he asked, stopping at the fence to the back pasture. "That bo – sorry. That man loves you, honey."

"I know. And I love him."

"People around here will talk." He propped his arm on the fencepost and looked out. "Ain't got nothing better to do."

"I don't care what they say." And she didn't. She used to, yes, used to care too much, pretending to be someone else so she'd be accepted. The only people whose opinions mattered were inside the house and standing beside her.

"Good. Because I want him to come around more often."

"You like him?" she asked. She knew he did, but she needed to hear him say it.

"Yeah, he's alright," he chuckled. Throwing his arm around her shoulders when she groaned, he pulled her in close.

"Dad…"

"Rest easy, honey. I like him. Long as he treats you right I'll never say a word against him."

They stayed at the fence and she let herself be her dad's little girl for a few more minutes, watching the sunlight fade. Walking back to the house she could hear music still playing, but now instead of her dad and Dale's country it was the smooth beats of reggae and she was smiling as she entered the kitchen to see Lewis dancing with the twins to Is This Love.

He spun to face her, face lighting, and ducked to speak to her nephews then held a hand out to her, drawing her to him. His lips met her forehead. "I wanna love ya, I wanna love and treat, love and treat you right…" he crooned softly as they danced in her mama's kitchen.

"You better," she whispered. "Because I think they like you more than me."

His laugh was warmer than any sunlight, and she didn't mind at all when he kissed her then broke away to ask her grandma to dance.

She missed all of this, the love and the comfort and all the memories.

But she couldn't wait for the love and memories to come.

[chiriwritesstuff]

Meet Me at the Farmers Market! - 6. All In

A Farmers Market! Joel AU x Confident! Plus Sized! F! Reader

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: What does a Contractor do in his spare time? Sell his wood carvings at the Saturday Farmers Market, of course! A Grumpy x Sunshine Joel Miller series collective of one-shots.

Chapter Rating: T

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Mentions of a minor character death

Summary: A FaceTime call changes everything. This story takes place one year after the events of pt.1.

A/N: I knew when I first started to write for this series that I was always going to include Ellie, even if this series is based in a universe where the outbreak does not happen. I did fudge the ages a bit in regards to Sarah - she's in grad school in my universe in 2023, and Ellie is roughly about the same age she is in the game/series.

The point is, Ellie was always going to be endgame. This week's offering is a short one, but a small introduction to the inevitability of Ellie. It does touch upon a minor character passing away, so if you are not down with it, please move along.

Also. Sorry for the angst. I have a lot of plans for Christmas this year, so don't worry - It just needed a bit of a setup.

"Hey, Joel, remember when I told you about my best friend, Anna?"

Joel glances up from his book, reading glasses perched on his nose, a curious frown on his face. "Yeah? She's the one with—"

"Cancer," you interject, swiftly wiping your hands on your apron. You wave them in the air awkwardly, shaking your head as you nervously continue prepping dinner. Joel gives you a concerned look, raising an eyebrow as you flit around the kitchen. "Listen—she called me yesterday while I was at the nursery... she doesn't have much time left, and she wanted me to see her before—"

"I get it," Joel murmurs, dog-earing his place in the book and placing it on the coffee table. He walks over to you, enveloping you in an embrace, resting his chin on top of your head. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispers. "I know how much she means to you, it's fucked up."

You close your eyes, nodding silently, the tears you've been holding back begging for release. "Do you think you could come with me? To Washington? I really don't want to do this alone."

"Absolutely, baby. Anything. When do we need to leave?"

"Is tomorrow too soon?"

Joel sighs, the rumble resonating within you. "I'll have to check with Tommy, but I'm sure he'd do anything for you," he shoots you a look you can't quite read. "Come on, let's get packing."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The drive to Fred Hutch Cancer Center is quiet, with Joel taking the wheel despite your protests. "No matter where we are, I'll be the one drivin'," he scolds, shooing you as he places luggage into the trunk. Once inside, Joel connects your phone to Carplay, insisting that listening to Fleet Foxes is good for the soul. He sings along to 'Blue Ridge Mountain' and reaches for your hand across the console, his thumb soothing your skin. "Are you nervous, baby?"

"No."

"... do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk to me about that job on Smith Street," you silently plead, desperately wanting to change the topic. 

The plane ride from Austin-Bergstrom to Seatac, despite being only a few hours, was already harrowing enough. Your body refused to calm down, the anxiety about the inevitability of Anna's loss keeping you up for days after that fateful call. This is so incredibly fucked up, you cry to her as you refuse to meet her eyes through FaceTime, the vision of her frail body breaking your heart. You don't deserve this. What about Ellie? How has she been taking this?

Ellie. Your headstrong, brilliant goddaughter, your one true regret after moving to Austin. You left her high and dry, in her words, tears streaming down her face as she FaceTimes you in a rage after finding out you had abandoned your life in Seattle for Austin, Texas. "How could you just up and leave? Don't you care about me? What about Mom? How could you?!" she yells at you through the phone. "You promised her, you know? You promised me, Sunflower."

You shake your head, pulling yourself from the memory, suddenly realizing you haven't been completely forthcoming about all the reasons for this impromptu trip. "Joel, I need to tell you something."

"What is it, baby?"

"Anna has a daughter. She called me because-"

"Sunflower." He pulls over to the side of the interstate suddenly, his entire body turning to face you, a concerned look on his face. "Don't tell me-"

"When the time comes, I have to be there for her. For Ellie. I... I promised," you sadly whisper. "It's Anna's dying wish."

"... but what does that mean for us?" Joel worriedly replies, his face contorting into something resembling pain, sadness, and regret bundled up into one. It's unnerving, seeing him like this. "Are you planning on moving back here?"

"Joel, no. I... I know that I've only moved in a few months ago, and the whole prospect of promising something so monumental with your terminally ill best friend should have been something I was upfront with you about before getting serious with you, but..." You grasp his hands in yours. "Well, that's why I wanted you to come with me. I wanted you to meet her. She's an amazing kid, and I'll vouch for her for life."

"Baby," he stutters, his eyes silently pleading with yours. "I know I promised that I'll do anything for you, but this... this is a hard ask. I'm old, hell, Sarah's already in grad school... how old is she? I don't know if I'm ready to have another kid around-"

"She's fifteen, and I know, Joel. I-" 

"This changes everything, Sunflower. Hell, I didn't want to come off too strong, but..."

"I know, and I'm-"

"I was going to ask you to marry me," he interjects, his bittersweet smile tugging at your heart. "Planned it for this weekend, before... having to come here. You're everything to me, baby. I don't want anyone else... and if that means rolling with whatever life throws our way, then... I'm all in."

"Seriously?"

"Yes," he sighs deeply. "Till death do us part, right?" He gives you a small smile, planting a kiss on your forehead. "Listen, I get that Anna means a lot to you, and promises like that aren't ones we want to break. So, what's important to you is important to me." He takes a deep breath, revving up the ignition as he merges back onto the interstate. "I love you, okay?"

"Okay. I love you too, Joel. A lot. Ask me again, once we figure this out."

"Okay." Joel grins, his eyes locked on the road ahead. "Alright. Tell me about Ellie."

[sgiandubh]

Just an interesting factoid from a Scot by ancestry and native of North Carolina where as we know the Frasers settled in OL. The famous popular Christmas tree the Fraser Fir was named for John Fraser a Scottish botanist who developed the tree in the 1750's which only grows in the highlands of the blue ridge mountains and areas of VA and Tenn. In 1971 a NC Fraser Fir was placed in the White House. Merry Christmas to all celebrating!!

Dear @outlander169,

Thank you so, so much for what is clearly more than 'an interesting factoid' (you really are way too humble, here), and a very appropriate addition to the hopefully general festive mood.

Merry Christmas to you, too! I will post my warmest wishes to all of you in due time, bearing in mind we still have an Advent candle left - perhaps the most important one.

May I answer with a tiny vanity detail from our whimsical mid-afternoon Kaffee und Kuchen prosecco, hot chocolate & shameless cakes, one block away from Headquarters?

[eiochevart]

I love Hebra region so much. It reminds me a lot of my country, especially where we have our cabin! As if the atmosphere in BOTW and TOTK wasn’t immaculate enough, Hebra mountain and Rito village is just… mindblowing.

I remember visiting for the first time during Christmas or winter break, having purposefully saved the region for when I myself would also be in the snowy mountains. And it did not disappoint!

Rito village feels like a January afternoon, the air is cold and crisp, the sun shines and casts everything in gold. Blue skies, some dirt peaking out from the melting snow in the ditch, dewy leaves and branches from the recently thawed snow. You can hear the birds chirp again after the long winter, sound is no longer muffled by thick bodies of snow.

And then, you get closer to the mountain ridge and the air is thick with frost and snow, you wear your most practical gear but are still slowed down by the terrain. You may stumble across a lodge or cabin, perhaps they even invite you inside for a cup of hot milk in front of the fireplace. You eventually reach the peak of Hebra mountain and realize that, despite your altitude, the skies aren’t clear and thick mist obscures your view. It’s like the weather is embracing you, muffling everything else in an oddly comforting way. Here, you’re only in charge of yourself.

Okay that was a rant but bottom line is. I fucking love Hebra

[ladamedusoif]

Secrets (Marcus Pike x GN!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 24

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boy Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist.

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up with my writing.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x GN!Reader 

Word count: 1743

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Angst; fluff; references to parental illness; no use of Y/N; no physical descriptions of reader; no gendered pronouns; minor swearing

A/N: This can be read as a standalone, but I wrote it thinking of Marcus and Reader from ‘Hot Chocolate’ and ‘Christmas Market’ in this series.

“How’s Marcus?” Your mother’s voice is bright and breezy on the call.

You pause a little too long for her liking. 

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine, mom, it’s just…he’s not himself, lately. I thought we were all set for the holidays - you know how we booked a little cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains - but every time I try to talk about packing or planning, he gets tetchy and weird.”

“Maybe it’s work stress? He does have a lot on. Poor Marcus.”

“So do I, mom, and I’m not taking it out on him. Every time I ask him outright he just says everything’s fine but it isn’t. It’s like he’s hiding something from me.”

Your mother tut-tuts. “That’s not Marcus. He would never keep secrets from you.”

“I wish I could be as confident as you are.”

***

With Christmas falling on a Monday, you and Marcus had planned to take off on the Saturday morning, making the most of the extra days off before the holiday. By Friday night, he’s got the bags ready to load into the car and your refrigerator is groaning with food for the vacation, all ready to be stacked in cool bags for the journey.

Things hadn’t improved much in the time since you’d voiced your fears to your mother. Marcus remained unusually tetchy and irritable, a far cry from his usual sunny self. He insisted he was looking forward to the time away with you, but there was just something off. Something hidden underneath the surface, and for the first time in your relationship he had put up enough defences so that you couldn’t reveal the truth. 

Maybe he’s unhappy, you think to yourself. Maybe the vacation is make or break.

Your stomach churns as you imagine five days away with Marcus while he tries to decide if you need to end the relationship or not. 

Your phone rings as you’re sorting out a couple of bottles of wine for the trip. Mom. You brush it off, muttering to yourself that you’ll call her later, once the packing is done. 

It’s barely two minutes later that Marcus comes into the kitchen, talking on his phone while trying to catch your attention. 

“I’ll put you on now…sure. Sure. Well, I’m sure he’ll be okay, I’m so sorry - okay, keep us posted.”

He hands you the phone, mouthing “Your mom”.

“Mom?”

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry… you’re probably up to your neck with packing and sorting for the trip.”

“Just tell me, mom. You wouldn’t call Marcus if it wasn’t urgent.”

“Darling…it’s your dad. He’s had a fall, he’s in hospital, and -”

Your heart drops. “Mom, is he okay?”

She pauses a second too long. “Fine, fine… just hasn’t regained consciousness yet but it’s fine! I just felt you would be angry if I waited until after your trip to tell you. But it’s fine!”

“Mom, you’ve said ‘it’s fine’ so many times I’m pretty sure it isn’t fine.”

“Sweetheart, please just go on your trip and we’ll keep you posted. Okay?”

You become aware of Marcus peeking around the corner, trying to assess your mood from the tone of your voice and your body language. 

“Did the doctors say when they think he’ll regain consciousness?”

Another pause.

“They’re not sure, sweetie.”

You look up at Marcus, your eyes looking into his as you tell your mom you’ll be home tomorrow.

***

He swears it’s fine, but you know Marcus is annoyed. Or hurt. Or maybe a mix of both. 

Shit, maybe this really was a make or break vacation.

He had offered to come with you, but you dissuaded him, not wanting him to have to be thrown head-first into the madness that was your family - crisis or no crisis. 

“I’ll just stay here, I guess.” He casts an eye over the bags in the hallway. 

“Babe, no.” You wrap your arms around his waist. “We paid for the cabin and it’s too late to cancel now. It would be a pity not to use it at all. You’ve got that stack of reading you want to do. And, like, when dad wakes up I can come down and join you. What do you think?”

He doesn’t quite meet your gaze. “I guess.”

“I love you, Marcus. I’m so sorry.”

He sucks on the inside of his cheek and kisses you - not on the mouth, but on the cheek. “I love you, too.”

***

When you arrive home in Ohio you hop straight in a cab to the hospital, where your mother and siblings have spent the night keeping vigil. You try not to panic when you see your dad, hooked up to a morass of tubes and wires. 

“The doctors say it looks worse than it is,” your older sister explained. She holds out a bag of peppermint candies. “Candy?”

It’s several hours before you realise you haven’t let Marcus know you got there safely, like you promised. Too busy trying to get a clear answer from your mom about what, exactly, the doctors have said, and distracted by trying to track down a doctor to discuss a prognosis. 

Hey babe - I’m sorry, I have been talking to my mom and the doctors here. Dad okay, still no sign of improvement but stable. Love you - call you tomorrow.

You spend that night at the hospital, insisting that your mom go home and rest. You watch the dark sky brighten, slowly but surely, as Christmas Eve dawns. 

“It’s Christmas Eve, dad,” you murmur, unsure if he can hear you or not. “You’re not in the drunk tank, though,” you joke, referring to his favourite Christmas song, ‘Fairytale of New York’. “Just in hospital. I’ll let you know if the NYPD choir turns up.”

You get up and stretch your legs, wandering into the hallway in search of caffeine and sugar. The hospital cafe is quiet and you grab a cup of black coffee and a donut before returning to your dad’s floor. 

Panic sets in when you see nurses moving in and out of his room. One of them turns, spots you, and grins. 

“He’s waking up! Can you call your mom?”

By lunchtime, he’s fully awake and talking, grumbling about not being allowed home for Christmas. You duck out later in the afternoon to call Marcus and update him.

It goes straight to voicemail.

***

The hot shower feels like heaven as you rinse away the strain of the last couple of days. Well, some of it, anyway. Marcus still hasn’t answered your calls.

Thankfully, you’ve found a distraction, volunteering to prep some food at your parents’ house that can be easily taken to the hospital for Christmas Day. You slip on a pair of soft old sweatpants and a college hoodie and pad around the kitchen, filling some Tupperware containers with individual servings of cold cuts and salads while listening to the cheesy Christmas show on the local radio station.

You crawl into bed late that night, casting one final glance at your phone. 

Still nothing.

***

You stir awake at about two in the morning, roused by a thumping noise coming from somewhere in the house. As your brain adjusts, you realise it’s someone knocking on the door. 

You grab your brother’s old baseball bat as you descend the stairs. Can’t hurt to be prepared, after all. And you’re pretty sure this isn’t Santa Claus calling.

You open the door slowly, reluctantly. 

A pair of coffee-brown eyes. A soft, uncertain smile. Cheeks flushed with cold. 

“Marcus?”

He rubs his hands together and stamps his feet. “Can I come in? Got really cold in the car on the way up here.”

You fling your arms around him as he steps inside, forgetting the strangeness of the last few weeks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He holds his soft, dark green knitted cap in his hands and looks nervous. Really nervous.

“I… I had to see you.”

Oh, shit. Wait - is he going to break up with you on Christmas morning? While your dad’s in hospital?!

“Ooookay.”

“Baby, I -” He falters. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this.”

He is definitely about to break up with you. And good riddance, because he’s clearly heartless.

“Just get it over and done with, Marcus.”

He takes a deep breath and exhales, long and slow.

“I wanted to have the space to do this at the cabin, y’know?”

“Marcus. Just say it.”

“Baby, I’m so grateful for you - you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met, so kind, so loving, and -”

You’ve had it. “Marcus - just say you don’t want to be with me. You’ve been weird for weeks. You’re here on Christmas fucking Day, having driven a seven-hour journey to get here. You obviously can’t be with me a minute longer, so you might as well just -”

He has dropped to one knee.

Wait. What?

“I wanted to ask you to marry me.”

Your jaw drops. For once, you’re stunned into silence.

“Baby?”

“I…Marcus. I just…is this…fuck.”

He reaches into his coat pocket and presents you with a little box. “Um, do you mind if I stand up again? My knees aren’t what they used to be.”

You chuckle and help him to his feet, before opening the box to find a perfect, simple engagement ring. 

“I can’t believe it, Marcus.”

He shrugs. “You seemed sure we were about to break up. I’m sorry I’ve been so stressed the last few weeks, my love. I was just readying everything for a perfect proposal, in the mountains, and I was so worried you’d say no, and then the ring was delayed, and then - well. And then your dad got sick. But he’s awake? I’m sorry, I only just saw your messages. My phone was in the trunk.”

You lift your gaze from the ring. “He’s awake. And I’m sorry, too - I didn’t know what you were keeping from me, and I didn’t even think of this.”

Marcus raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you?”

You chuckle. “Mmmm. Maybe I thought a man as perfect as you couldn’t possibly want someone like me.”

He pulls you tight to him and kisses you. “Baby, you forgot something.”

You look confused. “I did?”

“You didn’t give me an answer yet.”

Tears shining in your eyes, you slip the ring on your finger. “A million times yes, Marcus Pike. Provided there are no more secrets.”

[quads4days]

Ethan's Christmas Wish

Merry Christmas, Everyone! May your holidays be filling as you enjoy this Christmas Tale! 🎄

Chapter 1: The Unlikely Santa

In the quaint town of Pine Ridge, nestled between snow-capped mountains and sprawling evergreen forests, the local mall buzzed with the onset of the festive season. Amidst the flurry of decorations and holiday cheer, an unlikely figure stood out.

Ethan Turner, a junior at the state university, was the embodiment of a collegiate athlete. His towering frame, a solid six feet two inches, was chiselled to perfection, a result of countless hours at the gym and on the football field. Broad shoulders tapered into a sculpted torso, each muscle defined as if carved from marble. His arms, the pride of his physique, were the stuff of legends on campus – powerful and imposing. With jet-black hair cropped close to his head and piercing blue eyes that contrasted starkly with his tanned skin, Ethan was often the centre of attention, albeit reluctantly. He had taken on the job of playing Santa at the mall for the holiday season, a decision driven more by financial need than desire. The idea of concealing his athletic form under the bulky, red velvet suit of Santa Claus seemed almost comical. He couldn’t be more different from the traditional, jolly old man in red. His friends had laughed when he told them, unable to picture the buff jock as the iconic bringer of Christmas joy.

As he stood in the staff room, staring at the Santa suit hanging on the door, a sense of irony washed over him. The suit, with its ample padding and fake white beard, was a far cry from his usual attire of fitted tees and athletic shorts. Ethan ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he had when contemplating the absurdity of life’s twists.

Taking a deep breath, he began to don the costume. The fabric enveloped his muscular frame, hiding the physique he worked so hard to maintain. As he looked in the mirror, he barely recognised himself. Gone was the intimidating athlete, replaced by a cheerful, round-bellied Santa.  Little did he know, this role would challenge him in ways he never expected, pushing the boundaries of his identity and forcing him to confront aspects of himself he never knew existed. As he adjusted the beard on his chiselled jaw, Ethan Turner, the campus Adonis, stepped out to embrace his role as Santa, unwittingly stepping into a journey of transformation that would redefine his very being.

Chapter 2: The Feast and Reflection

The final echoes of holiday cheer faded as Ethan concluded his shift at the Pine Ridge Mall. He trudged towards the staff room, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. The Santa suit, a farce of merriment, felt more like a shackle by the end of his gruelling 12-hour shift. Inside the dimly lit staff room, Ethan began the process of shedding his Santa persona. The suit, which had engulfed his athletic frame, fell away piece by piece, revealing the stark contrast of his true self. As the layers peeled off, Ethan stood in front of the full-length mirror, pausing to take in his reflection.

His body, a sculpture of discipline and effort, was toned to near perfection. Broad shoulders rolled into well-defined pecs and a flat, muscular abdomen. His biceps, sculpted and prominent, flexed unintentionally as he ran a hand through his hair. In the mirror, Ethan saw not Santa but a young man in his prime, a stark juxtaposition to the character he played in the festively decorated halls of the mall. The rumble of his stomach broke his contemplative reverie. Realising he had hardly eaten all day, Ethan made his way to the food court, now quiet and nearly empty as the mall neared closing time. The aroma of various cuisines intermingled in the air, tempting his heightened hunger. He ordered copiously - a burger here, a slice of pizza there, followed by a serving of Chinese noodles.

Sitting alone at a table, Ethan devoured the feast before him. Each bite was a blend of flavour and relief, a stark contrast to the forced joviality of his Santa role. The food court, with its lingering festive decorations, was both a dining hall and a stage for his solitary banquet. After his meal, feeling sated yet physically drained, Ethan returned home. The quiet of his apartment was a welcome change from the constant din of the mall. As a treat to himself, he indulged in a few Christmas cookies, the sweet richness a perfect end to the day. The cookies, homemade and delicious, were a small yet significant rebellion against the strict diet of his athlete's regimen. Lying in bed, the events of the day replayed in his mind - the smiles of children, the weight of the suit, his reflection in the mirror, and the surprising satisfaction of his indulgent dinner. Drifting off to sleep, Ethan pleasured himself; his muscles tensed—he managed to climax, finding himself in a liminal space, caught between the persona of Santa and the reality of his own existence, ready to face another day in the red suit.

Chapter 3: Dreams of a Festive Transformation

As the mantle of sleep enveloped Ethan, his mind wandered into the realm of dreams. A Christmas dreamscape unfolded before him, more vivid and enchanting than any reality he'd known. He found himself in an ethereal workshop, bathed in a warm, golden glow that seemed to emanate from the very walls. The workshop was bustling with activity but not with the usual toy-making frenzy one might expect. Instead, it was filled with elves, each more striking than the last, their shirtless forms adorned with sparkling body glitter that caught the light with every graceful movement. They were the epitome of festive charm and allure, moving with a fluidity that was almost hypnotic.

Among them, an elf named Chris stood out. A playful glint in his eye accentuated his chiselled features, and his well-defined abs shimmered under the workshop’s golden light. He approached Ethan with a confident stride, his presence commanding yet warm.

"You're quite the unit, Ethan," Chris said, his voice rich and melodic. "It's our honour to assist you in becoming the biggest and best Santa Claus, full of Christmas cheer." Ethan, taken aback by the dream’s vividness, looked down at himself. He was still clad in the red suit, but it felt different in this dreamscape – less like a costume and more a part of his identity. The fabric seemed to hug his form, accentuating a physique that felt both familiar and strangely altered.

The elves moved around him in a dance of festive preparation, their laughter and chatter creating a symphony of holiday spirit. Ethan was drawn into their rhythm, feeling an inexplicable connection to their mission. Chris led him through the workshop, showing him the magic of Christmas. They passed rows of candy canes, mountains of glittering ornaments, and beautifully wrapped gifts. With each step, Ethan felt a growing sense of belonging, as if he were meant to be part of this mystical world. Inevitably, Chris and Ethan found themselves alone; it was only a matter of time before Ethan’s muscular arms were embracing Chris as the dream turned passionate. Just as Ethan managed to unbuckle Chris’ elf attire,  the dream began to fade, Chris's voice echoed, "Embrace your new role, Ethan. Let the spirit of Christmas guide you, I’ll be in touch soon.”

Ethan awoke to the dim light of dawn, the remnants of the dream lingering in his mind. The vivid images of the workshop, the glittering elves, and his transformed reflection stayed with him as he lay naked in bed, pondering the surreal experience and what it might signify for his journey ahead.

Chapter 4: Embracing Christmas

The chill of the winter evening nipped at Ethan's skin as he collapsed into bed, utterly spent from another day of donning the Santa suit. The fabric had chafed against his skin, a constant reminder of the facade he maintained. In the solitude of his room, he shed his clothes, seeking the comfort of his bed in nothing but his skin, a stark contrast to the layers he bore all day. As sleep claimed him, he was once again transported to the Christmas wonderland of his dreams. The world was a tapestry of twinkling lights, shimmering snow, and an air of enchantment that could only belong to a place beyond reality.

Chris, the elf who had become a familiar presence in these dreams, greeted Ethan with a warm, inviting smile. His shirtless form seemed to radiate a festive glow, his muscles glistening under the soft, ethereal light of the wonderland. In his hand, he held a cookie, intricately decorated and emitting a mouth-watering aroma.

"Welcome back, Ethan," Chris's voice was as comforting as a crackling fireplace. "I thought you might enjoy this."

Ethan accepted the cookie, the rich taste exploding on his tongue as he took a bite. It was like tasting Christmas itself – a blend of spices, sweetness, and warmth. As they strolled through the wonderland, Chris's question hung in the air like a delicate snowflake. "Are you ready to embrace being Santa, Ethan?"

Ethan, with a mouthful of cookie, looked perplexed. Chris," he began, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "why am I here? Why do you keep asking me to grow into Santa?"

Chris looked into Ethan's eyes, his own reflecting a depth of ancient wisdom. "Ethan," he said, his voice soft yet resonant, "Santa Claus is more than a person; he's a spirit, an embodiment of Christmas joy and generosity. But he can't carry this essence alone. Each year, we choose someone to share in this spirit, to help spread the joy and magic of Christmas. This year, I chose you., Ethan, personally chosen to be part of this legacy."

Ethan absorbed the words, a myriad of emotions swirling within him. "But why me?" he asked, a mix of honour and disbelief colouring his tone.

"You have a heart that resonates with the true spirit of Christmas," Chris explained. "Your transformation isn't just physical. You're becoming a vessel of the Christmas spirit, a partner to Santa in bringing joy to the world."

Ethan paused, the weight of the revelation settling upon him. He had started this journey reluctantly, seeing it as a role to be played. However, he was part of a timeless tradition, a continuum of joy and giving that stretched far beyond himself. Ethan's brow furrowed in confusion. 

"And what's in it for me?" he asked half-jokingly.

Chris's smile broadened. "After Christmas, you can have us change you into the physique of your dreams."

Ethan chuckled, playing along, half expecting to wake from this vivid dream. "Fine, then I want quads the size of a grown man's torso, thick muscular quads that turn heads.”

With a flick of Chris' fingers and a smirk on his face, Ethan felt a sudden, overwhelming sensation. His quads began to swell, the muscles expanding with a supernatural rapidity. They grew more massive, so large that his thighs were forced apart, straining under their newfound bulk. Ethan stumbled, unprepared for the shift in his balance. He fell, a mix of shock and awe on his face, as he looked at his disproportionately muscular legs that continued to thicken. He tried to step forward, and his massive quads made him fall backwards. Chris hurried to his side, helping him to his feet. "You see, Ethan, dreams do come true here."

Ethan, still reeling from the transformation, nodded warily. “Alright, I'm in," he agreed, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.  Chris's smile was triumphant. He placed a hand on Ethan’s stomach, and a tingle coursed through Ethan’s abs, and with that, Ethan was jolted awake. He lay in his bed, his heart pounding, the surreal dream still vivid in his mind. He touched his thighs, half-expecting to feel the exaggerated muscles from his dream. But they were the same as they had always been, strong yet human. The dream left Ethan with a sense of foreboding and excitement. As he lay there, contemplating the dream's meaning, he couldn't shake off the feeling that this Christmas was going to be unlike any other.

Chapter 5: A Magical Transformation

As the days passed, Ethan's life settled into a peculiar rhythm. The role of Santa Claus at the mall was exhausting, yet he couldn't deny the sense of fulfilment it brought him. The smiles of children, the festive atmosphere it all added a warmth to his life that he hadn't expected. However, with this new role came an insatiable hunger, one that seemed to grow with each passing day. Ethan found himself gravitating towards the food court during every break, devouring meal after meal as if he could never be sated. Pizza, burgers, fries – no amount of food seemed enough. By the end of the third day, his concern grew; this hunger was unlike anything he had experienced before. That night, as he collapsed into bed, a pizza box still open beside him, he drifted into a deep sleep. In his dreams, he found himself back in the enchanting Christmas wonderland, a realm that was becoming increasingly familiar.

Chris, the enigmatic elf from his previous dreams, was there to greet him. "Welcome back, Ethan," Chris said, his voice echoing with a warmth that filled the air. He approached Ethan and gently touched his stomach. "I see your hunger is growing. That's good. You're embracing your potential." Ethan, caught in the surreal beauty of the dream, nodded. "It's like I can't stop eating," he admitted, a mix of wonder and concern in his voice. Chris smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "Christmas is only twenty days away. I want to help you grow into your role, to become the Santa you're destined to be."

Ethan felt a surge of excitement mixed with a hint of apprehension. "How?" he asked. In response, Chris waved his hand, and a lavish feast appeared before them. Tables groaned under the weight of festive dishes, each more tantalising than the last. "Eat, Ethan. Let the magic of Christmas fill you." Ethan began to eat, and to his astonishment, he found that he could not get full. Plate after plate, the food seemed to vanish, and with each bite, he felt his body responding. He looked down in shock as his midsection began to round out, softening and expanding. Even more shocking was the raging hard-on Ethan found himself harbouring. Chris continued to encourage him, gently pushing more delicacies his way. Ethan, caught in the whirlwind of the magical feast, surrendered to the experience. As the dream continued, Ethan's transformation became more pronounced. His once athletic body softened, rounding out with the magic of the feast. As Chris's hand gently brushed against Ethan’s expanding midsection, the juxtaposition was clear. Where Chris remained toned and firm and defined, Ethan was becoming softer, rounder. It was a physical manifestation of two worlds colliding. 

Ethan lay back, utterly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the feast he had consumed. His body, especially his midsection, had transformed significantly. What was once a toned and athletic stomach had now become a soft, bloated spare tire, rising and falling with each of his laboured breaths. The sensation was a mix of discomfort and an odd sense of satisfaction, marking the journey he had embarked upon. Sensing Ethan's discomfort, Chris placed his hands gently on Ethan's expanded stomach. His touch was soothing, offering a comforting pressure that helped alleviate the tightness. At this moment, with Chris's caring gestures, the sharp contrast between Ethan's burgeoning form and Chris's lithe figure became a source of reassurance. Chris’ presence and the gentle rhythm of his hands on Ethan's belly brought a sense of calm, easing the physical strain of Ethan's indulgence.

Chapter 6: The Transformation

In the cool, pre-dawn light of Pine Ridge, Ethan awoke with the lingering images of his dream still vivid in his mind. He found himself facing a new reality. As he tried to rise from bed, he felt a weight he hadn't before. His midsection, now noticeably softer, pushed him back. Lying there, Ethan was filled with a sense of wonder and curiosity. His hard-on remained, and as Ethan pleasured himself, his new gut wobbled, and he blew a load harder than he ever had before.

Arriving at the mall, Ethan entered the staff room to don the familiar red suit of Santa Claus. However, today was different. As he slipped into the costume, he realised that the usual padding wasn't necessary. The suit, which had once hung loose on his athletic frame, now hugged his gut in a way it never had before. Standing before the mirror, Ethan took a moment to absorb his reflection. His physique, once the epitome of fitness, had undergone an undeniable transformation. His abdomen, previously adorned with chiselled abs, now sported a noticeable paunch. He grabbed at his newfound softness, his fingers sinking into the flesh. It was a surreal experience, feeling the weight and give of his midsection, a stark contrast to the hard muscle that used to be.

His thighs, once powerful and lean, had thickened, rubbing together as he moved. Even his chest, which had always been firm and sculpted, now had a subtle softness to it, the contours less defined. Ethan shook his head in disbelief, trying to reconcile this reflection with the image of himself that he had always known. Throughout his shift, Ethan's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. He pushed himself to interact with the children and their families, the role of Santa now feeling more real than ever. But underneath the jovial exterior, Ethan was preoccupied with his physical changes and the dream that seemed to be becoming a reality.

Determined to embrace this transformation and make Chris proud, Ethan found himself visiting the food court during every break. He devoured meal after meal, his appetite seemingly insatiable. With each bite, he could almost hear Chris’s encouraging words, urging him to let go and embrace his new role. As the day drew to a close, Ethan felt both exhaustion and a strange sense of fulfilment. The mirror in the staff room now reflected a different man – one who was slowly but surely stepping into a new identity, one bite at a time. The journey was far from over, but Ethan was committed to seeing where this path would lead, driven by the mysterious promise of his dreams and the transformation they foretold.

Chapter 7: Embracing the Transformation

Ethan found himself once again enveloped in the dreamlike world that had become his nightly escape. The surroundings were draped in the soft, ethereal glow of Christmas magic, with snow gently falling outside the frosted windows of a quaint, cozy cabin. Inside, the warmth of the fire crackled in the hearth, casting a comforting light over Ethan and Chris. Chris, with his ever-present elfin grace, listened intently as Ethan recounted his day's work as Santa, his voice tinged with both fatigue and a growing sense of wonder. Ethan lay reclined, his head resting comfortably in Chris's lap, feeling a sense of peace he hadn't known before. Chris' hand, delicate yet assured, held a freshly baked cookie, bringing it to Ethan's lips.  As Ethan savoured the cookie, Chris's other hand gently rubbed his fattened stomach, which had grown noticeably rounder over the past few days. The sensation was new and strange to Ethan, yet there was a certain comfort in the softness that had begun to envelop his once rigidly toned frame.

In a moment of surprising boldness, Ethan looked up at Chris, his eyes reflecting the fire's gentle flicker. "I want to embrace this change," he said, his voice low but resolute. "Help me grow even larger." Chris's eyes sparkled with a mix of joy and something more profound. "As you wish, Ethan," he replied, his voice echoing the magic of the winter wonderland that surrounded them. Chris smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "it's time for you to try Santa's special eggnog." With a flourish, Chris produced a large, ornate jug filled with a creamy, rich liquid that seemed to shimmer with a light of its own. Ethan, already feeling the weight of his indulgence, hesitated for a moment. But the allure of the magical world he was becoming a part of was too strong to resist. As Ethan drank the eggnog, he felt a warm sensation spreading through him. It was as though each sip was filling him with the essence of Christmas itself. The thick, sweet liquid coated his throat, and with each gulp, he could feel his body responding. It was as if he was inflating, his frame expanding softly but persistently under the fabric of his dream-self's clothes.

With each sip, Ethan felt a gentle expansion, starting from his core and radiating outward. It was as if the very essence of the holiday season was filling him, softening his once rigid and athletic build into something more akin to the legendary figure of Santa Claus himself. His abdomen, previously toned and firm, began to round and soften, gradually losing the definition of muscle in a slow, mesmerising change. This transformation was not abrupt but gradual, like a slow and steady filling that was both visible and palpable. Ethan's arms and legs, once the epitome of strength and discipline, began to take on a fuller, softer appearance. The fabric of his dream-self's clothes stretched a little more with each passing moment, accommodating his changing form. The most notable change was in his chest and midsection. His pecs, previously sculpted and prominent, were now becoming enveloped in a layer of softness. As Ethan attempted to rise, shifting onto his hands and knees, he found himself pausing to gather his bearings amidst the bewildering transformation he was experiencing. The weight and feel of his body were so different now, profoundly unfamiliar. As he steadied himself, preparing to stand, he felt a distinct sensation – his stomach, rounder and softer than it had ever been, made contact with the ground; a golden glow seemed to intensify around him, casting a radiant aura upon his now oversized form. 

Chris, with an enigmatic smile, beckoned other elves to join them, each bearing a glistening pitcher of creamy eggnog. The liquid flowed in a continuous stream, cascading into a colossal goblet before pouring into Ethan's eagerly awaiting lips. Hours passed, yet time in this dreamscape felt elastic, stretching on as Ethan continued to imbibe the rich, frothy concoction. With each gulp, he could feel his body growing heavier, his belly expanding like a living, breathing balloon. The sensation was overwhelming, a blend of pleasure and discomfort, as the eggnog seemed to infuse him with the essence of Christmas itself. Chris observed with fascination as Ethan's transformation unfolded before his eyes. His once-toned body had become an undulating sea of flesh, rippling with each gulp. The contours of muscle gave way to soft, pliable curves that swelled relentlessly. His limbs, once lithe and agile, were now ponderous and laden with the weight of indulgence. Chris couldn't help but notice how Ethan's skin, stretched taut over his expanding girth, took on a luminous quality as if it held the very radiance of the holiday season. Ethan's moans of pleasure mingled with the chorus of the workshop, where the other elves continued their joyful preparations. The goblet's contents seemed endless, and as the scale approached a staggering 300 kilograms, Ethan's laughter filled the air, a deep and hearty sound that resonated with the essence of Santa Claus himself.

Ethan's transformation was nothing short of extraordinary. The relentless flow of eggnog continued to feed his insatiable appetite for Christmas spirit, and his body responded in kind. His gut surged forward like an unstoppable force, expanding with a voracious appetite of its own. It hung heavily between his legs, creating a pendulous mass that now eclipsed even his knees. His once-defined pecs had long lost their athletic form, now transformed into enormous, fat-laden breasts that jiggled with every movement. They pressed against his burgeoning belly, a cascade of soft, supple flesh that defied gravity. The voluptuous curves of a Santa-in-training now supplanted the power and strength that had once defined his physique. Ethan's limbs, once agile and muscular, had become unwieldy masses of plumpness. His arms, which had once lifted weights and carried him through athletic feats, were now flabby appendages that swayed with each ponderous step. His thighs, once powerful pillars of strength, had ballooned into colossal columns of adipose, encasing his lower body in layers of luscious fat. The transformation was relentless, and Ethan's very identity seemed to blur with each passing moment. The former athlete was now becoming a living embodiment of indulgence, a blob of holiday merriment. His laughter, once vibrant and athletic, now had a deeper, more resonant quality, echoing the spirit of Santa Claus himself.

As Ethan's body continued to swell, the once-joyful atmosphere in the workshop began to take on an air of urgency. The other elves, their faces flushed with excitement, pushed him harder to drink more eggnog. What had started as an exhilarating journey into holiday indulgence now began to fill Ethan with apprehension. He could feel his mobility diminishing as the layers of fat encased him, rendering his once-athletic physique immobile and cumbersome. Just when Ethan thought he couldn't take another sip, Chris stepped forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. With a flick of his wrist and a whispered incantation, Chris's magic surged through the workshop. Ethan's eyes widened in realisation as he felt the transformation intensify. His body expanded at an alarming rate, his flesh seemingly inflating with each passing moment. Ethan's joy quickly turned to apprehension as his body swelled uncontrollably, he was growing large, taller even as his body accommodated the influx of fat. Encasing him like a living cocoon, growing fatter and fatter with each heartbeat, Ethan was positively giant.  Chris watched with a knowing smile as Ethan's form expanded, his eyes filled with a mix of pleasure and desire. The once-svelte elf had orchestrated this dramatic change, and he reveled in the sight of Ethan becoming a living embodiment of holiday indulgence. With each passing moment, Ethan grew larger and rounder, his body encased in layers of plush, creamy fat. 

Chris, driven by desire and curiosity, climbed up the treacherous terrain of Ethan's expanding body. The ocean of fat seemed endless, and every step was a thrilling challenge. His fingers sank into the soft, yielding flesh as he ascended, and he couldn't help but revel in the intoxicating sensations. Finally, Chris reached Ethan's grotesquely swollen breasts, their immense size a testament to the extent of his transformation. Chris settled there, gazing down at the mesmerising scene below. With a playful smirk, he produced a plate of cookies, each bite laden with dark magic that fuelled Ethan's insatiable appetite. Ethan, moaning in a mix of pleasure and excitement, devoured the cookies with a ravenous hunger that only grew with each bite. With every morsel, his body expanded further, his skin stretching and straining to accommodate the rapid growth. The sensation was a heady mix of pleasure and anticipation, and both Ethan and Chris were eager to see just how far this transformation could go. 

Chapter 8: Ethan’s Christmas Wish

As the clock struck midnight, the workshop fell into an eerie silence, signalling the arrival of Christmas Eve. All the bustling elves froze in their tracks, their work suddenly halted. It was a moment of anticipation, a pause in the enchantment that had enveloped the workshop. Ethan, now an inconceivable mass of gluttony, lay somewhere within the colossal ball of lard that Chris perched upon. He was indistinguishable from the ethereal mound, a stark contrast to the fit man he had once been. The transformation had reached its zenith, and he was now a living monument to indulgence. The elves, lined up in a solemn row, seemed to shimmer with a mystical energy. Their eyes sparkled with anticipation, and a sense of wonder filled the air. It was as if the very essence of Christmas magic had descended upon the workshop.

With the workshop bustling and the enchantment of Christmas Eve filling the air, Chris turned to Ethan, a knowing smile gracing his lips. "It's time, Ethan," he said, his voice a melodic whisper. "Make your wish, and let the magic of Christmas do the rest." Ethan, now an inconceivable mass of gluttony, found his voice amidst the sea of lard that enveloped him. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and made his wish. Ethan, lost in the sea of his own excess, suddenly felt a surge of ecstasy wash over him. He sensed himself floating downward, his essence flowing like a river into the waiting elves below. It was a sensation beyond words, a union with the very spirit of Christmas itself. As he wished, the elves around them began to change. Once shirtless Adonis-like figures, their bodies rippling with muscular definition, they now underwent a remarkable transformation as they absorbed Ethan’s Christmas Spirit. Their skin took on a soft, velvety quality, and their chiselled physiques gave way to plump, rounded forms. The transformation was a mesmerising dance of indulgence as each elf swelled with newfound curves and delightful softness. The elves' bodies grew fatter and fatter, their once-athletic builds now obscured beneath layers of lush, creamy fat. They seemed to revel in their newfound indulgence, their eyes sparkling with delight as they became living embodiments of holiday cheer. As the elves absorbed the essence of Ethan's wish, he felt himself growing smaller, the excess fat that had encased him flowing outward and into the waiting elves. He watched in amazement as they absorbed his transformation, their bodies expanding even further as they embraced the joy of holiday excess.

Chris's skin took on a glossy sheen as it stretched to accommodate his expanding girth. His chest, once flat and toned, blossomed into a pair of plump, soft mounds that strained against the fabric of his shirt. The shirt itself groaned under the strain, buttons threatening to pop as they struggled to contain the burgeoning expanse of his belly. His arms, which had once possessed a graceful, athletic elegance, became thick, flabby appendages laden with layers of luxurious fat. They swayed with every movement, a testament to the rapid transformation overtaking him. Chris's legs, once lean and agile, now thickened with luscious padding, and his thighs brushed against each other as he shifted his weight. His once-narrow waist expanded into a generous, round midsection, a sphere of holiday excess that defied imagination. His face, though still recognisable, had taken on a rosy flush, and his cheeks swelled with the delightful plumpness of holiday cheer. Even his ears seemed to have grown rounder, nestled beneath a layer of soft, inviting flesh. As the transformation continued, Chris seemed to revel in his newfound form, his eyes twinkling with the delight of holiday indulgence. He laughed heartily, a deep and joyous sound that resonated with the spirit of Christmas.

Ethan marvelled at the enchanting sight before him. Chris, once a svelte and confident elf, had become a living embodiment of holiday excess, his frame inflating with the very essence of the season. The workshop shimmered with the magic of their shared transformation, and as the clock ticked closer to the midnight hour, they prepared for the festivities that awaited on this most magical of Christmas Eve. Ethan found himself lying on his back in the workshop, exhausted from the transformation. A fattened Chris came into his vision; he leant down and kissed Ethan on the lips/

“Thank you.” He said, “You’ve given us more cheer than we could have wished for; this Christmas is going to be a magical one.” Ethan kissed him back before his eyes opened, and his Christmas dream ended.

Chapter 9: Christmas Morning

Christmas morning had arrived, and as Ethan stirred from his slumber, he couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder and anticipation. The vivid memories of the enchanting dream and the remarkable transformation lingered in his mind. He sat up in bed, and as he looked down at himself, his jaw dropped in awe.

His once-bloated, rotund form had been replaced by a physique that defied imagination. He was now a hulking titan, his muscles sculpted and defined in a way that rivalled the mightiest of warriors. Each bulging muscle seemed carved from granite, and his sheer size was awe-inspiring.

Ethan swung his legs over the edge of the bed and hopped up, unbalanced by the sheer bulk of his newfound titan muscles. As he made his way to the kitchen, he quickly realised that his expanded frame posed unexpected challenges. When he reached the bedroom door, he found himself wedged in, his massive shoulders and chest too wide to pass through. With a chuckle at the absurdity of the situation, Ethan ducked under the doorway, the muscles of his back and legs rippling with power as he maneuvered through the narrow space. He finally emerged into the kitchen, where he spotted a plate of cookies on the table.

Ethan couldn't help but grin as he approached. He picked up a note, and there, in elegant handwriting, were the words: "See you again next year. Chris."

A smile spread across Ethan's face as he realised that the enchanting adventure he had embarked upon had indeed not only been a dream. It had been a journey of holiday magic, indulgence, and transformation, and he knew that he would carry the spirit of Christmas with him throughout the year waiting until next Christmas where he hoped he’d be asked to don his Santa suit again.

[tagsecretsanta]

From @gaviiadastra

From @gaviiadastra to @womble1

Hello to my wonderful gift recipient! I’m certain this was a gift to me; I got to write my all time favorites. Thank you! I hope you have a wonderful holiday and that you enjoy this story, and special thanks to TAGSS for organizing the exchange this year.

My prompts were: 

1. FishTank (Virgil & Gordon) and woodland dappled light.

2. Alan having to deal with life outside the island.

3. Anything christmassy. Who am I kidding, I'll be happy with anything. 😁

___

Along Country Roads

Summary: a place can hold unique memories for different people - sometimes it’s the same one, just different.A/N: I promise, it’s a balanced level of sappiness and brother time with some light h/c. For exact warnings: references to depression and avalanche aftermath, in which I headcanon Virgil was present with Lucille. Gordon’s hydrofoil accident is always in the background. But there’s laughs too, aaaand  I’ve continued to use crafty!FishTank as a plot device.  

~*~

For as much as Scott fought the GDF for them to have a family holiday, the IR commander sure managed to make himself scarce, Virgil thought bitterly. It was the first time they’d managed to take International Rescue offline for a full week without there being an excuse of a serious injury prompting the decision – a fact that hurt his heart to think about. Still, Virgil awoke to a mostly empty household despite the homely comfort of coffee still warmed and the gentle brush of heat throughout the cabin from the controlled flames stoked in the fireplace.

But, no, that wasn’t necessarily fair to Scott either, and Virgil recognized his sleepiness taking control of his thoughts. He’d known his older brother would need to take some time in DC, and it wasn’t actually all that far to the Capitol. All would be well, as long as Scott’s business was concluded by Christmas, like he’d promised them. It still felt strange to be offline; not knowing what was happening in the rest of the world left an uncomfortable itch that ran through his blood, which was only eased with the knowledge that Eos was still watching, listening, and would alert them if they were needed. 

The distance away was exactly why they'd chosen here in the first place - a remote location for the full step back and reset they needed after months of running on exhaustion. 

These days, the mountain cabin and its surrounding property belonged to Virgil, even if he still thought of it as one of their family’s winter homes. It was only after their mother’s death that they started vacationing here in Appalachia. The hills of Shenandoah were different enough from the ski lodge, so he’d been able to form new cozy Christmas memories within its walls, comforted by the East Coast’s gentler, wiser mountains. The Blue Ridge Mountains to the east and the Alleghenies to the west and were among the oldest on the planet. They knew loss.

The ache in his soul then had been raw and bare, and certainly it had taken a few winters for him to heal enough to step foot into the snow. But he'd wept with the song of the ancients and walked stronger for it.

Home, through country roads, indeed.

That morning, though his heart rang with the distant echo of the constant activity of their childhood, he’d walked in instead on just Gordon cozied by the fireplace, wearing more layers than his usual attire and with a blanket thrown across his feet. Virgil recognized the hank of heathered blue and dusky grey, now spun into a usable yarn cake, that Gordon had selected for a pair of fingerless mittens for Scott. And it was that which had reminded Virgil of their brother’s planned departure that morning; Scott’s absence had given Gordon some privacy to finish his Christmas gift.

In lieu of a greeting, Gordon finessed his foot from beneath the blanket to waggle his toes at him, while continuing to crochet the stitches in the round.  “Do NOT tell him how close I cut it.”

“Ugh, gross. Good morning to you too.” Virgil parked himself in the adjacent recliner, far enough from potentially stinky feet and near enough to a side table for him to comfortably drink his coffee while watching the flames flicker within earthen stone. “And I would never.” It was the curse of the homemade gift - always the best of intentions and never enough time.

The fireplace mantle he usually kept bare save for a large, framed painting of a creek running through a grove of autumn red oak trees. The brush strokes were ones he knew as well as his own. He’d studied from them, committed them to memory. And though their mother never knew the cabin home, the scene could’ve easily been something right outside their door, albeit in a different season. The deciduous trees were spectacular in the height of color-changing foliage, and he’d had the pleasure of seeing them many times in their travels as children for their father’s business, then again with International Rescue through which he’d seen many of the world’s marvels as well as its strifes.

When they arrived, the first thing they did together was pull out the old holiday decorations, and so for the first time in a long while the artwork shone from a podium of garland, the green of blue spruce with wine-red bows interspersed in the artificial branches.

 “What are you thinking about?”

Virgil flicked his eyes away from the painting where Gordon had pulled his earbud away, his yarn work resting in his lap while he rotated his wrists to stretch.

“Mom,” Virgil  answered, glancing back to the landscape captured in time.

“Oh, I always thought that was one of yours.”

Virgil shook his head. Coughed. “Where is everyone else off to?”  

Gordon rambled in answer, but Virgil was versed enough to catch the key points: that Scott was, of course, in Washington; John was in the office on a conference call with his editor in New York; Grandma had gone into town for supplies – “I would’ve gone with her had I known” – and Alan was still asleep.

Virgil glanced down at his watch.

“He was up until four modding for one of Brandon’s livestreams,” Gordon defended on their youngest brother’s behalf.

“I’m going to pretend I know what that means.”

“It means let the kid sleep.”

Virgil knew he’d have to trust Gordon on that one. Besides, he wasn’t one to argue over late mornings; he’d done his fair share of staying up late to catch the sunless sky for this art project or that over the years. He nodded in acknowledgement and took another sip from his coffee as Gordon settled back into his project, replacing the ear bud.

It had been rare, in their childhood, for Virgil to enjoy spending time with Gordon like this, not because of the age difference between them though that certainly played a small part, but because they existed on different schedules. Even more so than his space-faring siblings, Virgil was like the moon to Gordon’s sun. His late nights, however, were not a product of scientific interest, but rather an overactive imagination and trauma-based insomnia, and later - as he got older - the artistic outlets to alleviate the worst parts of them both.

When they were younger, Gordon would be the first awake and the first to wake everyone else with his volume and exuberance. He didn’t really like Gordon for that back then, but it was also something that he didn’t realize he missed until it was gone. That was something that had changed drastically over the years between Gordon developing a discipline for a morning routine with his swimming and then his subsequent military experience. And though the vivacity came back after the accident, there was a time Gordon understood Virgil’s own mind more than Virgil ever wanted his younger brother to.

The Gordon he knew now was plenty more considerate than his younger self, among the most carefree spirits he knew despite the scars on his heart, and still the most resilient, most tenacious person he’d ever met.

They made a good team. His light was good for him.

“You’re thinking so hard, V.” Startled, Virgil tried to regain control of the remaining coffee in his mug so it wouldn’t spill. “Honestly,” Gordon added, laughing, “I can’t even focus on my stitches.”

Virgil watched as Gordon stabbed his hook in the top of the stitches from the row before, grabbed his working yarn with the hook, then struggled to wiggle it back through the loops. It budged eventually, but mid row, Gordon stopped and had to stretch again.

Virgil gently placed his drink down on a coaster to protect the wood of the side table. “You should take a break,” he suggested.

Gordon shook his head. “I have to finish these by tonight.”

“Scott’s out the whole day, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but - ”

“So come for a walk with me?” He glanced out the window. Outside it was a clear day, deceptive in how bright the sun was, dappled through the branches of the trees. “I’ve been meaning to check the markings along the trails. Make sure they are clear or if they need a new coat of paint. Come with me?”

Gordon hesitated, squinting at his progress. “You know the cold isn’t my thing.” Suddenly, frustration cut through his concentration as his brow furrowed. “My stitch count is off! For fu-”

“Ooookay, you definitely need a break.” Virgil hopped out of the recliner and pried the work out of a grumbling Gordon’s hands before he could unravel the whole thing unnecessarily, gently placing the hook, yarn, and partly-finished mitt on the adjacent table. “Come on. The air will be good for you. It doesn’t have to be for long, and we’ll be walking the whole way, which’ll help with the cold.”

“And walking for the whole time?” he pressed, eyeing Virgil warily, like he knew better in trusting Virgil’s word when it came to the wonders of natural beauty. He had to hand that one to Gordon; there was some truth to that lack of faith.

“For the whole time,” Virgil promised. “I won’t even bring a sketchpad, scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t ever a scout,” Gordon countered.  

“Still.” Virgil beamed.

~*~

They met back in the lounge after Gordon changed and located a hoodie to slide over his long sleeve, and after Virgil had poked his head in the office to check on John, realized he was still on his call, then slid a note for him under the door. He handed Gordon his sherpa-lined puffer jacket, then donned his own hooded flannel with fleece interior. They each had their own preferences for winter accessories – so Gordon grabbed his pair of grey fingerless mitts and a matching knit hat from the closet, while Virgil wrapped a wide scarf in ivory white loosely around his neck.

Virgil’s core body temperature always ran a bit warmer than his siblings’. There had been many a winter growing up with one (or both) of the terrible two tucked into his side.

With the additional layers on, Virgil’s skin crawled with the heat from inside the cabin stifling him, so he didn’t linger in the entryway while Gordon tied up his hiking boots. Outside in the crisp chill he breathed deeply, his nose finding the gentle tickle of pine and woodchips, before he exhaled a cloud of breath that warmed his cheeks.  He stepped down from the porch, and the frozen patches of amber grass and earth crunched under the heel of his boot.

“Ugh, it’s so cold out here!” Gordon exclaimed in the clamor of him joining Virgil in the great outdoors. “My hands are going to get so dry.”

Virgil fondly rolled his eyes and started to reach for the top of Gordon’s head before he remembered he would be blocked by the hat. “That’s what hand lotion is for,” he said instead, further loosening the knot of his scarf.

From the front porch, the road curved past a line of bare trees before it disappeared down the mountain. The drive there was treacherous enough it sat comfortably on Scott’s favorites list between testing hot sauces and bungee jumping. Despite the drop close to the road, deceptive with the blanket of trees, Virgil trusted his older brother behind the wheel.  The cabin was only midway up the mountain, and it really was only one large stretch of hill that was particularly touch and go. Scott was plenty capable, and the lack of land rover was an indicator that Scott had driven himself into the nation’s Capitol. He might be back a little later than expected, but Scott thrived in his time behind the wheel. Relaxed even. Those hours to decompress would be beneficial for him – plenty of time to mentally leave work behind so he could fully and completely join the family for the holiday.

“So, up or down?”

Gordon, his covered hands tucked into his jacket pockets, twisted toward him then glanced at the two paths as he shifted onto toes to stretch his back. With a sigh, “Let’s get uphill over with. As long as you promise not to linger at the look out.” Virgil held his hands up, palms out, to prove he was without his art supplies as promised.

As they walked, Gordon excitedly shared the latest on his co-written article for Marine Science Daily, which Virgil knew was the exact reason Gordon’s Christmas project plans had been derailed. He nodded along at the appropriate talking points, having read the article but always more engaged when hearing it from the aquanaut directly. Meanwhile, Gordon subconsciously kept moving closer to Virgil’s side. Eventually Virgil untied the scarf completely, letting its length fall unsecured down the front of his jacket. Like a tie at the end of a long, wild night. Not that he would ever admit to having those. What happened at college stayed at college. 

“Do you know my favorite Christmas?” Gordon asked, pulling Virgil from his fond memories of theater afterparties and post-concert celebrations. But Gordon hadn’t waited for Virgil to answer, his eyes unusually bright against the reddening of his cheeks with the bite of the wind. “I used to hate the cabin when we first started coming here. I was too young to remember – uhh – before, but I remember how it felt against all that change and you were so different and always so sad all the time. The first time it snowed, I remember you running back inside like it burned you, and Scott ran in after, leaving John to help Al and I with our snowman.”

The lump in Virgil’s throat grew.

“But then one year, it actually snowed on the holiday. A for real white Christmas! And I remember thinking – this is it, this is what we’ve been coming here for. It wasn’t a massive snow; just enough to cover the grass – definitely not enough for a snowman, but we made our fun anyway. I had just made the perfect snowball out of what little was there. And any moment, you would come join us. I just knew it. And then I saw you watching us from the window, and it didn’t look like you were going to come.

“It was just enough time distracted for John to launch his freezing projectile at me. He hit me square in the face and I dropped my perfect snowball. And as I cleared the snow off my face, I caught you actually laughing about the snow. You did eventually come out that Christmas. Scott encouraged you to sit with him on the porch stoop first, and then you walked out on your own. I know you leaned a lot on Scott in those days, but there was just something about that laugh – it made me feel like I helped you take those steps, even if I wasn’t the one at your elbow to keep you steady.”

Virgil swallowed hard. He remembered that year, and Gordon had only been a child. “You did plenty.”

Their breaths expelled in little huffs as they continued the climb, where Virgil noticed, as he figured might be the case, certain spots where the red paint had faded on the trees. It could use a refresh to make sure the trails were clearly marked. If he didn’t get to it this season, he’d be sure to prepare for next time he visited his cabin. Beside him, Gordon trampled over fallen branches, grumbling about the temperature between curse words, especially as they reached what had seemed like the top of the last hill only to see another awaiting them.

Virgil chuckled as he waited for them both to catch their breath at the top of the hill before they continued to the lookout just a few more steps up the final hill.  His mountain was not among the tallest nor the smallest of the range, and so the top was a vision of both the valley below and the neighboring peaks. He loved the view; when it was cold enough, the mountains were sometimes snowcapped, the trees blanketed in white as soft as the cumulus through which he’d often soared.

So far, the sky had yet to open. But, oh, how she teased. Nimbostratus in neutral grey with a cobalt undertone approaching from the east, mottling the sunlight.

Beside him, Gordon took advantage of the flatter land and Virgil’s brief examination of the sky to stretch. Virgil recognized the movements in his periphery, and when he glanced back over, Gordon’s hands were placed purposefully on the small of his back as he twisted both directions.

The sway of the wind had been absent of Gordon’s familiar idle chatter for a while, he realized, and there was an unusual balance to his stance that hinted at stiffness in his joints.

“Are you okay?”

Gordon didn’t answer, but rather smirked at him and gestured with a flourish for Virgil to lead the way.

Virgil was barely two steps forward when he felt a weight launch onto his back. Squid arms quickly slung around his neck, squeezing, and Virgil leaned forward, his hands instinctively moving to catch his younger sibling before he fell off his back.

“Help me, Virgil-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope!”

 “Oh my GOD,” Virgil grunted, already shifting him into a better position. “You’re fine.”

“I am, mostly,” Gordon laughed at the back of his head. “Carry me anyway.”

An arm around his neck loosened as Gordon lifted it to point one finger onward up the mountain.

“Don’t you dare say it.”

“I’m going to say it.”

“Gord-!”

“Thunderbros are go!” His laughter echoed, past tree and stream and along the paths they’d traveled.

Virgil couldn’t let him go if he tried.

He carried Gordon piggyback the rest of the way, a short sprint upward that had his calves straining, but the ache was minor compared to some of the training they did at Grand Roca. Only once they reached the lookout did Gordon hop down, giggling, while Virgil worked on calming his heart rate.  

“Thanks!” Gordon skipped past him.

Virgil was tempted to throw something. In fact…

He tugged his scarf the rest of the way off his neck, scrunched it into a ball, and sent it sailing at the back of Gordon’s head. It unfurled some, but Gordon hadn’t gotten too far ahead, so he definitely felt it hit before the rest of it dropped to the ground.

“That’s no way to treat your accessories. I’m offended.” Gordon snorted. He retrieved the scarf, gave it a shake that sent a few leaves in Virgil’s direction, and then wrapped it around his own neck. “You don’t get to have this back now.”

Feeling light despite the burn in his legs, excited to witness the lookout once again, and without any real anger towards his brother’s antics, Virgil joined him at the bench nearer the view and positioned safely away from the edge. He hadn’t known how to respond to his brother’s sudden introspection about their childhood, though his own version of the memory lingered with him.

He hadn’t known that year mattered so much to Gordon. Nor was he able to recall the events leading up to him walking in the snow. Those details were fuzzy for him, but he remembered the warmth. He remembered the laughter. He should’ve realized the mark his sadness had left on his family, and before he could think any further about it, Virgil was apologizing. For dragging Gordon out in the cold, for all the years he couldn’t help the littles with their snowmen, for not doing more to make sure they had the Christmases they deserved without the weight of loss.

“Sorry? Whatever do you need to apologize for?” Gordon interrupted. He shook his head. “No, Virgil. Don’t do that.” He stared out to the mountainscape, his lips thin, as slowly he raised his palm to catch the first snowflakes in the center of his hand. One, two, then they melted into the knit fabric. “I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

Virgil gaped at him. “For what?”

Gordon lifted his gaze from his clenched fist to meet Virgil’s baffled expression, fiery resolve softened into humility. “I told myself, if Virgil could learn to re-love the snow – I don’t think you understand how important that was for me to keep carrying forward. I know I can get so stuck in my own head sometimes, but your support has always been incredibly grounding. You’re like… having a sturdy shore to return to for when the tide ebbs too far.  I can’t imagine having another co-pilot as good for me as you are.”

It was too much.

His own words, his own thoughts about Gordon, mirrored back to him, about him.

“Well,” he rasped, clearing his throat of the overwhelm of emotion, “we are Tracy’s after all.” It didn’t say nearly enough, but it also said exactly what it needed to. Perseverance ran through their blood, after all, and they’d both been through the unimaginable. 

Virgil turned his head towards the sky, the feather fall of snow catching in his lashes, and in his hair, and on his flannel. 

“It’s also entirely your fault my project’s not finished.” 

“My fault?”

“You promised no lingering for art purposes, and I definitely heard a whispered phthalo earlier.” 

“Cobalt,” he corrected. 

“Same thing.” 

“It’s not at all -” 

“Soooo, do you think John’s done his meeting yet? Maybe he’ll make us hot chocolate?” Gordon hopped off the bench, clapped his hands together resolutely, and started walking back towards the trail and away from Virgil’s disputes. 

“Gordon! They aren’t the same color. They don’t even sound the same!” 

Smiling, Virgil had no choice but to follow. 

[hallmark-movie-fanatics]

Friday, June 21 3/2c: Time for Us to Come Home for Christmas 5/4c: Christmas on My Mind 7/6c: To All a Good Night 9/8c: Mystery on Mistletoe Lane 11/10c: A Godwink Christmas

Saturday, June 22 1a/12c: Love You Like Christmas 3a/2c: Journey Back to Christmas 5a/4c: Christmas Wonderland 7a/6c: The Perfect Christmas Present 9a/8c: Christmas in Montana 11a/10c: A Glenbrooke Christmas 1/12c: The Christmas Promise 3/2c: Ms. Christmas Comes to Town 5/4c: Heaven Down Here 7/6c: Miracle in Bethlehem, PA 9/8c: Time for Her to Come Home for Christmas 11/10c: Long Lost Christmas

Sunday, June 23 1a/12c: Time for Me to Come Home for Christmas 3a/2: Time for You to Come Home for Christmas 5a/4c: Once Upon a Christmas Miracle 7a/6c: A Christmas to Remember 9a/8c: Homegrown Christmas 11a/10c: Time for Them to Come Home for Christmas 1/12c: Time for Him to Come Home for Christmas 3/2c: Small Town Christmas 5/4c:  A Veteran’s Christmas 7/6c: My Christmas Guide 9/8c: A Season for Family

Monday, June 24 3/2c: Project Christmas Wish 5/4c: A Little Christmas Charm 7/6c: Christmas Tree Lane 9/8c: Northern Lights of Christmas

Tuesday, June 25 3/2c: A World Record Christmas 5/4c: A Godwink Christmas: Second Chance, First Love 7/6c: Christmas at Grand Valley 9/8c: Hope at Christmas

Wednesday, June 26 3/2c: A Maple Valley Christmas 5/4c: Every Christmas Has a Story 7/6c: A Homecoming for the Holidays 9/8c: A Blue Ridge Mountain Christmas

Thursday, June 27 3/2c: Karen Kingsbury's Maggie's Christmas Miracle 5/4c: The Christmas Secret 7/6c: Mystery on Mistletoe Lane 9/8c: The Christmas Promise

Friday, June 28 3/2c: My Christmas Guide 5/4c: Time for Her to Come Home for Christmas 7/6c: Christmas in Montana 9/8c: Miracle in Bethlehem, PA

[spnscripthunt-inactive]

Christmas TV Movie Scripts

Christmas in Homestead (2016) https://web.archive.org/web/20221217230249/https://rickgarman.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/shootingchristmas_v05-rev01.pdf

The Sound of Christmas (2016) https://web.archive.org/web/20221217231032/https://rickgarman.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/SOUND-proto-YELLOW-4.pdf

Christmas in Evergreen (2017) https://web.archive.org/web/20221217225702/https://rickgarman.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/ChristmasinEvergreeen_final_clean.pdf

Enchanted Christmas (2017) https://web.archive.org/web/20221217230403/https://rickgarman.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/EnchantedChristmas_finalclean.pdf

Christmas at Pemberley Manor (2018) https://web.archive.org/web/20221217225509/https://rickgarman.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/ChristmasAtPemberleyManor_Final.pdf

A Blue Ridge Mountain Christmas (2019)  https://web.archive.org/web/20221217225034/https://rickgarman.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/Blue-Ridge-Mountain-Christmas-Final.pdf

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas (2019) https://web.archive.org/web/20221217230807/https://rickgarman.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/Its-Beginning-To-Look-A-Lot-Like-Christmas-Final.pdf

Rome in Love (2019) https://web.archive.org/web/20221104204728/https://www.topherpayne.com/_files/ugd/91bb14_4c2fafc87d62459fbb0da6593a8d3f65.pdf

A Shoe Addict's Christmas (2019) https://web.archive.org/web/20220818232405/https://rickgarman.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/A-Shoe-Addicts-Christmas-Final.pdf

Christmas at the Drive-In (2022) https://web.archive.org/web/20231217042328/https://rickgarman.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Christmas-at-the-Drive-In-Final.pdf

A Christmas... Present (2022) https://web.archive.org/web/20231217042522/https://rickgarman.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/A-Christmas-Present-Final.pdf

[icarus-suraki]

I had a dream last night that it was Christmas and my dad was driving my brother and me to Christmas Eve church that evening just after sunset in a little red car (or maybe my dad's old white Toyota from the 80s). My brother and I were little kids again and wearing winter coats. My mom was already at the church because she had altar guild.

We were theoretically "home" but there were these low mountains west of us and pretty close--more Blue Ridge than Alps. There are no mountains here IRL (just hills).

It had been snowing earlier but that had stopped and the sky was all dark blue and some stars were coming out (very bright!) as we drove along (the whole landscape seemed kind of European, actually). And my dad pointed out that now that the snow had stopped, the setting sun (behind the mountains, just a gold glow coming up from behind them) "was warming up the zenith," and we looked out the front windshield and from north horizon to south horizon, directly overhead, was this band like a rainbow, except it was pink and green (aurora colors), with pink on the west side and green on the east side. Like, literally it looked like a rainbow-like band of aurora lights, very narrow, half pink and half green. We kept driving and it faded after a while.

We started driving through a forest on a really narrow road with all these trees on either side and a little bit of snow on the ground--though it was still surprisingly bright, like there was a full moon, so everything was more blue than black. Now there were lots of stars out, but not in any pattern. Just scattershot all over the sky.

I was looking out of my window and I'm suddenly like "I just saw a shooting star!" And my dad is like "Nooo..." in this way he does when he wants to believe but it seems too good to be true but he still hopes it’s true. A couple of very low airplanes fly silently overhead with their lights on and I think maybe it wasn't a shooting star--but then I see another. Then my brother sees one, then my dad. So we're all watching these meteors flying around the sky in all directions, crossing over each other and everything--and lots of them too. And I'm in the backseat saying "It must be a meteor shower! What one happens in December, though?"

Anyway, the meteors seemed really close, more like firework sparks than meteors. Like they were falling down to the tops of the trees but they were only little sparks and they'd disappear in little puffs of smoke. And soon they were zipping around through the trees like lightning bugs but still that white-blue-green meteor color. One got really close to my side of the car and I could see that it was more like a cluster of little lights surrounded by a cloud. I told my dad there was one right beside the car, but it was slower than the car and I really wanted to see it blink out before we pulled away. It was close, but I did--and it was like a lightbulb filament burning out: the lights went out with a few small sparks but there was a glow that lasted for a minute more, and then there was just this little gray cloud that we left behind as we kept driving through the trees.

[newriverartist]

Wordless Wednesday

Tree of Joy Original acrylic painting NFS Wall Prints and Prints on other items available with link https://kendall-kessler.pixels.com/featured/tree-of-joy-kendall-kessler.html I can usually think of something to say but since I can only think of some gripes right now I will just leave out the words this time. Cheers on a beautiful Wednesday! Prints on Zazzle. Here is Charlotte Spiral on a…

[taylortruther]

Non American here but never been to North Carolina or know anything about it so can you share what you liked about it? -Nosy Anon

nosy anon!!! i was in the north western part of north carolina, in the blue ridge mountains. it's very beautiful - kinda small mountains but with lots of maples and firs/spruce trees, i think it's a major christmas tree exporter? we saw several farms in nc and in virginia that had christmas trees! and the mountains are just breathtaking.

we did some hiking in nc (but not a lot, it was very foggy/rainy) and then went to see snow on some mountains in virginia!

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter Two: Like It's Nothing

Summary: Zenie enters the world of men

Warnings: mentions of guns

Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles

July, 1942 - Toccoa, Ga

If she is being honest, Zenie never really believed in God, except for maybe when she was very young and the pastor dunked her into the creek behind the church and announced that God now lived in her heart and that her name was written in the Book of Life. She had felt something in that moment, but it had been fleeting. Still, there are certain moral codes that they drilled into her during children’s church that she has never managed to fully shake. Lying is not necessarily a sin to a non-believer like her – she just does not feel right doing it.

But this – this whole charade – is not a lie, if she looks at her situation from a certain angle. This is like the time that she had to be in the church’s Christmas pageant when she was eight.

“I can’t do it!” Zenie had sobbed. People stared at her as they filed into the church to see the show. Matthew had glared at them, offering her his handkerchief and patting her shoulder.

“No, you can’t.” In terms of a pep-talk, it had not been what anyone would expect to hear. Except there was more. “Zena McGlamery can’t deliver the lines because she’s afraid. But do you know who’s not afraid?” When Zenie had shaken her head, he had broken into a smile as he revealed his genius solution. “The angel!”

Zenie had not understood, but he had rushed on before she could start crying again.

“Do you think an angel would be afraid up there in front of all those people? No! And tonight, you’re not Zenie – you’re the angel! So you’re not scared.”

Somehow, it had worked. Zenie had never felt braver as she delivered her lines in front of the whole congregation, smiling at her brother in the crowd when she was finished. Scared, awkward Zena had fled the stage and made room for someone brave who could do all the things that she could not, even if it was just for one night.

So really, what she is doing now is not any different. No – Thomas Driver is simply a character of sorts, she reasons on her journey to Toccoa. He is someone brave and friendly, and maybe more; she will learn more about him as she goes. This is not a lie, she determines, but rather an epic acting job.

Besides, what is in a name? A name is something that you call yourself, and something that others refer to you as. Well, now she is calling herself Thomas, and according to her papers from Bobby, other people do too. And, she determines with finality, she does not have to feel like Thomas’ backstory is a lie as long as she keeps it as close to hers as possible – without giving away too much identifying information that could get her caught, that is. If anything, it is just a strange coincidence that Zenie and Thomas happen to have so much in common. She is so proud of herself for coming up with this solution to her moral quandary that she does not even falter when she arrives in Stephens County and finds herself thrust into the world of men.

 

 

Toccoa is different than Zenie’s hometown, even though it is nearby. The landscape flattens out considerably as she travels, and when she reaches Camp Toccoa, most of it appears flat, except for the mountain that stands guard over the town. It is warmer, too, and she wonders if the oppressive humidity of the Blue Ridge Mountains exists this far south. Not to mention all the people that she passes on her way into the camp, but most of them are probably only here because of the war effort.

Zenie is assigned to E Company, 2nd Battalion of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division. It is a mouthful, and she repeats it over and over again in her mind as she takes her few belongings and makes her way to the barracks. She is determined not to draw unnecessary attention to herself. How embarrassing would it be if someone noticed her just because she cannot remember where she belongs?

Several people turn to look at her the second that she steps into the barracks. She keeps her head low and starts to move forward to look for a bunk when someone lets out a loud snicker.

“Christ Almighty, I knew that the Army was desperate for men, but are they lettin’ kids in now?” Laughter ripples through the room.

“Aye, Perco! Looks like you ain’t the shortest no more!” Someone else calls out.

Something flares up in Zenie’s chest. Instead of just taking it and walking away like she has always been taught to do, she makes eye contact with the first man who spoke and squares her shoulders, just like she has seen Matthew do a hundred times. The man has a good four inches on her, but Zenie looks down her nose at him as she comes further into the barracks. She makes a point of looking him up and down before she says in a low voice, “Well, from the looks of it, they’ll let just about anybody in.”   

Regret washes over her like a bucket of cold water being poured over her head. They are inches from each other. Zenie has seen Matthew and his friends joke around enough to know that comments like this usually earn some sort of smack or shove. But they are not friends – she does not know this man. And when boys decide to throw that kind of remark in the direction of a stranger, a fight is likely to break out. The last thing that she needs is to get into trouble now when she has only just gotten here.

Instead of making a move, the man stares down at her for a second . . . and then he breaks into a broad grin that lights up his face rather handsomely. Zenie has her fists balled at her sides, ready and waiting, but he does not mirror her stance. He looks relaxed. He extends a hand to her.

“Bill Guarnere,” he introduces himself.

She blinks. Unfurling her hands, she takes his and pumps it. “Thomas Driver.” And then, because it feels like the right thing to say, “But you can call me Tommy. Everybody else does.”

“Tommy,” Bill repeats with a nod. He lets go of her hand and turns towards a group of men on one of the bunks near him, nudging one of them off the bed with his knee. “Hey Luz, make some room for the new guy, will you?”

Zenie is about to stop him, to assure him that it is okay and that she can find a bunk elsewhere, but he does not seem to mind. He flashes her a smile as he abdicates the bunk, moving to sit at one of the small tables between the beds. (Like it is no big deal, Zenie notes. She just inconvenienced him and he acts like it is nothing.) Hesitantly, she drops her bag on the bed. Bill smiles at her when she does it – he even slaps her on the back and throws a casual arm around her shoulder, like it is nothing.

“Now we all got a bunk mate. You don’t snore, do you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s good. Anyways – “ He points towards the man that she unseated. “ – Tommy, this is  George Luz. And that – “ He points towards a tall, serious looking man with dark hair who sits on the bottom bunk across from them. “ – is Joe Toye.”

She nods to each of them. “Did y’all know each other from before joining up or something?”

“Y’all?” Guarnere tilts his head.

. . . if you got rid of your accent, a prissy voice in the back of her head says.

Yeah, well, I don’t exactly have time to worry about the accent when I’ve got to concentrate on keeping my voice low, Zenie shoots back internally.

Zenie gestures between the three of them. “You all.”

“Oh. No, we didn’t.”

“Just fast friends,” Luz says with a smile. Like it is nothing.

And he’s right.

Growing up, Zenie always struggled to make friends. It seemed strange to her that Matthew and the boys from the baseball team could get along so well, and that her brother could get along with almost anyone. Marilyn was good at making friends, and they often got stuck dragging Zenie around with them, like some sort of little mascot who was kept on their fringes, never allowed to gain full membership to their group. Not that it was their fault – they were four years older than her, and that kind of age gap meant that they had different interests than she did. But Zenie watched the girls’ small circle and all the drama that came with being part of it and wondered if maybe it was easier for boys to get along. It seemed easier for them to make friends, easier for them to exist.

She takes the bunk under Guarnere and thinks that that will be the end of it. But it is not – and she is pleasantly surprised to realize that she was wrong.

Zenie had planned to keep her head down, to avoid attention and detection so that she would not be caught. Luz, Toye, and Guarnere seem to have other plans, as they sit with her during meals in the mess hall, and always group up with her, like it’s nothing. Realistically she knows that this could be bad for her – what if they find out about her? – but she finds that she actually . . . likes being around them – being friendly with them. And it’s not just them; all of the men quickly form some sort of camaraderie between them. It’s ironic, really, that they were all originally brought together by the fact that they want to fight the Germans, but their first real enemy, the person who has really united them, is Captain Sobel, even thought he’s supposed to be the one teaching them how to fight the Germans.

It is almost a new experience for her – being equal to them instead of being tolerated by them. (Bill does sometimes muss up her hair and say that she’s like the little brother of the group, but it’s affectionate and friendly.)

To have friends. Huh. What a thought.

Having them around could either be very good or very bad for her situation.

 

 

“I thought you said that you were a good shot?”

“I am,” Zenie grunts as she shoves more ammo into her gun. She trains her sight on her target and squeezes the trigger. The bullet whizzes down the firing range . . . only to miss the target entirely. Sweat is beading at the back of her neck under the warm sun. It makes the metal of the gun feel slick under her palms. The last thing she wants to do is look nervous, especially when Sobel is making his way down the line.

Bill squints towards her target. “Well you ain’t hit it yet, Tommy Boy.”

“The sight is off.”

“Then adjust it.”

“There’s no time!” Not to properly do it, anyway, but she does try her best. Sobel is getting closer by the second, and if she doesn’t have any holes in her target . . . She doesn’t need that kind of unwanted attention.

She aims at her target again, squeezes the trigger –

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

She blinks. On her right, Bill whistles.

“Maybe you are a good shot.”

Near perfect hits have appeared in her target. Sobel has reached her spot. He looks between her and the target, nods, and moves on. She feels like she can breathe again. She should be happy.

Except she wasn’t the one who fired those shots.

Someone else either missed their target entirely and gave her a lucky break, or . . .

Two men to her left, she feels someone watching her. A young man offers her a small smile and a nod. Zenie returns it and feels bad that she can’t remember his name. She’s seen him around the barracks and on the morning runs up Currahee, but they haven’t spoken before.

“I’ll catch up with y’all in a second,” Zenie promises her friends a few moments later when Sobel releases them from the range. She starts to make her way towards the man, but Sobel stops him, and she freezes in her place until they’re done.

Sobel is gesticulating wildly, pointing to the man’s gun, expression stern. Zenie is just far enough away to be out of earshot, and based on Sobel’s red face and angry, jerking movements, she’s glad that she can’t hear what he has to say. Finally he finishes, storming off and leaving the man who helped her.

Zenie steps forward, reaching out her hand to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention. She’s just close enough to touch him when she hears him mutter under his breath.

“Ukshan.”

Without meaning to, she bursts out laughing. It gets the man’s attention; he jumps at the sound, startled, and turns to face her with raised eyebrows.

“I agree,” Zenie says with a smile. “Captain Sobel is an asshole.” She cocks her head. “You speak Cherokee?”

It takes a second for her words to register with him. His eyebrows furrow, then raise again, a tentative half-smile on his face as he looks at her. “Vv. Nihina?”

Zenie nods. With the kind of confidence that she never would have had before arriving in Toccoa, she thrusts out her hand. “Thomas Driver.”

His hand is calloused when he reaches out to shake hers. His intense brown eyes make Zenie feel as if she’s looking into the sun – but she can’t look away, and for some reason, she finds that she doesn’t want to. “Darrell. But everyone calls me Shifty.”

And that is how she comes to know Shifty Powers.