#ginger grinch

[gingerbreadmonsters]

Author's Choice for the title tag game, please?

romi's talking about this tag game (still open!) <3

ROMI!!!!! 🥳🥳🥳 ok. ok listen. i have been holding onto this ask for a little while bc i didn't know if this was ever going to turn into something for real - it has now sailed past 5k and i think i'm completely fucked, so for my author's choice i am actually going to choose something that was not on the initial list.....??? 🤠🤠 do enjoy, and nobody mention that i have no idea what im doing lol

[themellowyellowmomma]

[honeyblssom]

Grinch and Ginger aged up!!!

They look like mini Witches hehe

[themovementgeneration]

gotta keep it chewrning in these streets. trust nobody, not even ya self-conscious

Im numb.Jimmy was onto something but I aint know s/he neu-tron like that. Had ralph wrecking shiet left&right "Gael".Man I love autumn #apples2apples

Eternals was phenomenal, remind a nigga of the Matrix, felt like a Resurection forreal knowwhatimtalmbout pop. btw BErp.beowulf Nicotine patches killing the vibe, im on a different type of time. :E

[rcmclachlan]

from the micro story word list: 19 (sea change) or 46 (shimmer)!

"It never stops being weird seeing fake snow on people's roofs," Buck says, eyeing the house across the street. It's the epitome of everything he hates about Christmas now: the snow blankets are stapled in weird places, the LED lights are too bright and their shimmer makes the house look like a Swedish nightclub, and the 14-foot inflatable Grinch is just begging for someone with an LAFD-issued multitool to go over and accidentally slash it ten times.

Next to him, Tommy takes a thoughtful sip of his beer—salt and lemon gose, because he's a Batman villain—and murmurs, "You were lucky to have the real thing growing up. I always wanted a real white Christmas."

Tommy's voice is still clogged with tears. It sounds like there are river rocks in his throat.

"You wouldn't say that if you had to shovel four feet of lake effect snow out of your driveway while everyone else was opening presents," Buck grumbles, draining the rest of his ginger ale in one go, then drops his cheek to Tommy's shoulder with a sigh.

Wordlessly, Tommy wraps an arm around him and snugs him in close.

It's been almost an hour since Buck showed up on Tommy's doorstep with eight pounds of homemade fruitcake and goaded Tommy into a shouting match on his front lawn, which his neighbors must have loved, especially at 10:45 on Christmas Eve. He knows Tommy was absolutely mortified, but not enough to take the fight inside, which means that when Buck looks back on tonight, the only thing he'll remember—other than Tommy screaming "Of course I'm in love with you, Evan! That's not the issue here!"—is the way that fucking inflatable Grinch lit Tommy's tear-stained face up in the most hideous neon green color ever invented.

Buck closes his eyes and stretches out his legs. They clear all three of the little stairs leading up to Tommy's platform porch and his heels land on one of the flagstone steppers built into the pathway. Tommy had laid the walk-up the first year he moved in and was still so proud of it; he smirked at the stones sometimes, like he'd bested them, like they'd lost some fight that Buck would've given anything to have watched.

He wishes he'd remembered the flagstones before he asked Tommy to move in; it might've saved him a lot of grief and oven cleaner.

"Worth it, though," Tommy says. "Someday I'll see snow on Christmas."

Buck already knows he's going to regret opening his mouth, but he can't stop it. "M-Maybe next year? Before climate change turns Hershey into the new Tampa?"

For a horrible, endless moment, Tommy says nothing. He just drinks his beer and strokes a thumb over Buck's arm. Meanwhile, Buck's ready to rip his own skin off and run screaming into the night. They already laid it all out on the line—Tommy pacing a new pathway in the lawn, Buck standing on the biggest flagstone stepper like he was playing a one-man game of The Floor Is Lava, both of them shouting over each other to be heard—and if Tommy's going to stage a retreat now, if he's going to go back on his promise to fight through the fear and try, Buck's going to start ripping up the flagstones.

Then Tommy presses a long, hard kiss to Buck's hair. "We're not staying with your parents."

Shakily with relief, Buck lifts his head and slots their lips together, slipping his tongue in because he can. The inside of Tommy's mouth tastes like vomit. He's going to dash the rest of that bullshit beer on the flagstones as soon as he sees an opening.

"I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy." He pulls back just enough so he can watch exasperation try to chase the smitten expression off Tommy's face when he follows that up with, "never mind someone I'm planning to baby trap within the next five years."

They end up rutting against each other right there on Tommy's porch in full view of neighborhood, and he hopes the Grinch tells all the Whos down in Whoville how Buck's heart and dick grew three sizes that day.

[hotvintagepoll]

This is a three-way poll. Only one of these men will continue to the third round of the bracket.

Propaganda

Fred Astaire (Top Hat, Shall We Dance, Easter Parade)—Not just a dancer (but oh, what a dancer), we should also show nothing but respect to a man whose characters had the good sense to repeatedly fall in love with Ginger Rogers over the course of ten movies together!! He was such a style icon that even Cary Grant wanted to know where he got his clothes. Astaire was one of those men whose intense charisma and talent is best understood when seeing him in motion!! A genuinely lovely person who worked very hard and did his utmost to promote the standards of how dancing should look and be filmed on screen. Debbie Reynolds also had some lovely stories about him in her autobiography [clips and Debbie's anecdotes below]

Johnny Weismuller (The Tarzan movies)—no propaganda submitted

Boris Karloff (Frankenstein)—I feel like everyone should know Boris Karloff had Indian ancestry and grew up in the UK, so he deeply understood the outsider feelings he portrayed so beautifully onscreen...and that's never minding his gorgeous soulful eyes, his expressive hands. (plus he voices the grinch. how can you not love the grinch?)

This is round 2 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Boris Karloff propaganda:

"when he was out of the monster makeup he was touching, elegant, dignified"

Fred Astaire propaganda:

No additional propaganda was submitted for Johnny Weismuller.

[spicycinnabun]

@118dailydrabble for day 19 prompt swap powerless ❤︎ rated: g ❤︎ pair: buck/tommy ❤︎ tags: bakery au

“Would you like to try our new gingerbread latte?”

Tommy scowled. “No,” he said, adding belatedly, “thank you. I hate ginger.”

Evan’s adorable, cheery smile didn’t falter. If anything, it brightened. “Good thing I’m blond, huh? Wouldn’t want you to hate me too.”

Tommy blinked. “I—”

“How about a Love at Frost Sight cookie? Some sugar might help fix the resting Grinch face you’ve got going on.”

“Okay, now that’s just rude.”

Evan laughed. “Well, I-I didn’t say it wasn’t a cute Grinch face.”

“Nice save.”

Evan picked up a heart-shaped, snowflake-frosted cookie with his tongs and wiggled it enticingly. “Decorated them myself.”

And Tommy, who had been visiting Evan’s bakery for weeks, was again powerless to resist.

[alwaysshallow]

gorgerous, part 8

Simon Riley x f!reader

previous part || next part

READ ON AO3

You're a vet with a pretty simple life. One day though, things change, when a big guy with a skull mask enters your clinic with a small, ginger kitten in his hands. (4,5k)

A/N: ....guess who's back??

Christmas is usually celebrated with someone you love. Someone you respect, someone that will cherish the moments with you because there’s not only a lot of things to prepare in a sense of duty, the feeling that you have to do this. There's a lot of things that you can genuinely enjoy.

Gifts. You love to think of something special for every person that is close to you, just for the pure satisfaction of seeing a smile on their face and a "How did you know?" question that makes you giddy every time you hear it. 

What’s more, everyone gets something personalized, something that is from you, carefully picked amongst the hundreds of choices. You'd hate to give a present that looks like it had been picked at the last minute at a gas station; so, you spend a lot of the time buying and wrapping your gifts to some corny playlist that you made when you were eighteen, and you play it every year. Just for the vibe. 

Meal, where you think of everyone. Their favorites, dislikes, something sweet for later, when the meal will be just too boring and the craving for chocolate would hit. 

It’s good to note that most of the dishes aren't cooked by you (you don’t have time and skills to do so much), it's catering, but, it's the thought that matters, you think.

And it's like that… normally. 

This year, you feel like all the holiday spirit is dead. Your mom and dad already planned the vacation—without you, which upsets you, but you don’t allow yourself to show that—and your friends go to their families. You’re gonna be alone in the most wonderful time of the year, so for some reason, you start to understand the Grinch. 

You received an invitation from your friends, but you politely declined it. Feeling it would be either awkward, or you'd feel alienated in a family that you don't really know well. Besides, pity isn’t really your thing, so you prefer to watch Bridget Jones with cookies and milk, instead of being a burden.

Or, you preferred to watch Bridget Jones, before someone showed up in your life and made a little mess.

Before Simon came into view.

Maybe it's his aura, or maybe it's your high expectations and mindless dreaming, but you think it would be right to ask him. Even if he has plans—you think that a man like him doesn’t have plans—it's something that you want to do.

Just out of pure curiosity. Because based on the dinner you had with him, evening that you spent together, you think he'd be a good company. In your mind, you already see the banter between you and him. You already see how he argues with you that you shouldn't really put on a Grinch movie, or any Christmas movie because it’s tacky to think of a Hallmark movie and a meal together. You see how he rolls his eyes, when you hit “play” despite his protests.

How he tries to seem uninterested, but he’s more invested into the movie than you are, commenting out loud stupid choices of the heroes, sighing audibly, as you laugh in the background. How he absolutely devours cookies that you made, so you need to bake another batch of them because he's eating so much—rightfully so, for such a monstrous man in the military. He probably relies on his weight to stay in form. 

It's hard not to drool, when you imagine it. His body under all of the clothing, his muscles, body fat. How he looks, how comedically bigger he is, compared to you. Fuck, you’d give a lot to see him without all of those clothes. Compression shirt leaves too much to your imagination to be satisfied with that only.

It’s even harder to maintain a calm face, when he asks you about something from the bathroom, and you jump in place, like you were just caught on something illegal or watching porn. You can’t even recall what he was saying, so with a frown you ask him to repeat the question.

If he’s not dense, he should know by now that you like him. Very much. Maybe too much, considering how far your imagination goes, and it only took… a few months, to fall into this mindset with a man that is rather known for being quiet. A man that did a horrible first impression in that weird mask, yet you’re still interested.

Your polar opposite. 

While you love to talk, he rather avoids it. You love crowds (moderately), he does not. He probably prefers to sit alone in the cafe, reading away from the crowd, while you almost every time find someone to talk to, either if it’s a client or a barista that is glad someone doesn’t complain about the coffee. You talk, he’s more of a listener. 

Fire and water; ice, even. Something that is on the opposite sides, something that shouldn’t work in the first place, but for some reason, it works perfectly well—for you, at least. You’re more addicted with the passing hours of your weird friendship with Simon, more curious to know him. Trying to adjust to the slow pace that he set in.

The slow dance around the topic is the thing you know Simon likes the most. It’s maybe the only thing that you’re sure he loves to do. Taking his time to observe, pounce and eventually attack, if he feels up to it.

It’d be easier that he’d ask you to spend Christmas with him, but you can’t have it all easy, no?

You bite your cheek and observe how he plays with Sparkles. The cat is invested in catching his fingers with her paws, gnawing on them, when he tries to take them away from her to take a sip of his tea. With a view like that, it’s easy to melt into a puddle and forget about everything that bothers you. It’s also very easy to have a prospect of you three spending holidays in your apartment. Wouldn’t be far from what you have now—big “bad” military man spending time with a tiny kitten, while you try to think of a proper breakfast. 

It would be the best reward to have him around, when it’s your favorite time of the year. 

But, it’s up to him, if he agrees.

And, for many reasons, unbeknownst to you, you want him to agree.

“You have somethin’ in mind,” he breaks the silence. Deep brown eyes are already scanning you from the bottom to the top of your head, curiously. Challenging himself if he’s capable of knowing what bothers you, before you’ll say it to him.

You’re not gonna make it easy for him, that’s for sure.

“I don’t,” you huff, like it’s supposed to convince him. “It’s just… I don’t know what to make for breakfast. That’s really it.” 

Simon’s quick to accuse you. “Don’t lie.”

“I don’t lie?” You raise your eyebrow, like he just didn’t tell you the truth; he scoffs at your high-pitched tone, taking a few steps towards you.

“You bite your cheek, and stomp like a bunny. What is it if not lyin’?” He mimics you, raising an eyebrow too. If it would be anyone else, you’d be slightly offended.

Rather than that, you’re amused a bit. “Like a bunny?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. From Bambi, or whatever that was.”

It takes everything in you to not laugh right this second. “You watched Bambi?”

“With Soap,” he murmurs, almost in shame because of the confession. “Doesn’t matter, what do you have in your little head?”

One confession leads to another, you think. It seems inevitable to say this right now, as finding a lie would be the worst option ever in front of a human lie detector. 

Besides, there’s no point in lying when you want him on Christmas. 

“I thought that, you know, you could spend Christmas with me. Sparkles would be included, too,” you say, out of breath when you’re done. 

In theory, this, telling him what you have in mind, should help you to get rid of that feeling in your chest. Feeling that makes you go back to being a kid, when you felt there’s nothing you can do about certain situations. When you could just wait for the mercy of the other person.

And that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You’re waiting till Simon says something; a few minutes ago, you felt like it’s just a formality. 

Right now, you feel that the ache got worse just by seconds. His blank stare doesn’t help you with anything, it just makes you wonder what is in his mind right now. Is he just so shocked that he doesn’t know what to say? Or is he trying to find the words to politely decline the invitation?

“So, you want to celebrate with me,” he speaks up. You don’t know if there’s been five minutes, ten minutes, or an hour since you’ve asked him, but nonetheless, it makes you mad how he asks another question, instead of answering yours.

Although, you don’t show it; you just chuckle, nervously. “Is that really weird?”

“Kind of? Masochist type of way, if I’m being honest,” he hums, tilting his head. You have this specific feeling behind your head that he’s not taking you seriously, but you try to push it away. You don’t need it, not now.

“Well, masochist or not,” you swallow the saliva, thinking it would give you courage to continue the conversation, “I really mean it. I’d love to have you here.”

He sighs, shaking his head, and you know you’re screwed. “We’re not quite here, bird. Nothin’ personal, but that’s probably the dumbest idea out here.”

“Dumbest… idea?” You raise your eyebrow, laughing at first, but then you look at him in disbelief. “Like, spending time together on Christmas is dumb?”

It looks like he doesn’t even want to hear what you are saying. Riley puts Sparkles to the transporter, getting ready to go, while you still want the answer. “So? That’s… it?”

“I don’t want to spend Christmas with you.” He shrugs, looking at you. “Simple as that, I don’t know what is so hard to understand.”

And then, he leaves. 

Not only without breakfast, but without a word that would help you understand why he reacted like that. 

As you can imagine, the following days are kind of rough. 

Simon isn't a texter or a caller, doesn't have a reason for it anyway, so you're anxious all the time at work. You make more hours than you should just to stay in work and keep your mind occupied with something other than him because it still feels like he was at your place minutes ago, not days. 

It doesn’t help. The unnerving wave of shame is overwhelming, so you can’t even enjoy your work the way you normally would. Because normally, work helps you with your inner peace, feeling like a hot shower after a long day. Relaxing your muscles, bringing your mind elsewhere.

Right now, work is just pouring more problems to the already full cup.

Maybe it’s a mistake, but you don’t really share it with anyone; what happened with the British guy. Too ashamed that you even thought it would be a great idea to invite Simon, you bottle the feelings instead of letting them out on a random girls night, when you’d be too drunk to remember what you’ve said. You don’t mention it to your best friend, in case she’d spill it to Soap, you don’t mention it to your parents, in a fear of being judged. Or, Simon being judged in that case, they don’t know him. 

You feel like you don’t know him either, but he has to have a reason to not to come, right? It’s not like he decided that just out of spite, right?

Not only you feel bad, but the whole thing feels pathetic. Everything reminds you of him. A damn jar of peanut butter in your apartment (that you hide deep, as you don’t want to even look at that), cat toys at your workplace, LEGO, just because he said that it seems like the stupidest, yet the most interesting “puzzle thing” ever. If this isn’t enough, you catch yourself thinking of him at the gym, when you feel too fatigued to continue the training. Wondering if he’d push you to do the last set, what’d he say. Him, helping you with the exercises, seems like something inevitable. Something that could happen.

You need a cold shower after that.

These days, people tend to get on your nerves too. Your calm clients become someone that you don’t want to see, not even mentioning talking to them for more than it’s necessary. Happy couple in the shop irritates you enough to skip the aisle that they are in because if you don’t get to be happy, you don’t want to see other people happy like that. Not when you thought you’re gonna spend the holiday with someone special to you.

God. If one of your best friends would behave that way, you’d convince them they deserve better because no boy should make you feel like crap. 

Now… yeah. 

Now you should be the best friend to yourself, but it’s not going well for you. It’s way easier to try to lose yourself at work, watch rom-coms and eat ice cream, rather than face the truth.

You eventually come to the conclusion that spending Christmas would be a scratch on his emo reputation, so it’s better for you to ignore him completely from this point. If he hates this day so much, he could tell you in a different way than humiliating not only you, but your feelings.

It’s the night before Christmas when you see him, as you come back from the shop with your groceries.

He looks... fine, as always. Unbothered, as always.

Walking like the whole world belongs to him, loudly and clearly intimidating everyone who would even think of crossing his path. It's something that you, right now, envy him for. How heartless he seems, which definitely helps him not only with the job he’s doing, but for the moment like this one. 

Where people, normally, feel ashamed. 

The big guy facade fades just for a single moment—and you hopelessly think it's the moment he sees you, the last droplets of human decency speaking to him. He stops, looking at you from head to your toes and back. Estimating if you’re worth a while.

And when he decides that you’re in his circle of interest, he walks up even closer to you. Not a single emotion on his scarred face, and if you wouldn't know him, you'd be scared that he wants something malicious.

Maybe he does.

"Hi." 

His voice feels like he’s under the water. Deep, unreachable, but for some reason, it reaches you. Simon’s presence floods your lungs, making it hard to breathe, or to do anything at this point. You have to take a shallow breath before you’ll do anything.

You can't quite reach out to yourself to bring anything other than "Fuck you", so you don't speak after the "Hi." A nod in acknowledgement of his existence is all you give him; because if you would try to speak, you'd be either aggressive or hysterical.

And it's the last thing you want to give him: emotions. Because he seems to love that you're the emotional one here; he can read people like a book, and you're tired of being one. Tired of being on his shelf, so he can grab you whatever he wants, and you have no control over it. It simply doesn't feel right to you, doesn't seem fair at any chance.

His tone snaps you back to reality. "Dove."

You sigh. "I have a meal to prepare. Can't really talk right now, Riley.”

"Ouch." He theatrically puts a hand on his heart, tilting his head to the side. You can't really say if he's surprised by your sudden change in behavior towards him, or amused. Maybe both, knowing him. 

So, you do what you do best: you just start walking to your place, completely ignoring his presence. Pretend like you don’t care about this stupid Christmas, like you forgot what he said to you on that disastrous morning.

He grabs your arm, forcefully. You’re not even sure when that happens, when he jerks you towards him and you can see how he purses his lips in a thin line, looking at you with something resembling remorse, at best. Or something quite close to it, it’s hard to name it.

"'m not gonna let go."

"And I'll start screaming. You know I will. Like, actually, who would believe you that you just wanted to talk to me? You’re big, mean and generally speaking many people would—"

"If the invitation is still on the table, I'd take it, if we're bein' honest."

Like a fish, you open your mouth and close it a couple of times, dumbfounded. You can’t really tell if he means what he said, or if he actually said what you’ve heard; because there’s a possibility you just misheard something. You raise your eyebrow. "What?"

"Your hearing abilities amaze me."

"You told me a few days ago—"

"Changed my mind." He shrugs. So casually, like he didn’t actually make you freaking out about him, thinking you’re imagining things between you two because he rejected your invitation. 

You repeat his words mindlessly, barely believing in them. “What changed, then? The big “I don’t spend Christmas” guy thought he’s gonna do it this year? Or something changed between us and it’s not that casual anymore? Or it’s not the dumbest idea?”

He grits his teeth. It’s not rocket science to see that he’d rather you just take his apology, but you’re not like that. At least, not after feeling so humiliated for a couple of days, thinking that you’re the stupidest woman on the entire planet. For what it’s worth, you need to make him regret his decision a little.

You want him to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands right in front of you, the royal brown staring into your soul. It’s not like you will budge, and Simon seems to know it, when he rolls his eyes. 

Fire and water. Maybe something that is not meant to be, and you started to slowly accept it after those days without contact. Sometimes people have different views on life, relationships and that’s okay. It’s not like you can change how he feels about you, but right now—

—right now, he closes his arms around you. Before you know it, he places his chin on the top of your head. Trying to isolate you from everything but him.

You try several times to leave his embrace, to punch him hard enough, but he doesn’t let go, and by that alone, you understand that somehow, you needed it. You just shoved it under the rug because it was easier.

Needed him, in general. Needed the reassurance that he probably doesn’t hate you so much. Your anger seems at lower levels right now, tamed, understanding towards him. It’s a stark contrast between you now, and a few days ago, when you wanted his head to be chopped off.

“I thought you passed on the party,” comes out quieter than expected. Like you’re actually afraid to say that, and he seems to know it when he tightens his arms around you for a moment. 

“‘s not a party though, is it? Only us three,” he murmurs, shrugging. You could think he doesn’t care coming from the tone, but the look in his eyes, the small glint in them, says otherwise. 

You scoff, pretending to be offended. Truth is, you’re far from offended right now. “Two is already a party.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Not a really reliable source, dove. But s’alright,” he says, tilting his head. He looks down at you and then kisses the top of your head. Not even bothered that a few minutes ago you wanted to punch him. “Let’s go already, hm? Probably you’d want to make some shit or else.”

“Or else,” you say. You have a lot to do, that’s true, but right now your focus is elsewhere—and that’s on his heart. You can hear how hard it is beating, the only indicator (besides the eyes) that he really wants to be here with you.

And If you doubted he has heart, now you really can see that, indeed, he has. Beating for no one else but you.

“You… can’t do that,” you say, without even looking at him. Your eyes are focused on the lantern nearby, the yellow light brightening the surroundings. “You can’t just say shit like that and expect I’ll be okay.”

“Listen—”

“—No. No, you should listen. I don’t want you to feel that you can say anything to me, to just come back without the consequences. Just promise me. It’s not hard, it’s not complicated, you know? Communication is actually easy, if you just try hard enough.”

For a few seconds, he’s quiet. Just like he was quiet on that accurst day, when everything got fucked up. You’re quick to open your mouth, but then, he answers, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You lost your hearing or somethin’?” He tilts his head a little to the right. If Sparkles wouldn’t be in a transporter in his hand, you’d smack the shit out of him. “Maybe you do need a doctor’s visit.”

“I said so much and you—”

“There’s nothin’ for me to say. I know, and I acknowledged it,” he says, abruptly, his gaze hardening. “I fucked up. Not denying that, but right now, I want to make it right. That clear?”

That is clear, and as he’s seemingly a man of his words, you go to your apartment without any other word about the past. 

You learn that he’s more of an observer than a doer. He waits for your sign, for whatever that gives him a clear message about what he should and shouldn’t do. The effect of the military gets to him even in mundane tasks like hanging the lights or tossing around a few decorations there and there. Simon doesn’t speak until he finishes, and then he just stares at you, until you’re gonna give him the next instructions. 

You can’t help but laugh, when you do. He seems so lost when you do that, irritated at first, but he probably gets the message.

"I don't... do, this," he says, when he's busy rolling the dough with his rough hands. For a man like him, he's very tender with how he does it. Caring that you've told him how to do it, not using all of his power.

“Do what?” You look at him, tilting your head to the side. You know exactly what he means, but for what he put you through, he deserves to have a little struggle, to be more vocal about what he feels. He seems to know it, assuming that he pushes the dough to the surface a little harder.

“This stuff,” he explains. His way of explanation is a little different than yours, but you’ll take what he gives you.

“Baking?” 

“That too,” he mutters. “It’s weird to do this.”

“But, are you having fun?”

He nods, and you take it as a final answer. As you smile under your nose, you move on to the next step. You think you’re going to make everything on time, with help like him.

“My parents died on Christmas day.” 

Or not.

You drop your eggs a second later; it’s the first, genuine reaction at his sudden words. His quick reflex is the only thing that saves them from going to waste. “Christ, dove, just watch it.”

“Simon, I—”

“—Well, everyone died. Tommy, his wife, kids.” He shrugs, continuing the monologue. You don’t know if it’s a coping mechanism, trying to make it seem like it’s the most normal thing in the whole world, but in some way, it is concerning. “That… well. I just don’t do anythin’ on this day. Or before, really. I pretend it’s nothing special, so I don’t summon whatever that shit was years ago.”

To say that you’re shocked would be an understatement. You have to fight your tears right now, to completely not fall apart right in front of him. “How young were you?”

“Twenty two, I think.”

You put your hand on his—trying to console him, give him some support, even if he doesn’t look like he needs one. “I can’t tell you—”

“—No shit like this.” He looks up, crossing his gaze with yours. Despite his words, you see something in them. Something that quietly says thank you. “I’m a magnet for bad things, and for what it’s worth,” he looks at you, “I didn’t want to get you involved, if something would happen. Everyone around me dies, if I let them get too close.”

“You do know that it’s bullshit, right?” You look up at him; the choice of words isn’t exactly the best, but he seems to know that you mean, when his eyes cross with yours. “I’m so close, and I’m not going anywhere, Simon.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. See?” You put one of his hands on your waist, the second on your face. He doesn’t move them.

Simon’s eyes darken, second by second. They’re not a dark chocolate anymore, they resemble more of a dark ocean at midnight. It’s hard to find anything light in them. “I see, but you don’t seem to understand what I mean.”

You raise your eyebrow. “Then, explain it to me.”

“It’s a one way ticket. No backin’ out after this—”

“—I don’t want to back out, so.” You mimic his careless shrugging from earlier. It’s hard to ignore how he rolls his eyes at your act. “What?”

“You’re a brat. Should listen to the elders when they talk, not interrupt them.” He mutters, taking your chin so you could look at him better. “Maybe I could teach you some manners.”

You gulp. “Maybe you could.”

Maybe this interaction is something that needed to be said or done. Maybe Simon needed to reject you at first, and then come to you, so he would tell you part of his story, no filter. Maybe. 

You do not care about that, not right now.

“Stay… still,” he sighs right to your ear, his big hand going under your t-shirt. 

If you’d tell yourself that Simon Riley is going to be one of the most important people for you, the past you probably wouldn’t believe any of that. The first impression wasn’t the best, you were interested in him only because of the mystical aura surrounding him.

Yet, when one of his hands is under your t-shirt, the other on your throat, you couldn’t ask for a better place to be.

[sleepyangelkami]

FADE INTO YOU j.todd

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.1K

JASON TODD X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - slow dancing in the kitchen with domestic bf!jason

 ☆ WARNINGS - tooth rotting fluff, petnames, intended lower case, nothing I write is ever proofread 🩷

jason's days off were rare, but when they actually happened, they were the best. even hero's like him had to take a couple rest days. today was one of those days.

the living room was dull aside from the little lamp to your right, next to the couch you were laid across, head on your boyfriend's chest as he read the words scrawled across the page slowly. his voice was soothing, so much so that you actually found your eyes falling shut, head gone limp against him.

jason would swear on the bible that he was a grinch, that he hated christmas more than anything. but only you would know how big of a lie that was. frost covered the windows, completely blocking your outside view although the curtains did a good enough job anyway. your christmas tree was sat in the corner of your living room, tacky an decorated in different coloured baubles along with the tacky red and silver tinsel and the blue and gold lights that were never turned off.

it was nights like this, you snuggled up in your christmas pijama's, as he was, matching of course, with christmas decorations sprawled across the entire room that he realised just how much he loved it. though, he was sure that there was one thing he'd always hate about this time of year. the goddamn cold.

when he realised you had fallen asleep on him, he placed the book on the side table, standing up and drawing the reindeer blanket over your shoulders to keep you warm.

his feet moved towards the kitchen where there was little to no light. it was attached to the living room, so the only beacon of light was the tree and the lamp.

his eyes glanced towards the clock that wrote half seven. on his days off, you spent every minute together. today, you had both travelled up the country for a little christmas shopping before stopping home to see the christmas lights. you were going to go for dinner too but you both decided you were too cold and you wished to be home as soon as possible.

the fire lit, heating up the entire house. he realised how long it had been since you'd eaten. he himself wasn't too hungry but he knew how you'd be, sleepy or not.

when you did wake, it was to the smell of food and the sound of low music. the music had been on before you'd fallen asleep, low and muffled but even so, you could hear it. you found yourself smiling into the armchair of the couch, eyes strained on your boyfriend's back as he cooked whatever it was he was making.

he was in a red fluffy pijama bottoms with pictures of little christmas trees, presents and ginger bread cookies along with a plain black t-shirt. you wore the same bottoms only with a black crop top, clinging to your skin comfortably. when you first mentioned matching pijama's, he quite literally laughed in your face.

now look.

as good as the food smelled, you were really more bothered on who was standing in front of the frying pan.

jason had sensed you waking up minutes ago so the feeling of arms wrapping around his wide torso didn't frighten him. "hi, sleepy." he grinned, looking down at the food he was stirring.

"hi, jay." your head buried into his back. "what're you doing?" you mumbled sleepily.

"makin' you some dinner, baby." your stomach felt empty, hungry but you'd seemingly always forget around him. perhaps it was because he made you feel so... full. "wanna sit by the couch 'n watch a movie while i make it?"

despite the fact he couldn't see your face, you shook your head. "jus' wanna be with you." when you got sleepy like this, he was all you wanted. not food, not a movie, not even your family, you just wanted him, your jay.

he hummed with a smile as he turned around, grasping you in his arms. you let him move so that your head was in his chest, not his back. he allowed the food to cook. he held you like that, moving one hand to turn up the music slightly. it was a slow, pretty song that reminded you a lot of him. it was funny because it reminded him of you too, you were both just too shy to say it. "feelin' okay, princess?" you nodded your head dumbly. "day wore you out?" he could read you like a book. if that was true, you were his favourite storytale.

you hummed this time, allowing him to slightly sway your bodies to the song. he did it slowly, so slow it took you a second to register. "what are you doin'?" you mumbled, lips turning up at the corners.

"me?" he feigned shock. "I'm not doing anything, angel." though as he spoke, he led you away from the oven and stopped between it and the counter. you stood in the middle of the kitchen with him.

with one hand on your waist, he used his other to pick up one of your own, your left one to be exact. you'd danced with him many times at one of the wanye gala's. but this. this was different.

this time, the song was one of your own, one that made you smile and think of him, your jason. this time, there wasn't hundreds of eyes on you, whispers through the crowd about jason todd, bruce wayne's son and his 'date' were you his girlfriend? or just an escourt? how long had you known one another? who were you?

none of that mattered now.

you could breathe in and breathe out. all you could smell was jason's cologne and the cooking off in a distance. the sound of the music was relaxing, slow but your feet moved with jason's. this was slower than you'd ever danced with him before, including the slow dances at the gala.

with your head on his chest, eyes closed shut, you could hear the low humming of jason with the music. the small whisper of his voice as the words of the song began. it was quiet, but enough for you to hear.

as the music slowed to a stop, you moved away slightly, glancing up at the man you called your lover and loved him you did. he smiled down at you, his entire world.

his hand moved to cup your face, other one brushing his fingers against your own, dancing upon your skin as he kissed you slowly. in that moment, you felt your knee's actually go weak. you kissed back, of course, lips slowly moving against his own.

he pulled back, lips in a tight grin. "you up for some dinner?" he mumbled, quietly.

you nodded your head, completely overcome with him. "can we watch the muppets christmas carol while we have it?" you loved that movie, as did he.

he chuckled quietly, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips. "of course, princess, go set up the tv." and that was exactly what you did.

main masterlist/jason's masterlist

[thefallennightmare]

I cannot stop thinking about a fluffy snow day with Noah. Snow ball fights, cuddling by the fire, reading to each other, decorating together. Absolutely melting.

“I’m so cold,” your teeth chattered as you tried to warm up under the pile of blankets.

Noah’s deep chuckle echoed from the kitchen for a moment until he was standing in front of you now, holding a steaming cup of hot coco.

“Thank you, love,” you beamed up at him.

It has been a day filled with various Christmas activities.

Decorate ginger bread houses.

Making Christmas cookies.

Dancing to soft Christmas music.

A snow ball fight that Noah started when he accidentally meant to shovel the pile of snow into the street but instead covered you because he didn’t see you there.

Now you two were snuggled up on the couch under blankets as the fire place roared at your feet, How The Grinch Stole Christmas the animated version was loaded up on the screen.

You sighed in content while wrapping yourself under his warm embrace. “Today has been magical. Thank you, Noah.”

He kisses your forehead. “Anything for you, Angel.”

[nerdygaymormon]

Merry Queermas

I have a number of queer playlists, so thought I'd add one for Christmas.

Lesbians

Brandi Carlile - The Heartache Can Wait

girl in red - two queens in a king sized bed

k.d. lang - You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch (with Glee cast)

Indigo Girls - It Really Is (A Wonderful Life)

Jane Lynch - A Swingin' Little Christmas Time

Joan Jett - Little Drummer Boy

LADIES - Ladies, It's Cold Outside

Mary Lambert - Christmas Cookies (feat. Wyatt Hermansen)

Melissa Etheridge - It's Christmas Time

Raven Symoné - My Christmas Wish

Tegan and Sara - Make You Mine This Season

Gays

Adam Lambert - Please Come Home for Christmas

Barry Manilow - (There's No Place Like) Home for the Holidays

Bearforce 1 - Christmas is Here

Billy Porter - Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Calum Scott - White Christmas

Darren Hayes - Last Christmas

David Archuleta - Christmas Every Day

Elton John - Step Into Christmas; Merry Christmas (with Ed Sheeran)

Erasure - Make It Wonderful (Bright Light Bright Light Remix)

Frankie Goes to Hollywood - The Power of Love

Johnny Mathis - It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Joshua Bassett - The Perfect Gift

Lil Nas X - Holiday

Luther Vandross - Every Year, Every Christmas

Matt Rogers - Also It's Christmas

Mister Chase and Chris Salvatore - Baby, It's Cold Outside

MNEK - Stopped Believing in Santa

Neon Trees - Holiday Rock

Pet Shop Boys - It Doesn't Often Snow at Christmas

Queen - Thank God It's Christmas

Ricky Martin - Ay Ay Ay It's Christmas

Rufus Wainwright - What Are You Doing New Year's Eve

Sam Smith - Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas; The Lighthouse Keeper

Todrick Hall - Bells, Bows, Gifts, Trees

Wham! - Last Christmas

Wrabel - First Winter

Bi/Pan

Anne-Marie - Think of Christmas

Crystal Bowersox - Coming Out for Christmas

Demi Lovato - I'll Be Home for Christmas

Green Day - Xmas Time Of The Year

Jessie J - Man With the Bag

Phoebe Bridgers - If We Make It Through December

Sia - Santa's Coming For Us; Candy Cane Lane; Snowman

Trans, Gender Nonconforming, Fluid, Nonbinary

Bebe Rexha - Count on Christmas

Big Freedia - Make It Jingle

Miley Cyrus - Happy Xmas (War is Over)

Shea Diamond -Blame it on Christmas (feat. Cyndi Lauper); Mrs. Claus

Drag Queens

Alaska - Everyday is Christmas; Let It Snow (Ivan and Peter Mix)

Alaska, Courtney Act & Willam - Dear Santa, Bring Me A Man

Bob the Drag Queen - Sandra Claus

Detox - This is How We Jew It

Ginger Minj - Winter Wonderland (feat. Gidget Galore)

Manila Luzon, Peppermint & Alaska - We Three Queens

Nina West - Calista

Priyanka - Sleigh My Name

RuPaul - Hey Sis, It's Christmas

The Divas

Amy Winehouse - I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

Ariana Grande - December; Santa Tell Me; Winter Things;

Ava Max - 1 Wish; Christmas Without You

Barbra Streisand - Jingle Bells?

Bette Midler - Cool Yule

Britney Spears - My Only Wish (This Year)

Carly Rae Jepsen - It's Not Christmas Till Somebody Cries; Mittens

Céline Dion - Happy Xmas (War Is Over)

Cher - DJ Play a Christmas Song

Christina Aguilera - The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting Over An Open Fire)

Diana Ross & The Supremes - My Favorite Things

Eurythmics - Winter Wonderland

Kacey Musgraves - Glittery (feat. Troye Sivan)

Katy Perry - Cozy Little Christmas

Kelly Clarkson - Underneath the Tree

Kylie Minogue - Every Day's Like Christmas

Leona Lewis - One More Sleep

Little Mix - One I've Been Missing

Lizzo - Never Felt Like Christmas

Madonna - Santa Baby

Mariah Carey - All I Want for Christmas is You; Oh Santa

Meghan Trainor - Holidays (feat. Earth, Wind & Fire)

Olivia Rodrigo - River

Taylor Swift - Christmas Tree Farm

————————————————————

Link to Spotify Playlist of these songs

Link to My Queer Playlist - Part 1 songs from 1939 to 1999

Link to My Queer Playlist - Part 2 songs from 2000 to 2015

Link to My Queer Playlist - Part 3 songs from 2016 to 2019

Link to My Queer Playlist - Part 4 songs from 2021 to present

Link to my Queer Disney Songs Playlist

Link to my K-Pop Queer Playlist

Link to my Queer Religious Playlist

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

🎄Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories🎄

a Stephen Strange x Hope Collins fic

genre: fluff & Christmas to begin with; angst, catharsis, with healing later...and as always, love❤️💚

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OFC), established relationship

word count: 2.6k

Reposting from last December as edits have been made, prior to finally completing this fic ☃️🩵🎄

moodboard by the very generous @strangedreamings 💙🩵💜

Chapter One

Stephen should have known that he had fallen in love with a Christmas person. Should have been prepared for what was in store for him come late November. Hope's enthusiasm for all things Yuletide was exactly in keeping with her nature--and of course, she had no way of knowing that when it came to Christmastime, his past had shaped him into a bit of a Grinch.

A week or so before Thanksgiving, she'd brought a mysterious shopping bag to the Sanctum and set it discretely in a corner of the living room portion of his suite. When he'd asked what was inside, she'd flashed him a pert smile and smiling eyes as she answered, "Darling, that's for me to know, and you to find out. Eventually." Then sashayed away, humming 'Good King Wenceslas'. Yup, he should've known then that Hope was...was very much a Who.

They had shared a quiet, homey Thanksgiving; Hope had eagerly prepared a little feast for them, along with far too many desserts prepped in a flurry of baking in the 48 hours ahead of time. "There's supposed to be an abundance of leftovers," she had insisted when Stephen groused that they could never finish it all, "And in my family tradition, the freezer was always stuffed with packages of turkey, potatoes, and what have you--enough for a meal a week 'til nearly Christmas." And she'd relished the sight of him digging into those leftovers--along with a healthy serving of her apple-ginger pie--as a midnight snack, looking every bit the adorable 'told ya so' when she grabbed a fork to help him polish off the pie.

When they'd finally settled into bed and snuggled close, Stephen was happy to tell Hope it had been his best Thanksgiving in decades--and that perhaps it could be the start of traditions of their own. "Good," she replied, kissing his neck and then resting her head on his shoulder, "There's more I'd love to share with you. If you don't mind...starting tomorrow."

Stephen's own family traditions always felt like dusty, ancient history now; memories he seldom allowed himself to dwell upon for the heartbreak of the losses of his sister Donna, and later his mother Beverly, who had never fully recovered emotionally from Donna's death. He sighed hard, not wishing to spoil the moment, but feeling he should give his love fair warning. "If it's Christmas related, Hope--I'm really not that guy..."

"Oh, Stephen," she started to protest.

"I don't wanna disappoint you, honey, but I...I gave up Christmas a loooong time ago..."

"Gave up Christmas?" Hope tutted. "You don't strike me as a Scrooge..."

"I'm not. Of course I'm not," he countered gently, "There's just a lot of...baggage...that I gave up carrying. Decades ago." For my own peace of mind, he thought but didn't add. "I mean, I'll be happy to see how you embrace the season, Hope, but um..."

"Alright, " she told him, laying her palm above his heart, which he always found soothing. "I promise to be mindful of your...baggage...if you help me with just one tradition tomorrow. "

Stephen's turn to quietly sigh with his intent to cooperate, "Just the one? Seems a fair bargain to make...if you can stick to it."

"Just the one--I promise," Hope laughed softly, "And after that, well...I'll go about my Christmasing without the sort of fuss that might bother you."

Though he could practically feel the wheels in her head turning to come up with a way to change his view of the season, he chuckled, "It's a deal then. So what will we be doing tomorrow?"

"Getting a tree, of course. That was my mom's thing. Tree goes up the day after Thanksgiving...and comes down on New Years Day. Although, since I've been on my own, I keep it up however long I want. It's an excellent remedy for the mid-winter doldrums."

"A tree it'll be, then," he promised, reaching to turn off his bedside lamp, "And then I'm out."

"Like a light", Hope assured him. "Now, do you wanna be the big spoon or little spoon tonight?"

"Big," he replied, flipping onto his side, then sliding his arm around her waist when she turned to fit herself against him. Stephen brushed his lips on her ear, "For what it's worth, honey, I hope you have some sugar plum dreams tonight."

"Thanks, Stephen," she murmured, clearly on her way to sleep, "Love you too."

By the time Hope awoke the next morning, Stephen had already worked out a plan to keep his promise. One which would involve him in as little Christmas fuss as possible. A quick online search had yielded a few spots in the Village itself where they could find fresh cut trees. After breakfast, he discreetly portaled the two of them to a side street off of Hudson Street, where they found a popular Christmas market adjacent to a city park.

Hope had been so delighted by his initiative that he had felt it necessary to remind her that this would be his sole contribution to the Christmas decorating. She had batted her eyes prettily with her reply, "As you wish," but to Stephen, it had felt more like she was saying, "We'll see about that."

They settled on a seven foot Balsam fir, which Stephen had insisted on paying for out of his Sanctum Master's monthly stipend. The warmth of the lingering kiss she pressed to his cheek in thanks was absolutely worth that investment, and Hope's happiness was a gift that thoroughly warmed his heart. Being quite pleased by how swiftly they'd accomplished their chore--and surprised that the task felt far more pleasant than he'd anticipated--Stephen arranged to have the tree delivered to Bleecker Street by mid-afternoon.

Hope had wandered over to a group of stalls featuring hand-crafted Christmas decorations, and by the time he joined her, she had a small brown shopping bag in hand. He offered her his arm, "Shall we?"

"Shall we what," she countered impishly.

"Head back home."

"Oh...well...", she bit her lip, mulling over her answer for a few moments, "You go on ahead, darling. There's just a few more things I'd like to pick up..."

Stephen hummed, studying her face for any sign that this was a coy play to get him to stay after all. Seeing only sincerity, he found himself offering to stick around anyway. "Thanks, but no, Stephen," she assured him, "I shouldn't be too long--and I did promise not to bother you beyond the tree. You won't even have time to miss me; I'm sure I'll get there before the tree even does."

Stephen hadn't expected her to be so easily accommodated. "Are you sure, honey? I can spare a while longer if...if you'd like me to."

Hope moved in close, placed her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his other cheek. "I appreciate the offer, darling," she husked, "But how about you get a nice fire going in the hearth in your quarters, so they'll be all toasty for when I decorate the tree this afternoon?" She backed away and beamed him a smile, then turned to explore the market further without a further word.

Stephen stood on the sidewalk, the relief at being let off the expected Christmas hook colored with the surprising disappointment that Hope hadn't even tried to ask for more beyond her promise. She's probably got other plans in mind, he decided; bet she's just softening me up for that. Hands tucked deep into his coat pockets against the growing chill in the air--they'd begun to ache in the way that told him snow was on the way--he headed back to the side street, and portaled back home.

The snow arrived before Hope did, with the tree being delivered about a half-hour later. By then, Stephen had a crackling fire going in the hearth and had even used magic to set up a tree stand before one of the front windows of the living room.

Rosy-cheeked from the cold and bearing two Balsam wreaths decked with red ribbons, sprigs of holly & berries, and mini white lights, Hope appeared to be the embodiment of Christmas cheer. "I figured now that it's no secret that a magical building is part of the neighborhood," she explained in answer to the question in his eyes, "You'd at least want the Sanctum to look a little festive..."

Stephen gave a heavy sigh as he conceded that point to her. And though she didn't ask, he cast a spell to keep the wreaths in place on the Sanctum's double doors, with reinforcement to keep them fresh and green for however long they hung there. He would go on to use the same spell for the Christmas tree awaiting decorating in his quarters.

After lunch, Hope practically shooed Stephen from the room when she began to string lights on the fragrant evergreen. With a vintage selection of Christmas carols playing in the background, she was determined to keep her promise to him. "Besides, I'd like to surprise you with the ornaments I've picked. So go keep busy with whatever wizarding stuff is on your agenda, and I'll come get you for the big reveal."

Lazy snowflakes continued to fall well past dusk, looking pretty and perfectly seasonal outside the Sanctum windows, though little stuck to the streets and pavements. Hope had finally popped her head past the door to his study several hours after she'd sent him away and invited Stephen to come check out the product of her efforts. Her excitement felt contagious--and once he spied the tree, Stephen knew she had good reason for her enthusiasm.

She had dimmed the lights for maximum effect, showing off the slow, steady twinkle of the white lights that graced every branch of the tree. The ornaments were a mix of dark blue and gold bells and balls, variously sized, and many of them sprinkled with golden glitter.

Featured among them were larger, glassblown ornaments shaped as suns, moons, and stars, as well as other traditional celestial symbols. The total effect was breathtaking--and a telling reminder that Hope was an Artist, deep down to her soul.

Watching him take in the full picture, her eyes sparkled with joyful anticipation of his response. Stephen's jaw had dropped, and he remained speechless as he circled the tree before he came to stand at Hope's side, pulling her to him with one arm around her back. "This is...marvelous, honey. Fantastic. Beautiful...and...and..."

"And nearly perfect for a Master of the Mystic Arts," she replied, a slight tremor in her voice, "Don't you think so, anyway?

Stephen nodded and laid a kiss on top of her head. "I can't imagine anything more perfect, Hope," he agreed, his voice grown thick with emotion. "You were planning this for a while, weren't you?"

"Only since mid-September," she laughed, then pointed to a stained-glass disk depicting the zodiac circling a stylized sun. "I saw that one at a craft fair, and it just sort of...inspired...the whole thing."

"I should've expected something this..." Stephen searched for the perfect word to describe not only the tree, but the sentiment her gift had him feeling, "...grand...from you, honey. Grand. Grand and perfect."

"It's actually a little short of perfect, Stephen," she confessed difidently.

"No, Hope...honey...it's perfect for me," he insisted, "Both as a wizard and as a man."

"I don't mean in that way, darling. It's...it's unfinished," she sighed, motioning to the crowning branch. "It's in want of a star."

"Aaaaaaah." Stephen let the moment linger before smirking, "And is that by design, or just something you overlooked?"

"I just can't reach it," came her plaintive, honest reply.

"I see." Stephen could feel how hard she was trying not to ask for his help, in light of her promise to him. How dear that was to him! A simple yet beautiful truth about this woman he loved. How could he not offer to help? "You know, I wouldn't mind adding the finishing touch, honey. If you'd allow me to, of course."

"I suppose that'll be alright, darling. If you wouldn't mind too much."

"Not at all," he told her, truthfully. "Do you have one, or shall I conjure something to match your theme?"

"Hold on," she replied, making a beeline to a dark pink box perched on the side table by the sofa. Hope removed an object swathed in tissue paper, unwrapping it very gingerly when she returned to his side. "This star is over a hundred years old. It came to America with my great-grandmother when she arrived from Ireland back in 1921. It passes to the eldest daughter in each generation..."

"And you're the lucky winner," Stephen observed in a hushed tone, immediately adopting the same reverence with which Hope handled the fragile antique.

"Yes," she sniffled softly. "Mom was the middle child, but her older sister didn't have any girls, so when she passed away, it came to me. That was during The Snap years. Once my mother came back, she never really recovered from finding out her sister had died alone, without the comfort of her closest friend and family member."

Stephen's first thought was of his own mother, Beverly, and of the colorless Christmases between Donna's death and her own. In the face of Hope's bittersweet revelation, he couldn't bring himself to express his observation; that grief had been his mother's cause of death as well.

Hope took note of the pain that briefly flickered across his features. "Stephen, are you alright? You looked so sad, all of a sudden."

"Oh, honey, I'm just...just so, so sorry for your loss. I know that grief doesn't take holidays, and there are times it hits so hard, it feels like the one we've lost...that it only happened yesterday." Mindful of the crystal star in his hands, he drew Hope into his arms, then rested his chin atop her head. "But the best comfort, I'm told, is remembering the best of times you shared with them."

Hope took note of the pain that briefly flickered across his features. "Stephen, are you alright? You looked so sad, all of a sudden."

"Oh, honey, I'm just...just so, so sorry for your loss. I know that grief doesn't take holidays, and there are times it hits so hard, it feels like the one we've lost...that it only happened yesterday." Mindful of the crystal star in his hands, he drew Hope into his arms, then rested his chin atop her head. "But the best comfort, I'm told, is remembering the best of times you shared with them."

The smallest voice in his head gave an ironic retort. Doctor, why don't you take your own advice and heal yourself for a change? Share your story with Hope, and by doing so, maybe you can put your own ghosts to rest.

Maybe so, he told himself. But not now; not tonight. I'm not ready to face that kind of pain just yet. And the small voice answered: of course you aren't. It seems you never are.

Stephen shook off that moment of weakness--as he always did. And with the gentlest charm he could manage, he floated Hope's star to the top of the tree and fixed it safely in place. That drew from Hope her prettiest smile, so that he dared a change of subject. "Well, in light of the heavy lifting I've just done, I think it's time we fix ourselves some turkey and gravy sandwiches and maybe watch 'The Grinch'. It's one of the few Christmas movies I actually enjoy."

"Jim Carey or the DreamWorks one," Hope asked as they headed, arm in arm, toward the closer of the two Sanctum kitchens.

"Jim Carey," he asserted with a grin, "The other is far too sentimental for my liking."

If you enjoyed this little fic so far, you can read more about how Stephen & Hope met and fell in love in my stories 'Friday in the Park with Stephen' (meet-cute, flirtation & fluff), and 14,000,604 (hurt/comfort, angst, passion/smut, lovers reunited against impossible odds).

In addition, I've written a couple of one-shots/promt fills as part of their ongoing series The Wizard and the Artist.

[honeyblssom]

also we got home to this LOVELY surprise

PUmpkin and witch had babies!!!!

I call them grinch and ginger

[grimeshound]

I SAW DADDY KISSING SANTA CLAUS?

word count: 3,135

pairing: rick x negan

summary: ever since the world fell apart, christmas was never the same, losing its magic for rick and his family. that is, until negan decided to bring it back in his own trademark 'negan' way.

a/n: (˶◜ᵕ◝˶) merry grimesmas and a happy neganyear to all who celebrate

---

Christmas used to be the highlight of Rick’s year. Way back before the world fell apart, before he had a family of his own. Even when he was still a little kid, it meant family gatherings under a warm glow of laughter and love. Lori and Rick had always gone the extra mile for Carl during that time of the year. Stockings embroidered with their initials, plates of milk and cookies for Santa, even a single carrot for the reindeer. In the Grimes household, Christmas wasn’t just a holiday. It was a promise of togetherness, a labor of love brought together by joy, magic and family. 

But when the world ended, so did traditions. Dates blurred, days bled into one another, until one day time itself became a luxury. Christmas faded into an afterthought, swallowed by the priority of survival. Even now, when the chill in the Alexandria air and windows of slight snowfall hinted at the season, Rick struggled to feel it. His friends would tease him, calling him a grinch, but if only they knew just how much Rick valued the holiday before the outbreak. He tried to fake the cheer for Carl and Judith. For his family, his friends. And no one noticed the effort it took.

No one did, except for Negan.

The man who had gone from an enemy to something far more complicated always had an infuriating knack for reading Rick, front to back like a book. And on this cold December afternoon, Negan didn’t need more than a glance at Rick’s furrowed brow and restless hands to know something was nagging him.

“Got something on your mind, blue eyes?” Negan questioned, back leant against the kitchen counter with an easy smirk.

Rick sighed, his hand finding his way to run through his curls. “Just wish I could give Carl and Judith a good Christmas. They deserve more than… this .” He gestured vaguely at the sparse room. “It’s been years since they had a real one. Hell, Judith doesn’t even know who Santa is.”

And that was all Negan needed to hear. While Rick and Carl headed out on a supply run, he leapt at the opportunity, getting straight to work. If there was one thing the apocalypse hadn’t stolen from him, it was his resourcefulness. Armed with Rick’s hatchet, a borrowed car, and a dream— He set off to make this the best damn Christmas the Grimes family would ever have.

Hours later, when Rick and Carl returned home, they were met with a scene straight out of a cheesy Christmas flick. A pine tree, freshly cut and adorned with mismatched ornaments, stood proudly in the living room. Stockings, white spray-painted initials ‘R’ , ‘N’ , ‘C’ and ’ J’ respectively—hung over the crackling fireplace. The faint smell of cinnamon and ginger filled the air, wafting through the house. Rick barely had time to take it all in before Judith’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Dad!” she called, running to him with flour-covered hands. Rick scooped her up, her giggles bubbling as she pointed back at the kitchen. “Negan and I are baking cookies for Santa!”

Rick was surprised and quickly put two and two together—Negan had explained to her the tradition, and, of course, who Santa even was in the first place. He followed Judith’s gaze, and his heart caught in his chest. There he was, the man behind all of it. Lucille in his hand replaced with by a rolling pin, his iconic leather jacket swapped for a ridiculously ugly Christmas sweater. Flour dusted his hands and beard as he helped Judith roll out cookie dough, his smile softer than Rick had ever seen. 

Carl, standing beside Rick, crossed his arms and muttered, “Looks like he raided Santa’s workshop.” Rick snickered at that, setting Judith down before he stood next to Negan, watching as he laid the cookies on a baking sheet. “You did all this?”

Negan looked up, grinning like a kid himself. “All me, cowboy. Christmas is back on.”

Rick shook his head with a smile, still in awe of the effort. He watched as Judith proudly showed Carl the gingerbread cookie she helped in making. One little one and a bigger gingerbread man with a hat and a gumdrop in place of a left eye, presumably representing herself and Carl. Next to them were two bigger ones, one with blue gumdrop eyes and the other with a red licorice scarf, both joined together holding hands. 

Rick stared at him for a moment before a small smile broke through his usually stoic expression. The gesture was incredibly thoughtful, it spoke volumes to Rick about just how far Negan had come.“Thank you. Really.” Negan leaned in, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Oh, don’t thank me yet, Ricky. Wait ‘til you see what else I’ve got in store.”

Rick didn’t know what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t this. Standing in their bedroom, Negan turned to him with his arms proudly outstretched, dressed in a full Santa Claus costume. The red suit hung a little loose on his tall frame, the scratchy white beard slightly crooked on his face, and yet the grin he wore was all confidence.

“Negan Claus, baby!”

Rick stared, caught between laughter and disbelief. “What the hell am I lookin’ at?”

“Saint Negan, here to save Christmas!” Negan proclaimed proudly, as if he were stating an obvious fact. Rick stood frozen, his hands on his hips, staring at the spectacle before him. He tried to keep a straight face, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward as disbelief mixed with amusement. Finally, he broke, laughter spilling out of him like water bursting through a dam. It was a sound he hadn’t heard from himself in what felt like years—raw, deep, and unrestricted.

“You look ridiculous,” Rick said, shaking his head as the laughter subsided. “You’re insane.”

Negan grinned, taking a confident step forward, his boots making a satisfying thud against the wooden floor. “Insane enough to save Christmas? Hell yeah, I am. Someone’s gotta do it, Ricky boy.”

Rick exhaled sharply, still shaking his head as his hand reached out, brushing over the soft velvet of the Santa suit. The gesture was almost subconscious, like he was grounding himself in the moment, trying to convince himself this wasn’t some bizarre fever dream.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Rick said quietly, his voice tinged with something softer, almost vulnerable. His hand lingered on the fabric before dropping back to his side.

“I wanted to,” Negan replied, his voice lower now, stripped of its usual bravado. His dark eyes locked onto Rick’s, and for a moment, the space between them felt heavy with unspoken truths. “For you. For the kids.”

Rick smiled, warm in a way that Negan wasn’t used to seeing. He couldn’t deny the fondness he felt for the way Negan always showed his love for his family in the most unconventional ways. It showed with him, showed in the way he treated his kids—protective, playful, and patient in a way that was uniquely his. 

And it showed in the way Negan carried himself that same night, his usual swagger softened into something more thoughtful, more deliberate. More holly and jolly for the occasion. That night, when “Santa” made his grand entrance, he didn’t just step into the living room—he burst through the door with all the subtlety of a hurricane.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Negan bellowed, his voice so loud it startled even Rick for a moment. Judith’s delighted squeal echoed off the walls as she jumped to her feet, her little hands clapping together in pure excitement. Rick leaned against the doorframe, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watched Negan crouch down to meet Judith’s wide-eyed excitement.

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, little girl!” Negan boomed, his voice full of exaggerated cheer.

Carl stepped up beside his dad, crossing his arms skeptically. “Santa doesn’t even greet kids like that,” he muttered. “Doesn’t he know anything?”

Rick chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Carl’s hair. The boy laughed despite himself, leaning into the touch. Rick couldn’t help but glance back at Negan, warmth blooming in his chest. He’d always been wary of letting someone like Negan into their lives, but over time, the man had proven himself. Whether it was watching over Carl, making Judith laugh, or standing by Rick’s side, Negan had done more than earn his place. He’d become family.

Judith tugged at Santa’s beard with a mischievous grin, unknowingly pulling the fake prop down ever so slightly, causing Negan to yelp softly before adjusting it back into place with an exaggerated flourish. “Whoa there, kiddo! That’s premium North Pole craftsmanship you’re tuggin’ on,” Negan teased, earning a giggle from the youngest. 

“Thank you for the cookies, Judith! They were so yummy!” Negan said, patting his stomach.

Judith beamed. “I made them with Negan! Oh!—wait, Dad, where is Negan?” Her innocent curiosity caught Rick off guard. He stammered, unsure how exactly to reply, when Carl interjected, cutting in smoothly.

“He’s asleep.” Carl said with a shrug.

Judith pouted, crossing her arms. “Wake him up!”

‘Santa’ crouched closer, pinching her cheek gently. “No need for that, little one. That Negan guy? He’s a hard worker—handsome too, if I might add. He deserves all the rest he can get.” Negan’s playful grin was practically audible behind the beard, and Rick couldn’t help the deep sigh that resonated, leave it to Negan to sneak himself a pat on the back. Rick’s lips twitched into an amused smile despite the faux irritation. 

Reaching into his sack, ‘Santa’ pulled out a carefully wrapped box. “Here you go, kiddo. This one’s just for you. I’ve already left your brother’s and your dad’s gifts by the tree.”

Judith’s face lit up as she accepted the gift, her small arms wrapping around Negan’s neck in an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you, Santa!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with the kind of pure, unfiltered joy that only a child could muster.

Carl rubbed his eyes, gently taking Judith’s hand. “C’mon, Judith, time for bed. Santa’s got other stops to make.”

Judith reluctantly followed, her gift clutched tightly to her chest as Carl guided her upstairs. Rick finally straightened from the doorframe, taking slow steps toward ‘Santa’ as the house fell quiet once more.

‘Santa’ watched, and although he was still dressed in the iconic crimson red suit, his posture had relaxed now that the “performance” was over. That exaggerated jolly and hearty laugh now replaced with that familiar low chuckle. ‘Santa’, now Negan again, gave Rick a soft smile, dimples deep. There was an undeniable softness in the air, a vulnerability that made Rick’s breath catch for a moment.

“So,” Negan drawled, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket—well, Santa’s jacket now. “How’d I do?”

Rick glanced around the room, taking in the ornaments on the tree, the paint on the stockings, the faint smell of cinnamon still wafting from the kitchen. His gaze settled back on Negan, and for a moment, he couldn’t find the words.

“You did good, Negan.” Rick said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “Real good.”

Negan hummed, his chest puffing out just slightly as he rocked back on his heels. “Told ya, Rick. Negan Claus always delivers.”

Whether it was the way the dim lighting took them in so well, illuminated by the fireplace and the Christmas lights, the mischievous glint caught in Negan’s eyes was as evident as ever. “Well, Santas just gotta ask now. You’ve been good this year, pretty boy? 

“Seriously?” Rick sighed, his hand brushing over the soft red fabric of Negan’s Santa coat. “I’ve been good.” he murmured, his tone caught somewhere between playful and exasperated.

Negan’s smirk deepened, that familiar glint of mischief lighting up his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you think you’ve been good,” he teased, drawing out the words like honey, “But Santa’s gotta check his list twice, you know.”

Rick huffed a laugh. “That so? You got your list somewhere?”

Negan’s finger shot up, signaling Rick to wait as he reached into the pocket of his coat. With dramatic flair, he held out a crumpled piece of paper—clearly just an old shopping list. He pretended to study it with distinguished seriousness, squinting as he read. “Hm,” he mused, tapping his chin. “Looks like... Nope. Says here you’ve been naughty, cowboy.”

Rick snorted, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you love me for it.” Negan shot back, his grin never faltering.

Before Rick could respond, Negan pulled something else from behind his back, always needing to have one extra thing up his sleeve. A fake mistletoe, crooked and clearly scavenged from a long-forgotten dollar store. He dangled it over their heads, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Rick could only stare at him, incredulous. “Really, Negan?”

“Rules are rules, Ricky boy. And here I thought you were the kinda guy who swore by Christmas traditions.” Negan’s voice was all mock solemnity, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed his amusement.

Rick sighed, shaking his head. “You’re outta your mind.”

“And you’re under the mistletoe,” Negan countered smoothly, leaning in just slightly.

Rick reached up, tugging down the cheap, scratchy white beard obscuring Negan’s face. Beneath it, Negan’s smirk softened into something warmer, more genuine. Rick allowed himself a small smile as Negan’s hand slid around his waist, pulling him closer.

The kiss was slow, tender, and tinged with the kind of quiet intimacy they rarely had time for. It was enough to make Rick forget the ridiculousness of the costume, the apocalypse, and everything else outside this moment. Negan tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that caught Rick off guard. There was no bravado here, none of the cocky smirks or sharp-edged teasing that usually came with Negan. This was something softer, more domestic. Rick’s hand found its way to Negan’s chest, brushing over the plush fabric of the Santa suit. For a brief moment, the absurdity of the costume threatened to break through, but the soft hum Negan made as their lips moved together pulled Rick right back into the moment. It wasn’t about the suit, or the apocalypse, or anything else. It was about this. It was about Negan.

But as per usual, their peace was short-lived.

Carl had tucked Judith into bed not long ago, her gift nestled tightly in her arms. But as she laid staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t help the way the guilt gnawed at her. She wasn’t supposed to bring the present to her room. She recalled how Negan told her that gifts belonged under the tree, after all. 

Determined to fix her mistake, she slipped out of bed and padded quietly down the stairs, clutching the box tightly. It was a quick and easy fix, she was about to deposit it back under the tree when she froze, her wide eyes peeking through the banister.

There, in the glow of the Christmas lights, stood her dad—and… Santa Claus? Kissing?!

Judith gasped, a tiny squeak escaping her lips. She couldn’t believe it. She clapped her hands over her mouth, her mind racing. How could Santa do that? She quickly spun on her heel, gift box still held close as she raced back upstairs, her heart pounding.

She burst into Carl’s room, shaking him awake with the urgency of someone delivering breaking news.

“Carl! Carl, wake up!” she called repeatedly, her small hands tugging at his arm.

Carl groaned, burying his face in his pillow. “Judith, wh—”

“It’s important!” she insisted, tugging harder until he sat up, groggy and annoyed.

“What is it?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Dad...” Judith paused, her eyes wide as saucers. “Dad was kissing Santa Claus!” She insisted, her tone deadly serious, filled with urgency and distress.

For a moment, Carl just stared at her blankly, wordlessly processing her words. Then, it hit him. He burst out laughing like a madman, nearly falling out of bed as he clutched his stomach.

—

The next morning, the Grimes household was filled with the smell of pancakes and bacon, mingling with the faint remnants of pine and cinnamon. Rick sat at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee and savoring the rare feeling of peace.

Judith on the other hand? She was anything but peace.

The moment Negan walked into the kitchen back in his usual clothes, Judith threw herself at his leg, clinging onto him like her life depended on it.

“Negan! Negan!” she wailed, her face scrunched up in distress.

Rick lowered his coffee mug, eyebrows furrowing. Carl, seated at the table with a comic book, was already snickering quietly behind the pages.

“What’s wrong, princess?” Negan asked, crouching slightly to meet her eye level.

Judith pouted, her voice trembling with indignation. “I hate Santa!”

Negan blinked, caught off guard. He frowned slightly, thinking he’d done something wrong during his theatrics last night. “Hate Santa? Why’s that?”

“Because!” She exclaimed, stomping her foot. “He was kissing dad! You need to get mad at Santa!”

Rick choked on his coffee, coughing as he tried to hide his embarrassment. Carl, meanwhile, abandoned all pretense of reading his comic, openly laughing as he slapped the table.

Negan recovered quickly, his grin stretching wide as he scooped Judith up with ease. “Well, princess, looks like Santa was just doin’ his job. Far as I know, your dad was caught standin’ under the mistletoe. Can’t break tradition now, can we?”

Judith scrunched up her nose, still unconvinced. “Santa’s not supposed to kiss dads!”

Negan let out a booming laugh, lifting her higher and spinning her once before settling her against his hip. “Maybe not just any dad,” he said with a sly grin, “But your dad? Hell, he’s got somethin’ about him that even Santa can’t resist.”

Rick groaned, ears almost as red as Santa’s suit as he dragged a hand down his face. Carl practically doubled over in laughter, his comic book momentarily forgotten. “Guess Santa’s got a thing for you, dad.” Carl managed to choke out between fits of snickers.

Rick rubbed his temples, but there was a small, reluctant smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. It was chaotic, messy, and downright ridiculous—nothing like the picture-perfect Christmases he’d grown so accustomed to. 

But as he glanced around the room—Judith still pouting in Negan’s arms, Carl laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes, Negan giving him an exaggerated wink from across the table. Rick felt something settle in his chest.

Christmas was nowhere near the same as it had been all those years ago. No, it was louder, rougher around the edges, and entirely unconventional.

It was better with Negan. 

[fourohfourlifenotfound]

I know tumblr loves a good twisted christmas cover, but I feel ike you guys are really sleeping on Straight No Chaser.

You may recognize the acapella group's name from that one post that floats around about the cover of 12 days of christmas that loses count of the days, starts incorporating other christmas songs into a medely, and then devolves into a christmas-themed cover of Toto's Africa

But they have SO MANY MORE nutty christmas songs. And I'm here to spread the the good word about them. So, here's my personal ranking, in order of increased unhingedness:

We Three Kings - This one is (comparatively) subtle, with no real lyric changes. It just has a couple funny genre changes, starting off strong with the Mission Impossible theme and inexplicably shifting to reggae at the end

You're A Mean One Mr. Grinch - Again, not many changes with this one aside from stylization, but they somehow they make it sound, dare I say . . . sexy?! Come on tumblr, I know you guys will love this.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer - This one starts off somewhat normal, just with an old-timey radio style, until it shifts into fun lyric changes, such as:

Rudolph, the renegade artic deer Was born with a nuclear nose And if you ever, ever saw it You would even say it glows (like a lightbulb!)

Who Spiked The Eggnog - An original song that's christmas mystery where the narrator tries to uncover which of the members of Straight No Chaser spiked the christmas party eggnog

Tell me who, who spiked the eggnog? I know the culprit's here Who, who brought the booze? To the Christmas party this year

Text Me Merry Christmas - This original song features Kristin Bell in a duet about long-distance christmas love in the digital age (featuring a music video that looks like the classic claymation christmas movies!)

Show me that you love me Text xo to kiss and hug me I’ll be right here waiting For my pants to start vibrating

The Christmas Can-Can - This is another christmas medley, just like 12 days of christmas, but instead it's a commentary on the consumerism of christmas taking over the fall and winter seasons, in spite of any other holidays

Christmas, Christmas time is here And Christmas songs you love to hear Thoughts of joy and hope and cheer But mostly shopping, shopping, shopping!

Nutcracker - This medley takes all of the classic Nutcracker songs and adds lyrics to tell the story of a man whose wife makes him go see the Nutcracker when he just wants to watch the football game. You will never hear the nutcracker music the same after this.

Here's that song from Tetris And I know it's the part When I fight not to fall asleep

And finally, my personal favorite:

Santa Claus is Back in Town - A cover of Elvis's classic, featuring an interlude of . . . SNC's strange takes on southern comfort food. (Listen to this with multi directional sound if you can, you get to hear him pacing as he says this):

Some pigs' feet-flavored eggnog Ginger bread houses made out of Spam Get a fruitcake and dip it in beef gravy with a side of pork ribs Baby, have you ever had a candy cane made out of mayonnaise?

Of course, all of Straight No Chaser's christmas songs are fantasic, and they've got a lot of fantastic non-christmas stuff as well. I really recommend you guys check them out, because these are one of my favorite holiday traditions I have for myself

[icarianrobyn]

the Grinch is coming to town but hes not gonna be green....HE'S GONNA BE GINGER 😇😇😼😼

why is he ginger :(