#happy december tenth

[alghulnyssa]

COMMUNITY 1.12 Comparative Religion

[dearemma]

Happy December Tenth!!

[pretty-little-mind33]

Pietro Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: ask: Maybe Pietro and reader are the only ones in the avengers facility (the other were with their families, on vacation, etc), and he's really excited to spend Christmas with her because he has a crush on her but never really told her (or even done something about it because when he's around her he doesn't know what to do), and he's really excited because it's gonna be just the two of them there and he wants it to be special and surprise her.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: AU where Pietro isn't dead, this is only a few months after Avengers: Age Of Ultron but in my head Pietro, Wanda, and reader are early 20s!

~ i hope you like this @thewinterv 🤍~

Normally, around the 20th of December, the Avengers Tower would be buzzing with the sounds of voices, the hum of machinery, and Tony's unrelenting playlist of 80s Christmas hits. But this year, it was dead silent.

Most of the team had scattered for the holidays; each of them returning home to their families. Tony was spending Christmas away with Pepper at some romantic destination no one knew about, Thor had returned home to Asgard, and Cap was spending his holidays with his friend, Bucky. Natasha, like almost every year, was spending Christmas at Clint's family house and this year Clint had opened the invitation—

Because Pietro disliked spending holidays away from his sister, and Wanda had told him her and Vision were spending he holidays with Clint, he'd been considering the offer.

However, when you'd told him in passing that you'd politely declined the invitation, Pietro's heart sank. You didn't want to impose, was your excuse, and it didn't sit well with him.

He didn't want you alone on Christmas.    

So, he found himself lingering in the common area of the tower, his foot tapping anxiously against the wooden floor. He felt the anticipation bubbling up inside him as he shakes his hands, a mixture of excitement and nervous energy bouncing inside him. He glanced at the clock hanging over the door for the tenth time in the past twenty minutes.

You were here, probably in your room. The thought alone made his heart speed up. The two of you were the only ones left now and all that was left was his excitement. For months now, Pietro had been harboring these feelings for you—feelings he never quite knew how to express. Around you, his usually confident self, became a jumble of awkward smiles and half-finished sentences.

But this Christmas, he was determined for that to change.

You wander into the kitchen, yawning. It's Christmas morning and Pietro is standing by the stove, stirring a pot with uncharacteristic focus. His usual blur of motion is replaced by small, deliberate movements, and you can't help but smile.

"Merry Christmas," you say, leaning your hip against the counter. 

Pietro's head shoots up, his icy blue eyes widen in surprise as he spins around. "Y/n," he exclaims, his Sokovian accent more evident in the early morning. "Happy Christmas," he smiles and continues to stir, "Ah, I made horká čokoláda, ah what is the word… hot chocolate? It's… traditional, yes?"

You smile, pushing some hair away from your tired eyes. "Very traditional, Piet," you say, leaning over some more and smelling the air. It smells sweet. "Smells yummy. Can I get some, or is this all for you?" you ask with no hint of annoyance in case he had made it for himself.

His cheeks turn pink, quickly ladling the hot chocolate into two mugs. "Of course, for you too. I made it special."

"Special?" you echo, taking the offered mug. You taste the hot chocolate and it tastes quite normal, but still delicious. 

"Yes," Pietro whispers, finding his words again. He feels nervous again but he swallows down the nerves. "For you. I made it special for you." 

Your smile widens and you take another sip, hot chocolate coating your upper lip. Pietro leans in and wipes it with his thumb. He's pauses, hesitating, but when you don't pull away he relaxes. "Thank you," you say honestly, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in your stomach. Pietro just grins, feeling his nerves disappear. 

Later that day, Pietro leads you to the training hangar, though he continuously refuses to explain why. Once you arrive, however, your jaw drops. The massive space has been transformed. Twinkling string lights crisscross the rafters, and a makeshift skating rink gleams at the center, its surface a mirror of ice. Soft holiday music plays from a speaker in the corner.

"Pietro," you breath, turning to him. "Did you do all this?'

He looks a little sheepishly. "Friday helped and I had some time. Plus, speed also helps," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you like it?"

"Like it? Piet, it’s amazing," you exclaim, stepping onto the edge of the rink, feeling the ice. It's cool and smooth beneath your fingers. "But I don't have any skates."

"Pshh, already handled." Pietro speeds away and returns in a blur of blue lightening that dances around you. he steadies himself and holds two pairs of skates in his arms. He holds one out for you in your size. "For you, Princezna (Princess)."

You laugh lowly, seeing how his hair sticks up a little. "Do you ever slow down?"

Pietro thinks for a moment, rubbing his nape. "Only for you," he says softly, the words escaping before he could really stop them. Your cheeks warm, but you don't look away. Instead, you smile and walk to a bench in the corner, lacing up your skates. Pietro does the same, basking in the comfortable silence.

One on the ice, you struggle while he moves with surprising grace. He skates circles around you, teasingly close but careful not to knock you off balance.

"Show-off," you say, flapping your arms desperately. Pietro skates up to you and holds out his arms, not touching you but keeping an eye on you in case you fall.

"I have to impress you somehow," he quips, but his tone sounds lighter than usual, less guarded, and you like the change. He's acting like how he does with everyone else, not as stiff as he is when he's around you usually, and you like it.

The two of you continue to skate for what feels like hours, laughing and sharing stories. At one point, you almost slip, and Pietro reaches out and catches you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"Are you ok?" He asks, his breath warm on your cheek. You nod and for a moment, you both don't move.

"You're really good at this," you whisper, trying to steady your heartbeat as your nose almost touches his. You pull away a little.

"I had a good reason to learn," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wanda and I used to skate a lot at home, with Mama and Papa."

"Must have been nice."

"It was," he reminisces, smiling at you and then he pulls away.

After you're both finished and your feet start to hurt, the two of you return to the lounge, where the electric fireplace is crackling softly. Pietro had prepared another surprise: a small, slightly lopsided Christmas tree, decorated with whatever he could find around the facility. Paperclips served as makeshift hooks, holding up ornaments fashioned from lab equipment and some minimal leftover holiday decorations Tony had lying around.

"Oh," you say, wrapping your arms around yourself as you smile. "You really went all out, hm?" you tease, sitting beside him on the couch.

"I didn't want you to spend Christmas alone," he says simply, as if it's nothing. When you look at him, he hesitates, then adds, "You deserve it all."

"Pietro," you whisper, placing your hand on his arm. You don't even know what to say.

He takes a deep breath, his usual bravado faltering as it always does when you're around but he swallow it down. “I like you. A lot," he admits, the words stuck in his throat as he confesses;

"But when I'm around you, I never know how to act. I'm nervous. Very nervous. Which is ridiculous, because I'm never nerves around girls. But with you, I want to be careful. Because you're important to me. I want to impress you. I want you to like me."

You stare at him, your heart pounding. "Pietro, I like you too. I've always liked you, I've just been waiting for you to say something."

"You have?"

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, you aren't the only one who is nervous, you know? You're quite intimidating."

Pietro laughs, taking your hand in his. "Me? Nesmysl (Nonsense)," he chuckles and strokes his thumb over yours. He smiles, his blue eyes locked onto yours. He leans in, his lips suddenly brushing against yours as he closes his eyes.

The kiss is hesitant at first, then it becomes more certain when you kiss him back, your hand finding themselves in his hair. The world seems to stand still, a rare moment of stillness that Pietro actually enjoys.

For once, he wishes he could stop time forever.

When you finally pulls away, Pietro is grinning like a love-sick school boy, his cheeks flushed pink. "Best Christmas ever?" he asks, his tone teasing but very honestly hopeful.

You return his grin and squeeze his hand, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Best Christmas ever."

[najia-cooks]

[ID: First image shows four small porcelain bowls of a pudding topped with slivered almonds and pomegranates seeds, seen from above. Second image is an extreme close-up showing the blue floral pattern on the china, slivered almonds, golden raisins, and pomegranate seeds on top of part of the pudding. End ID]

անուշապուր / Anush apur (Armenian wheat dessert)

Anush apur is a sweet boiled wheat pudding, enriched with nuts and dried fruits, that is eaten by Armenians to celebrate special occasions. One legend associates the dish with Noah's Ark: standing on Mt. Ararat (Արարատ լեռը) and seeing the rainbow of God's covenant with humanity, Noah wished to celebrate, and called for a stew to be prepared; because the Ark's stores were diminishing, the stew had to be made with small amounts of many different ingredients.

The consumption of boiled grains is of ancient origin throughout the Levant and elsewhere in West Asia, and so variations of this dish are widespread. The Armenian term is from "անուշ" ("anush") "sweet" + "ապուր" ("apur") "soup," but closely related dishes (or, arguably, versions of the same dish) have many different, overlapping names.

In Arabic, an enriched wheat pudding may be known as "سْنَينِيّة" ("snaynīyya"), presumably from "سِنّ" "sinn" "tooth" and related to the tradition of serving it on the occasion of an infant's teething; "قَمْح مَسْلُوق‎" ("qamḥ masluq"), "boiled wheat"; or "سَلِيقَة" ("salīqa") or "سَلِيقَة القَمْح" ("salīqa al-qamḥ"), "stew" or "wheat stew," from "سَلَقَ‎" "salaqa" "to boil." Though these dishes are often related to celebrations and happy occasions, in some places they retain an ancient association with death and funerary rites: qamh masluq is often served at funerals in the Christian town of بَيْت جَالَا ("bayt jālā," Beit Jala, near Bethlehem).

A Lebanese iteration, often made with milk rather than water, is known as "قَمْحِيَّة" ("qamḥīyya," from "qamḥ" "wheat" + "ـِيَّة" "iyya," noun suffix).

A similar dish is known as "بُرْبَارَة" ("burbāra") by Palestinian and Jordanian Christians when eaten to celebrate the feast of Saint Barbara, which falls on the 4th of December (compare Greek "βαρβάρα" "varvára"). It may be garnished with sugar-coated chickpeas and small, brightly colored fennel candies in addition to the expected dried fruits and nuts.

In Turkish it is "aşure," from the Arabic "عَاشُوْرَاء" ("'āshūrā"), itself from "عَاشِر" ("'āshir") "tenth"—because it is often served on the tenth day of the month of ٱلْمُحَرَّم ("muḥarram"), to commemorate Gabriel's teaching Adam and Eve how to farm wheat; Noah's disembarkment from the Ark; Moses' parting of the Red Sea; and the killing of the prophet الْحُسَيْن بْنِ عَلِي (Husayn ibn 'Ali), all of which took place on this day in the Islamic calendar. Here it also includes various types of beans and chickpeas. There is also "diş buğdayı," "tooth wheat" (compare "snayniyya").

These dishes, as well as slight variations in add-ins, have varying consistencies. At one extreme, koliva (Greek: "κόλλυβα"; Serbian: "Кољиво"; Bulgarian: "Кутя"; Romanian: "colivă"; Georgian: "კოლიო") is made from wheat that has been boiled and then strained to remove the boiling water; at the other, Armenian anush apur is usually made thin, and cools to a jelly-like consistency.

Anush apur is eaten to celebrate occasions including New Year's Eve, Easter, and Christmas. In Palestine, Christmas is celebrated by members of the Armenian Apostolic church from the evening of December 24th to the day of December 25th by the old Julian calendar (January 6th–7th, according to the new Gregorian calendar); Armenian Catholics celebrate on December 24th and 25th by the Gregorian calendar. Families will make large batches of anush apur and exchange bowls with their neighbors and friends.

The history of Armenians in Palestine is deeply interwoven with the history of Palestinian Christianity. Armenian Christian pilgrimages to holy sites in Palestine date back to the 4th century A.D., and permanent Armenian monastic communities have existed in Jerusalem since the 6th century. This enduring presence, bolstered by subsequent waves of immigration which have increased and changed the character of the Armenian population in Palestine in the intervening centuries, has produced a rich history of mutual influence between Armenian and Palestinian food cultures.

In the centuries following the establishment of the monasteries, communities of Armenian laypeople arose and grew, centered around Jerusalem's Վանք Հայոց Սրբոց Յակոբեանց ("vank hayots surbots yakobeants"; Monastery of St. James) (Arabic: دَيْر مَار يَعْقُوب "dayr mār ya'qūb"). Some of these laypeople were descended from the earlier pilgrims. By the end of the 11th century, what is now called the Armenian Quarter—an area covering about a sixth of the Old City of Jerusalem, to the southwest—had largely attained its present boundaries.

Throughout the 16th and 17th centuries, the Patriarchate in Jerusalem came to have direct administrative authority over Armenian Christians across Palestine, Lebanon, Egypt, and Cyprus, and was an important figure in Christian leadership and management of holy sites in Jerusalem (alongside the Greek Orthodox and Roman Catholic churches). By the middle of the 19th century, a small population of Armenian Catholics had joined the larger Armenian Apostolic community as permanent residents in Jerusalem, living throughout the Muslim Quarter (but mostly in a concentrated enclave in the southwest); in the beginning of the 20th century, there were between 2,000 and 3,000 Armenians of both churches in Palestine, a plurality of whom (1,200) lived in Jerusalem.

The Turkish genocide of Armenians beginning in 1915 caused significant increases in the populations of Armenian enclaves in Palestine. The Armenian population in Jerusalem grew from 1,500 to 5,000 between the years of 1918 and 1922; over the next 3 years, the total number of Armenians in Palestine (according to Patriarchate data) would grow to 15,000. More than 800 children were taken into Armenian orphanages in Jerusalem; students from the destroyed Չարխափան Սուրբ Աստվածածին վանք (Charkhapan Surb Astvatsatsin Monastery) and theological seminary in Armash, Armenia were brought to the Jerusalem Seminary. The population of Armenian Catholics in the Muslim Quarter also increased during the first half of the 20th century as immigrants from Cilicia and elsewhere arrived.

The immediate importance of feeding and housing the refugees despite a new lack of donations from Armenian pilgrims, who had stopped coming during WW1—as well as the fact that the established Armenian-Palestinians were now outnumbered by recent immigrants who largely did not share their reformist views—disrupted efforts on the part of lay communities and some priests to give Armenian laypeople a say in church governance.

The British Mandate, under which Britain assumed political and military control of Palestine from 1923–1948, would further decrease the Armenian lay community's voice in Jerusalem (removing, for example, their say in elections of new church Patriarchs). The British knew that the indigenous population would be easier to control if they were politically and socially divided into their separate religious groups and subjected to the authority of their various religious hierarchies, rather than having direct political representation in government; they also took advantage of the fact that the ecclesiastical orders of several Palestinian Christian sects (including the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem) comprised people from outside of Palestine, who identified with religious hierarchy and the British authorities more than they identified with the Palestinian lay communities.

British policy, as well as alienating Armenians from politics affecting their communities, isolated them from Arab Palestinians. Though the previously extant Armenian community (called "քաղաքացի" "kaghakatsi," "city-dwellers") were thoroughly integrated with the Arab Palestinians in the 1920s, speaking Arabic and Arabic-accented Armenian and eating Palestinian foods, the newer arrivals (called "زُوَّار" / "զուվվար" "zuwwar," "visitors") were unfamiliar with Palestinian cuisine and customs, and spoke only Armenian and/or Turkish. Thus British policies, which differentiated people based on status as "Arab" (Muslim and Christian) versus "Jewish," left new Armenian immigrants, who did not identify as Arab, disconnected from the issues that concerned most Palestinians. They were predominantly interested in preserving Armenian culture, and more concerned with the politics of the Armenian diaspora than with local ones.

Despite these challenges, the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem came to be a vital center of religious and secular culture for the Armenian diaspora during the British Mandate years. In 1929, Patriarch Yeghishe Turian reëstablished the Սուրբ Յակոբեանց Տպարան ("surbots yakobeants taparan"; St. James printing house); the Patriarchate housed important archives relating to the history of the Armenian people; pilgrimages of Armenians from Syria, Lebanon, and Egypt increased and the economy improved, attracting Armenian immigrants in higher numbers; Armenians held secular roles in governance, policing, and business, and founded social, religious, and educational organizations and institutions; Armenians in the Old and New Cities of Jerusalem were able to send financial aid to Armenian victims of a 1933 earthquake in Beirut, and to Armenians expelled in 1939 when Turkey annexed Alexandretta.

The situation would decline rapidly after the 1947 UN partition resolution gave Zionists tacit permission to expel Palestinians from broad swathes of Palestine. Jerusalem, intended by the plan to be a "corpus separatum" under international administration, was in fact subjected to a months-long war that ended with its being divided into western (Israeli) and eastern (Palestinian) sections. The Armenian population of Palestine began to decline; already, 1947 saw 1,500 Armenians resettled in Soviet Armenia. The Armenian populations in Yafa and Haifa would fall yet more significantly.

Still, the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem maintained its role as the center of Armenian life in Palestine; the compound provided food and shelter to thousands of Armenians during the Battle for Jerusalem and the Nakba (which began in 1948). Some Armenians formed a militia to defend the Armenian Quarter against Haganah shelling during the battle.

In the following years, historical British contributions to the shoring up of insular power in the Patriarchate would cause new problems. The Armenian secular community, no longer empowered to oversee the internal workings of the Patriarchate, could do nothing to prevent embezzling, corruption, and even the sale of church-owned land and buildings to settlers.

In 1967, Israeli military forces annexed East Jerusalem, causing another, albeit smaller, surge in Armenian emigration from the city. Daphne Tsimhoni estimates based on various censuses that the Armenian population of Jerusalem, which had reached 5,000-7,000 at its peak in 1945–6, had fallen back to 1,200 by 1978.

Today, as in the 20th century, Armenians in Jerusalem (who made up nearly 90% of the Armenian population of Palestine as of 1972) are known for the insularity of their community, and for their skill at various crafts. Armenian food culture has been kept alive and well-defined by successive waves of immigrants. As of 2017, the Armenian Patriarchate supplied about 120 people a day with Armenian dishes, including Ղափամա / غاباما "ghapama" (pumpkin stuffed with rice and dried fruits), թոփիկ / توبيك "topig" (chickpea-and-potato dough stuffed with an onion, nut, fruit, and herb filling, often eaten during Lent), and Իչ / ايتش "eetch" (bulgur salad with tomatoes and herbs).

Restaurants lining the streets of the Armenian and Christian quarters serve a mixture of Armenian and Palestinian food. Լահմաջո "lahmadjoun" (meat-topped flatbread), and հարիսա / هريس "harisa" (stew with wheat and lamb) are served alongside ֆալաֆել / فلافل ("falafel") and մուսախան / مسخن ("musakhkhan"). One such restaurant, Taboon Wine Bar, was the site of a settler attack on Armenian diners in January 2023.

Up until 2023, despite fluctuations in population, the Armenian community in Jerusalem had been relatively stable when compared to other Armenian communities and to other quarters of the Old City; the Armenian Quarter had not been subjected to the development projects to which other quarters had been subjected. However, a deal which the Armenian Patriarchate had secretly and unilaterally made with Israel real estate developer Danny Rotham in 2021 to lease land and buildings (including family homes) in the Quarter led Jordan and Palestine to suspend their recognition of the Patriarch in May of 2023.

On 26th October, the Patriarchate announced that it was cancelling the leasing deal. Later the same day, Israeli bulldozers tore up pavement and part of a wall in حديقة البقر ("ḥadīqa al-baqar"; Cows' Garden; Armenian: "Կովերի այգու"), the planned site of a new luxury hotel. On 5th November, Rothman and other representatives of Xana Gardens arrived with 15 settlers—some of them with guns and attack dogs—and told local Armenians to leave. About 200 Armenian Palestinians arrived and forced the settlers to stand down.

On 12th and 13th November, the developer again arrived with bulldozers and attempted to continue demolition. In response, Armenian Palestinians have executed constant sit-ins, faced off against bulldozers, and set up barricades to prevent further destruction. The Israeli occupation police backed settlers on another incursion on 15th November, ordering Armenian residents to vacate the land and arresting three.

On December 28th, a group of Armenian bishops, priests, deacons, and seminary students (including Bishop Koryoun Baghdasaryan, the director of the Patriarchate's real estate department) were attacked by a group of more than 30 people armed with sticks and tear gas. The Patriarchate attributed this attack to Israeli real estate interests trying to intimidate the Patriarchate into abandoning their attempt to reverse the lease through the court system. Meanwhile, anti-Armenian hate crimes (including spitting on priests) had noticeably increased for the year of 2023.

These events in Palestine come immediately after the ethnic cleansing of Լեռնային Ղարաբաղ ("Lernayin Gharabagh"; Nagorno-Karabakh); Israel supplied exploding drones, long-range missiles, and rocket launchers to help Azerbaijan force nearly 120,000 Armenians out of the historically Armenian territory in September of 2023 (Azerbaijan receives about 70% of its weapons from Israel, and supplies about 40% of Israel's oil).

Support Palestinian resistance by donating to Palestine Action’s bail fund; buying an e-sim for distribution in Gaza; or donating to help a family leave Gaza.

Ingredients

180g (1 cup) pearled wheat (قمح مقشور / խոշոր ձաւար), soaked overnight

3 cups water

180-360g (a scant cup - 1 3/4 cup) sugar, or to taste

Honey or agave nectar (optional)

1 cup total diced dried apricots, prunes, golden raisins, dried figs

1 cup total chopped walnuts, almonds, pistachios

1 tsp rosewater (optional)

Ceylon cinnamon (դարչին) or cassia cinnamon (կասիա)

Aniseed (անիսոն) (optional)

Large pinch of salt

Pomegranate seeds, to top (optional)

A Palestinian version of this dish may add pine nuts and ground fennel.

Pearled wheat is whole wheat berry that has gone through a "pearling" process to remove the bran. It can be found sold as "pearled wheat" or "haleem wheat" in a halal grocery store, or a store specializing in South Asian produce.

Amounts of sugar called for in Armenian recipes range from none (honey is stirred into the dish after cooking) to twice the amount of wheat by weight. If you want to add less sugar than is called for here, cook down to a thicker consistency than called for (as the sugar will not be able to thicken the pudding as much).

Instructions

1. Submerge wheat in water and scrub between your hands to clean and remove excess starch. Drain and cover by a couple inches with hot water. Cover and leave overnight.

2. Drain wheat and add to a large pot. Add water to cover and simmer for about 30 minutes until softened, stirring and adding more hot water as necessary.

Wheat before cooking

Wheat after cooking

3. Add dried fruit, sugar, salt, and spices and simmer for another 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until wheat is very tender. Add water as necessary; the pudding should be relatively thin, but still able to coat the back of a spoon.

4. Remove from heat and stir in rosewater and honey. Ladle pudding into individual serving bowls and let cool in the refrigerator. Serve cold decorated with nuts and pomegranate seeds.

[thenumberonerascal]

Can’t believe I got put against this fricking GRANDPA! And he’s so BORING, too! Hes kinda scary I could totally beat him! Totally!

vote for me if you want me to be able to have alcohol if i want (i should be allowed) (i would be very cool about it) and vote for barman if you hate children and also fun and being cool and if you kick puppies. no pressure!

(( mod comment : The Barman belongs to @trypo-p ! I am so very happy to be put against such an interesting character, in both concept and design!! I love when tf2 tenth class oc’s have fleshed out game mechanics- it really makes them feel so much more human! I want to know more about him SO BAD 😭 ))

this art is done for the tf2 oc contest run by (get this) @tf2occontest ! I hope anyone who can will spare a moment to look it over and vote for their favorite OCs, starting on december 29th :)

[cranberrymoons]

have a happy holiday

prompt: modern au (@steddieholidaydrabbles) word count: 577 rated: t

welcome to Day 16 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

The airport’s a complete mess.

He knew it would be. It’s three days before Christmas; obviously it’s going to be a mess, but still, he’d hoped that if they beat traffic getting here, then they’d have time to actually get to their gate without running and then he wouldn’t be so wound up and stressed out before even stepping on the plane and –

Anyway.

“It’s going to be fine,” Eddie says easily, smoothing a hand over Steve’s back as they shuffle forward six inches in the security line before coming to a stop. Again. For the tenth time. “We have plenty of time.”

“I know,” Steve says, even though he doesn’t know, because they don’t. He glances down at his phone to watch the minutes turn over. “It’s just – my dad…”

“Is an asshole,” Eddie says. He smiles. “You’ve mentioned. A dozen times.”

Steve looks at him out of the corner of his eye, then shoves his phone back in his pocket. He sighs. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Just – if we miss our flight, it’s going to become my fault somehow, and I just really don’t want to deal with that at Christmas? I just want – us.” Eddie wraps a hand around his wrist and tugs him closer, and Steve lets out a sigh, shoulders coming away from his ears. “I just want it to be us.”

“You know, we don’t have to go,” Eddie says as the line shuffles forward again. “Really, if you want, we can just… head home. Do Christmas ourselves.”

Steve studies his face for a moment, a buzz starting up in his chest. Then he shakes his head, shutting the feeling down before it can get too loud.

“We have tickets. We can’t just –” He lets out a sigh, tugging on the strap of his bag. “We paid for them.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He widens his eyes. “We already paid for them. That doesn’t mean we have to actually use them.” He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not like they can double charge us for not getting on the plane. We didn’t even check any bags.”

Steve feels a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. “But my dad –”

“Is an asshole,” Eddie says again. “So who cares what he thinks? We’ll just say we caught COVID or something.” He makes an exaggeratedly sad face. “So sorry to cancel on such short notice, but what can you do? It’s responsible for us to stay home, really.”

Steve laughs, pulling his bag higher up on his shoulder. “What would we do instead?”

“It’s Christmas in New York. We can do whatever we want,” Eddie says. “Coffee in pajamas, walk in the park. I’ll buy you one of those big ridiculous hot chocolate milkshakes. Whatever you want.”

“Better than the alternative,” Steve says. He narrows his eyes. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Serious about the fact that I’d rather spend Christmas fucking my boyfriend on the couch than at a dinner party with the Republican Senator from Indiana? Obviously.”

Steve’s heart does a somersault, and his smile widens. He takes a breath and glances at the line divider to their right, blocking them off from the rest of the airport. They could duck out of line right now and just –

“Okay,” Steve says before he can second-guess himself.

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Okay?”

Steve nods, letting out a giddy little laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

[also on ao3]

[dykexpress]

greasedinah ficlet advent calendar 2024! 🎄❄️ 💕

first of december: rules are rules

second of december: racing tendencies

third of december: my angel

fourth of december: home for christmas

fifth of december: under the lights

sixth of december: take it slow

seventh of december: first snow

eighth of december: the naughty list

ninth of december: you've got no lovers, if you've got no wheels

tenth of december: baby it’s cold outside

eleventh of december: there’s always next year

twelfth of december: deck the halls

thirteenth of december: the perfect gift

fourteenth of december: kiss it better

fifteen of december: adult supervision required

sixteenth of december: lonely this christmas

seventeenth of december: all wrapped up

eighteenth of december: last minute panic

nineteenth of december: it’s tradition!

twentieth of december: signed, sealed, delivered

twenty-first of december: warm hands, warm heart

twenty-second of december: for the kids

twenty-third of december: memory lane

twenty-fourth of december: christmas bingo

more to come!

okay guys i know i was just complaining about not enough lesbian greasedinah fics so im doing my part with a ficlet advent calendar up until christmas!

i am gonna be loosely following a prompt list i found on tumblr HOWEVER if anyone has any christmassy/wintery prompt ideas or any other little requests i’m more than happy to write those instead, so chuck those on this post, in the comments or in my ask box too!

[koji-haru]

In Heaven or Hell

[Happy holidays @twost3ps!! Super duper late present, and I'm pretty sure it's not what you asked for, AND I might have butchered your characters, but I hope you'll still enjoy it 🥲]

Bright sparkling lights of green and red, a gigantic tree adorned with red and gold baubles topped with a golden apple, a wreath with mistletoes and pine cones hanging by the hotel main entrance, they even had fake snow decorating parts of the lobby with some oddly designed snowmen here and there. Yup, it was December 25th, or Christmas for those of earthly origins. 

While the rest of Hell’s ring celebrated ‘Sinsmas’, the hellish counterpart to Christmas, where they indulged in the sin of the ring they were born into, the citizens of pride, sinners, celebrated Christmas. Or at least some did. A teeny tiny portion of the sinner population. It made sense, Adam supposed, for sinners not to celebrate such a holy event, they were, after all, in Hell which was exactly the opposite of holy. The streets of Pride remained mostly the same, blood stained with guts of all kinds thrown all about like garbage, maybe a christmas decoration every tenth street, though most of them ended up being desecrated anyway. Needless to say, Charlie’s hotel stuck out like a sore thumb in Pride with its happy-go-lucky, exaggerated Christmas decorations, of which covered not only the entire building, but also the small area around it. 

Something about embracing and learning about heavenly traditions, and assimilating into Heaven once they do get redeemed, and now Adam and the rest of the hotel’s residents were decorating their own baubles to hang onto the, quite frankly, overly large and tall Christmas tree in the hotel lobby. 

Almost as if a certain prideful shorty was overcompensating for something. Adam subtly eyed Lucifer, who was happily making duck shaped baubles, each resembling someone in the hotel. And while Adam didn’t need to take part in this activity, having been in Heaven for most of his afterlife, he did want to celebrate Christmas, no matter how synthetic this one felt. Though, if anything, it just made him wish they were also here to celebrate with him. He understood if they couldn’t make it though, Christmas was a big thing in Heaven, something one shouldn’t ever miss. 

“Hey duckie, you okay?” asked Lucifer as he walked over towards Adam, an Adam looking duck bauble in hand. 

If there was a present that Adam was very much grateful for this year, it was the fact that he and Lucifer had reconciled and even rekindled the affections they once had for each other back in Eden. And an even greater gift was the fact that, despite the months of turmoil and distrust, Adam had also managed to reconnect Lucifer with his brothers and the archangels. The fact that they all relatively got along now was a miracle in itself, but even more baffling was how, in the end, they all agreed to having to share Adam with Lucifer. Adam supposed they all really loved him, huh? But perhaps not enough to skip Christmas in Heaven to celebrate with him instead. 

Adam’s shoulders sagged, a gloomy sigh leaving his lips, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just…a little tired.”

Yes, Charlie had requested for the residents to limit the lying, but Adam wasn’t lying, not fully anyway. It was true, he now understood precisely why he had been revived as a sinner and he had been dutifully bettering himself, well as much as one could improve perfection anyway, but he was getting sick of it; tired of all the red and all the chaos and all the filth and sin that Pride was drowning under. Really, he missed Heaven. Or at least the daily life he lived there with the people who cared for him. Yes, they all visited him frequently, but it wasn’t the same. The time they spent together was now somewhat limited.

“Here,” Lucifer handed Adam the duck bauble, the yellow glass shining so prettily in his clawed hands. “I wish they were here too.”

Of course Lucifer would see through his, admittedly half-assed, lie what with being the ‘King of Lies’. Regardless, Adam accepted the duck bauble, its cutesy, albeit intricate, design and appearance lightening up the heavy gloom that was forming in his chest. At the very least, he had Lucifer with him this Christmas. He would see the others soon anyway, there was no need for him to sour everyone’s mood. 

“Hey, look at me, I’m being considerate and not being whiny,” Adam chuckled to himself. Maybe Charlie was starting to rub off on him a little. 

“Okay!” With the bauble duckie in one hand, slapping his knee with the other, Adam pushed himself up brighter than ever. Today was Christmas, and he was going to enjoy the day no matter how shitty Hell was! “Let’s decorate this fucking tree so we can finally get to the presents!”

And just like that, as if summoned by Adam’s voice, the door’s to the hotel slammed open with a black boot connected to bright red pants sticking out of it. 

“Did someone say presents?!”

Emerging from the door, wearing a complete Santa costume including the fake white beard and the large sack of presumably gifts, was undoubtedly, one hundred percent Gabriel. There he stood loud and proud, almost shining in his Santa costume, the hinges of the door barely hanging on the sides. 

For a brief moment there, the hotel was in pure silence, too shocked to react to what had just happened and far too confused about their guest’s sudden appearance. 

“Gabriel?!” exclaimed both Adam and Lucifer once they finally got their bearings. 

“W-what are you doing here?” asked Adam as he made his way towards the angel, the happiness of Gabriel’s visit evident in the inflection of his voice, in the small smile that crept on his lips. 

“It’s not just him, you know.”

And from behind Gabriel emerged Michael, followed by Raphael and then by Uriel. However, as soon as Adam finally got a good look at all of them, a snort escaped from him followed by full on uncontrollable laughter. In front of him was Michael, Raphael and Uriel dressed in a brown furry onesie, a golden bell around their necks and antler headbands with fluffy ears on their heads. 

Lucifer followed behind Adam, curious what all the laughter was about. Sure, Gabriel looked a little silly in his Santa costume, but it couldn’t be that funny, right? Well, for once he could admit he was wrong. The sight in front of him wasn’t just funny, it was absolutely hilarious! And just like Adam, Lucifer bursted out laughing at the ridiculousness in front of him.

“Oh, what’s Santa and his reindeers doing here?” asked Lucifer in between laughter with tears in his eyes. 

If looks could kill, Lucifer was sure both him and Gabriel would’ve turned to ashes by now from Uriel’s silent but heated glare. Though thankfully, Uriel’s bubbling fury seemed to have been calmed down by Raphael’s swift thinking and action; where with a snap of his fingers, Lucifer suddenly found himself wearing the very same costume as the archangels, furry onesie and all. 

“Wha–”

“There, now the set is complete,” announced Raphael as he crouched under the door frame to enter the hotel and gave Adam, who was still in chuckles, a gentle pat on the head. “Hey little one, didn’t think we’d miss Christmas with you, did you?”

“I wouldn’t have forgiven any of you if you did!” Adam huffed in mock anger, a happy grin plastered on his face. “But, uh, what about the celebrations in Heaven?”

“It gets stale after a while,” answered Uriel, who soon followed after Raphael. “At least Hell might provide some new perspectives. You being here is just an added bonus.”

Gabriel pulled Adam closer, one hand cupping towards Adam’s ears as he whispered without much subtlety, “He was totally all mopey before we decided to come here, you know.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” intervened Michael as he placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, trying to gently pull him away from Adam. 

As he was being pulled away, however, Gabriel whisper-shouted at Adam, “Oh! And Mike was totally crying cuz he thought he would miss Christmas with you. It was just hard to tell because, well, he’s got no eyes– Ow!”

The gentle grip on Gabriel’s shoulder suddenly turned a little more firm, more stern as Michael decidedly dragged him further into the lobby, with the others following suit with amusement on their faces. As he was being dragged into the lobby, Gabriel waved by the hotel’s residents, who remained quietly flabbergasted by the Christmas tree. Suddenly, his sights zoned in on a particular sinner. Someone who was very much a Christmas red all over, with furry ears seemingly attached to his odd hairdo and small dark antlers atop his head. The sharp yellowed smile seemed rather sinister, but this was Hell so that was probably in theme. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you guys already had a reindeer,” Gabriel said loud enough for said ‘reindeer’ to hear and react with a tight smile at the perceived affront directed at him. “Maybe you guys should change into my helper elves instead?”

“Nope! No more costume changes!” Uriel immediately cut in, unwilling to indulge any more of Gabriel’s silly ideas. 

“More costume changes?” queried Adam, his curiosity piqued by the implication of Uriel’s words. 

“We had to try out a couple, just to see which one was the best,” answered Michael, who now had one hand over Gabriel’s mouth in an attempt to stop the blabbermouth from saying anything possibly more offensive. Though, seeing such happy curiosity shine in the golds of Adam’s eyes, he couldn’t help but humour and indulge his love. With a whisper that was actually quite discreet, unlike Gabriel’s, Michael told Adam, “I can share the pictures with you later, if you’d like.”

However, observant as ever, Uriel didn’t miss the ‘shady’ exchange between Michael and Adam, though he kept his thoughts to himself this time. Involvement with the three brothers and Adam had only ever led him down into an unpredictable rabbit hole of discomfort and headaches, with the occasionally, admittedly, pleasant fluttering warmth in his chest. He would never admit to that of course, at least not so openly. It was also thanks to that pleasant feeling that he was even willing to be dragged into Hell wearing a reindeer costume, as well looking the other way from Adam and Michael’s exchange. Something he was sure he would regret in the foreseeable future. For now, however, he was just going to enjoy Christmas with Adam.

—-

Needless to say, the addition of four more unexpected guests turned the somewhat homely and peaceful Christmas celebration at the hotel into a much more rowdy and chaotic one. Gabriel’s loudly obnoxious and excitable nature alone was enough to considerably liven up the place, but then he, of course, had to also taunt Lucifer into joining him in his shenanigans. From which colours and decorations looked better on the Christmas tree, to which foods were best accompanied by certain drinks, though both Alastor and Uriel had them beaten in that debate. 

Currently, everyone was participating in, or more precisely dragged into, a singing competition. What started as a simple, cute idea suggested by Charlie to bring everyone together by singing a song together, had become a serious competition amongst everyone. Well, everyone that hadn’t passed out drunk yet like Husk, who was draped over the couch. They even had a mini stage complete with dry ice and colourful spotlights for everyone to perform on. From soft soothing ballads that wrung the tears out of everyone’s hearts, to raw energetic beats that rekindled that rebellious spirit that everyone once had, everyone, from sinners to archangels, sang their hearts out, though it probably wasn’t in the spirit of Christmas. 

Their merry-making lasted way past midnight, leaving most of them exhausted but content with the day’s celebrations. After some gift exchanges, and a quick clean up of the place, everyone eventually returned to their respective rooms, with the archangels being given rooms to stay the night by Charlie. 

“Why are you guys here?” asked Lucifer the group of angels, or reindeers plus Santa, huddled all around Adam on the bed, in the room he shared with the first man. 

“Uh, to spend some quality time with our boyfriend? What else?” Gabriel responded, one hand digging into the bag of crisps on his lap. 

“Besides, you have plenty of space,” shrugged Raphael as he idly switched between movies, unsure of which movie to start. 

“Oh, I heard that movie is good,” Uriel pointed out, completely ignoring Lucifer’s bewildered presence at the door. 

“You all have your own rooms, and it’s already late,” Lucifer argued, mild irritation starting to take root within him. “Plus, this is MY room? I’d like to sleep, like, right now.”

“Since when did we ever need sleep anyway?” Michael asked Lucifer before turning to Gabriel to ask for some of the snacks as Raphael finally settled on a movie for everyone to watch.

“That’s not a good outlook, Michael,” Raphael gently reminded Michael. “Rest is good for the mind, though I’m sure no one is particularly tired right now.”

“I’M TIRED!!” shouted Lucifer, frustrated at their nonchalant disrespect towards him, and even worse was the fact he couldn’t do anything about it. 

“There’s plenty of rooms, Lucifer,” Uriel added, “You can rest in one of them.”

Without much to do, Lucifer simply stomped his foot on the carpeted floor, his dark tail swishing rapidly from side to side in agitation, though it looked far from intimidating especially with the reindeer costume he was still wearing. 

“Or you can join movie night with us?” offered Adam with a small smile, one hand patting the space beside him. “We’ve got space.”

Without a second of hesitation, Lucifer swiftly made his way towards Adam’s side, his small form ensuring that he could weasel his way closer to Adam despite the hurdles in front of him. Though he did have to shove and struggle against Michael for the most comfortable spot on Adam’s lap, of which he had to begrudgingly yield. 

“So, what are we watching?”

The last remnants of Christmas were spent in comfortable peace watching movies and eating snacks, with the occasional need to shush Gabriel here and there. What Adam thought was going to be a more quiet and slightly downcast Christmas, where he would miss those he had spent them with for over a millennia, turned out to be one of the more memorable Christmases he ever had in his extremely long life. Adam may be stuck in Hell for the time being, but his angels and the Devil, funnily enough, ensured that his heart remained in paradise, forever and always.

[lecsainz]

Back to December

pairings: lando norris x fem!¡reader / mentions fem!¡reader x george russell

warnings: mentions of cheated and english is not my first language

authors note: I was inspired by Taylor's song 'Back to December'. I'm not used to writing this style, but I decided to give it a try. Well, I hope you like it.

word count: 950

Lando Norris saw her from across the paddock, standing there with George Russell. It had been months since they last spoke, but seeing her again brought back a flood of memories.

He made his way over to her, his heart racing as he tried to think of something to say.

"Hey, Y/N," he said softly.

She turned to look at him, her expression guarded. "Lando," she said coolly.

He hesitated, unsure of what to say next. "How have you been?" he asked finally.

"I've been good," she said, her eyes flickering over to George.

"George," Lando greets him and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as George placed a hand on Y/N's waist, pulling her closer.

Lando felt a pang of jealousy, mixed with regret. He remembered the way he had hurt her when they were together, and now he was seeing her with someone else.

"I'm happy for you," he said, forcing a smile.

Y/N looked at him for a moment, her eyes searching his face. "Are you?" she asked quietly.

Lando shook his head. "No," he admitted. "I'm not. I messed things up with you, and now I see you with someone else..."

He trailed off, feeling a lump form in his throat. Y/N looked at him with a mixture of sadness and understanding.

"I forgave you a long time ago, Lando," she said gently. "But that doesn't mean I forgot. It just means I chose to move on."

Lando nodded, feeling the weight of his mistakes heavy on his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he said again. "For everything."

Y/N smiled slightly, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. "I know you are," she said. "But sometimes sorry isn't enough."

They stood there in silence for a few moments, the air thick with unresolved emotions. George looked between them, unsure of what to do.

"I should probably get going," Y/N said finally, breaking the tension. "It was good seeing you, Lando."

"Goodbye, Y/N," Lando said, his heart heavy as he watched her walk away with Russell.

He knew that he had lost her for good, and it was a painful reminder of the mistakes he had made.

Lando tried to focus on his race, he tried to leave behind the pain of seeing his ex-girlfriend with another driver. He knew he needed to concentrate on the race, but he couldn't help the images in his head. He remembered the moments they spent together and how everything seemed perfect. But he ruined it all when he cheated on her.

As he prepared for the race, Lando tried to focus on his team's instructions. He felt a lump in his throat as he looked out at the crowd and imagined Y/N cheering for George, who she was with now. He felt like he was losing everything.

The race began and Lando tried to focus on the task at hand. He fought hard to climb the ranks, but something was off. He made some mistakes, losing time and falling even further behind in the rankings. He knew his team expected more from him.

In the end, Lando finished the race in a humiliating tenth place. He got out of the car and walked back to the pits with his head down. His team tried to cheer him up, but he wasn't interested. All he could think about was Y/N and what could have been if he hadn't cheated on her.

He knew he needed to move on, but he didn't know how. He wondered if he would ever be able to forgive himself for what he did.

Lando was sitting on the couch in his room in the McLaren paddock, staring at his phone with a heavy heart. He took a deep breath and dialed his ex-girlfriend's number, hoping that she would answer.

"Hello?" a hesitant voice answered.

"Hey, it's me," Lando said, trying to keep his voice steady.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before she spoke again. "What do you want, Lando?"

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry," Lando said, his voice breaking slightly. "I'm sorry for what happened between us. I wish I could go back in time and change things, but I can't."

There was another long pause before she spoke again. "It's too late for apologies, Lando."

Lando swallowed hard, feeling the sting of her words. "I know, I know. I just wanted to let you know that I still care about you and I'm sorry for everything."

There was silence on the other end of the line before she finally spoke again. "I appreciate the apology, Lando. But I think it's time for us to move on. Goodbye."

Lando sighed and hung up the phone, feeling a sense of sadness wash over him. He couldn't help but think back to the happier times they shared, the times when they were in love and everything was perfect.

He remembered the way she smiled at him, the way her skin felt against his, and the sound of her laughter. He missed her so much, but he knew that he had messed up and it was too late to fix things.

Lando knew that he couldn't go back in time and change things, but he couldn't help but wish that he could. He missed her so much, and he knew that he would always regret losing her.

As he sat there, lost in thought, he couldn't help but wonder if she still cared about him too. But he knew that it was too late, and he would have to live with the consequences of his mistakes.

[skye-charmer-writer]

Helper From Beyond The Grave

One December evening, Tessa Raudell, a 22-year-old white woman, was standing on the sidewalk of Plum Street in the town of Springfield, Delaware. She was admiring a 6-foot-tall plastic replica of a Christmas tree that was being displayed in a shop window. Christmas was only a week away and a sense of happiness could be felt across this tiny town situated on the eastern coast of the United States. But times were far from happy for young Tessa, who was nine months pregnant and had lost her husband, 26-year-old John Field, to suicide two months ago. This Christmas was going to be her first one without him.

She took a deep breath after looking at the tree and began walking away from the shop. Her left hand was placed on her back as the weight of the baby in her womb had been a cause of strong backache for the last one week. Tessa was wearing a black jacket on top of her grey maternity full-sleeve tee and was wearing a pair of blue yoga pants that were stretchable.

The 22-year-old pregnant woman almost walked past the town cemetery where her late husband's body was buried. She took a sudden stop at the gate of it and turned to her right to face its entrance. Many thoughts were rushing through her mind. She thought to herself, “Let's pay John a visit before going home.” Then she entered the cemetery.

The place was devoid of any living soul as the sun had set and there were not enough light posts within the property to illuminate every corner of it properly. Realising this, Tessa stopped for a while and thought, “It's getting pretty dark. Maybe I should head home.” Suddenly the baby inside her body kicked sharply near her heart. This startled Tessa. She gasped and placed a hand where the baby had kicked and said, “Oh! You don't wanna go home, huh? You want to meet daddy too, right? No need to kick me there, sweetie. I know exactly what you want. Let's go see him.” After saying this to her unborn baby, Tessa proceeded forward.

The grave of John Field was closer to the back of the cemetery and was a good 155 yards away from the entrance. A distance that Tessa had covered easily on her earlier visit with her sisters-in-law three weeks ago, but was now finding it difficult to cover even a tenth of it alone. Since Tessa had begun walking, the kicks of the baby had grown more intense, and sweat had also appeared on her face. She stopped and turned on the smartwatch she was wearing on her left hand. “Weird, it's only 26 degrees Fahrenheit, I shouldn't be sweating at all, what's happening?” The 22-year-old pregnant woman questioned herself, ignoring an important sign that her body was sending. She started walking again and told herself, “It's not that far, I can rest later.”

But Tessa found herself stopping once again after walking a few yards. Her legs were no longer capable of carrying her further without taking a break. Luckily for her, a bench was located nearby. She slowly walked up to it and sat down. The bench made a slight metallic sound as it moved under the weight of Tessa. “I hope this bench does not break,” she thought. The expectant woman was also panting from all the walking she had done so far.

She was breathing with her mouth wide open. She placed a hand on her head to feel her brunette hair and said, “Oh God, my hair's also soaked in sweat. What's happening, really?” As if to answer her question, the baby kicked badly in the frontal area of her abdomen. “God! I get it! You don't want me to rest at all. If you weren't kicking mommy while she was walking, I wouldn't have needed to rest,” she told the unborn baby in a frustrated voice. “Let's go now. Enough resting. I still have to go home before six,” she said to herself as she pulled her pregnant body from the seated position to the standing position. After standing up with difficulty, she stretched her arms and began walking toward her husband's grave. It was now only 10 yards from the bench she was sitting on.

As the headstone of her husband appeared in her sight, a barrage of emotions took control of Tessa's mind. She walked up to the headstone that was luckily at a place near enough to a light post to illuminate it. The words on the headstone read, as visible in the yellow light of the light post:

Matthew 5:4

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

The resting place of

John Field

Born on this soil April 23rd ,1996

Left for the heavens above October 15th, 2022

A loving son, brother and husband.

Reading these lines was enough to bring Tessa to tears. The thought that her husband would never be able to see their child was stinging her heart. She tried to control her emotions by looking away from the headstone on her husband's grave, but it worsened her grief. As she stared into the sky that hid the moon behind its clouds, she could see her late husband's face appear in front of her eyes. Except that it was not the face of the happy and living man whom she had been with for the two years of marriage, it was the grim and lifeless face of the body she had seen in her bathroom two months ago.

Her husband had committed suicide by cutting his wrists while sitting in the bathtub and police were only able to remove the body five hours after his death. This had caused the skin of his body to take a strange texture after sitting in the bathtub filled with a mix of blood and water. That soulless face of her husband and the red bloody water of the bathtub were the two things that had given Tessa nightmares for a whole month. The horrible scene in her house had traumatised Tessa deeply. And today, her visit to her husband's grave in the evening was bringing the trauma back for her.

“I never should've come here,” Tessa said to herself as she covered her eyes to save herself from the traumatic images her mind was creating. “I never should've come here alone. I never should've listened to you,” she said, referring to her unborn baby.

“Who am I kidding? It's not even born yet, it can't talk, I am definitely imaging things. Pregnant mind, I tell you folks!” Tessa said as she tried to calm herself and give herself the mental strength to walk away from the grave of her late husband. But her legs were not moving. “Okay, I am going now, love, okay? I miss you. Bye!” Tessa said as she extended her right hand to wave goodbye to her late husband, whose body was buried exactly beneath where she was standing.

But almost as if to prevent her from leaving the grave, her baby gave a strong kick close to her ribcage. The kick was strong enough to cause Tessa to bend over. She placed a hand on her chest, which was aching from the kick. “Are you trying to be an athlete or something in there?” She said as she massaged her chest to ease her pain. Just as she was massaging her chest, she felt drops of liquid down her thighs. “Did I really pee myself out of the fear of seeing my dead husband's ghost?” She thought to herself in a sarcastic tone. But then she realised what her body had been trying to tell her for so long. “I broke my water, didn't I?” The 22-year-old pregnant woman's face grew pale as the realization set in. Her waters had broken and she was in labor in a cemetery.

She grunted as the baby moved lower down her uterus and closer to her birth canal. “Oh God! I gotta walk back to the street! I can do this!” Tessa said to encourage herself. But her uterus had other plans. The baby was moving at a great pace and this was making it difficult for Tessa to stand properly on her late husband's grave, let alone walk back to the gate of the cemetery. She luckily had her phone on her person. “I can call an ambulance! Heck, I should call an ambulance!” She said to herself.

But her phone was in the inner pocket of her jacket, behind a zipper. Tessa tried to reach that pocket, but suddenly a sharp contraction ripped across her lower back. “Ow! Hell!” The laboring pregnant woman, Tessa Raudell, cried out. With each passing moment, it was becoming clear to her that she was going to have her baby in the cemetery and that too on her late husband's grave. “I think I should sit down on the ground,” she thought to herself.

But she was pulled out of her thoughts as the baby's head suddenly emerged from her body and appeared as a lump under the yoga pants she was wearing. Tessa felt the sensation and screamed after actually seeing the lump in her pants. “AAARGHHH!” Tessa let out a loud scream. “Sitting on the ground will crush its head! What should I do?” The 22-year-old pregnant woman, whose baby's head was now dangling dangerously from her body between her legs, looked around the cemetery for a solution. Suddenly an idea came to her mind. She carefully and slowly, making sure not to crush the weak head of her baby between her thighs, walked closer to the headstone placed on the grave of her late husband. The headstone went up to the top of the chest of 5-foot-tall Tessa, which made it perfect for her to balance herself by leaning on it. It was clear that she was going to give birth while standing in a cemetery.

Before leaning on the headstone to continue the birth, she made sure to drop her yoga pants down to her ankles to save the baby from suffocation. As she pulled down her yoga pants that were stained with all sorts of bodily liquid, she said in a cheeky way, “Well, there goes my favorite pair of pants!”

A contraction suddenly hit her lower back that caused her baby to descend further into the underwear she was wearing. “Oh God! I forgot I have to remove this too! God, I really don't want to be naked in public now!” Tessa thought. But suddenly she saw the head of the baby struggling through her underwear as it dangled from her. This caused her to change her mind. “I don't want to watch my baby suffer! To hell with modesty! No living souls are in this cemetery except me and my baby! Only God can judge me for this!” She thought and strengthened her mind to take off her underwear.

“Only for you, sweet child!” Tessa said and dropped her underwear to the ground as well. As it turned out, modesty was not the only thing her underwear was protecting. December evenings were normally very chilly in this part of the country and Tessa was experiencing all the coldness of it across her lower body that was now uncovered. The winter chill almost made her pull her underwear back up.

She stopped and told herself, “No, I won't do that.” Then she placed her right elbow on the headstone of her late husband's grave and placed her left hand under the head of the baby. As the skin of her hand first touched the soft head of the child that she was birthing, tears appeared in her eyes. “I can do this! I know you are with me, John! I will bring our baby to this world safely,” Tessa told herself. “Okay, one, two, three, now!” She counted to three and gave a large push. This caused the shoulders and arms of the baby to slip past the walls of her birth canal. She looked down at the area between her legs and saw her baby's arms moving around. “Looking good there, sweetie! Just let your mommy push one more time!” Tessa said to the newborn, whose legs and rest of the torso were still inside her body.

“All right, one, two, three, now!” She chanted once again and pushed with all her strength. The rest of the baby slid out of her body and into her left hand. She quickly also placed her right hand under the small body of the newborn child to support its weight. She slowly squatted down and sat in a lotus position on the soft grass that had grown on top of the grave. She could feel the blades of grass on her naked buttocks. “Man, I really am at some low point in my life, sitting naked in a cemetery,” Tessa thought to herself. She breathed a sigh of relief and looked at her baby.

The baby was still attached to the umbilical cord. “It's a girl! Whoo!” Tessa shouted with joy. She had become the mother of a girl child at the young age of 22. “Oh God! You must be cold! Come here,” Tessa said as she brought her girl child closer to her chest to share the body warmth with the baby.

She had not yet noticed that she was doing all this while seated at her husband's grave and facing the headstone. As she was cuddling her newborn girl, she suddenly noticed the headstone and began to tear up. “Do you see her, John? Do you see our beautiful girl? Of course you do! I don't know what I would have done today if it weren't for you. I knew you were looking over us...” said Tessa as she struggled to finish her sentence. Tears were running down the peach-colored cheeks of the young woman, who was now also a mother. “Thank you, John. Thank you for everything today...” said Tessa as she tried to continue. She was correct, it was John's headstone that she supported herself on to give birth in a standing position.

Tessa looked up toward the sky while holding her baby close to her chest, the sky which was now clear of clouds. The horrible deceased face of husband that had traumatised Tessa when she had first come to her husband's grave was now replaced with the one that she had known since her wedding day.

The sound of a siren and the wave of flashing lights caught Tessa's eye as she was reminiscing about the happy moments from her marriage. An ambulance and squad car were slowly making their way toward her from the cemetery's gate. Her cries of pain were loud enough to catch the attention of passersby on the street who had called the emergency services. She looked at her baby girl and said to her, “Maybe my Christmas won't be so gloomy after all, Christina Field-Raudell.”

End

[atthedugouts]

Weekly Tag Wednesday

Thank you @jrooc @burninface @gallavich-annise @energievie for the tags!

Name: Sarah

Age: 35

What were you doing last night at 12AM? I was asleep

What word do you still have trouble remembering how to spell?

So many but I think I get more embarrassed about my grammar. I swear I know the difference between their, there and they're but my fingers some times don't.

You accidentally ate some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they gave you the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

I like everyone's teleportation answer. I'm going to make the inner child in me happy and maybe the veggies will turn me into a mermaid.

First thing you would buy if you won the lottery?

I would quit my job and find one that is less stressful and allows me free time to do the things I want. It would be nice to be able to afford to work less.

Who is your favourite author?

I don't think I have one. As a child I loved Bruce Coville books but as an adult I don't think I pay attention to authors to much. I just try to find a plot that grabs my interest.

What’s the tenth photo in your photo album on your phone? Can you explain?

I don't take many pictures. This was from December when my manager said we could work from home for the rest of the year. I just had to take a picture of my favorite coworker.

What was your favourite breakfast cereal growing up? How about today?

Love apple cinnamon cheerios then and now

What outfit did you wear growing up that you’d be mortified to be seen in today?

Stealing @jrooc answer and saying low rise jeans. I do not have the same body I did as a teen.

Tagging:

@nymacron @kiennilove @wehangout @blue-disco-lights @mybrainismelted

@mickeym4ndy @ninoochat @callivich @sgtmickeyslaughter @iansw0rld

@iangallagherisadeadman @spookygingerr @sleepymick @dreamjupiter @transsexual-dandelions

[choicesficwriterscreations]

June Creator of the Month: Thosehallowedhalls

Please welcome this month’s Creator of the Month is @thosehallowedhalls.

Each month, CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers or artists. The writer or artist is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page. Past COTM's can be found here.

Quick Links:

Tumblr Blog Masterlist

1- When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played?

I can't remember exactly. 2021, I think? Laws of Attraction was on its tenth chapter.

2- When and why did you join Choices fandom?

I joined in January of this year. I was upset with Crimes of Passion 2, so I wrote a couple of stories about it. I had deactivated my old Tumblr long ago, so I had to open a new one.

3- How did you pick your blog name?

I love old buildings - the history, the ambiance. I tried hallowedhalls, but it was taken, so I added the article.

4- Pull up the first post in your archive, and tell us about it!

I… have zero recollection of this post. But I'm big on nostalgia and mourning past times, so the fact that this was my first post tracks.

5- Do you write fanfiction, create fan art, or are you one of those really gifted people who do both?

I write fanfiction. I've been teaching myself to draw, but I'm not anywhere near close to sharing what I do.

6- How long have you been creating for Choices and for any other fandoms?

I started writing fanfiction way back in… 2010? For about four or five years. Then I stopped until December 2023.

7- What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to create for?

Crimes of Passion on both counts.

8- Share your first Choices fanfic or fan art that you posted with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were creating it today?

That would be The 2 AM Christmas Tree Farm, inspired by The Midnight Library by Matt Haig. I do still like it, but I would tighten up the writing a bit. I had barely written any fiction for several years at that point, and the lack of practice shows.

9- What is your favorite piece of fiction or art that you created?

I keep going back and forth between The 2 AM Christmas Tree Farm and Home Without. Both are angsty short series.

10- Do you have a fic/art that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to do well but found it could use a little more love?

I was taken aback by the comments on The 2 AM Christmas Tree Farm. I'd posted it on AO3 a few weeks before, and had gotten a handful of kudos and one comment, but within 24 hours of posting it here, I had several lovely reblogs. It was a welcome surprise. Stories with fewer comments… I guess Home Without. The first chapter got quite a bit of love, but by the time the final chapter rolled around, fewer people were interacting.

11- If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

I love a balance, but I'd say angst with a happy ending. I enjoy the breadth of emotions angst lets you explore.

12 - Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs or in your writing?

There are bits and pieces of me in all of them. Emma has my sarcasm, and Raine has my need to look for the best in people. There may be more, but if so, it wasn't done intentionally.

13 - What element of writing/art do you struggle with most?

Perfectionism. Like I said before, the lack of writing practice shows. I know that the only way to get better is to keep writing, but I hate seeing the gap between what I do and what I want to do. Catch-22.

14 - Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?

My Sebastyan x Emma fic, Of Cloudless Climes and Starry Skies. There are only a couple of chapters left, but I've been struggling with it for a couple of months now.

15 - If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to see your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you show them first?

Oh, hell no.

16 - Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing or art? Are there any artists that influence you?

So many writers have influenced my writing throughout the years, including authors I do not currently read. The Brontë sisters, Charles Dickens, Nora Roberts, Jane Austen, Courtney Milan, Alyssa Cole… I could go on and on. Fanfic writers… There are a lot, but off the top of my head, @inlocusmads, @coffeewithcutcaffeine, @gaiuskamilah, @aria-ashryver, @jerzwriter, @dutifullynuttywitch, @aces-and-angels, @petalouda85, and @storyofmychoices. I know there are more.

17- Which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series?

Home Without. I'm a sucker for good pining, and I'd love to see all that mutual longing play out onscreen - not to mention that reunion.

18- Do you write original fiction or create non-fandom art?

I do. I'm currently working on a horror short story, a MG novel, and a dual timeline mystery that's still in the research stages.

19- What other hobbies do you have?

Reading, non-fandom writing, drawing, learning new things (especially languages!), going on walks, and drinking enough coffee to alarm medical professionals anywhere.

[plurality-is-mundane]

Mundane plurality is it’s my birthday (December tenth) so I get to front!

Happy birthday!

[billdenbrough]

kevaaronmas

on the tenth of december, there was: baking!

happy tenth day of kevaaronmas / aftg advent (as always, thank u so much to @allforthegamebingo!!) to all who celebrate! local girl is super sleepy again, but here we go. this one i had to trim down a LOT ......... i just love the cousins lol nicky wanted to have three hundred words to make his case to aaron and was forced to make do with only a hundred. he's still not forgiven me, i think

[fontasticcrablettes]

Anyone else remember this meme?

According to my computer, I made this in December 2013. Happy tenth anniversary to a meme I don't remember the origin of but I swear I made this as part of a larger trend.

[whiskers-my-beloved]

Happy Tenth Of December

Sherry Tsum wishes you all a happy tenth of a december ! I actually made a Sherry Tsum out of paper :D Well not only out of paper but yeah still cool that I got that tsum myself ! I have something planned with this tsum army. Hope it turns out how I want it to lol