#i just think more places should have a holiday that involves gifting books then staying up too late reading them

[duckprintspress]

Duck Prints Press has contributors from many different religions and traditions, but given our love of books, we thought that the Yule Book Flood was a holiday we all could get behind. Jólabókaflóðið is an Icelandic tradition, wherein people unwrap books on December 24th and then stay up late into the night reading them.

Happy Jólabókaflóðið!

What books are you gifting to your friends and family this year?

please reblog and tell us what you're gifting, we're super curious!!

[anaargent]

THE BOY IS MINE

Five hargreeves X reader

The reader is Five's long-time partner, tired of waiting for his return, she decide to investigate his whereabouts. (seriously thinking about writing something for our daddy Diego)

- That's enough – I jump off the decaying sofa at Luther's house – you guys stay here and look for Viktor, I'll go after five and lila. - Wasn't the plan for everyone to stay together until they got back here? - Allison murmurs boredly - No, no, we spread out and everyone looks in a different place, right? -Klaus chimes in, only hearing half of the dialogue as he plays with the shiny Christmas tree in front of him.

-Meanwhile, we should standing there admiring Luther's windows? - I gesture with my hands - Hey! They are Victorian models! - Luther exclaims offended, holding the new frames.

-Sorry Luther, they are beautiful honey, they just need some adjustments in the rest of the house – I turn to the giant man in front of him with a loving smile – plan B, I will find them and let them know that the holidays are coming, Let me know when someone find the other two. I wave to everyone already leaving the room, hearing some protests about "following the original plan and Luther questioning Allison if the new frames were good"

.

.

Just like your sister Lila, I had the ability to copy powers. It came in handy when the last person you touched was Five, on a rare occasion he let you fix his messy hair, a lame excuse to be affectionate with the grumpy old man. Despite trying, a laugh escapes my lips, remembering the boy's shocked expression at the kind gesture.

-I'll find them - I mutter more to myself as I get off at yet another station on the strange subway, writing down in the small diary in my pocket, a gift from Five, a bit tacky but very useful in the current situation - a stain that looks like a state - I mumble looking at the ceiling - wires ripped out, someone came by here - trying not to create expectations and hopes too high to be crushed after all the frustrations of not finding five and lila, I swallow dry and walk towards the exit.

A beautiful uninhabited field waited outside the station, it looked unkempt, even deserted. Ready to cross off another stop on the agenda, I suddenly stop when I see movement in the distance, it was him. With a more tired and ragged appearance, but it was my five. With longer hair than usual, an old backpack on his shoulder, I couldn't believe I had finally found him.

I take a step away from the hiding place, raising my hand with a huge smile on my lips, relief flooding my body, finally being able to relax after months of searching.

You took too long outside - Lila appeared, involving Five with a smile. That was good, they finally got along and became friends - I miss u - so she kisses him.

My feet were planted on the ground, gravity holding me in that place, in slow motion as I watched my sister, the person I trust most, kiss five, the person I loved most. My hand fell to my side, finally returning to the moment to step back into the darkness, watching as Five tenderly returned the affection and led her inside the small green house.

.

When it finally got dark I left the forest, heading towards the house, I did a space jump and was in the kitchen of the place. everything was very tidy, a small strawberry garden, candles, books. Were the bastards having a teenage romance? I stop myself, taking a deep breath - follow the plan y/n, follow the damn plan.

That was the initial idea, but then here you were, on top of Five's limp and unconscious body, ready to attack him. You probably forgot, amid the bitterness of betrayal, that Five also worked for the commission. Then he was wide awake, as far as possible, his beautiful eyes alarmed and his hands holding his.

Y/N? Is that really you? - he asked dazedly, his eyes still cloudy with sleep, his voice hoarse and low. Unable to bear his puppy eyes, I start to swing in an attempt to get out of his grip, throwing punches in all directions with unbridled rage. - Are you with my sister? - you scream, still punching your stomach, your vision blurred by the tears that threatened to fall.

what? babe, no - five finally manages to stop his attack, breathing hard - let me explain - he starts sitting with you on his lap - explain to me that you are fucking my sister? that she is married to your brother? -his voice sounded bitter and defensive-all that talk about taking it easy was nonsense-you try to get rid of him to leave.

-it's been seven years - five starts with a broken voice, his eyes searching yours in search of something - I thought I would never go again see you y/n - he pauses, looking for words - I don't deserve your forgiveness, but please don't go, hate me, hit me. But don't disappear again darling, I was going crazy, all of us.

-you betrayed me five - your voice sounded more broken than you wanted him to see, how everything affected you more than you would like to admit - I know my love, I don't deserve you, but you are all I have, all I want. Lila and I were torn apart, we spent years looking for a way to get back together, it ruined us. It was survival, a way to not go crazy here alone.

You closed your eyes tightly, taking a deep breath to process everything. Five and Lila lived here for seven years, and somehow created a relationship, you still felt betrayed, the memory of how the two of you were together earlier haunting you like a ghost,his arms wrapped around her, like he did with you. Then you look at Five, his clear eyes chasing you like a sun, they looked so sad and melancholic, waiting for salvation.

You smile sadly, raising your hand to his long hair, carefully combing the unruly strands. Five closes his eyes, visibly relaxing under your touch - I dreamed every night that you were here - he comments in a low voice, unsure - that you found me and then you left again, as if you had never come, then I woke up and you not here.

-im here - you speak softly, not wanting to break the fragile moment you shared, your eyes dropped to your lips, jealousy consuming you every moment. Then five placed his hand on his face, with devotion and fear, fear that everything was just another lived and cruel dream, her lips just touched his, they were dry and trembling. It was a soft kiss, afraid that a sudden movement would break it. Your hands traveled to his shoulders as a warm bubble enveloped them.Then the memory of the kiss between him and Lila appeared in your mind, taking the best of you. Your hands became rough for a moment, pulling Five's hair with more force than necessary, a kind of punishment for his actions,the poor boy could do nothing but accept the harsh treatment with a slight grunt escaping his lips .

-let's go home my dear, there we will remind you who you belong to.

[tickldpnk8]

This is a really interesting question and I’m glad you tagged me @writing-for-life. I think I’ve been headcanoning it in a very similar way to what @psychicexpertcollector described. But all that you pointed out in the text has me thinking that I just filled in some blanks that weren’t explicitly said in the text.

I wonder if just as the younger Endless find themselves in petty squabbles over the lives of mortals, they aren’t as necessary to overseeing their function as the older ones. Destruction seems to be the separation point as the middle child between the older, necessary, responsible siblings and the younger, impulsive less micro-manage-y siblings.

Living things absolutely cannot live without death, and by living they make choices that lead to a destiny. But they can live long stretches without desires, despairing or deliriums. Dreaming at night is an automatic function of our bodies. By that reason alone, dreams are necessary and he’s the older son.

For death to give up her function, it IS a drastic action. Her gift is necessary for the universe to run. Withholding it has messy consequences. If Delirium were to give up her function, the consequences would be much less drastic.

Meanwhile, Destruction walking away from itself is a bit of a destructive act in itself. (And he’s pretty callous about the folks he harmed when setting up his traps too.) I also think he’s a bit blind to the reality that by merely existing, he’s likely fulfilling a need for the universe. He’s not necessarily withholding his gift like Death did, he’s just not tending it.

The course of action he took was to take his sigil, his sword with him so that no one else could fill his role. And then he just let things run their course without actively managing it.

As the middle child, he straddles the line between the two sides of the family: he’s a more necessary force in the day to day of the universe, much like the older siblings. But he’s not so necessary that things can’t exist without some kind of destruction for a length of time. He’s kind of a middle ground where if he sets things in motion, they’ll stay in motion without him actively tending it. And I think in abandoning his realm, he kind of pushed the pendulum into motion and is actively not tending it while he takes an extended holiday.

His own preparations for walking away involved setting traps (and callously tying those traps to people he loved/cared for…wtf. The love of destruction isn’t kind) and allowing things to take their natural course with his function. He only walked away once the Age of Enlightenment came and folks started to apply reason to their purposeful destruction. And he had been through the patterns of the universe long enough to know once that was in motion that it wouldn’t necessarily need his guiding hand anymore.

Imho, Destruction is blinded a bit by his own experience: he literally IS destruction, so we can’t fault him for not seeing this. But he’s a lot like those folks in our lives who have tried something and suddenly want everyone to try it. (I’ve retired at age 35! You can totally do this too and Should! Or I just got married and am in love and you should definitely start dating again so you can be in love too!) He’s disregarding what sets himself apart from Dream. And he’s presumably disregarding what happened when Death walked away…he should have at least heard the story of it. But maybe he didn’t know?

Death just quit and refused her gift. She didn’t really make contingency plans, nor is there really a way for her to. Much like Destiny is always chained to his book. And also much like Dream knows that if he were to ever leave, his function would need an active steward in his place. He can’t really set dreams in motion in the same way Destruction did: they’re flighty, faithless things. And by the time his brother tries to tell him he could let it run on autopilot, he’s already had 100 yrs away from the job to know that it would never work like that.

Anywho, this is starting to become a ramble so I’ll stop here to get my day started. But I’m happy to continue the conversation if others have more thoughts!

I hope you don't mind me chiming in but I have a theory on the Death and Destruction thing I don't think it's a plot hole because I think Destruction and Death situations were different from each other. Death didn't just walk out she stopped being Death altogether, she completely refused to be her concept not letting anything die by withholding her gift.

Destruction walked out on his realm and refuses to oversee destruction and control it but he is still very much destruction. I think that is the difference maybe, one stopped altogether and one just walked out which is why both provide very different outcomes. I think if any of the Endless stopped being their concepts like Death did that concept will also cease to exist.

Hey, thanks for sliding into my inbox 🙂

It’s so interesting in terms of choice of words.

In “A Winter’s Tale”, she chooses exactly the words “walking out”.

But a panel later, she says:

“BUT I KIND OF REFUSED TO DO IT ANYMORE. I STOPPED TAKING LIFE. PEOPLE AND ANIMALS BIRDS AND BACTERIA, FISH AND IDEAS: NOTHING DIED.”

(Can I also say: Girl, you’re encroaching on your brother’s domain here 🤣)

So I’m still wondering what the actual difference is. They both walked out. They both refused to attend to their function. Death refuses to take life and assume her role. Destruction refuses to destroy and (re)assume his role (he tells us very clearly several times in Brief Lives, but you could be right that we’re walking the fine line between not overseeing it and not doing it. But he’s also not doing it, so the result should be the same? I think I’m tying my brain into knots 🤣).

And yet, destruction still happens by his mere existence. And Death still existed, too, I presume, at least on some sort of conscious level, otherwise she wouldn’t live (ugh) to tell the tale.

So what made her stop being her concept while it didn’t stop Destruction?

Is it keeping the Sigil (he of course keeps his sword and also the pool). I don’t know about Death’s ankh in this context, but then there’s the whole thing in “The High Cost of Living” where we’re essentially made to believe that it’s actually not that important, and that she could bestow that power on literally anything (which she ultimately does).

Is it because Death has a more active role by default? Because she actively takes people while the other siblings just “oversee” their functions? But that seems off to me because we are told over and over again they ARE their function, not just stewards of it.

It is a really interesting question to ponder, and I wonder if the answer lies in us/the sentient beings that brought them into existence in the first place?

Because all the Endless exist since we make them so. They came into existence because of us.

But Death (just like Destiny) was there before the first thing lived—we’re told this explicitly in Dream Country/Façade (and once again by Destruction in the panel I’ll add in a minute):

“When the first living thing existed, I was there waiting. When the last living thing dies, my job will be finished. I'll put the chairs on the tables, turn out the lights and lock the universe behind me when I leave.”

Dream was there when the first living thing awoke to life (is that a sleep analogy baked in?), presumably with the capacity to dream. I feel Gaiman never chooses words lightly. He didn’t say, “Came to life”, because in that case, the fact it was real (as Dream’s opposing force) would have been enough. But it “awoke to life”—that’s an implication of deeper sentience and the capacity to wish and dream in my view.

Destruction is younger, so we’re talking about sentient destruction—he was there because the first thing had the capacity to destroy, not because of creation (otherwise he should really be older than Death, or at least older than Dream).

And I feel the answer is in there somewhere? Perhaps since Death came into existence because an opposing force was needed for balance? The other Endless are also tied to their opposing forces/the opposite side of their coin, but we’re never explicitly told they came into existence because of their opposite, but rather because of their primary function, if that makes any sense? I’m not sure if I’m getting across clearly what I want to say…

I’m wildly speculating here and have no clue if I’m anywhere near of what Gaiman intended, so this is total head-canon territory. I’m no-pressure tagging in @tickldpnk8 because she wrote about A Winter’s Tale before and might have additional thoughts (I remember us going off on several tangents back then 🤣).

Edited to add: This was sparked by a discussion on this post:

@psychicexpertcollector ask answered

[prose-for-hire]

Headcanons for spending the Christmas period with the Scoobies:

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! ❄️

A/N: I think most main characters are mentioned, so there should be a little something for everyone (You seem to get on with everyone, you’re welcome).

She’s a long one, so it’s below the cut.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption and food mention. Also a bunch of super cheesy holiday cheer (yay). 

- Giles is, naturally hosted the big meal

- Nobody had any plans that year and so he just said that his door was open if anybody wanted to come

- But he had enough food planned out for the entire Hellmouth by then

- Xander was the first to agree, Christmas around his place was not what you would call festive

- Xander had taken to insisting you and the others did Christmas activities leading up to Christmas, you couldn’t tell if this was because he wanted to stay clear of his parents or not

- Either way, you always agreed. That night it was baking and assembling gingerbread houses

- His collapsed about twenty times before he gave in

- While you were fixing his and your own, he decided to convince you all to come on Christmas Day

- Willow reminded the room once again that she was Jewish and wouldn’t be celebrating Christmas

- But when Xander decided that it was less a celebration of Christmas and more a way to warm up your holiday blues together, she agreed

- So did you, Buffy and Dawn

- (It was a rare holiday season that had lined up where you were all single and without your family around)

- After finishing the gingerbread houses Buffy called Giles in to get him to judge the best gingerbread house

- When he stopped in front of the leaning tower of gingerbread that had been Xander’s effort everyone’s jaw dropped

- Xander cheered and gloated his way around the room, conveniently forgetting that it was technically your win

- You had done all the hard work after all

- Dawn sulked in the corner for the rest of the evening after not winning the contest

- Later that month, as Giles was still planning what had turned into a five-course meal at this point, you had been surprised by a visit from Angel

- He was surprisingly big on Christmas and had brought Christmas presents early, muttering something about an LA apocalypse between then and the big day

- He was annoyingly good at gift-giving, he’s more of a listener than a talker

- So you knew you had to get him something equally as good

- You had to race to the store that evening, having not even started your gift shopping yet

- You had Tara and Anya with you, bribing them into coming by buying them something at the Espresso Pump

- You had to get gifts for Angel and his team, you knew Cordy the best and you really missed her (and her high standards) so you needed to pick something very good for them

- The crowds were hard to manoeuvre through and Anya kept elbowing people off the sidewalk that wondered into her path

- It was why you had invited her, she was like a battering ram in these kinds of situations

- She also always had a knack for haggling

- You had found some dusty antique books for Angel and she managed to get the price right down for you

- (but she also warned that if you bought her anything discounted for Christmas you would be sorry)

- By the time you were done it was late and you still needed to wrap your presents

- You grin, having an idea

- You called up your friends, inviting them over to your apartment

- For a ‘gift wrapping party’

- Aka a Trick-your-friends-into-helping-you-wrap-presents-party

- Xander brought alcohol and some gifts for Angel’s team he clearly swiped from a gas station on his way to your place

- Willow had already wrapped hers (cos she loved giving gifts, not because she wanted to be involved Christmas) and she had helped with Buffy’s too 

- but they both came for the party element

- (and… to help you obviously)

- Tara and Anya were already with you, seemingly in high spirits despite the three of you having to fight your way out of the mall

- You cranked the Christmas music up and everyone got their preferred drinks, some danced while the rest of you wrapped up your presents

- You had even bought Oz a little gift, knowing that Angel would no doubt see him in LA when he was touring

- You had always been close with Oz and you knew that although he wasn’t big on Christmas, you wanted him to know that you thought about him

- Angel ended up crashing, literally having heard your music from across town

- He was a bit hurt that you hadn’t invited him but once you explained why, you swear he smiled at you

- Maybe just for a split second

- But that was a Christmas miracle in itself

- You hugged him and loaded him up with presents for him and his team

- He was really grateful and you all partied through the night

- Angel seemed to relax and so did everyone else

- There were drinking games and a lot of bad singing to Christmas hits

- After recovering from your party and saying bye to Angel (and wishing him good luck for his apocalypse) you all piled round to Giles’ place

- You promised that you would help decorate

-You and Buffy were in charge of the tree

- While Anya, Tara and Xander were hanging paper chains

- (with anya and Xander fighting over the placement)

- Willow had joined Giles in the kitchen, watching the cookies that they had made

- Willow and Tara had been very close at your party the night before

- You decided you needed to do a bit of match-making

- You asked Giles to help you reach the top of the tree, getting him out of the kitchen

- When Buffy saw what you were doing, she instantly understood and winked at you

- Buffy went over to Tara, under the pretence of saving her from being stuck in the middle of another argument with Xander and Anya

- The witch went into the kitchen, unaware that it had been perfectly orchestrated by you and Buffy

- When you heard laughter coming from the kitchen your heart leapt

- You could only hope they were going to be together again

- By the time you were done, the house looked amazing

- Giles thanked you all with festive drinks and freshly baked cookies

- Everyone kept asking you what you wanted for Christmas, you were apparently notoriously hard to buy for

- They all groaned when you told them your only wish was for snow

- Some days, you were such a cliché

- By Christmas Eve, you had all of your presents wrapped and ready to take to Giles’ for the next day

- You had made a short trip to the hospital to visit Faith, none of you had been on the best terms when she was last conscious

- But you wanted her to know that she had someone thinking about her at this time of year

- You knew how lonely she had always been

- You left a Christmas card on her bedside table and replaced the grapes with ones you had freshly bought

- You squeezed her hand and told her she was invited to Christmas dinner the next day if she could hear you

- You ran more errands through the day, it was your favourite time of year so you didn’t mind one bit

- Most of it was ingredients for the ever-growing menu Giles had been

- He had a lot of spare time on his hands and he wanted to make it a good festive celebration for everyone

- You were laden with loads of bags, weaving through gravestones

- It was at this point you realised if any demon came your way you would be a great target

- You would not let go of the bags if your life depended on it, so a vampire could very easily overpower you

- Luckily though, nobody had stopped you

- Perhaps even demons had a little bit of Christmas spirit

- (Or, maybe, they had better things to do)

- You knocked twice on the door of the crypt before you entered

-  Spike squinted at you before muttering something to the tombstone next to him

-Harmony removed the lid and popped out to greet you

- You weren’t necessarily close with them, but they liked that you weren’t threatening their lives every time you saw them

- So, they let you off on a lot of things that they wouldn’t with anyone else

- Namely, they let you live despite often walking into the crypt they were living out of uninvited

- “Oh, I’m glad you’re here Harm!” you found yourself saying, much to the room’s surprise (mostly your own)

- You reached into your bag

- (that was much more akin to Santa’s sack by now)

- You handed her a wrapped present, it was a unicorn figurine

- She ripped into it and squealed with excitement

- “Spikey, look! Look! Aw, how cute! I can restart my collection after my horrible minions destroyed the others”

- She pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, whispering ‘oopsie’ when you made a noise that told her she was suffocating you

- “Don’t encourage her, pet, she’s already sending me round the bend about the bloody trinkets” He groaned as Harmony released you

- You were building yourself up to say something to Spike but you weren’t sure how to go about it

- You clutched the (gift wrapped) bottle of spirits in your hand, took a deep breath and tried your best

- “Spike, It’s Christmas and because at Christmas, you tell the truth… I wanted you to know that it wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t come to Giles for Christmas Dinner”

- Spike wasn’t convinced.

-He insisted it was a stupid idea, but he did snatch the liquor-shaped gift you bought him to try and convince him to come

- Honestly, as annoying as he could be, it just wouldn’t be the same without him at the meal

- It was a time to have good-will to all men (…women, people, demons and even vampires)

- So you wanted him to know he was invited

- He nodded at your gift and then gestured towards the black stocking hanging against the corner of one of the nicer tombstones in his crypt

- “Lucky dip” He said, a sparkle in his eye that meant only one thing

- It was some kind of trick

- You shuffled over there anyway, knowing that if you didn’t Harmony could probably bite you from where she was stood

- Having a chunk bitten out of you wouldn’t be the best Christmas present

- You reached in, frowning as you felt around inside the sock

- You retrieved your ‘present’, frowning at the object in your hands

- It was a single, unwrapped lump of coal

- “Uh, thanks… Spike. See you at Giles’ tomorrow”

- It was that or an tangerine, so you had lucked out really

- By Christmas morning, you were super excited

- You had always loved this time of year and you were so grateful to your little Scooby family

- You dressed quickly and made your way to Giles’, catching Dawn and Buffy on their way too

- Dawn hugged you and listed all the cool things that she had received from Buffy and her Mom

- (Joyce was on a trip for the holidays, healthy and promising to make it up to her girls in the new year)

- She liked talking to you because you never appeared to just be humouring her, you seemed genuinely enthusiastic about her new gifts

- Buffy mouthed ‘thank you’ to you and linked her arm with you

- You had never seen her so carefree and you were so glad that there had been no evil plots this Christmas

- When you arrived, Giles was busy in the kitchen but he did greet you over the sound of an electric mixer

- Willow and Tara arrived soon after, holding hands which made you smile

- Xander and Anya had even managed to keep the arguing to a minimum when they sat on the sofa in front of you

- It was so cosy and warm in Giles’ living room

- There was a fire, helped along by the coal you had sourced from Spike

- The tree looked beautiful in the corner and everyone was in a good mood

- You couldn’t remember a time when you and your friends had been so happy

- You laid the table as Xander found something festive on the tv

- Willow and Tara had brought dessert and were discussing the recipe with Anya who was looking into trying human hobbies in the new year

- She was apparently going to start with baking

- You all tucked into the meal, it was so much food but the best you had ever tasted

- Giles had covered every single food group

- After you couldn’t possibly eat any more of Giles’ food, you pulled Christmas crackers that Giles had brought

- You all groaned at the terrible jokes and fought over the colour of the little hats

- It was late afternoon when Spike took you all by surprise and entered the house, slamming the door behind him

- He grunted a greeting and went straight into piling a plate high with food

- You and Xander had to hold Buffy back more than once

- And Tara hid all the sharp wooden objects from the immediate area

- Giles gave you a withering look when he figured out who invited the vampire

- You apologised but convinced him that it was Christmas... which was your excuse for everything at this time of year

- It was lucky they were all so fond of you

- When you asked about why Harmony hadn’t come, Spike snorted almost shooting mashed potato through his nose

- He was on his third plate and it appeared to have a blood-gravy poured over the top which you tried not to think about too much

- “Didn’t want to come. ‘Fraid her archnemesis over there was setting a trap to ‘kill ‘er to death’” He gestured to Buffy who shrugged

- She was still 50/50 on whether or not to stake Spike, stating it would be giving the world a Christmas present

- But after a quick look from you, she rolled her eyes and ripped a turkey leg from the centre of the table

- Later on, you all played party games

- You paired with Giles, hoping that he would let you coast through the trivia questions

- Buffy and Xander were a team

- And Anya had to join with Willow and Tara (who were much more interested in each other than the game – which irritated a very competitive Anya)

- Dawn and Spike joined forces and managed beat you all

- Ending in you all accusing them of cheating

- Although none of you could figure out how they did it

- The argument settled down eventually and you swapped presents

- You all had a lot of fun that year and promised that this would be a new tradition

- Except Spike, who claimed that he would eat you all given half the chance

- You ignored this and focused on all the positive things

- Everyone loved your gifts

- And you got some great things, your friends knew you really well

- But your favourite gift came from Tara and Willow

- They led you outside, whispering under their breath

- You frowned for a moment until you saw it

- The first flakes of snow started to fall around you

- You couldn’t believe it, it never snowed in Sunnydale

- Everyone raced outside, making snowmen and snow angels

- You even had a massive snowball fight, where Spike sulked and went home when he realised he couldn’t even throw snow at you all without getting a headache

- You played in the snow until it the magic started to wear off

-You all went back in and warmed up, watching films together wrapped in blankets until late

- You couldn’t stop yourself grinning as you leaned against one of your friends

- It was the best Christmas you could remember

[writingwithcolor]

Hey, I have kind of hc'ed myself into a corner. I'm working on a oneshot based on someone else's art, which takes place at an office christmas party. Somewhere along the way I started hc'ing one of the chars as jewish tho. I went through your tags and it appears to me that it wouldn't actually be a problem for him to be at the party, as long as it's not overly religious? (Which it isn't. It's just a "christmas party" because of christian culture.) My main question is now, what would be good, small ways to keep the character noticeably jewish, esp in a relatively short story? My thoughts so far were that he'd probably object to someone putting a santa hat on him? And/or his colleagues might thank him for taking some extra shifts during christmas itself so they can stay home (in exchange for covering shifts for him during Chanukah? I know it's not a major holiday but around the same time so an exchange would make sense?) Mostly I'm just looking for every-day details, maybe something you guys would like to see more of? Thanks in advance!

Jewish character attending office Christmas party, also Chanukah

I like thanking him for working on Christmas — but working for him "on Chanukah" really doesn't make a whole lot of sense because you wouldn't be missing work. Recognition of the holiday is done mostly through lighting candles at night. If you want the exchange to be fair, they could always have traded just for him traveling at a different time — like oh, thanks for working for us on Christmas, now I'll work for you the following Tuesday — a day off is a day off.

Mileage may vary on the Santa hat. I wouldn't necessarily have a problem with someone putting that on my head if I was already at a Christmas party but someone else might, so I'm curious what our Jewish followers will say about this in the notes. 

He can maybe bring something traditional like rugelach or babka as his contribution to the party's dessert potluck... or if you want something specifically seasonal, jelly donuts (which are a Chanukah thing for some people.)

--Shira

I'll start with a caveat I've made before: Jewish people are varied. Our practices, views, and choices are manifold. 

All of that being said, there's no way I would go to a Christmas party. I know what you mean when you describe the party as not being overly religious but "Christmas because of Christian culture." From where I'm sitting though, you can take the Jesus out of it, but it's still a Christian holiday, Santa, trees with lights, caroling, Christmas music (even the heaps of songs written by Jewish people) are all still Christian culture. Christian being the operative word, and with my operative word being Jewish. 

Now, let’s say I went to a secular, winter-party. We'll imagine that there are no decorated trees, no gifts being given, just snowflake decor and mulled wine. If someone at that party (or any other), who knew that I'm Jewish, tried to put a Santa hat on my head, I would be immediately arguing with my fullest, deepest voice. Christmas is pervasive, it's music in the stores, lights on every street, public buildings closed, and everyone wishing you a "Merry Christmas," and then angry when you smile and say "thank you, but I celebrate Chanukah!" Even if you use your cheeriest voice, and your happiest smile. It's great that other people are so excited, and happy at the time, but it can be exhausting to have to be constantly reminded that I am largely forgotten, and when I am remembered, I'm expected to assimilate. Why would I put myself through an extra portion of that?

I don't mind one, or two examples of stories where Jewish people go and participate in Christian holidays, plenty of us do! But it's all the time, in books, tv, movies, comics... I'm exhausted by the premise, and frustrated as the overabundance of that particular story contributes to the broader culture's expectation that I should be willing to be culturally Christian for a night, a week, a month, or more. 

-- Dierdra

Like Dierdra, I have largely stopped going to these, but I would reiterate that there are many reasons why people would go. For example, being Orthodox, it’s hard enough not being able to join colleagues for drinks on Friday night or dig in when a manager takes pity on us and orders pizza. I don’t want to be that Jewish girl who never gets involved.

With this in mind, I would avoid using refusal to take part, or even getting annoyed at being forced to take part like with the Santa hat, as the parameters that define your character’s Jewishness. Especially at Christmas, where there’s already the common assumption that only the biggest killjoys refuse to celebrate.

Because of the seasonal aspect, this is one of the few times that I actually would consider Channukah to be one of your best options for introducing Jewish identity. Pre-Covid, I would often bring a dreidel and a box of chocolates to my very non-Jewish office during Channukah, and anyone who wanted could play with me at lunchtime. There’s no reason this couldn’t be taking place at a Christmas party, since it’s a very simple game to learn and most people find it fun the first few times. If you can, try slipping into the dialogue that this isn’t the only holiday the character celebrates though, since we are very tired of seeing that.

If you’re confident in your ability to write microaggressions, you could also create one or two uncomfortable moments for the character, because when people get drunk they often ask really weird questions about your religion and culture. For example, I was once at a work party where someone managed to get out of me (despite my attempts to dodge his invasive questions) that I was Jewish, and he immediately asked me why all the Jews in a particular ultra-Orthodox neighbourhood drove similar cars. The same night, my boss’s boss told me three times that he had loved going to Israel as a kid and thought of it as Christian Disney Land. You don’t have to get into microaggressions if this is just supposed to be a short, festive story, but I think it would feel very real and refreshing for a lot of Jewish people to see those experiences validated.

Other than that, I also like Shira’s suggestion of bringing Jewish food. I’ve turned up to many a ‘winter holiday’ party with latkes, even if I was the only Jewish person there. Covering Christmas day and getting a day back later is also very common, although I agree with Shira this wouldn’t be for observance of Channukah. It would either be a random day in the near future, or saved up for Passover, which is the next holiday requiring time off work.

-     Shoshi

[mymelodyheart]

All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 4 ~Revelations and Snogs~

Previously in A Christmas Request ...

"Claire?"

"Hmmm?" Her voice was like a breathless whisper, and he wasn't sure if he imagined the yearning look in her eyes. It took all his self-control to keep from kissing her right there and then. Instead, he locked down all his muscles and willed himself to think of animals that start with the letter D. And all his damn brain could summon was the word dragonfly.

"May I ask ye a favour?"

"I don't kiss on the first date," she said too quickly, but her words contradicted her manner as she stared at his lips.

"That wasn't what I was gonnae ask ye."

"Oh!" Her eyes flew to his, and she blushed profusely. "Oh, well, that depends on the favour then."

He swallowed hard and leaned forward, taking her hands in his. "Will ye spend the rest of yer holiday with me?" He cleared his throat. "What I'm trying to ask of ye is, will ye stay here until the Three Kings ...until it's time for ye to go back to London?"

She blinked thrice. 

"Alright."

"Alright?" A lungful of air whooshed out of him.

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   Alrighty Beauchamp, what have you just done?

Grabbed life by the balls? Isn't that the mantra?

Nope!

What do you mean nope?

Those are not your words. Not our words.

Yes, they are. You know, live in the moment and la-di-dah!?

Nope, definitely not.

Whose are they then?

Annalise's.

Ah, well ...

Claire mentally shrugged. 

"Sassenach?"

She snapped out of her tunnel vision, then looked at the big hands still holding hers. She was still trying to wrap her head around the idea of agreeing to spend the rest of her holiday with a total stranger. Who are you and what have you done with the ol' Beauchamp? "I'm sorry. I was thinking of Annalise. This is our holiday together, you see. I just agreed to spend the rest of my holiday here without consulting her." She shook her head and laughed despite the conflicting thoughts floating around her head. "I'm quite sure she'll be fine with it. She's the one who's always pushing me to be more spontaneous."

He squeezed her hands. "I'm flattered to be the reason for your spontaneity."

Her face heated. "I've never done this before ...just so you know."

He tried to catch her eye, and when she returned his gaze, he gave her a lop-sided smile. "Neither have I."

Oh, he's so good. Claire blew out a breath and stilled her heart. "That's comforting to know," she said, trying not to look too flustered. Knowing so little about him, she knew she should be wary, but for some reason, she felt safe. Everything about him was brand-new and familiar at the same time. It's as if there had been a melody playing in her head for her entire life, and he'd finally given it words.

"And Analise is welcome to stay too," Jamie quickly reassured her. "Ye said ye're booked at the Airbnb until Boxing day, but I dinnae think there'll be any guarantee ye'll be able to extend yer stay there with it being high season and all. But we have a family cottage that we rent out for the long term, and it was recently vacated. With all the Christmas fuss and work during the past few weeks, we never got around to letting it. Ye and Annalise are welcome to stay there for the rest of yer holiday." And then he grinned. "I'm quite certain my brother would be thrilled with the idea of yer friend staying too."

Claire laughed. "You're probably right. They seemed to have hit it off."

"Ye could say the same for us, don't ye agree?" he asked in a low voice.

She stared at him. How could he looked so calm and collected when she hadn't figured out how to articulate what she was feeling? On top of it all, it seemed he'd perfected the art of persuasion with finesse, so much so, she'd immediately jumped at his invitation to stay in Broch Mordha without a second thought, surprising herself. When it came to the dating game, she would have equated over-confidence to smugness which as a rule turned her immensely off. But there's a sincerity to Jamie's flirting that she found all too endearing and very charming.

She searched his face. Ready or not, she was curious to explore the unfamiliar emotions this beautiful man was drawing out of her. In her history of dating, no man had ever moved her to make her take the leap of faith. Deep down, something always seemed to be missing, and she'd simply put it down to her inability to know what she wanted. To say her hope of finding herself in a romantic relationship had taken a hit would be an understatement.

When her last date had ended in a blaze of abject embarrassment after she was accused of being a cock-tease, she'd decided she was done with men, at least for the foreseeable future. She had a concrete five-year plan, and getting involved with someone when her heart wasn't a hundred per cent into it, wasn't one of them. Annalise continued to hassle her to dive back in into the dating pool head first, but she'd been content to wade in the shallow end. It may have been frustrating to never take the plunge, but at least, there was a nil chance of her drowning in a sea of mistake. But now?

"Baby steps," she whispered.

"Sorry ...I didn't quite catch that."

She pulled her hands from his hold and drank the rest of her already cold Dutch coffee. When she finally placed the mug down, she looked up and smiled at him. "That rental cottage you were talking about, can I at least give you some money for it?"

He shook his head. "No way. In case ye've forgotten, I invited ye to stay."

"But you've been paying for everything all evening. Hardly seems fair."

"Spending my hard-earned quid for the pleasure of a gorgeous lass' company? Every penny spent is worth it if ye ask me." 

When he talked like that, she knew her blush wasn't going to fade anytime soon. "Annalise will disapprove, and I'm pretty sure she will want to have her say in the matter."

"And so will Willie."

"Are you always this stubborn?" she countered.

"Only if I want something badly."

They have a stare-off for a few heartbeats before Jamie tore his gaze away and cleared his throat. 

He glanced down at his watch. "So, the last horse carriage ride around the village is in about twenty minutes. We should probably get going." 

"Horse carriage ride?"

"Aye. Part of the Christmas night tour." He got up from his seat and gallantly offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

It's so old-fashioned and chivalrous, she laughed out loud. "Well, I guess we shall." As soon as she linked her hand into the crook of his elbow, he sucked in a quick breath. "Are you alright?"

He looked down at her hand on his arm and smiled. "Aye. I'm just concerned I might have trouble adhering to yer nae-kiss-on-first-date rule."

They headed out of the cafe and into the frosty air, and she was acutely aware of the low voltage electricity buzzing around them. "Would it help if I put my retainers on? I have them in my bag. I usually put them on at night."

"No, not really. I just have to remind myself of the promise I made to Annalise before we left the pub earlier."

"What promise was that?"

"I promised her I'd behave otherwise ..."

"Otherwise?"

"I have to face the consequences."

She laughed. She knew Annalise's threat so well and by heart as the same lines had been often used to warn her dates in the past. "Well, let me see ...did she say if you misbehave she's going to show you the end of the world up close. And she's going to let you see the kingdom come with your own eyes by sending you straight to the southern hemisphere and letting the ashes of death rain all over you."

He grinned at her. "Something like that. How she's going to achieve that, I have nae idea."

"Never mind how. If you keep on focusing on Annalise's threat, that should be deterrent enough."

He gave her a sceptical shrug. "If ye say so." And then he looked down at her and winked. "But then again, ye're worth tempting fate for."

..........

Claire found herself being hoisted into a festively decorated horse-drawn carriage with twinkling garlands, gold & white berries. To her amusement, even the shire horses were wearing faux antlers. As she sat down, she felt their buggy dipped low as Jamie followed and settled next to her, putting the gift bags on the floor and pulling the woollen blanket over them. As their transport rumbled and creaked into motion, he put an arm behind her, resting it the edge of their seat's backrest, leaving her no alternative but to lean against the curve of his body. His closeness and the motion of their carriage added another layer of tension to her already overworked adrenal glands.

"Comfy?" he whispered, leaning into her, his warm breath on her ear.

"Uh-huh," she managed, licking her lips that had gone suddenly dry. It was a challenging feat to ignore Jamie's presence when his sheer size encroached her space, his thigh brushing against hers and the motion of the ride, sinking her deeper under his arm.

She forced herself to focus on the sounds of the hooves and bells, and admire the trees wrapped in lights, wreaths adorning almost every window, and Santas or nutcrackers standing guard outside front doors. For once, Jamie didn't speak, and she allowed herself to relax, revelling the clean, crisp air of the Highlands. Although Broch Mordha was nothing like London, quieter and had a slower pace of life, the atmosphere in the village was electric. It was almost magical, more natural and everything seemed to make more sense, instead of the rat race that occurred daily and nightly in the big city.

Every year, at around Christmas time, she came back to the Highlands in search of some peace, and every time she returned to London, she always felt like a brand new person, invigorated, well-rested and ready to tackle the New Year. But there was something different about her visit in Broch Mordha compared to the other places she'd been to in the Highlands, and she had a feeling deep in her guts, she'd have trouble leaving this place once her holiday was over. 

"Ye dinnae look tired at all, Sassenach. Ye're used to staying up late?"

She glanced up at Jamie and smiled. "I sleep very little. I don't know, maybe I have insomnia."

"Really? Perhaps it's just a consequence of living in the city. I mean it's loud there, and I presume ye live in a flat where ye can hear the comings and goings of yer neighbours."

She sighed. "Yes, there's that. The flat Annalise and I live in is not really the most tranquil setting. It doesn't help that I am an overthinker."

"What do ye think mostly about when ye cannae sleep?"

"Mostly about work," she shrugged, glancing at the lights overhead that were hung above the streets. "Don't get me wrong. I'm happy, and I'm grateful for the good life I have. It's just that sometimes I think about the day when I would stop searching for ..."

Jamie waited for her to finish her sentence, but she couldn't find the words. "For what?" he finally asked, his hand squeezing her shoulder, urging her on.

"More," she replied candidly, surprising herself with the unguarded utterance that came from her very soul, ragged with honesty and desire for something she didn't have a name for. Yet. Suddenly, the empty place inside her reared up, seeking company. "How about you? What do you think most of at night?" She paused, trying to tamp down the sudden curiosity that flared up, but it was out before she could stop herself. "A certain lass perchance?"

To her astonishment, she felt him tensed beside her, and after a few seconds, he let out a sigh. "I have nightmares," he confided.

Her head jerked up, and she twisted in her seat to look into his eyes. He was probably waiting for her to ask a torrent of questions, but she remained silent, allowing him to set the pace of their conversation. She nodded her head to continue.

"I used to be with the SAS. It's a special force unit for the British army. The unit I was in was responsible for a number of roles including covert reconnaissance, counter-terrorism, direct action, and hostage rescue. My best friend, Simon MacKimmie, was captured while spying behind the enemies' lines. He was a valuable informant for both sides, and my team were under direct orders to get him out of there alive and as swiftly as possible." She watched as his throat worked as if he saw the scene replaying in his mind. "We found him quickly enough and thought we were out of the woods. But the enemy fire broke out just as we were about to board the helicopter. Simon and I were hit, but my wound was superficial, whereas my friend's injury was fatal. I promised him everything would be alright and would make sure he stayed alive for his family. Before he slipped away, he made me promise to take care of his wife, Laoghaire, if he didn't make it. She was pregnant at the time. I didn't hesitate and made a vow to keep that promise."

"Oh, Jamie ..."

He pressed his lips into a determined line. "Months later, I was discharged from the army after I was diagnosed with PTSD. I resigned myself to a quiet life as the flashbacks from the horrors of the war and friend's death worsened. Laoghaire and I became close, as we talked a lot about Simon and I helped her with the things she needed. That was when I found my purpose in life again, and even though I wasn't in love with her, I loved her like I loved Simon so I asked her to marry me so that I could take care of their child. It was a sacrifice, aye, but it was a small price to pay, considering I get to live, and my mate will never get to see his unborn child. So we planned to marry after the child was born. So while we were waiting for the big day, I bought a house for us, and my brother helped me restore it."

"But Laoghaire didnae want to live here. She wanted us to move to Liverpool because she couldnae stand the quiet and the remoteness even though she was born and bred here. I told her we would talk about it after the baby was born. But I was worried that living in the city would make my PTSD worse. Meanwhile, rumours were going around that Laoghaire has been seeing another man when Simon was still alive and that she would often disappear to Liverpool weeks at a time. I ignored it as I didnae care for idle gossips and dismissed it as such. Ye see, she lived and worked in Liverpool before she married Simon; hence, I thought, that was where the rumours had stemmed from. She's a very ambitious lass and has this dream of making it big one day. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I later found out from a reliable source that not only had she cheated on Simon, but she cheated on me while were engaged. I began to wonder if the child she was carrying was even Simon's. While I was building her a house and funding her trips to Liverpool, she was seeing the same man she'd been meeting up with when Simon was still alive. When I confronted her, she admitted to it. So the wedding was cancelled, and she went to Liverpool to give birth to her child and to be with the other man ." 

He shook his head at the memory. "She reminded me of someone I used to pursue. She'd rather be with a man wearing a five grand suit than be with a labourer like me. I guess it's the lure of the city. Sometimes I feel like I failed Simon and his family. I made him all sorts of promises that I couldnae keep and the memory of the glimmer of hope he had in his eyes turning to death, keep recurring in my dreams."

Claire knew the last things Jamie needed were apologies and pities. He seemed like a proud man who didn't shy away from responsibilities and was unapologetically himself. "I guess we both have demons that keep us up at night," she finally said.

Jamie shrugged and waved his hand. "Dinnae fash. I didnae take ye out so ye could watch me wallow. I've done enough of that myself."

She took a deep breath. "I'm not going to pretend I wholly understand everything you've been through, but one thing I know is that you being part of the SAS means you were trained with the elite. You were drilled to save lives, and with that comes, precision and no room for error. So when something goes wrong, and someone dies during your watch, it becomes your fault."

He looked at her as furrows deepened on his brows.

She placed a hand over his. "You tried to absolve your guilt of not being able to save your mate's life by taking care of Laoghaire, who was so undeserving of your kindness and generosity. God or a higher power or the universe, or whatever you wish to call it, is trying to show you something important. You don't get to choose, Jamie. At the end of the day, you can only do your best, but you can't save everyone. No one can. Right now you're learning to live with that, and all you can do now is make sure you get to the other side. You can't take responsibility for everyone's action but yours."

Something lit up in Jamie's eyes. Emboldened by the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, she grinned at him. "No wonder you won at the caber toss and your team trashed the opponents at shinty today. You have so much pent up emotions dying to come out."

Jamie suddenly laughed out loud and pulled her against him. "I think I need to fire my therapist and hire ye, Sassenach. All this time, we'd circled around the realisation, always walking on eggshells. But ye ...ye just gave it to me straight. I think I'll need ye to stay longer past three kings."

She poked him on the ribs. "Be careful what you wish for!"

..........

A couple of hours and a glass of mulled cider each later, they walked in silence as Jamie guided her down the path that led to the bed and breakfast cottage. As it turned out, he lived three minutes walk away from where she and Annalise were staying.

After spending a whole night out with him, her body was still buzzing with so much energy. She'd never had such a powerful reaction to a man before. Nor enjoyed the company of one as much as she did tonight. She felt like she could uproot all the trees that stood on her path.

"I had a really grand time," he said.

"Me too. Thank you for a wonderful evening."

"And thank ye for the company."

As they neared bed and breakfast cottage, she realised they were exchanging lame small talk, but there's nothing lame about what's passing between them. Either way, she couldn't care less as she'd never laughed so hard in her life.

When they finally reached the small gate, she stopped and turned around to face him. "Well, here we are," she smiled, trying to conceal her reluctance to go.

He hooked the giftbags onto the wooden gate and nodded tensely, the tightness in his jaw quite evident. "Aye. Here we are at Mrs Fitz's place. I ken the ol' dear. She used to feed me and my brother jam piece and milk when we were bairns." He took a step forward and cleared his throat. "I ...um ...tonight was really special." 

"I think so too. Thank you again for everything."

He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. "I'm no' tired yet, so I'm just going to take a walk some more until I'm ready for bed," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

"Yes, you do that. Fresh air is good for you. And I ...ah ... I'll talk to Annalise about extending our stay here. Ah well ... that's if she's still awake." She rolled her eyes and let out a nervous laugh. "Or if she's home. So ... I'll see you around?"

"Aye, I'm just down the road if ye need anything."

"Yes. Got it. Down the road. A hop, skip and jump away."

He stared for a few heartbeats, then ran his hand behind his neck and gave her a crooked smile. "I meant it, Sassenach. If ye cannae sleep, ye can drop by anytime. I'm a light sleeper. Apart from personalised packaged-tours, I also specialise in making a mean toddy to help ye sleep. And a wicked mushroom omelette if its breakfast ye want. Oh, aye, I'm good at foot massage as well."

She stifled a giggle threatening to burst as a ball of warmth bloomed in her belly. "I have no doubt you're good at those things. I'll bear what you said in mind if I need anything or if I have trouble sleeping. And if I have a sudden urge for a foot massage, I'll pop by."

He shook his head. "Ye're not just saying that to spare my feelings are ye?"

"No. Of course not. I enjoy your company. So ..." Claire took a deep breath. "...this is it. Good night, Jamie. And thank you again for everything." Oh, dear God, I keep saying thank you! She stood on her tiptoes to give him a peck on his cheek just as he offered his hand. Their sudden awkward movement made her lose her balance, bumping her nose on his jaw. They both took a step back and laughed. This time she held out her hand, and he shook it.

They continued to stand there and shake hands, neither of them letting go, their smile slowly ebbing away as they stared at each other.

Jamie was the first to speak. "Right, this is the part where I watch ye walk away."

"Yes. I'll go now. It's getting late." She smiled as she took a tentative step away from him, but he didn't let go of her hand.

Her bottom hit the wooden post behind her as Jamie took another step forward. His height and breadth blocked out the street light, and in the shadows, his expression looked almost pained. She'd had men looked at her with desire before, but nothing like the way Jamie was doing right now. The way his jaw and muscles tensed and his breathing shallowed, she knew it was taking him a lot of effort to hold himself back. Her eyes travelled down to his throat and watched his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

"Sassenach." His voice cut through the haze, and her eyes flew to his as he leaned down and cupped her face. "Maybe ye could stay for just a wee while more."

Her heart began to thump wildly against her ribs as the air between them charged. "I really should get going," she whispered, the blood roaring through her ears almost deafening. She willed herself to move, but she remained fixed on the spot.

"Or perhaps ye can just stand here for a few minutes more and let me do this."

She stopped breathing and time stood still as he softly brushed his lips across hers. Then he pulled away for a brief second waiting for her to object, and when she didn't, he kissed her again.

Her brain seized, and her eyes automatically closed. She'd never felt lips so soft nor been kissed with such gentleness. She once read an Oscar Wilde quote, and it said, "A kiss may ruin a human life." It had puzzled her then because up until now, she'd always thought, although some kisses were sweet it was nothing more than two people putting their faces together and exchanging spit. But Jamie's kiss? She knew it had ruined her for any future kisses. This was the type of kiss she never even knew existed. It was the kind of kiss that inspired stars to climb into the sky and light up the world.

She waited with bated breaths for more, but nothing happened.

When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her. "I've wanted to kiss ye from the moment I laid my eyes on ye," he whispered and grazed her lips once more. "Ye've nae idea how beautiful ye are."

Oh, sweet Jesus! He'd barely touched her. It was merely a light brushing of their lips and the slightest sensation of his breath on her face. But it was enough to cause the static crackling between them to be ignited, and she was left wanting more.

Before she could reassemble her thoughts and make sense of her emotions, he stepped away from her and tunnelled his fingers through his hair. "May I please have yer phone, Sassenach?"

"Oh! Wot for?"

He smiled at her. "I'm giving ye my number." 

She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and handed her phone over. She watched him dial his own number on her screen, and after a few seconds later, his own phone rang. 

"There, now I have yers too." He pushed her phone into her back pocket and blew out a breath. "I'll see ye tomorrow?" 

"You want to see me again?" she teased, smiling.

"I dinnae even want to leave ye tonight."

She dropped her head down to hide the heat creeping up her face. "I'll see what's Annalise is up to and we'll take it from there. I'll either call you or send a message."

He placed a finger under her chin and tipped her face up. "Ye're not mad I kissed ye? I havenae forgotten yer rules about first dates."

Claire picked up the gift bags, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. And then she smiled. "I'm starting to believe the rules don't apply to you. Good night, Jamie." And with that, she turned around and walked towards the cottage without looking back, knowing full well Jamie was still stood there waiting for her until she'd safely made it to the house.

Once inside, she allowed herself to slide down to the floor and relived the memory of their first kiss. And she sat there for a very long time.

Dear Readers,

Here's a little story about this chapter. I got stuck at the beginning of writing this one. So what did I do? I started writing from the middle, then the conclusion and finished the opening in the end. It's common to get stuck in writing, so I thought I'd share this wee tip with you. So just in case, the latest update lost some of its fluidity, you now know the reason why. 😀

Anyway, thank you for reading and your feedback from the previous chapter. It's something I truly appreciate. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I look forward to reading your thoughts. Meanwhile, sending you all best wishes and hope you're taking care of yourselves and your health. x

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, we’ve added to our friends to lovers rec list. You can find part one here and there will also be a part three (and possibly a part four!) up eventually, which will be linked here when it’s been posted. We hope you enjoy these fics! Happy reading.

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12) Runnin’ Like You Did | Explicit | 20061 words

The college AU where Louis knows how to hold a grudge and is definitely not in love with Harry Styles.

13) UN(RE)SOLVED. | Explicit | 20873 words

The ghoul boys are back, but this time around there are some unresolved feelings involved. Harry is a skeptic, Louis is not. Watch them go on their ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?

14) Hats Off To My Distant Hope | Explicit | 20990 words

Harry is in White Eskimo. Louis is in London.

15) The Way The Storms Blow | Explicit | 20649 words

Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick.

That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes. Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way.

Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

16) Love Like Wildfire | Explicit | 21774 words

Louis was an Omega and a Prefect. Harry was an Alpha and a little rascal. They were mates, drawn to each other since they first met in the Hogwarts Express. They worked well like that, or at least they tried, which only made their relationship way more interesting.

17) Indestructible | Explicit | 24423 words

“Hi,” Harry murmurs, and Louis hiccups out a sob.

“Hi,” he manages, still clutching onto Harry’s shoulders. Harry’s fingers drift across Louis’ cheeks, and there’s something off about Harry’s expression, but Louis can’t figure out what it is.

“I’m okay,” Harry says, and Louis is going to say something to that, even if he doesn’t know what, except Harry’s kissing him.

Louis freezes.

18) A Whole New World | Not Rated | 24967 words

Louis has moved into his new apartment to start his new job as a teacher. Things would be great. If only his arsehole neighbour didn't wake him up every morning by playing piano.

19) Another Day Gettin’ Into Trouble | Explicit | 25619 words

Harry’s drunk when the idea occurs to him. He’s also a pop star, so sometimes his drunk ideas turn into actual things instead of just ideas. The clone-a-willy kit is one of them.

In Harry’s defense, when he first thinks about it his intention is just to buy the kit and give it to Louis to make his own dildo with, because that’s what he wants anyway, right? To have a penis filling him up?

Then he realizes that it would be weird if Louis made a copy of his own dick to fuck himself with. It’d be super weird. Louis fucking himself? That’s a weird idea. Harry’s pretty sure Louis wouldn’t like that.

Clearly the only solution here is to use his own dick for the mold.

20) Brooklyn Saw Me | Explicit | 28537 words

In the cold and unforgiving city of New York, Louis doesn't have a home and Harry wants to give him one. But as their heartstrings become increasingly intertwined, and the snow continues to fall, home is getting harder and harder to find.

21) Rivers ‘Til I Reach You | Explicit | 29315 words

AU. Louis studies astronomy; Harry studies Louis. They spend their summers on the water and it shouldn't be complicated (spoiler: it is).

22) If Ignorance Be Bliss | Mature | 30429 words

Uni AU: Harry is too experienced, and Louis just wants to get to experience him.

23) Blind From This Sweet, Sweet Craving | Explicit | 31170 words

"So, I guess we'll go?" Louis asks later, when Harry has calmed down and eaten his weight in Chinese food. He plays with this chopsticks, spearing another piece of chicken and pops it in his mouth. "I mean, I wouldn't mind. We could make it an adventure."

Harry observes him, watches him seated across from him on their old living room carpet, with a container of food on his lap. He's fidgeting, avoiding meeting Harry's gaze–he probably knows that Harry's mad at him for ruining the one chance they had to get out of this situation. And he's not wrong, Harry is definitely very mad. Harry wants to strangle him and castrate him and smack him upside the head.

But he's also Harry's best friend, and despite everything, despite all the fuck-ups and the plot twists and everything just not playing out the way it should, he'd still rather be stuck in this situation with Louis than any of the other boys. He's got Harry's back, and in a weird, abstract way, he knows they'll be able to get out of this situation, together.

Harry sighs. "We're going," he says resignedly, his shoulders slumping.

Oh well. There are definitely worse ways to spend the weekend than pretending to be engaged to his best friend.

24) Welcome Back From The Friend Zone | Mature | 32354 words

The one where an idea to create a fake wedding with the sole intent to receive gifts from billionaires took a turn no one, but also everyone, saw coming.

25) The List | Mature | 32074 words

'In the weeks that follow, Harry opens his old journal more than he has in the past two years each time he remembers Venice or thinks about Louis. He always flips to the same random page in the middle of the book, marked by the picture of himself that Louis sent him a few days after they got home. There’s a message on the back that says, ‘Spontaneous looks good on you! See you soon,’ and it makes Harry’s chest warm each time he reads it. He wedges their list out from between the worn pages, and it feels silly staring down at a folded up piece of paper with a strange sense of nostalgia for experiences they’ve yet to have; for places they’ve never even been.'

26) Mark My Word (We Gon’ Be Alright) | Explicit | 35524 words

An A/B/O AU featuring an oblivious Harry as the pack leader, a pining Louis as his second-in-command, and an entourage of friends and family who are a little too good at keeping their mouths shut.

27) The Sun Will Rise With My Name On Your Lips | Explicit | 37927 words

When Eleanor breaks up with Louis he finds it hard to keep pretending that Harry isn’t what he’s wanted since the day he first met him.

28) Runner On Third | Explicit | 39643 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is not BL.

The AU where Louis and Harry were best friends growing up, but lost touch after Harry moved away. Ten years later, Harry has moved back to town, but he and Louis don't pick up where they left off.

29) My Sweetest Downfall | Mature | 42048 words

Louis is a retired guardian angel. After the death of his last charge, he became jaded. Humans die—what use is prolonging the inevitable?

He's more than happy to forget about humanity altogether until one day, when Louis is pulled from his desk job for a new assignment: protect One Direction's Harry Styles. It doesn't help that there's something about Harry that Louis can't resist, and it's making him question everything he's ever known. Humans are strictly off limits, and breaking that rule means risking everything, but Harry just might be worth it.

This is a story about forgiveness and discovery, featuring an angel who wants to be a little more human and a human who is so much more than he seems.

30) For the Sake of Propriety | Mature | 52360 words

Louis Tomlinson is the caretaker of an estate that is not truly his, and when his Uncle calls upon him to take it back, Louis knows he will soon be out on the streets with four overly zealous sisters to care for.  His only solution: wed the eldest two off and pray for the best.  When an even better solution unexpectedly presents itself in the form of the charming Mr. Styles, Louis is faced with a difficult choice.  But as with all things in the regency era, reputation very well may threaten to outweigh the fleeting matters of his heart.

31) The Bachelor | Explicit | 53953 words

The one where Harry dates six other guys and still falls in love with Louis Tomlinson.

32) We’ve Got the World in Our Hands | Explicit | 54964 words

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

A mutants/superpowers AU. Louis and his friends attend the Cowell Institute for General Education and Mutant Training in London; when Louis meets Harry, the newest student at the Cowell Institute, he immediately recruits Harry to help play matchmaker for his friend Zayn. Harry and Louis are so caught up in meddling in Zayn's love life, though, that they don't notice that their own friendship is progressing into something more. Meanwhile, an ominous threat up north grows slowly until suddenly, no mutant - or human - is safe.

33) Waiting For The Tides To Meet | Explicit | 49873 words

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

34) Since I’ve Found You | Mature | 74005 words

Louis woke up on the morning he was meant to volunteer at the Feed the Homeless program at St. Mary's church hoping for an opportunity to give back a little to a city that has given him everything he could ever want. Little did he know, there was one more great thing waiting there for him; a boy with radiant green eyes in a weathered jacket and a beat-up backpack slung over his shoulders.

35) Saving Symphony Hall | Mature | 124766 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

36) Falling Into You | Mature | 143517 words

In the grand scheme of adolescence and boyhood, Harry was still working himself out, so far with little luck. But four things he could say for certain: 1) he'd been at the top of his class all through primary and secondary school, 2) he was the shittiest alpha to ever walk the earth, 3) Liam Payne never let him forget it, and 4) he’d been in love with this boy, Louis Tomlinson, ever since he was fifteen years old.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

This Christmas - A Harry Styles Christmas Series (Part 10)

Two life long friends. Secretly in love. Home for the holidays. Will they risk everything by telling the other how they feel? Or will they spend another year loving from afar? 

Read these first    Prologue   Part 1    Part 2   Part 3    Part 4   Part 5  Part 6 Part 7   Part 8   Part 9 

**

Once again, you woke up next to Harry, this time in the little writing hut. When you and the girl’s came home from your mother’s, Harry snuck out to see you. Harry was laying on his back currently and you smiled over at him. You planted a kiss to his forehead before climbing over him and off the bed.

As much as you wanted to stay in bed and cuddle with him, you had a lot to do. You had to finish the final chapter of your book and go do your last minute Christmas shopping. You pretty much had everything for everyone, but you needed to get Harry something. You two didn’t exactly discuss exchanging presents, but this was technically your first Christmas together, even though you weren’t really together.

Speaking of which, you two probably needed to have that conversation because you were more than ready to take that step. You knew there were things up ahead that you two would have to worry about, but you would face them whenever they arose. You made yourself a cup of coffee and sat down at your desk, opening your computer and getting to work.

Harry woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard. He rolled over seeing you sipping a cup of coffee while typing away. He smiled watching you do what you loved and how focused you were on your writing. In that moment, he felt himself falling even more in love with you.

After a few minutes, he got off the bed, pouring himself some coffee before walking over to you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss on your head.

“Hm, morning,” you smiled up at him.

“Morning,” he smiled, planting a kiss on your lips.

“Sooo, guess what,” you said.

“What?” He asked.

“I’m almost finished,” you smiled. “I have like a few hundred more words and I’m done!”

“Does that mean we get to spend all day together?” He asked.

“Actually,” you said. “I have to go do some Christmas shopping.”

“Still procrastinating I see,” he smirked.

“Oh hush!” You laughed. “I only have to get a few things. I may not be gone all day.”

“Can I come?” He asked.

“I’d love for you to come, but no,” you said.

“Ooh, are you getting a present for me?” He smirked.

“Perhaps,” you said.

“Can’t wait for that,” he said. “So, tonight’s your last night here, right? Before heading to your Mum’s?”

“It is,” you nodded. “Which is why I really wanted this book to be finished. I feel bad not spending more time with her, you know.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “How did last night go?”

“It was fun. We drank wine and hot chocolate. Mum made cookies and we watched cheesy Christmas romance movies and just had some girl talk,” you said.

“Were we any of the topics of conversation?” He asked.

“Of course,” you laughed.

“Oh god,” he laughed, shaking his head.

“It actually wasn’t that bad,” you said. “They mostly talked about their support for whatever we decide to do and I quote they’re happy we finally came to our fucking senses.”

He laughed, “Let me guess, Gem?”

“No, my mother,” you laughed.

He laughed, “Well, I agree with her.”

“Me too,” you smiled.

“So, since tonight’s your last night, I want us to spend it together,” he said.

“It’s not like I’m going away,” you giggled. “And we’re going to be back over for Christmas.”

“I know,” he said. “But I want us to have a little Christmas moment for ourselves.”

“I think I can fit that in my schedule,” you said, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“You better,” he smiled. “I guess I should let you get back to writing, now, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you sighed, dramatically.

He smiled giving you a quick peck on your lips, “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay,” you smiled. “I’ll see you later?”

He nodded giving you one last hug before walking out and letting you get back to your writing.

**

Later that day, Harry was out in the garage looking through the many boxes of leftover Christmas decorations.

“How does she have this many decorations still?” He mumbled to himself as he pulled out extra lights and garland.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Gemma asked, crossing her arms.

“I’m on a mission,” he said.

“And it involves Christmas decorations?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes it does,” he said. “It’s part of Y/N’s Christmas present.”

“Please tell me you’re not giving her old Christmas decorations,” she begged.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Of course not. I’m just setting the scene.”

“What’s the plan here?” She asked.

“Why are you so nosey?” He groaned.

“Because I want to make sure your plan isn’t shit,” she said.

“I love your faith in me,” Harry scoffed. “But if you must know… I was going to deck out the guest house with Christmas lights and other decorations. I’m going to order takeaway and have it all set up for when she gets home. And we’re going to have our own little Christmas together… and since you’re going to ask anyway… I was going to see if we could make things official,” he blushed.

“That’s actually really adorable!” she smiled. “You knew you had it in you.”

“When are you going back to London?” He joked.

She rolled her eyes, “So, besides asking her to be your girlfriend, what else did you get her?”

“Some stuff… but I also thought it would be nice to take her on a little holiday if she has the time for New Year’s,” he said. “I think it would be beneficial for us to have some quality alone time.”

“And on that note, I’m done asking questions,” she joked. “But if you need any help setting up, I’m happy to help.”

“Then grab a box and let’s get to work,” he smirked.

**

You walked around in all the shops still unsure of what to get Harry. You knew he would be happy with anything, but it was hard finding something the man doesn’t already have. So, that’s when you knew you would have to get a gift that was a little more sentimental. You went to a nearby store with crafting items and got all the supplies you needed before heading to your parent’s house.

When you got there, you went into your old bedroom and started pulling out old boxes with pictures, letters, and other little random items from your childhood. You searched through finding everything that represented your and Harry’s friendship over the years. You made a little scrapbook of the photos and added in little stories of the memories. You also included the years you two weren’t really speaking.

All the articles, pictures, and achievements he experienced over the years and you followed. When the book was finished, you wrapped it up in a box and took the other, empty scrapbook you purchased. You decorated the front of it and the first page, leaving the rest of them blank.

You knew this was cheesy and he would probably tease you, but this was from the heart and you were really proud of it. Once you wrapped everything else up, it was later that afternoon. You knew you needed to head back, but you needed to make one last stop.

**

Harry put the final touches on his surprise thanks to the help of his sister and mother. Now that it was getting closer, he noticed his hands were shaking. He wanted the night to go perfectly and really wanted this romantic gesture to go well.

“Everything’s going to work out fine,” Gemma said. “Stop worrying.”

“I know, but I’m nervous,” he said.

“Why? It’s Y/N,” she said.

“That’s the point,” he whispered. “I’ve thought about this night for a while and the fact it’s finally happening… I just want it to be perfect.”

“It will be,” she said. “Unless she says no…”

“Really, Gem?” He groaned.

“Sorry, sorry,” she laughed. “I’m gonna head back to the house and grab Mum. I figured you two need some alone time.”

“You can stay in the house,” he rolled his eyes.

“No, no, it’s fine,” she said. “Oh before I go… Mum wanted me to leave this with you.”

Harry held out his hand where Gemma placed a perfectly wrapped box in his hand.

“Please, tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” he winced.

“Ew, she wouldn’t,” she groaned. “Mum’s a cool mum, but she’s not a mean girl’s Mum. Besides it’s for Y/N.”

“Well, I’ll make sure she gets it,” he laughed.

**

When you arrived back at Anne’s house, you brought the gifts in with you and you noticed that Anne and Gemma were gone.

“Hello? Harry?” You called out, walking into the house.

You saw a bouquet of flowers sitting on the kitchen counter with an envelope with your name written on it. You put the boxes down to open the envelope, where you saw a letter from Harry.

“Happy Christmas! It’s time for your special Christmas surprise. Meet me in the guesthouse.”

You smiled taking the boxes and heading out to the guest house. When you opened the door, all you could see was the bright colored christmas lights lighting up the room. There were decorations everywhere and it literally looked like a Christmas department store threw up, but it was perfect. Harry stood in the middle of the room and you let out giggle seeing him wearing an ugly Christmas sweater.

“You did all of this?” You smiled.

“With a little bit of help,” he smiled. “What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” you smiled, walking over to him.

You wrapped your arms around his waist when something dawned on you, “Wait a minute… You… this is a scene in my book! You read it. How the fuck did you read it?”

“Don’t be mad!” He said, quickly. “I may have snuck in and read a little bit. I remembered how you talked about your writing and your stories being a reflection of what you wanted, so I thought I’d try and recreate a little something.”

“That’s really… sweet,” you smiled. “I’m still mad you read it, but I can forgive you.”

He smiled leaning down to kiss you, “Oh, and we’ve got dinner from our favorite restaurant and tonight is all about us.”

“Sounds perfect,” you smiled.

**

After the two of you ate dinner, you decided on exchanging gifts.

“You first,” Harry said.

“No, you first,” you said.

“How about this? We take turns. I open one, you open one and we keep going,” he said.

“Fine,” you said. “That works, but you’re still going first.”

He rolled his eyes, taking one of the boxes from you, “Okay, okay,” he said.

You smiled nervously as you watched him open the first one. He ripped off the paper, revealing a heavy envelope. He took out a stack of papers and looked over at you.

“It’s uh… my book,” you told him. “I’ve already sent it to my agent and editor, but I wanted you to be the first one to really read it. It’s not great, yet because it’s just the first draft, but I really and truly believe that you and being with you here inspired everything in there. Just like with everything I’ve ever done, you’ve been the inspiration behind it.”

“Wow,” he whispered. “Thank you. This… this means a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” you smiled.

“Now, it’s your turn,” he said, handing you a present.

It was another envelope and you opened it revealing a pair of plane tickets… well, fake plane tickets.

“Um…” you laughed, showing him.

“Okay, let me explain,” he said. “I want to take us on a little holiday for New Year’s wherever you want to go. I didn’t know if you’d want to go or where you’d want to go, so I haven’t made any arrangements yet.”

“Really?” you smiled.

“Yes, really,” he smiled. “I want to spend more time with you… alone.”

“Oh, do you now?” You raised an eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes before taking another box and unwrapping the next box. He took out the scrapbook, looking over at you, suspiciously. Opening it up, he smiled looking at all the pictures and memories from throughout your childhood. He laughed a bit and kept flipping through the pages before coming across the last few years.

“Wow, you kept these things?” He asked.

“Of course,” you smiled. “Yeah, we weren’t talking, but you were still important to me. I was proud of you… I am proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “I love this.”

“You’re welcome, I know it’s a little cheesy, but I thought it would be nice,” you blushed.

“It’s perfect,” he smiled, kissing your cheek.

Now, it was time for your last gift from Harry. It was a small box making you curious as to what was inside. You unwrapped it and pulled the top off seeing a wooden heart ornament inside. But there was also an engravement.

‘Will you be my girlfriend?’

“W-What?” You whispered. “Wow.”

You looked over at Harry, his hands were shaking, as he looked back at you.

“I know we both agreed on taking things slow,” he whispered. “But I know you’re it for me Y/N. You always have been. These past few days have been amazing and I think I’ve fallen even more in love with you. I know we still need to work on and figure out things, but I know we can still be together because as long as I have you by my side we can do anything.”

“I-I wow,” you whispered, sitting speechless.

You felt slightly like you were being overdramatic at that moment. It wasn’t like he was proposing to you, but it felt so surreal, something you’ve always wanted finally coming true.

“Open your gift,” you answered.

“Wait? What?” He asked.

“Just do it,” you said, quickly.

Shock and disappointment ran through him that you didn’t answer his question. He tore at the wrapping paper, revealing another scrapbook. One that was empty except for the first page.

“Our past is filled with good memories and bad. But now it’s time for us to make new memories together.

Will you be my boyfriend?”

“Oh my god, we’re the cheesy fucking couple ever,” he laughed.

You giggled moving over to sit on his lap, “Yeah, we are, but it works for us. So, what do you say?”

“Well, I don’t know, what do you say?” he smirked.

“How about we both give our answer on the count of three?” You suggested.

“That works,” he said.

“Okay, 1...2...3,” you said.

“Yes!” you both smiled before sealing it with a kiss.

**

Next part will be uploaded tomorrow! :)

Sooo... since they’ll be going on a little holiday for New Year’s... should I do a companion series? Maybe like a 5 parter? 

[sxvxrxssnape]

minerva mcgonagall’s personal mission to make severus love christmas part 5

aka snolidays/snapemas day 11 and 12 (hot chocolate, baking) // pre-PS/the years between. minerva and severus friendship // content warning: panic attack and mentions of lily potter. i feel like this should be considered a snapetober entry oops. word count: 4287  @blog4snape

The night ended with more hot chocolate as the five stood together and watched a choreography of lights move above the pond, creating elves loading a sack full of gifts onto the outline of a waiting sleigh, watched it become glowing reindeer pulling it off the ground, rising in height and getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared and the light show began again. 

It felt like magic and he refused to believe none was involved. 

He fell asleep fully clothed that night, contentment and milk chocolate running through his veins as he begrudgingly made another mark on the imaginary scorecard. 

Minerva was definitely winning.

Saturday was spent finishing the potions for the infirmary, bottling and stoppering the dozens of phials, and methodically scrubbing the cauldrons clean as he read from a book hovering above the wash basin, the pages turning with a flick of his head. 

He dropped the potions off at the hospital wing, secretly pleased that Poppy was far too busy with a floo call to a student’s parents to bother giving him more than a thankful nod and a wave of her hand. He didn’t mind their conversations, but when three students were laid up sick on starched cots, Severus preferred to be as far away from the infestation as possible. 

He spent the night reading, a cup of tea in hand, the soft glow of candlelight nearby to illuminate the words of one of the books he had picked up from Diagon Alley. 

Sunday morning found him sprawled out on the couch in his living quarters, fully dressed once again, with the candles snuffed and the book astray, the teacup still nestled between a cushion and his thigh. 

He spent the day holed up in his office with a correcting quill, the stack of essays he kept putting off, and no less than four packets of crisps. It was dinnertime by the time he finished reading all the scrolls of parchment, his fingers cramping and eyes bleary. He had the beginning of a headache forming, but the grading was nearly caught up on. 

The remainder were short-answer questions, at least.

He wasn’t sure he could sit through another stack of eighteen inch essays for at least another month.

Perhaps two. 

The crisps had made him nauseous, so rather than attending dinner in the Great Hall, he flooed into the staff lounge and helped himself to his precious french press that had been left behind. As the coffee grounds soaked, he glanced around the room and took in the stockings.

There were some new additions.

There were his and Minerva’s - white, cable-knitted with fur trim, bearing their names embroidered in black thread - but also a bright blue with Filius’ initials, a pastel-pink made from crushed velvet with Pomona’s name spelled out in tiny yellow flowers, a black with silver snowflakes bearing Aurora’s family crest, and a neon orange war crime that could only belong to the headmaster. 

All of them had candy canes peeking out. 

There was a tree in the corner now - a tall, proud-looking noble fir - looking like an oversized houseplant when it was devoid of lights and decorations. He finished making his coffee and sat down at the round table, eyeing it carefully.

The rest of the castle was still surprisingly devoid of holiday decorations, but if this tree had already arrived, it was only a matter of time before the rest of it started creeping in. Soon enough, the place would look like a tinsel factory had exploded inside of it and the number of trees within the castle walls would put the Forbidden Forest to shame. 

He scowled at the thought. 

Later, he realized he had spoken too soon. 

Monday morning brought a fresh shower of snowflakes, a drop in temperature, and about thirty-six douglas firs into the Great Hall. These were already decked out with lights, ribbon, and colorful baubles. Some of the trees had clearly chosen sides, cheerily standing tall with the weight of red and gold ornaments, while others were laden with green and silver, blue and bronze, or gold and black. 

Garland clung to the old brick, neatly tied with red ribbon and perfect pinecones, spaced out above the portraits and high, arched windows. 

He didn’t want to think about the rest of the castle. 

There was white chocolate peppermint tea waiting for him at the staff table, so he conceded that not everything that morning was absolutely terrible. 

Tuesday was a bad potions day.

Not for him as a brewer, of course, but as a professor. 

By the time both his classes ended, eight different cauldrons had either melted, exploded, or absolutely disintegrated without a trace. He lost a full jar of moonstones because one student had decided to bring the entire fucking container to her table rather than count them out beforehand like he had advised, and it had taken all his self-control to stop himself from breaking down right in front of the class of sixth years. 

He had collected those moonstones himself, wandering the Forbidden Forest all fucking night, with only a lantern to light the way. They were supposed to last him at least another two months before he would need to venture out again - and the last time he had gone out, he’d nearly sprained his ankle on an upturned root and gotten a tree branch to the fucking face. 

Tuesday evening found him four drinks in, asking the house elves to please bring him some hot, salty chips from a local shop, and when the darling little elf returned with the newspaper cone, he babbled stupidly for two solid minutes from gratitude alone. 

Wednesday was a headache, a blur of back-to-back classes, a lot of frustrated yelling at completely inept students, a full pot of that wonderful white chocolate peppermint tea, and a sudden decision to not assign any more homework for the rest of the year.

Not because the awful little slimeballs deserved a break, but because he did. 

The elves made mushroom and wild rice soup for dinner, alongside everything else they always made, and Severus took more comfort than usual in the hot meal. 

Wednesday night was his turn to patrol the castle, so he stayed up half the night wandering the empty corridors. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he entered the Astronomy Tower, groaning as he realized Aurora was still there, carefully packing away her supplies post-lesson. 

“Oh, don’t act like you aren’t glad to see me.”

“Believe me when I say I’m not.” Severus returned, stepping to the edge and looking over the grounds. Most of it was cloaked by shadows, but the silver light from the moon was still enough to softly make out the silhouettes of the greenhouses and Hagrid’s little hut. “What, no comment on how I’m out past my bedtime?”

Aurora laughed, putting a bronze telescope back into its case and fiddling with the straps. “Not this time, no.” She glanced up at him and warned: “But don’t you ever make me miss out on family dinner again or you will regret it.” 

Thursday morning he slept in. 

He barely had enough time to pull on his teaching robes and run fingers through his hair before he had to hightail it to his classroom, frazzled and out of breath. He hadn’t had time to prepare the chalkboard the day before, and was quickly writing out the recipe in his messy scrawl, when the seventh years started filtering in.

“Alright, you’re going to need number three pewter cauldrons today,” he called out over his shoulder, finishing the last line of script. “Fill them with two liters of room temperature water and put your burners on low. Today we’re going to be brewing a more complex -”

“Professor?” 

He scowled at the interruption. “What is it, Mr. Greenwood.” 

“I think your robe might be inside out.”

He blinked and tried not to let his face flush with embarrassment. “Thank you, now as I was saying -” he continued awkwardly, shrugging out of his robe and flipping the sleeves inside out. 

“Your shirt buttons are fucked up too.” 

“Language!” he scolded, swallowing down the sharp coil of emotion building at the back of his throat. “And do not speak to me like that.”

“Hey, you’re the one walking in here, unprepared, with your clothes all fucked.” Greenwood muttered. “Just what were you up to before class, sir?” he grinned, his comment eliciting a few chuckles.

“Detention, Greenwood.”

“Now, wait a second!” the boy faltered.

“Do you wish to make it two?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he raised an eyebrow in questioning contempt. “Because we can surely arrange that.”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

He finished the lesson on autopilot, quickly fixing the buttons on his shirt in the supply closet, fingers shaking nervously as he muttered angrily to himself. He shrugged back into his robes, double-checking they weren’t inside out again, and downed a calming draught on a whim - the shiny light blue bottle catching his eye from its place on the shelf - before returning to his desk. 

He made sure to scowl at each of them in turn and surprisingly enough, not another student made an unwarranted comment about his appearance, his teaching, or even each other. It kept him from reaching for another calming draught when he felt its effects lifting. 

Friday found him having a panic attack.

Then again, if no one opened the door to the broom closet he had squandered in, if no one came face-to-face with his crouched down, fingers tangled in his hair, not-quite-yet-out-of-breath, full body trembling self, could anyone really prove he was having an anxiety attack?

He’d barely made it through his second class and had dismissed the second years twenty minutes early, sans homework - and oh, Merlin, they were going to think he'd gone soft - before attempting to return to his personal quarters.

It didn’t quite work out as planned. 

His knees had felt shaky and he’d felt as if something were gripping at his throat, pressing down on his lungs, and he had to sit down and ground himself before he had a full-on breakdown in the middle of the corridor. He’d found himself stumbling, as he hid behind the closest doorway, the tidal wave of unchecked emotions too much.

His resolve was breaking.

He tried to focus on his Occlumency shields, tried to push back the unfiltered pain and fear he refused to think about - could not think about - because if he did, he was afraid he would never be able to function again. He was afraid he would break.

The dam was already broken though and now, now the rest of it felt inevitable. 

Now he was simply gasping for breath, tears welling in his eyes that he refused to let fall, sitting on the floor of a dusty broom closet, bathed in the dull yellow light that flared whenever it sensed movement, like some sort of spotlight - a beacon honing in on him, existing solely to put his downfall on display. 

Far too many thoughts were flitting around his head, crashing into each other and making it difficult to tell them apart, to pinpoint just what had been the trigger, the reason behind his weakness - because surely, that’s what this was right now: weakness.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and he tried his best to muffle his ragged gasps, hand curled into a fist and pressed into his mouth, teeth sinking into the pale flesh, threatening to break through from the force he was using, so desperate he was to not make a sound. 

It didn’t work.

The footsteps paused, their owner faltering. 

Voices were speaking from the other side, hushed and mumbled, and with another stroke of panic, Severus realized they belonged to more than one. Students, most likely, and he curled tighter into himself, vehemently wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

“Are you okay?” a hesitant voice traveled through the aged wood. 

He didn’t answer, but he figured his breaths were answer enough.

“Are you having a panic attack?” a different voice called out, sounding just as unsure as the first. “It sounds like you’re really struggling.”

“Do you need help?”

“They probably can’t answer, dummy.” a third voice spoke up, but this one wasn’t addressing him. They were all familiar, but his brain wasn’t letting him process anything to fruition. “Hey, if you can hear us knock on the door.”

He considered ignoring them, but in the end he knocked.

“Good!” the first voice praised. “Alright, knock if we were right about the panic attack.”

Again, he knocked. 

“Do you want help?” the second student asked. “I’ve helped my share of students through these.” He suddenly recognized Casper Jenkin’s voice, one of his seventh year Slytherin prefects. 

He groaned; as if this situation could get any worse. 

“I’m gonna take that as a no.” Oliver Greenwood’s voice muttered, so apparently yes, it could get worse. He was stumbled upon by his own snakes - and his disrespecting seventh years, at that. 

“Do you want us to get someone?” Allison Bone, the original speaker, questioned. “Madam Pomfrey or your Head of House? If you’re all the way down here, you’re probably a Slytherin, huh?”

He choked out a laugh at that. 

“Laughing!” Bone approved. “Laughing is good! That means you’re getting control of your breathing. The worst part of it is over now.” 

“I’m going to open the door, okay?” Jenkin told him, and the doorknob started turning. “It’s probably pretty cramped in there - definitely won’t help.”

“Don’t!” he let out, just as the door opened and he found himself blinking up at his snakes, the three of them blinking down at him, equally dumbfounded, and he wanted to scream at whatever joke of a higher being had shifted the cards enough to lead him here. 

“Oh!”

“Professor Snape?!”

He lifted a shaky hand to his face, brushing back disheveled locks of hair. “Get out.” he whispered, low and angry, not caring about the semantics that it technically didn’t apply. 

“Are you sure you don’t need -” Bone started, then faltered at the growing expression on his face. “Right, we’re leaving.” 

Greenwood eyed him a second longer than his companions, but rather than the teasing glint he usually held whenever addressing him in class, he wore something softer. “Sorry.” he mouthed, genuine concern flickering for a brief moment before he also left. 

He put his head in his hands and started laughing, softly at first, but when it became an ugly sob, he fought to regain his composure, nails digging into his scalp. 

He managed a deep breath, wiped his face on the sleeve of his robe, and hurried to his personal quarters. He was moving on autopilot now, slipping out of his teaching robes and into a jumper, grabbing a bit of floo powder and calling out a quiet, “may I come through?” when the flames turned a brilliant green. 

He stepped into Minerva’s quarters, bypassing her concerned look and collapsed onto the old couch, pointedly ignoring her as he stared at the vaulted ceiling. 

“Severus?”

“Panic attack.” he mumbled.

He remained silent after that, listening to the rustling of parchment and paper, the soft scribbling of a quill nib making its way across the page. For a few minutes, that was the only sound, until suddenly Minerva stood up and opened up the floo. Hushed voices followed, then silence, and he finally sat up when he heard the distinct pop of a house elf apparating into the room. 

Dorset, one of the school elves most identifiable by his height, was balancing a tray on one hand and a heavy-looking box on the other. He placed both on the kitchen table, nodded at the two, and apparated away.

“What’s this?” Severus asked, his voice gravelly and tired, as he stood up and approached the table. 

The box was filled with an assortment of items - butter, eggs, icing sugar, flour, and the like. He could see a bag full of dirigible plums sitting right on top and he smiled despite himself. The tray was holding two ceramic mugs, their contents hidden by the mountain of whipped cream and cinnamon they were topped with. 

“Sit down with me.” Minerva said simply, picking up the tray and bringing it to the couch. She sat down at one end, placing the cups on the coffee table, and waited. When he sat down, facing her, she handed him a warm mug. “I asked for hot chocolate.” she told him, eyeing him carefully. “Specifically the gingerbread one we had last week.”

“I liked that one.” Severus mumbled, staring down at his cup.

“I know.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, sipping on their hot chocolate, and Severus could feel his anxiety slowly ebb away as it was replaced by warm comfort. 

“You look awful.” she finally spoke up.

He smiled ruefully, but it felt more like a grimace. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“Have you noticed, how every time you experience feelings of distress, someone always tends to interrupt before we can talk?” she asked, watching him. “I think we’ve been putting it off long enough, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“We never got to talk about Yaxley.”

“We didn’t need to.”

“We also never finished our conversation about how you ask for my company whenever you venture out of the castle.”

Severus gripped his mug tightly. “You said enough.”

“You still flinch when people touch you.”

“Can you blame me?”

Minerva paused, studying him in a way that left him feeling exposed. “They’re all connected.”

He kept silent.

Her next words were unexpected. “What about Lily?”

“What about her?” he growled out, anger taking hold and manifesting into shaking hands. He swallowed down the bile he could feel rising, the taste of milk and chocolate suddenly acrid on his tongue.

“You never talk about her.”

“That’s because I don’t have anything to say about her!” Severus finally yelled, nearly dropping his mug. He set it on the coffee table and balled his hands into fists, refusing to break eye contact with the professor before him. “Lily died four years ago, but she stopped being my friend long before that! Do you want to talk about the guilt I carry, knowing it was my fault she died? Because no amount of talking, nothing I do will ever be enough to make up for the fact that I killed my best friend! And I hate myself for that, but Merlin, do I hate her too.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” he burst out, the words he could never dare himself to say aloud now slipping off his tongue without trouble. “She was my best friend and then she sided with them, with him, after what he did to me! And that’s when I knew she was never really my friend! She saw what he - what he did,” he was starting to gasp for air again, “and she still, she - he -” 

He focused on steadying his breathing, arms wrapped around his torso. 

“I don’t.” Severus finally amended, in such a soft voice he wasn’t sure it even carried. “I want to hate her so much - and I am so angry at her, angrier than I’ve ever been at anyone - but I don’t hate her. I can’t. Maybe I wasn’t her friend, in the end, but I know she was mine. I lost so many people in the war, but she’s the one who hurts the most, so no, I don’t want to talk about Lily.”

Minerva hummed. “You sort of already did.”

He scowled.

“Drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”

Some of his anger fizzled out as he finished the drink. When they were done, Minerva stood up and started pulling out the contents of the box, lining them up on the counter. He joined her, watching as she leafed through a cookbook he hadn’t noticed. 

“We’re going to do some holiday baking now.”

“Are we?”

“If you’re not going to talk to me about what led to all this,” she gestured in his general direction, “then we’re going to bake some things for the staff party tomorrow.”

He nodded, sighing. “Where do you want me?”

They spent a few minutes in stilted silence, as he washed the bag of dirigible plums and cooked them down into a sauce, stirring in ground cardamom and honey. Meanwhile, Minerva whisked double cream and cornstarch with vanilla sugar and salt, the pot resting over low flames. He added the plum sauce and smiled as it came together and turned into the warm orange color he remembered. 

“What next?” he inquired, after the thickened mix had been poured into a mold and tucked away in the cold cupboard. 

“Biscuits?”

The sugar dough came together easily enough, pale yellow and perfectly smooth, and as they sprinkled flour over the table to roll it out, Severus started fiddling with the holiday cutters. 

“I can hear you thinking.” Minerva spoke up a few minutes later, dusting her hands off on a clean towel. She reached for a tree-shaped cutter and started pressing it into the dough. “Are you ready to talk now?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Sure you don’t.”

They finished cutting out all their shapes, moved their biscuits into the oven, and cleaned off the kitchen table. Minerva was opening small jars of sprinkles while Severus whisked together icing sugar and egg whites. He focused on dividing the royal icing into small bowls, adding droplets of colored dye and stirring carefully as if they were a temperamental potion, when he finally broached the earlier subject: “They are all connected.”

“Pardon?”

He didn’t look up, merely repeated himself. “They’re all connected.”

Minerva pulled the baking tray out of the oven and cast a cooling charm before bringing the perfectly baked biscuits to the table. Severus picked one up and absentmindedly broke it into pieces. He shared it with Min and picked up another biscuit, carefully dipping this one into the bowl of red icing and shaking off the excess. 

He reached for the star sprinkles. “I try not to think about any of it.”

“You’ll have to, eventually.”

He thought about the broom closet. “I know.”

Minerva dipped a star biscuit into the bowl of yellow icing and handed it over to Severus, who immediately covered it with three different colors of sprinkles. They worked in tandem for a few minutes, dipping and sprinkling all their biscuits, and eventually a spoon was introduced to their project and Severus found himself drizzling thin stripes across some of them.

“I’m giving this one a Dreadful.” Minerva decided, picking up what was supposed to be an ornament, originally dipped in white icing, but then covered with uneven globs of blue. 

“Fair enough.” Severus shrugged, levitating the dirty dishes and moving them to the wash basin, spelling the water on. He picked up a candy cane-shape that had been rolled in yellow and violet sprinkles and then drizzled with green. “This one, however, is deserving of a Troll.”

Minerva spelled the dishes to wash themselves and then raised an eyebrow at him. “Severus, you decorated that one.”

“I’m aware.”

The yule log cake was a little more time consuming to make. He sat down at the table and watched Minerva separate eggs and whisk the whites with sugar until it foamed.

“It would be faster if you spelled the whisk.” Severus offered.

“We tried that once.” Minerva laughed, not slowing down. “It worked great at first, but all of a sudden, the whisk was flinging meringue all over the room.”

“How delightful.”

Meringue was light and shiny and the brightest white he could imagine. Min filled a piping bag with the foam and showed him how to pipe little mushroom tops on the baking paper. When he took the bag from her, he was surprised to find it bore no weight.

“Do you not know how to hold a piping bag?”

“Evidently not.” he grumbled, looking at his hand and the fluff of meringue that had spilled out of the bag and over his hand. 

“You’re supposed to hold the end closed, you numpty.”

“Numpty?” Severus muttered under his breath.

“Elphinstone always did the same thing.” Minerva shook her head, fixing the bag and finishing the job. “No matter how many times I corrected him, that man couldn’t hold it right. Always went off about how he’s the ministry liaison for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Min, I don’t need piping meringue mushrooms in my skill set.” She took in a shaky breath and set down the bag. “See? Perfect.”

“Min-”

“Don’t just stand there, Severus.” she scolded, thrusting the cookbook in his hands. “Get to work measuring the dry ingredients. You can make the cake while I make the frostings.” 

He started sifting flour and cocoa powder. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”

“Of course I know that.” she humphed, putting the tray in the oven and spelling the dishes clean. She unwrapped a stick of butter and stared at him. “Do you know that?”

“Minerva, I only met your husband twice.” he deadpanned.

She flicked a bit of icing sugar at him. “Don’t be smart with me. I’m not the one repressing all my emotions and pretending they don’t exist until I can’t stave off the impending panic attack and end up crashing in my colleague's quarters because of it.” 

“Fine, you win this one.” he muttered. “You are the pinnacle of mental health, professor.” 

“Excellent.” Minerva grinned, but her smile seemed a little bitter. “Does this mean you’re going to talk to me now?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Numpty.” she repeated. 

---- a/n: i was in the mood for angst tm also the ending feels a little rushed but it is 3am rip. im not gonna finish this series by christmas but my goal is new years. time exists in a vacuum anyway and is not real. ps. let me know what you think pls!! it gives me all the seratonin

[ineffable-snowman]

Fic: For Want of Snow

Hi @smeltster, this is your gift for the GO Events gift exchange @good-snowmens. Happy Good Snowmens to you!

Thank you very much to @artemis for beta-reading!

***

For Want of Snow

“You don’t have snow anymore in London,” Aziraphale had said wistfully one day while they were strolling through St. James’s Park, Crowley with a black umbrella and Aziraphale with a tartan one to protect themselves against the steady drizzle.

Personally, Crowley could do without the snow. The usual London weather in December – grey, cold, rainy – was bad enough. Nevertheless, he had filed that information away for later, and when he came across a snow globe in a shop (as you do), he bought one for Aziraphale.

“Oh, how delightful,” Aziraphale said happily as Crowley presented him with the snow globe and removed a stack of books from the coffee table to place the snow globe there. Crowley, in turn, removed the books from the floor and squeezed them onto the shelves.

“Need to keep things tidy,” he offered as a mumbled explanation at Aziraphale’s questioning glance, all the while trying to forget how, just a few months ago, all the books and sheets of paper on the floor had so quickly caught fire. Then he flopped down on his sofa, half listening to Aziraphale prattle on about some theatre production he wanted to see, but mostly glaring at the blessed fireplace to make it very clear that it was never meant to host a fire again.

“Are you quite alright?” Aziraphale’s voice jolted him out of his glaring.

“Yeah, sure. Just cold.” Nothing unusual about snakes disliking the cold, right?

Aziraphale immediately got up to fuss, offered him a woollen tartan blanket (which he naturally refused), and a cup of tea (which he allowed).

“I could light a fire,” Aziraphale suggested.

“No! No, not necessary, I’m already much warmer, this-” Crowley sloshed some tea over his trousers and suppressed a hiss “-works wonders. What were you saying about that musical play?”

The distraction worked – for now. It did nothing to make the images of the bookshop on fire in Crowley’s mind disappear, though. 

Crowley’s gaze kept drifting to the snow globe where the snowflakes floated dreamily down onto the little house between pine trees. The brightly lit windows looked cosy, and an idea started to form in Crowley’s head.

***

Hell used to hold Crowley up as an example for efficient evil deeds organisation. What he was planning now was not exactly evil but it warranted the same kind of attention to detail (maybe even more).  

He started subtly, making the Bentley play White Christmas whenever he drove Aziraphale somewhere. Then he placed adverts at the places Aziraphale frequented: picturesque images of snowy villages and woods, vacation homes, cottages to rent, property for sale.

“You know, it would be nice to have a White Christmas again,” Aziraphale said when they were sitting, once again wet from the London rain, in the Bentley and the song Winter Wonderland began to play.

Crowley hummed his agreement. “Makes it really Christmassy, snow. Very festive.”

“It’s a shame neither of us took weather management courses, back in Heaven.”

“Yeah, would’ve been more helpful than choir practice.”

“Oh, don’t remind me!”

Any other day Crowley gladly would have taken this chance to bitch about Heaven with Aziraphale but now he needed to focus on his mission. The car in front of them stopped without knowing why, right next to a travel agency with a big poster in their shop window that showed a cottage in a winter landscape.

“You know,” Crowley said offhandedly, “there are places where you could have a White Christmas.”

“Yes, in Lappland or Siberia. I’m sure it would be wonderful to go there but you know how I love the English Christmas traditions.”

“There are English places where you could have a White Christmas.”

“Oh? Where would that be?”

“Tadfield. For example.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“Uh.” From very thorough research about which part of the UK had the highest probability of a White Christmas. “Had a chat with the Antichrist’s father. Not Satan, obviously, still not on speaking terms since you know. His human father. Anyway, they’ve had White Christmases for several years now, he said.”

“How lovely. Tadfield is not very far, maybe we could go there on Christmas Day for a walk in the snow.”

Crowley shrugged. “Could rent a cottage for Christmas.”

Aziraphale turned to him, a worried look on his face, and shit, shit, shit, too fast. The song changed midway (I’m dreaming of ice in the sunshine) and the snowy cottage on the poster turned into a tropical island. Crowley wanted to hit himself for being such an idiot. Why couldn’t he leave things be? Things were fine now, why couldn’t he just be satisfied with what he had?

“I meant only so we could have a place to warm up,” he said quickly and honked at the car in front of him to finally get moving, for Heaven’s sake! “You know, after a walk in the snow, you need a warm place where you can have a hot drink and I don’t think they have cafés in Tadfield, so.”

“Oh. Yes.” Aziraphale hesitated. “Good.” He cleared his throat. “We could do that.”

***

It took careful planning. First of all he needed to rent a cottage. Not just any cottage, the perfect cottage in the perfect location. A cottage that was also potentially for sale.

Then he kidnapped the holiday decorator at Harrods (but paid him generously, so it wasn’t really kidnapping) to hang up Christmas lights, holly, garlands, and of course to put up and decorate a huge Christmas tree. Crowley visited the cottage himself to make sure the decorations were appropriate, paying special attention to the angel ornaments because they must not resemble certain archangels. While he was there, he also gave the Christmas tree a very strong talking to not to shed a single needle.

Then he brought everything you needed for a perfect Christmas, which was mostly food and drinks. There was some minor blackmail involved when he bullied the waitress at Aziraphale’s favourite café to give away their hot chocolate recipe. He needed three days of practice and several cartons of milk until he got it right without any miracles. (It was the first and hopefully last time his kitchen ever experienced any real cooking.)

On the morning of the 25th, Crowley was thoroughly exhausted but positive that his demonic plan was flawless. What could go wrong? Still he hovered in front of the bookshop’s door, wondering if he should ring the bell, if Aziraphale had forgotten their plan, if all of this was a phenomenally bad idea, if –

Aziraphale opened the door and smiled at him. “Ah, good morning.” He was wrapped in a thick coat and a fluffy woollen scarf. “Merry Christmas!” He handed Crowley a present.

“Ah.” Crowley’s hands moved of their own accord and took it. So that was a thing now. They gave each other Christmas presents now. “Thanks.” Why had no one informed him? He did not have anything for Aziraphale. (Did a cottage count?)

“Open it. You’re going to need it today.”

Crowley carefully opened the golden wrapping paper. He was not prepared for this, the idea that Aziraphale had chosen something for him and then wrapped it and put a bow on it. It was not even midday and things were already getting out of his control.

Inside the box were a thick red scarf and a pair of earmuffs. Crowley would have complained about the fluffiness of the earmuffs but at least they were black and it was his first ever Christmas present from Aziraphale, meaning he would kill anyone who tried to take the earmuffs away from him.

“Ah-hm, guess they could be useful,” he said and Aziraphale’s face erupted into a happy smile.

“Oh, I hoped you would like the colour. You never wear proper winter clothing. It’s no wonder you’re always cold…”

Crowley drove them out of the city while Aziraphale prattled on about bearskins and muffs. Crowley would occasionally comment with a hum but was mostly wondering what it meant that Aziraphale had decided to give him a Christmas present and worried about him staying warm and had gone to the trouble of choosing colours which Crowley liked.

“Oh dear, is the tape deck not working again?”

“Hm?” Crowley startled. The Bentley was playing Crazy Little Thing Called Love. As it had when they had driven off, thirty minutes ago. Crazy Little Thing Called Love was not a thirty-minute-long song, was it?

“I thought Adam had repaired it,” Aziraphale said.

“No, it should-” Crowley thumped against the disc compartment until it played Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture “-definitely be working.”

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

The music that was dramatic enough for this day had not been composed yet but Crowley let Aziraphale choose another CD and resolved to pay more attention to the music from now on.

Fortunately, the drive was not that long and they soon arrived at the outskirts of Tadfield where the cottage was located. The village was in walking distance but far enough away so they had their privacy.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley suppressed a flinch. Did the cottage look too similar to the house in the snow globe? Was it too obvious? “You don’t like it?”

“No, I mean, yes, I like it, it is absolutely wonderful. What a lovely place you have found!”

Crowley let out the breath he had been holding. Aziraphale liked it. He thought the place Crowley had found absolutely wonderful. His plan was working.

“Right! Let’s have a look inside?” Crowley got out of the car and winced when he stepped into the snow. He had forgotten to miracle his shoes waterproof. He would fix them later. For now he opened the front door for Aziraphale, proud to show him the festively decorated interior.

“Oh, look at that, how gorgeous! But who decorated the place like this?”

Oh no. Too much? “Er, it was just…a Christmas…special…deal. To get the house like this. Didn’t know it would be so bright and festive.” Crowley made sure to make a properly disgusted face.

“It is marvellous. Makes you want to stay inside all day. But we are here for the snow, of course. But we must sit down here and have a drink later and really appreciate the decorations.”

Good, Aziraphale liked the interior and wanted to stay, just like he was supposed to. Crowley ticked it off his mental list.

Now to the unpleasant part: snow.

At least Crowley had his new scarf and earmuffs. That did not keep his fingers warm or stop his nose from running, though. Also, walking in the snow was a nuisance. It was exhausting, his shoes and trousers got wet and he stumbled or slipped every few meters. But Aziraphale had flushed cheeks and commented happily on this and that, and it was really annoying and ridiculous what Crowley was willing to do to make that bastard smile.

Aziraphale, naturally, walked on the snow, almost gliding over it as if it was nothing, just leaving the faintest of footprints whereas Crowley trudged a few feet behind, wheezing and sometimes blessing at the bloody snow. Crowley knew that, technically, he should be able to do the same, what with angels and demons being of the same stock. But he also knew that he really needed to know that fact for it to work, and his brain refused to cooperate. Stupid brain, stupid snow.

“It has been some time, hasn’t it?” Aziraphale had stopped and was waiting for Crowley to catch up. He offered Crowley his arm, and Crowley was not against linking arms or holding hands, not at all, but this was humiliating and he wanted to be the one to extend a hand… but there was no way he was going to decline such an offer. Grumbling, he linked arms with Aziraphale and let the angel pull him up.

“There you go.” Aziraphale patted his arm and smiled at him and Crowley was glad he was wearing his sunglasses because getting such an open smile from up so close was shocking. (Also because the snow was blinding.) “You’ve done it before, so there’s no reason why it shouldn’t work now. You just have to believe in it.”

Crowley snorted. Believe in it, that was really the core of the problem. Demons weren’t supposed to – the fickle snow under his feet already gave in at the barest hint of that thought but Aziraphale tightened his hold just in time. An angelic miracle surged through Crowley’s body, making him shudder. It should work now, being supported by the angel’s powers. It did, he stayed on top of the snow even though his legs were a bit wobbly.

“Now, that’s better,” said Aziraphale. “See, it’s just like – what is the saying – riding a bicycle.”

“Never really liked those either. Not enough wheels.”

They discussed vehicles of transportation while they walked towards the forest. It was exhausting to make conversation and at the same time keep his senses tuned for any humans along their way who needed to be distracted. Not to mention the permanent miracle to keep his body temperature up and not succumb to the temptation of hibernation. Then there were the snow-covered branches that got into his face. Why had any human ever thought it a good idea to go for a walk through a snowy forest for fun?

When they had finally spent the scheduled amount of time in the forest, Crowley directed their steps towards the village and made sure to pass the bookshop in a side street with the FOR SALE sign in its window. (As the owner had not known she owned a bookshop 24 hours ago, she was all the more happy for that sign, not least of all because it would bring her unexpected money.)

“Oh, nice bookshop.” Crowley slowed down his steps in front of it. “Would be a shame if someone bought it who’d turn it into a mobile phone shop. Or an estate agency.”

Aziraphale looked pained at the mere idea. Good.

Next stop: the bakery, which for miraculous reasons was opened on Christmas Day.

“How about a little snack?” Crowley suggested.

“Oh, yes, it smells heavenly.”

Crowley harrumphed because the fact that Aziraphale’s favourite bakery had, at short notice, decided to open a branch in Tadfield had nothing at all to do with heavenly influences. He urged Aziraphale to try the ciabatta with roasted garlic and fennel because Aziraphale always insisted that he had never eaten better ciabatta.

“This is good,” Aziraphale said when he tried it. “Mm, I think it’s almost as good as Francesco’s.”

Almost as good?! Who in this bakery had screwed up? Did Crowley have to kidnap Francesco, too? Aziraphale kept on praising the bakery but Crowley was already drawing up new plans on how to insure there was the perfect ciabatta in Tadfield.

Back in the cottage, Crowley immediately went to the kitchen to make hot chocolate. This was the tricky part of the plan. The milk could not be trusted. And the cream could be a real bitch.

Right, he could do this. He had succeeded in his kitchen, so he could do it here as well. Saucepan, milk, cocoa powder, sugar, cream, chocolate chips, a pinch of vanilla, a pinch of cinnamon, miracle, pray, hope that it would not boil over. Well, he had nine more cartons of milk, just in case, and enough cocoa powder for at least a year, but he did not want to keep Aziraphale waiting for too long.

After a few minutes, he proudly poured the hot chocolate into a mug. Now for the garnish. Whipped cream, marshmallows, chopped chocolate, candy cane, flake, cinnamon stick – the mug was too small.

“Don’t you dare,” Crowley hissed at it but he refrained from using a miracle because Aziraphale was snobbish about miracled food.

His hands were sticky with a mix of hot chocolate, whipped cream and marshmallows (because naturally he had spilled something) when bringing Aziraphale the mug but Aziraphale’s delighted and grateful expression made up for it. Another successful stage of his plan!

“This is very good. Where did you learn how to make it?”

“Not that difficult, really.” Crowley dropped down on the sofa in exhaustion.

“Won’t you have some, too?”

Oh, right. That was a thing, drinking hot chocolate together after a walk in the snow. “Of course, just getting mine…”

So, back to the kitchen. Saucepan, milk, cocoa powder, miracle, candy cane, done.

Hot chocolate was not Crowley’s favourite drink (especially not with hurried demonic miracle flavour) but it warmed him up. That, and watching Aziraphale with his flushed cheeks and content smile savour his drink.

“So. This place isn’t half bad,” Crowley said.

“It is absolutely lovely. Maybe we could, I don’t know… return here next year for a day or two?”

Returning sounded good, a day or two not good enough. Time to fortify the temptation.

“We could stay for tonight. Go for another walk. Could go at night, snow in the moonlight – looks nice, doesn’t it? Or tomorrow we could go to – to – to the hill. It’ll be a nice view from there, all the snow and…trees!”

“That does sound rather nice. But we couldn’t just stay here, could we?”

“Why not?”

“Well, it must belong to a human.”

“Yeah, it does. But the owner said it’s free for the next few…” centuries, decades, years “…months.”

“I see. In that case...” Aziraphale gave him a questioning glance as if waiting for Crowley to say it.

“Yes?” Crowley leant forward, waiting for Aziraphale to say it.

“I mean, as it is already getting dark…”

“Yes, very dark.”

“I mean, we could stay for one more…day, I suppose. Go for another walk in the snow.”

“Great.” Crowley gulped down the rest of his hot chocolate (and offered Aziraphale the candy cane). Everything was going according to plan, he had reached his goal for today. He would initiate the next stage of the plan tomorrow. For now, he could relax for a bit, and he really needed the break from all the minor or major miracles of the last few days, and the bloody snow. He sagged down further into the cushions of the couch. Warmth started to crawl back into his body, from his hands, which had held the mug with the hot drink, to his core until finally his whole corporation felt pleasantly heavy. Aziraphale seemed perfectly content, nibbling on his candy cane, and so Crowley could be, too. His breathing slowed down and he closed his eyes for a bit. Everything was so warm and nice and safe and… wait, what was that? He did not remember getting under a blanket. But it was a nice blanket. Very soft and very warm. He slowly blinked his eyes open. Everything was brighter. Where were his – ah. His glasses had been placed on the coffee table, next to five empty mugs and a stack of books. Oh no, was he back in the bookshop? But no, the bookshop was more dusty and stuffy. He was still in the cottage. They were still in the cottage. Aziraphale was sitting in the chair opposite Crowley, entirely engrossed in the book in his lap. Sometimes the hint of a smile would tug at the corners of his lips.

This was what Crowley had imagined. Well, not completely, to be honest. For example, he had not envisioned being covered with a woollen tartan blanket but the damage was done, no need to throw it away now. Besides, he was so very comfy in his cocoon of warmth. He stretched sleepily and wrapped the blanket more firmly around himself.

Aziraphale looked up from his book and the hint of a smile turned into a full smile when he caught Crowley’s eye. “Oh, you’re awake.”

That was food for thought, that Crowley got a bigger smile than the books. Crowley was not prepared for this – this – this four-letter word, all of it directed at him so openly.

“How long have I been…?”

“A bit more than two weeks, I think. Ah, maybe three. I haven’t been keeping track of time very thoroughly.”

“Two or three-?” Crowley sat up and got tangled up in the blanket. “But…” All of his careful laid out plans and he had simply overslept!

“It’s fine. I contacted the owner of this cottage. She said she did not have any other bookings and that we could stay for as long as we wanted. In fact, she seemed to be under the impression that we were going to stay for a bit longer anyway.”

And now that woman had messed it up even more! What was Aziraphale thinking? “Ah. Humans. Don’t really have a grasp on time,” Crowley tried to play it down.

Aziraphale placed a bookmark into the book, closed it and put it on the table. “I’ve been thinking.”

Oh no. “We need to talk?” Crowley ventured, dread growing, because those words were just as ominous.

“Yes.” Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them. Then he looked back up at Crowley. “Do you want to stay here?”

Of course he had worked it all out. Clever bastard. Stupid of Crowley to think otherwise, stupid of him to fall asleep and let Aziraphale overthink it for two or three weeks instead of being distracted and tempted by hot chocolate, ciabatta and little bookshops for sale.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale prodded.

How could he get out of this situation with both of them keeping their dignity intact? “Er, mnk. It’s not that bad here? I guess I could see myself staying here. Just, nhm, sleeping for a bit, you know.”

“And…do you want us to stay here…together?” Aziraphale’s voice had gone almost inaudible on the last word.

Crowley gave a big, hopefully very casual shrug that was meant to communicate just how unaffected he was by all of this. “I wouldn’t mind. Only if you want to, of course. Do you? Want to?”

“No, Crowley, I asked you if you wanted to stay here together.” Aziraphale’s voice had grown louder again, almost resolute now.

There was no way out of this. No shrugs, no half-answers, not even falling asleep for another few weeks could get him out of this situation. Right, be brave now.

He looked at Aziraphale and Aziraphale looked calmly back at him. It suddenly did not seem so frightening anymore. It would be fine, whatever he said. Aziraphale would still shelter him from the rain or help him walk on snow; would never cast him away.

Crowley gave a jerky nod.

“Good.” Aziraphale smiled tentatively. “Then we will stay here.” He nodded, as if to confirm it to himself, then grabbed his book with trembling fingers.

“Your hands are shaking,” Crowley said.

“Indeed, they are.” Aziraphale watched his own fingers as they opened the book on the page he had marked. “It’s just a lot.”

“I get that.” Crowley really did. He knew that Aziraphale by now had probably worked out the details of his plan with the numerous miracles to get them here and it should be humiliating but somehow it was okay because Aziraphale was just as nervous and was willing to do this with Crowley. “We don’t have to right now, we could just come here on vacation once a year or-”

“No, I want to.”

Huh. That had been easier than expected. Several stages of the plan were suddenly redundant. “What about your bookshop?”

“I was under the impression that you had already purchased that little bookshop in town?”

“Not yet but…I could.”

“Right.”

Crowley noticed how tensely Aziraphale’s fingers held the book, almost crumpling its pages. He knew how much Aziraphale loved his bookshop, and although it was flattering to think that Aziraphale would give it up for him, he never wanted Aziraphale to give anything up. “Or you could keep your bookshop. London’s not that far. We could go there once a week so you can open it every Tuesday or so. Won’t make much of a difference for the customers.”

Aziraphale considered it for a moment but then he shook his head. “No. I want to live here, I really do. It is perfect. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Crowley was lost for words. They were here, together, and they were going to stay. What else was there for him to say or do? Perfect, yes.

“I hope you’re well rested?” Aziraphale asked. “Because I’m planning on taking you up on that promise of a moonlight walk in the snow.”

“There’s still snow?!” Hadn’t he slept long enough?

“Indeed there is, and it looks marvellous.”

“Guess I owe you.”

After being asleep for so long in the warmth of the cottage, the cold outside was a bit of a shock. Aziraphale offered his arm again to assist Crowley, who, after a few uncoordinated steps, got the hang of walking on snow much quicker this time.

“Still hate snow,” he grumbled but it wasn’t that bad really.  Yes, it was bloody cold but there were some upsides. Like the snow glistening in the moonlight and Aziraphale still holding him close, which wasn’t strictly necessary anymore and therefore even better.

They were on their own, not a sound to be heard but their breathing and the rustling of their coats. In the distance, the village laid asleep, no lights to be seen, just the smoke from the chimneys showed that humans lived there.

They walked towards the forest. The snow covering the ground was untouched but for some tracks that animals had left. The branches of the trees were hanging low with the weight of the snow. Everything felt a little unreal, it couldn’t be further from London’s hectic and loud atmosphere. It made Crowley all the more aware of everything, like how close they were pressed together. Aziraphale with his thick winter coat felt like a big comfy cushion against Crowley’s side.

They kept walking for hours like this, sometimes exchanging a few hushed words but mostly just enjoying the stillness of the world. Just walking and being here, no deeds to be done, no need to tempt or plan or work miracles. They kept walking until the break of dawn. Without discussing it, they directed their steps towards the village where one by one the lights in the houses went on.

“How do-ooaah!” Something hit Crowley right in the face and he staggered, lost his footing and landed on his bottom in the snow. “What was that?”

“I believe a-” Aziraphale ducked to avoid the next missile “-snowball. How rude.”

“Snowball.” The best thing about snow. Crowley was already sculpting his own snowballs and then started the counter attack. He liked sleeping, good food and moonlight walks well enough but he was still a demon, and using that annoying, squishy, cold stuff for snowball fights – brilliant idea. He was chasing the screaming kids around, bombarding them with his snowballs, ignoring Aziraphale’s complaints (“Crowley, you can’t use miracles against children!”).

“He’s the Antichrist, he can defend himself!” And his friends could just as well. Only when Crowley let snowballs the sizes of snowmen rain down on them, did they retreat.

“Was that really necessary?” Aziraphale admonished him while patting down the snow from Crowley’s coat, scarf and hair.

Crowley cackled. “That was fun.” He snapped his fingers for a new pair of sunglasses because the other one had been lost in the fight and was now probably buried somewhere in the snow.

“You look frozen. Let’s head back and warm you up. Maybe with some of that delicious hot chocolate you made. Are there still ingredients left or do we need to buy something?”

“I think we still have some,” Crowley said, thinking of the nine cartons of milk in the Bentley’s boot.

Back in the cottage, Crowley miracled his clothes dry and headed for the kitchen. Aziraphale followed him.

“How did you learn to make such scrumptious hot chocolate? Can you show me? What’s the secret?”

“Uh, possibly the milk.”

“What’s with the milk?”

“You heat it.”

“Yes?”

“It’s bloody difficult! Milk’s always trying to boil over and it makes a mess…”

“Yes, it sometimes does that.” Aziraphale stepped next to Crowley and examined the stove and the saucepan. “I think I can handle the milk.”

Aziraphale turned out to be a natural in heating milk. No boiling over, no stench, no flames, no ruined saucepan, not even spilled milk on the floor.

“You’re good at that,” Crowley said in surprise and added the cocoa powder.

“Oh, well, it’s not the first time I’ve made hot chocolate. Would you pass me the whisk, love?”

Crowley crashed into the countertop and spilled half of the sugar he had meant to add next. He stared at Aziraphale. Aziraphale smiled bashfully, his cheeks flushed red. He knew what he was doing, that bastard. He meant it.

“The whisk.” Crowley cleared his throat because his voice had come out very undemonic. “Right, yes, sure.” He passed it to Aziraphale and then got more sugar and the other ingredients.

Emboldened by Aziraphale’s bravery, he stepped a little closer so their shoulders brushed against each other. Aziraphale stopped breathing but he did not flinch away. He was still smiling when he whisked the milk and the cocoa powder. Crowley took his time adding the sugar and chocolate chips. And afterwards, he just stayed where he was and even dared to, very lightly, place a hand in the small of Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale wriggled a little closer and suddenly it was very easy to place his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Crowley could not tell how long they stayed like this, Aziraphale whisking the hot chocolate and Crowley staring almost transfixed into the saucepan, inhaling the chocolaty scent and the warmth and Aziraphale’s closeness. What did it matter, they were not in a hurry, and the milk behaved for once.

[roccinan]

Hermano👀👀👀 (hopeful for new snippets)

I knew I could rely on you for that #hermanos support ;) Public shaming time asdfasdf I don't have any new snippets, but I do have more or less the whole plot of "Hermano" sketched out in my head. (Lots of spoilers below the cut!)

[ 👉 My Wips ]

It takes place directly after Hermanito AKA when Andres left the hospital 5 min. after waking up. dumbass. So we follow him and Sergio home, and Andres legit tries to act like nothing happened (the vibe: "dear diary, all the fancy restaurants are booked for Christmas parties. Maybe I could take Sergio on a ski trip. It's very hard to find gold-laced wrapping paper in this economy. If I can't find solid gold tissue paper, silver is fine too. I think Sergio would enjoy the imported chocolate I ordered for the holidays--" then in the margins, he goes, "oh yeah, we almost died the other night and I was in a coma for a week but who cares? anyway, presents-")

Andres and Sergio have completely different priorities. Which will be a Project for me because Hermano is from Andres' pov and his brain is something else. Anyway, while Andres is limping around and subconsciously projecting secret childhood trauma onto his preparations for the Perfect Christmas TM with Hermanito, Sergio's like, "hmm you don't look so well, Andres"

Eventually, Andres realizes Sergio's right because his insides shouldn't feel that way and coughing up blood isn't normal. They go to some underground street surgeon to patch him up. And Andres' delusions take a hit x1 when the guy suggests that Sergio's going to grow up to be as fucked up as him if Andres keeps raising him. (btw, no painkillers or anesthetic involved because the dude couldn't afford it LMAO- he'll be like "go buy some ibuprofen after this. I'm gonna start cutting into you now-")

Andres' delusions take a hit x2 when another of the thugs from the last story tracks him down to his shitty apartment like a day after the surgery. Andres manages to kill the guy, but not before almost dying (again). Sergio, unprompted, cleans up the blood and tells Andres how they should get rid of the body. Hit x3. Now Andres realizes maybe his idea of a perfect little life with Sergio isn't so great after all because 1) this is the second time he "failed" to protect his brother 2) maybe he's a terrible influence on Sergio after all 3) his shitty lifestyle just isn't suited for children.

But they spend Christmas together anyway, and it's the best one Andres has ever had even though they didn't get to do anything fancy.

Which is why hit x4 absolutely destroys him. Sergio falls ill again and Andres rushes him to the actual hospital (not the shady surgeon), the one he first met Sergio in. The doctor pretty much guesses Andres' entire life story at first glance and politely tells him, "hmm, I think you're a worthless nobody who's going to die from some fight on the streets. I'm disgusted by your presence already. But your little brother on the other hand, now, that's a young man with a future, if he lives lmao which he won't with you. no offense."

Since Andres has spent his entire life not listening to other people's words and building up his own delusional world, that speech shouldn't affect him. But it does because now it's not about him. It's about Sergio, the one person Andres ever cared about to this extent and the one person that truly, actually loves him back.

So Andres arranges for Sergio to be adopted by a family in Barcelona. Then he tells Sergio he doesn't want him anymore and tries to abandon him at the train station. Sergio, kid genius TM, sees right through him and doesn't get on the train. He and Andres make a really big scene there and cry a lot. Sergio makes it super clear that he's not going to Barcelona and that he wants to stay with Andres. He knows Andres doesn't think it's the best choice, he knows it's not the smartest choice, but it's what he wants. Andres didn't leave him when he had no one, so he's not going to leave Andres when it's the other way around.

The fic ends with the hermanos visiting papa Marquina's grave and Sergio teaching Andres the lyrics to bella ciao (this should have been the ending to Hermanito but I got tired adfadsf). Then Andres makes plans to take Sergio to Russia for experimental treatment, as per Alvaro's headcanons.

That's the outline in my head! Hopefully what I write will look the same LMAO and I'm hoping to publish in winter. It's up to fate!

Other things that happen:

Andres remembers that time he starred in a porno, felt it was beneath his dignity, and lost all the clothes he was wearing because they were bought by someone else. This led to him hiding out in a McDonalds bathroom, butt-naked at 2am and looking for chicken nuggets in the trash. Then the janitor tried to kick him out and Andres beat him up and stole his clothes. He considers this the lowest point of his life

Sergio gives Andres a little gift for Christmas, and Andres is surprise pikachu face

A mini-snippet that I hope to include (between the unlicensed surgeon and Andres):

"Take this."

Jose shoved a pair of earplugs into his hands. Andres quirked a brow. "Why would I need these?"

The older man laughed, a nasally trill of sounds that Andres did not appreciate. "They're not for you. They're for the kid-"

Jose grinned. "Because you're going to scream like a bitch."

Snippet from last time:

Occasionally, he would have a moment of clarity. He could step back then and see himself, not as Andres, but as he was. And he’d traded enough counterfeit art to know the difference between artifice and truth. This was a truth he’d always known, as universal as the rules of anatomy and color: Andres belonged on the pages of a sketchbook, lines of charcoal scribbled in haste and set to practice.

He was a replica of that sketch, counterfeit, a scribble made to tear out and scratch.

But Sergio? Sergio was the real deal. Sergio was the painting itself, the portrait that came from the work of countless sketches.

“You don’t have many prospects. How long do you think you can keep this up?”

“You can die on the street and nobody’d give a flying fuck.”

“You brother isn’t like you. He has a future.”

Andres looked back to the blood in his sink, the red on his knuckles, and the gashes peppering his face in the mirror. Jorge’s damned words surfaced in his head, as did the physician’s and the most accursed voice of them all: his own. They were right, he realized with a sharp- unfamiliar- ache, he could not keep this up. The dust from his charcoal had no right dirtying the gloss of Sergio’s paint. The portrait could never thrive beneath the counterfeit.

He made his choice. And he should never have fancied another option.

[nightcoremoon]

weird opinion but christians aren't religious.

ok so like, jews generally follow god's rules, muslims follow allah's rules, hindus probably follow their gods rules, so on and so forth. and overall they do it out of faith; they do it because they want to honor the deity who loves them rather than because society forces them to.

granted the zionists and the radical extremists and the zealots do exist but as loud minorities and thus are statistical outliers & don't matter.

christians are... a different breed.

"if you aren't x branch and dont obey y rules you'll go to hell so we'll fucking murder you" is pretty much the main driving force behind a significant portion of christianity in history. the catholics, the protestants, the orthodoxy, all are built on a foundation of fear, anger, and hatred. it's shaped the way society developed; in the 4 nations that did the most genocidal imperialist colonialism- England, France, Spain, and Italy- a combination of convenient coastal locations, naval prowess, military tendency, christianity, and ultranationalism lead them down a path of missionaries, holding bibles in one hand and bloodstained knives in the other. the religion is inseparable from the culture and inseparable from the horrible things done in the name of their god, and the resulting cancers of society we feel today from the campaigns of slaughter. xenophobia. capitalism. savage barbarism via sensationalized capitol punishment. misogyny. queerphobia. gender fascism. classism. racism. all of these issues in the "civilized world" stem predominantly from those four nations and the disease ridden pestilent filth some call pilgrims.

here's something interesting:

there are less than 1 million rastafari in the world.

there are less than 5 million shinto in the world.

there are less than 25 million jews in the world.

there are less than 30 million sikhs in the world.

there are roughly 100 million african cultural religious adherents in the world.

there are less than 400 million chinese cultural religious adherents in the world.

there are about 500 million buddhists in the world.

there are about 1.1 billion hindus in the world.

there are about 1.2 billion nonreligious people in the world.

there are 1.6 billion muslims in the world.

and one final statistic

there are over 2.1 billion christians in the world.

the jewish count is a highball, rounded up, and includes several different definitions of jewish including people who are only one quarter. so for every single person who is even remotely jewish, there are more than 8 christians. for every hindu, there are 4 christians. for every atheist, agnostic, or "other", 2 christians. this frightening statistic should set off warning bells for everyone who is involved in a discussion about religion. and anyone who knows BASIC world history and can correlate data at all can probably piece together what I'm putting down.

now, I may be slightly biased here considering my eclectic religious beliefs. now, I personally believe that there is some primary force of energy that may or may not manifest itself as a humanoid being, that engineered the most basic laws of physics in the universe: atomic magnetism. as can be inferred by planck's constant and its implications, our universe is digital, written in binary. an electron either moves or doesn't move. there are no other options. so I genuinely believe in some form of intelligent design; whether it's a bearded guy on a cloud, some dude with six arms and an elephant for a face, just a big swirling pool of ectoplasm, or a big ol' plate of spaghetti and meatballs, something is out there that we are physically incapable of contacting from our plane of existence, just as a drawing on a piece of paper cannot reach out to interact with the world: a gif will move on its own but it will never acknowledge our existence, even if it could think by itself. and all the different mythologies of the world- egyptian, greek, norse, shinto, whatever- very well could be the agents of that unknown "god". perhaps anubis, ra, and bastet are just angels with animal heads that all of the peoples of ancient egypt saw and were like oh I guess this must be a god. maybe zeus and loki were the same person with a magic dick who fucked a bunch of animals in both greece and the scandinavian countries and spawned all of the horrible half-animal monstrosities that, idk, made vishnu think "well I have to kill that" and caused the biblical flood or something. maybe the jewish god gifted wisdom to siddhartha for sitting under a fig tree for 6 years through the angel pomona [roman goddess of fruit, had to google that one], so buddha gets his wisdom from demeter and is in nirvana right now right a step up from hades on yggdrasil the world tree keeping an eye on his charge persephone. any theory could theoretically be true but we ants of humans will never fucking know because we can't just point a telescope at the magellanic clouds and say "look, there's amaterasu with russell's teapot, and she's having tea with... *rubs eyes* lemmy kilmister??? wow I guess gods are real after all!" it's impossible to know the secrets of our universe because of the very restrictive nature of the universe itself. is it a circle? is it a donut? WE DONT FUCKIN KNOW.

we cannot know what religion is truthful.

""anyone who says that any one religion is more or less true than any other is a fucking moron, and if they're suggesting that White Western European Colonial Imperialist Protestantism is the one true faith, they're probably a fucking racist colonizer who beats his wife/sister and burns gays at the stake. and considering how that exact demographic is typically the one that murdered people for not converting to their religion, I don't think they have the intellectual non-deranged ability to make those logical connections.

again, I'm not saying that there AREN'T a lot of people of every religion who are evil assholes who contributed to mass genocide. israelites killed palestinians. shiites killed sunnis. hutus killed tutsis. danes killed geats. turks killed armenians. the ottoman empire has as much blood on its hands as the holy roman empire. germans who called themselves aryans but weren't actually aryan killed jews. but all of these tragedies were isolated incidents rather than repeated patterns over the course of two thousand years. not like christianity was and is.

just look at the United States, Canada, Mexico, Hong Kong, South Africa, Australia, & India's British Raj. Britain, France, Spain, and Italy, by extension Protestantism and Catholicism, are the shared factor between the long and bloody history fraught with massacring indigenous populations who wouldn't convert religions. native americans, indigenous canadians, latin americans but predominantly mexicans, the eastern chinese, coastal africans, aborigine aussies, indians- coastal coastal coastal. true the western chinese and the mongols/hunnu and xinjiang muslims haven't exactly been on civil terms and the silk road has always been a battleground and the middle east was already tenuous before murrica bombed them for oil but those happened in such a spread out area among asia which is FUCKING HUGE, MIND YOU! but also that's three high traffic places with massive diversity, it's human nature to have conflict, but not nearly to the same level as all of the shit christianity has done to the world. it's impossible to separate the religion from the cultures; victorian england without protestantism is just dirty people who die at 15 from having their 3rd child. italy without the catholicism is just grass and cheese. france and spain without religion are just kingdoms that fought wars with england for forever and now just make food that's one part delicious and three parts horrifying. religion is directly responsible for a significant portion of the evils those countries committed. one religion in particular.

they don't practice religion the same way as the rest do. they aren't faithful to their god. they don't follow his rules out of love but out of fear. they execute dissenters without a second thought, heresy they cry. they execute women and little girls for being free thinking or having sickness associated with mercury poisoning in the water, witch they cry. they slaughter men women and kids alike in the name of cramming their beliefs down the natives throats, we're chasing out the snakes they cry, we're bringing god to your godless people they cry, we're just civilizing you they cry. they shit in the streets and proudly display rotting corpses and leave the impoverished disabled and starving to die alone and whip their slaves and rape teenage girls and scrap in the streets while sopping wet with spilled ale over insignificant insults and stab people to death in the night and never even fucking BATHE, and they have the nerve to say the natives were uncivilized. the nerve. because hey. they read a magic book they stole from a culture who stole from another culture who stole from another culture, mistranslating each time from hebrew to greek to italian to english, and they think they're better because their skin is white.

christians never evolved. their mentalities have stayed the same. all thatms advanced has been technology. that's it. they're still the same evil disgusting degenerate bastards they always were. they just have the money they stole to buy stained glass windows, rosary beads, giant tacky metal statues, bigass robes, leather, and printing presses. and as time passed they used the money they continued to steal to buy cars and websites and radio stations and commit felony tax evasion and secretly molest children and line the pockets of the politicians.

all of their holidays are stolen from pagans anyway.

so fuck christmas. fuck easter. fuck lent. fuck the golden calf christian holidays that the tiny minded fragile snowflake conservatives lose their collective shit over because the pandemic response common sense stipulations won't let them buy the shit they can't afford with money they shouldn't have for people they don't even LIKE, all in the name of tradition, tradition! the rituals that worship something so much worse than satan or baphomet or pan or whatever: the dollar. they buy all the new shiny shit they can, at the expense of the chinese kids that the corporate pigs outsource to, buy the pine trees and the coca cola vunderbar and the fake mint corn syrup Js and watch the same shitty cookie cutter white supremacist hallmark fash movies and stuff their kids full of enough sugar to go into a goddamn coma when the african slaves who pick the cocoa beans will never get to know what actually being a kid will ever feel like because they're gonna die from falling into a combine harvester and be eternally forgotten to history and no christian will ever give a shit because they don't fucking care about what they don't see on their safe space news or hear on their safe space radio or read on their safe space social media. they think their worst sin is eating cheeseburgers so instead they'll go eat a mcchicken or chick fil a or an arby's chicken sandwich instead but not at popeyes because "that place is sketchy" and by that they mean they don't wanna eat where black people eat, that's why cracker barrel was so popular for so many white christians for so long because it had racially segregated seating until barely 20 years ago.

they don't love jesus. they love a paper doll they shove into their back pockets until every other sunday where they go to a fucking mall with a baptism waterslide and raise their hands like a bunch of dumbass weirdos and away to adult contemporary indie schlock with the word jesus pasted into a boring-ass hetero romance song, pat themselves on the back, then go to starbucks to scream slurs and misgenderings at 14 year old starbucks baristas who give them a cappamochalattechino instead of a fucking carmamochalattechino because you mumbled under the mask you didn't even fucking cover your nose with because you don't give a shit about the virus beyond how it inconveniences you.

they are horrible people who pretend to be good. until you suggest the slightest infinitely small inconvenience to them that would alter their holiday plans even the littlest smidge. then they would kill you if not for the police. don't get me started on them because you know by now what I'd say about those fuckers. but they'll gladly wear shirts about how they'll kill you. how they'll go back 200 years. how they'll murder you and watch you slowly suffer because their primate brains shoot a million endorphins when they watch things die by their hands because they never evolved a sense of empathy, compassion, or morality beyond how wearing a cross necklace will remove any of the consequences they will face in their afterlife.

they are horrible people who pretend to be good. unless you're gay or black or trans or Not Christian™ or mexican or disagree with them about politics economics sociology science technology music or movies. assimilate or die. assimilate or die. assimilate or die.

they don't deserve special treatment for their false idols.

they aren't better than jews or muslims.

they're worse.

so much worse.

and they should be stopped.""

-Nightingale Quietioca

save as draft arch draft bookmark draft where did I put my keys contra code kontra kode I need to remember this and copy it buzzwords keywords find it later please god tumblr don't bork on me this is good stream of consciousness repackage repackage change the words this is a great character study if I do say so myself thanks 3am me you're welcome 3am me

[geckolady]

Skulduggery Pleasant: Raising Cain - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – Permanent resident

Stephanie is nine years old

The death of her mother had rocked Stephanie greatly. At the start she could only think about how she was gone, about her hugs and kisses and what she was going to miss the most. Losing her dad hadn’t been this bad but she had been naive then, too young to know better. She couldn’t even remember his face. Now she was older, she understood. She’d never see her Mummy again.

How was she ever meant to go back to normal?

She hadn’t been scared though, and she knew her Mum would be proud. First, Uncle Fergus had shown up and taken her to his house. She didn’t like it there. She was given a hot chocolate and the twins weren’t in sight. Beryl was very quiet, which was almost stranger than anything else. Almost strange enough to distract her. Then she got picked up by her Grandma and was told she’d stay with her for a while, which was nice. It was Grandma that explained that her Mum was gone forever and was sent to Heaven. She just cried. She didn’t even know if Heaven was real! What if it wasn’t and her Mum had disappeared? What if she was somewhere else? It just didn’t make sense and all the questions made her feel like she was slowly going crazy.

That Friday, six days after Melissa died in a car accident, only a few hundred yards from the building where her husband had fallen to his death, Gordon came to Grandma’s house while she was asleep.

She crept to the top of the stairs, immediately happy to hear his voice from her bed.

“-with me,” Gordon was saying. “Melissa already arranged it that way.”

“Then where were you, Gordon?” Grandma said with more anger than Stephanie had heard from her before. “Honestly, you are a bad influence on that girl! What makes you think you deserve her? She needs stability, not you. You have to be the last person she should be visited by when she’s so upset, and I intend to not let you see her again.”

That's when Stephanie got scared.

She ran to her room and got her backpack and quickly filled it with all the things she had been given when family had visited, all brought from her house. Her Mum’s house. She didn’t have much. Quickly, she grabbed her favourite toy panda and bolted down the stairs.

“-we’ll see about that!” Grandma shouted. She was in Gordon’s face. He was red with anger and his fists were balled.

“It should be her choice, Veronica! At any rate, it’s in the Will! I’m her godfather, I’m her guardian and I have full custody! If she wants to stay she can. But I won’t just leave her and never come back,” he growled at her.

“How dare you–”

“I want to go with Gordon.”

The adults jumped out of their skin and looked at Stephanie. She was still in her little shorts and top, her hair probably all over the place. She walked to Grandma and gave her a hug.

“I love you,” she said softly. “But I want to go with Gordon.”

Grandma started to sob but after a lot of hugging, she was finally pried away by her uncle and walked to the car. They drove in silence.

She wasn’t scared anymore. In fact, she was a tiny bit excited that she might see her friends again. That would be fun, even if she were still upset and missing her mother. She smiled, drifting off to sleep.

.*****.

“AAAAAAAAGGHHH!” Stephanie shouted, throwing a snowball over at Gordon. It hit his head just as he looked over his fort. “YYYYEEEEAAAHH! I’m the victor!”

“Never!” And he got her on the shoulder.

Stephanie laughed and continued to scream and pelt him with snowballs. When they were finished trying to annulate each other, they went inside to get hot chocolate. Stephanie sat on the sofa in the living room, blowing at the hot liquid. It would be Christmas in a few days and the big Christmas tree was almost hovering off the ground because of the amount of presents that were stacked underneath. Stephanie had bought Gordon and her six friends gifts which Gordon promised to give them. She was also going to bake some biscuits which he said he’d give to them also. That was tomorrow's job. The rest of it was for her.

Sometimes she felt bad that they always bought her things. But it wasn’t like she made them do it, so she didn’t think about it much.

“So, what are you hoping to get for Christmas?” Gordon asked, sitting across from her.

“You know what I want,” she said, taking a sip finally. It almost scalded her tongue. “I want to see my friends.”

He sighed. “Why can’t you want fun things like TV’s and games and money?”

“So… I can have a TV?”

“No. But that’s what you’re meant to want,” he told her. “Not even a book?”

She shrugged. “That would be nice, but I’d really like to see them.”

He smiled at her. “You know I can’t let you do that. I’m sorry Steph. I just want to keep you happy, you know.”

She smiled weakly. “I know. I love living with you. I just want to see them.”

“When you’re older, I promise. When you’re older we can all go on holiday, we can do anything you want. You’re just too young now. You could get hurt.”

She nodded and tried to think of what to do to make him see her as stronger and older. She bit her lip. “How would I get hurt visiting someone?”

“Because of their jobs. They take down bad guys, and you’re just too small. And don’t act like you wouldn’t get involved because we both know the first thing you’ll ask after you meet them is to go and work with them!”

Stephanie hesitated and decided it was best not to push. “Maybe I could do something now, before I meet them? Like learning to fight. Then I’ll be really strong when I’m older.”

He grinned. “Now that’s a good idea.”

.*****.

It was summer again and almost Stephanie’s tenth birthday. In the nine months since Christmas, she had grown almost two inches and she’d been doing well at learning to fight. She had been allowed to join a junior Muay Thai class on Mondays and Thursdays, a boxing class on Fridays, and a morning kid’s fitness club on Monday through Friday mornings. There were mostly older kids there, but after a few months of fighting, she was good enough to keep up with them. On Tuesday and Wednesday evenings she swam. It really helped her relax and blow off steam from school. She really didn’t like school.

The weekends were strictly for her and Gordon, with a little homework time, so Stephanie was looking forward to tomorrow when they would get to go to a theme park. Plus the day after was her birthday. It was going to be a good birthday, especially since school had been so bad since she started. Year Five was not fun!

“Steph, are you ready?” Gordon called from the hall. “And have you seen my keys?”

“Here!” She grabbed Gordon’s key’s and they drove to the small gym where a load of kids were already standing around outside. She supposed it was still alright to do the class on the grass. The sky was white, and not in the about-to-rain way.

“I can’t wait until we start training inside again,” she moaned. “I like the inside.”

He grinned at her. “You’ll be alright. Now go kick their arses! If I get back and you’re not in trouble I will be deeply disappointed, young lady!”

Stephanie laughed and hurried to join the group. It was a good lesson and she had progressed enough that their teacher, a young man called Cory, allowed her and one of the older kids – they were all boys except for her – to spar.

“I can’t spar her!” He said, thrusting his small training glove at her. “She’s a girl!”

Stephanie put her mouth guard in and crawled into the ring. They had gone inside for the sparing. Gordon entered the building and waved to her. She grinned and waved back.

“Mate, just spar her. Trust me, she’ll be fine,” Cory told him. “Now get in there.”

The boy, maybe twelve and not much bigger than her though she could see he had more muscles, got in but he didn’t look happy. “I’m not fighting you,” he said lowly to Stephanie.

“Why not?” She frowned.

“You’re a girl!”

Stephanie rolled her eyes and punched him in the nose.

The boy's mum was furious with her. She had broken her poor boy's nose and he had been crying all the way to the hospital to get it fixed. Their trainer had kept her behind while they got it sorted and then high-fived Stephanie when he was gone and sent them on their way.

“I did it,” she claimed, sitting back in the car. “I did what you said. I won.”

“You did,” he grinned. “You have a mean punch.”

“I have,” she said seriously. “I want to meet my friends and go on adventures.”

His smile lessened but she felt he was not exactly upset. “So, what do you want for your birthday?”

She snored. “I still want to see my friends. Obviously.”

“When you’re older Steph. I promise. I’m going to tell them all about this though.”

She grinned. “Awesome.”

.*****.

Secondary School was not fun. She had thought Primary School had been bad. This was a lot worse. She hated Secondary School. Who did Mrs Miller think she was? She was an idiot. She was a bitch. An idiot bitch.

“Steph?” Gordon called up the stairs as she stomped away. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she growled, stomping to her room. She hated school.

She dumped her bag by her bed and laid down against the pillows. She’d had it redesigned for her eleventh birthday, choosing to get black display cases for all her gifts with lots of book space, a long desk, big bed and fluffy rug. The two big windows showcased the front garden beautifully and she got to see every time her friends came over. She never saw them themselves though. Not even from their cars. They were always blackened, and she couldn’t help but feel left out and upset that they didn’t want to see her. They still left her gifts, but a friend to talk to would be more appreciated.

“Steph?” Gordon asked quietly. “Can I come in?”

She shrugged, looking out the window. He sat at the end of her bed.

“What happened?” He asked.

“Nothing.”

“Please. I’m not that stupid. Tell me what’s up.”

She thought about it for a moment. “I hate Mrs Miller.”

“ And why’s that?”

“She’s nasty.”

“How?”

“She said something nasty.”

“What did she say?”

“We got into an argument. I was making a drawing on my book, and I know that’s wrong, but she screamed at me in front of the whole class and then ripped my book apart.”

“What book?”

“My school one, the one I write in! She pulled out the page with pictures on it, even the one with things in the margins and put it all in the bin.”

“That’s not everything, is it?” He said, putting a hand on her knee.

She shook her head. “She got in my face and said ‘Do you think you’re smart? You’re going to grow up to be an idiot and never do anything in your life. Your parents will wish they never had you, they’ll wish they never knew you at all. Do you want that?’ and then she made me stand in the corner, but I refused, and she told me to leave the room, and I did, but I heard her say under her breath, ‘No wonder she has no friends.’ Who does that? This isn’t a – a – a fucking movie!”

He kissed the top of her head and let her language slide. “Let me call the school.”

She nodded and waited until she thought he was far away from the room before she cried.

Later that night after a takeaway pizza and ice cream, Stephanie laid in bed with her eyes closed, trying hard to fall asleep.

Her door opened.

“She was so upset,” Gordon said softly from the door. Stephanie tried to be as still as possible. “I’m worried about her.”

“She doesn’t seem to get on with people her own age well,” Crow’s velvet voice said. She really wanted to move now. “Perhaps you should reconsider our agreement.”

Gordon made a tutting sound. “I want Stephanie to have every opportunity in the world. Going on adventures is one of them. Until she’s at least a little older she won’t be able to realise the hardship and pain that comes with that type of life. I want her to be certain, to not hold her back. Just give her a little longer to have fun.”

“I understand,” Crow said quietly.

Her door shut.

[thelittlestcheshire]

Is that HAILEY CHESHIRE “CHES” ELSWOOD? Wow, they do look a lot like KATHERINE MCNAMARA. I hear SHE is an EIGHTEEN year old FRESHMEN who is studying ENGLISH at Luxor University. Word is they are an ARISTOCRAT student. You should watch out because they can be IMPULSIVE and STUBBORN, but on the bright side they can also be ENERGETIC and LOYAL. Ultimately, you’ll get to see it all for yourself.

the basics //

Full Name: Hailey Cheshire “Ches” Elswood

Preferred Name: Ches Elswood

Age: 18

Birthday: July 19th

Zodiac: Cancer

Gender & Pronouns: Woman (She/Hers)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Occupation: Youtuber (two channels, a theme park history channel that uploads once a month (documentary style) and a DIY channel she shares with a friend she posts on the 2nd and 4th Mondays of each month)

Relationship Status: In a Relationship with Elliot Mills

Place of Birth: Paris, France

Hometown: Manhattan, New York, New York

Country of Citizenship: United States and France [dual citizenship]

Languages Spoken: French (first), English, Latin, Portuguese, and she’s learning Norwegian (she doesn’t think it’s enough to count yet) and she just started Russian

deeper dive //

Hobbies and Talents:

 ♡ Piano

 ♡ Archery

 ♡ Acting

 ♡ Singing (Voice Claim: Katherine McNamara (updated - spring 2021))

 ♡ Reading

 ♡ Forgeries

 ♡ Lockpicking

 ♡ DIYS (especially involving resin)

 ♡ Writing (not creatively though, essays, Defunctworld scripts)

 ♡ Video Creation

Favorites:

♡ Color: Pink (the watermelon paint color)

♡ Food: Cheap Chinese Food

♡ Animal: Tigers

♡ Drink: Cherry Cola

♡ Flower: Lilies

♡ Book: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

♡ Holiday: Halloween (costumes) or Christmas (gift giving)

♡ Movie: The Shining

♡ Scent: Vanilla Bean

♡ Place: Her family's flat in Paris

♡ Quote:

“and though she be but little, she is fierce” - William Shakespeare

Bêtes Noires:

♡ Color: Dijon

♡ Food: Sushi (a lot of it has to do with that tuna allergy though)

♡ Animal: Domestic Cats, she can tolerate them but they’re one of the few animals she wouldn’t seek out.

♡ Drink: Coffee (it’s a key reason why she drinks it when she’s panicking, because who has time to panic when you’re too busy being offended by what you’re drinking? Not Ches.)

♡ Flower: Roses (she loathes them, dislike is an understatement)

♡ Book: The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Victor Hugo

♡ Holiday: Her birthday

♡ Movie: The Notebook

♡ Scent: Roses

♡ Place: Touristy Locations, she hates being around tourists ok

health //  

Conditions:

           ♡ Borderline Personality Disorder

           ♡ PTSD

Allergies: Severe Allergy to the Perciformes family of fish (tuna, mackrel, perch , and bass). Shellfish and salmoniformes (Salmon and Trout) are fine, but she won’t try any other kinds of fish just in case.

Sleeping Habits: Ches doesn’t sleep well at all, she has nightmares more often than not, and it’s rare for her to get more than a couple of hours of sleep.

Exercise Habits: While she occasionally skips leg day, Ches exercises daily because she needs to be in good shape for archery. Usually, she goes for boxing (with a dummy, not other people) but she likes hiking a lot as well.

Addictions: Alcohol, although Ches is currently in recovery

Drug Use: Occasional weed (edibles), but for the most part she avoids drugs

Alcohol Use: Ches used to drink multiple times of day daily, but now she doesn’t drink at all because she’s in recovery (attending NA and therapy) and has quit.

personality //  

MBTI: ENFP

Enneagram: 7w8 (The Enthusiast with The Challenger wing)

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral, occasionally bordering on Chaotic Good

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Percy Jackson Parent: Aphrodite

Pokémon Type: Ghost

Pokémon Subtype: Electric

Winx: Light

appearance //

Height:  5′3 ½” (not at fc height)

Tattoos: One, Two, Three

Scars: None

Piercings: None

Hair:  Red (naturally). Ches dyes her hair from time to time so she has a current hair color thing in her sidebar (you may have to scroll).

Eyes: Green

Fashion:

♡ link to ches’s closet

♡ link to ches’s shoes

life at luxor //  

Major:

♡ English

Clubs and Activities:

♡ Archery Club

♡ Theater (Actress)

♡ Concert Band (Piano)

♡ National Honor Society

fun facts //  

♡ Ches is a former Carnifex student who came over to Luxor during the merge. You can see everything that she’s been up to during her time in the rp on her timeline page.

♡ Ches has a twin brother named Jonah who isn’t at Luxor.

♡ The Elswoods are rich. Top 25 Forbes list, 50+ Billion Networth levels of rich. In turn Ches really doesn’t think that much about money, and how much it actually means to other people.

♡ Valedictorian of Luxor Academy’s 2020 Class, she turned down Columbia’s English program to attend Luxor University.

♡ She doesn’t use her first name, ever. She doesn’t like it, and there’s a fairly high chance of her just not acknowledging you if you call her Hailey.

♡ She’s a bit of a closet nerd - if you look under her bed she has a chest of comic books, although she has NO idea how they got there if you ask her.  Do not question the R2-D2 shaped thing covered by a tarp in her closet. She also doesn’t know where that came from.

♡ Extremely restless, if you want her to sit still during a movie you better give her something to do simultaneously.

♡ Her purse is kinda like Mary Poppins bag, odds are she has what you’re looking for in it. She almost always has her multi-tool on her. She also tends to carry around a single shot nerf gun, don’t ask.

♡ She got her first tattoo while she was away from school, using a forged note of parental consent in New Jersey. (The not fragile one, the arrow was added later).

♡ She has way too many siblings, you can learn about them on her family page. (She has one more not listed, a still born half brother named Julien she learned about via her mother’s diaries. The rest of the children (excluding Emmett) are unaware.)

♡ Loves animals, a lot, sometimes to a reckless extent. She would try to feed piranhas, she does try to climb into enclosures with venomous snakes. She would steal a dog (as would her twin brother, so apparently they have more in common than they realize).

♡ If Ches makes a threat, take it with a grain of salt. Yes, she owns a blowtorch, no she won’t set you on fire even if she lights it in your direction. Your muse might not always know that - depending on how much time they’ve spent with her, but ooc just remember her bark is way worse than her bite.

♡ Ches has a Porsche that she got from her father for graduating at the top of her class. Although it’s currently not travelling with her because the cost of shipping a car is insane. Anytime she’s in Lake George though, this is her baby. (She also owns a Mercedes, which was her first car).

♡ I’m always willing to discuss my muses, so feel free to hit me up if you have any questions at any point.

a tl;dr history  //  

♡ Ches’s mother was murdered on her 8th birthday in front of her

♡ She was raised by her oldest brother, Logan, and is NOT close to her father really. She also helped raise her younger sisters and is very protective of them.

♡ The Elswood she is closest to is Emmett. He’s a big part of why she’s even here, as she’d followed him to Carnifex.

♡ Her first real love was James (an npc). They dated Freshman-Sophomore years. It wasn’t a healthy relationship, and it started Ches’s messy af relationship and fwbs pattern as she didn’t want to go through that again.

♡ Ches left Luxor in October of 2019 because her oldest brother (Logan), overdosed. He’s alive and doing well now, but she stayed in NYC until March 2020 in order to take care of things here.

♡ I strongly recommend skimming Ches’s timeline page before interacting with her. These are just the bare minimum basics, and there’s more things your muse may know on there.

wanted connections //  

♡ Exes (when Ches dates it’s not for long, but she’s definitely the type to be like “I’ll go out with you” if asked and then... dump you if she thinks she’s getting too attached. So her exes are either on good terms, neutral terms, or they probably dislike her a lot)

♡  Former friends with benefits (while Ches is no longer taking on new ones because of Elliot, I’m always willing to headcanon past things!)

♡  Friends (I am weak af for a good friendship plot, never be afraid to be like “hey can our muses be friends” the answer is legit always yes)

♡ Enemies (Ches can... be a lot so it’s not unlikely she’s pissed people off ok)

♡ NA Sponsor (I think it'd be beneficial for Ches to have a sponsor, someone she respects and trusts but not someone with a close emotional attachment. I'd prefer if the muse has been sober for two+ years, but we can probably find a middle ground.)

♡ Ex Friends (People used to be friends with but no longer is on good terms with, either as an aftermath of her addiction, the aftermath of her recovery when that starts, them just growing apart, etc etc)

[himbowelsh]

Hi! Can I maybe interest you in the valentines A-Z for our fav radio man George Luz? 🤗

babe you BET you can, i’m always interested in george luz

valentines day alphabet  ( accepting! )

A   :   AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

George is...  well, to put it simply, he’s a cuddler. He’s a very tactile person, without even thinking about it; casual touches, like squeezing a shoulder or clapping someone’s back comes easily to them, and is a simple way to express his affection. When he really cares for someone, he can get a bit needy  ---  he needs that same level of physical intimacy and affection. He’s very eager to hold the person he loves, to pull them close and feel their body against his, their heartbeat and breaths matching his own  ---  but nothing makes him feel better than getting that back.

B   :   BOUQUET.   does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

Honestly? Not a fan. Like, he’ll get his Mama a bouquet for Mother’s Day, but George is more likely to rock up with a gift or giant stuffed animal than a bouquet. There’s something about them...  he doesn’t like having to watch flowers wilt and die. It just unsettles him.

C   :   CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

He’s not weird about it. Yeah, he likes chocolate, but he won’t go feral over it unlike some Liebgotts out there

D   :   DATE.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

He’s the sort of guy who has to be kept entertained; his ideal date is definitely an amusement park or a drive-in theatre (beware, he’s definitely seen the movie before and will keep up a running commentary through it). Carnivals? Oh, heck yes, count him in. Fireworks show? Please. Give George a fun and colorful setting, the opportunity to show off a bit, and a fun partner who can keep up with him...  that’s the perfect date.

E   :   EMBRACE.   does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

Yes, he loves hugs! He thrives on hugs! Again, George is fueled by physical intimacy. His hugs are very steady, very earnest, and sometimes cling a bit too much...  but whenever he lets go, there’s sincere emotion on his face, and anyone can see how much he means it.

F   :   FLIRT.   is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

Oh yeah, he’s definitely a flirt, but it’s not something he can help! He’s just...  got one of those faces, okay? That smirk alone flirts without trying. When George is actually trying, he’s definitely able to keep the mood of the party light; if he’s drawn to someone, he’ll joke around with them, but if they seem to respond in kind, then the flirting begins in earnest. He won’t throw himself down on the table in front of them...  but winks, smirks, casual touches? It’s all there, baby.

G   :   GIFT.   is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

Gift giving is an art, and George Luz has honed it. He just...  remembers things about people. Innocuous things, small comments, major life events, he remembers all of it, and keeps it stored away for a later date. He’s given his fair share of joke gifts, but when he gives something with sincerity in mind, it’s always somehow the perfect thing. George gives people gifts they didn’t even realize they needed.

H   :   HEART.   is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

Honestly, he’s quicker than he should be, and he knows it. George...  wants to be loved. He needs attention and affection like he needs air. So when he falls for someone, he definitely falls hard, and there’s no way to really stop that trajectory. A part of him doesn’t trust himself, because he knows that’s a great way to get his heart broken.

I    :   I LOVE YOU.   does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

He definitely thinks it way before he actual says it. George Luz, keeping a thought to himself? Inconceivable! But the fact is, George is shy about saying it...  because he’s scared he might not hear it back. His partner would have to say it first...  and from that moment on, there’s no stopping him. George loves saying “I love you”. He tosses it out at random times, in casual and meaningful moments alike, just to hammer the point home  ---  saying it often doesn’t make it any less true.

J   :   JEALOUSY.   does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

He...  can get a little insecure at times, so yeah, if he sees someone else flirting with his partner, he won’t like it, and will definitely try to break it up ASAP. Not with fists  ---  a little charm and a well-placed wisecrack can work wonders.

K   :   KISS.   is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

Oh gosh, yes. George is...  the sort of kisser you wake up in a cold sweat about. He knows what he’s doing, and this is something he’s actually really confident about: George Luz is a damn great kisser. This is the one time he actually shuts his mouth, and puts it to work instead. Just the right amount of tongue, and touch, and teeth... while he’s definitely a bit of a tease, George knows what he’s doing, and exactly how to get his partner’s heart pounding. His biggest flaw is his habit of grinning during kisses, which... ends with bashing teeth together usually, not a fun time. Then he’ll start laughing, the mood is broken, and he’s gotta take a moment.

L   :   LOVE.   who does your muse love?

His entire family  ---  and George has a massive family. All his friends  ---  and he has so many friends, seriously. The funny clerk at the grocery store who always gives him a discount; the nice old ladies down at the bingo club who talk about their grandkids a lot; the neighbor whose leaky roof he fixed who couldn’t actually pay him, but gave him an entire pie. George has so much love to give, it sometimes physically hurts.

M   :   MOONLIGHT.   is morning or night a more romantic setting?

Morning George has bedhead, and Nighttime George has at least had a chance to run a comb through it, so he’s more confident in his ability to impress at night.

N   :   NAUGHTY.   what is your muse like in bed?

“Naughty” is a good word for it. George is a tease; he likes to have fun, and does not want sex to be an intimidating experience for anyone. He’ll be the first one to admit that he messes around too much, but it’s just to cover up the insecurities he feels deep down  (and also, when he’s nervous he sometimes doesn’t know how to Turn It Off). He’s a talker during sex. If he’s not making an inappropriately-timed joke, compliments are probably spilling from his mouth, like he’s not even sure what he’s saying. You have to actively work to shut him up...  and even then, he’s still pretty loud. He’ll definitely be able to make his partner laugh, but when he gets to teasing, he can be absolutely unbearable. If the other person takes control  ---  which, holy shit, drives George absolutely wild  ---  it’s super easy to get under George’s skin, because he’s sensitive in a lot of places. When he goes over the edge, he goes over the edge hard...  it takes a while for him to recover, and sometimes he’s left dizzy for a few minutes. Aftercare is very important, and another thing he absolutely loves.

O   :   ODE.   does your muse have a way with words?

He’s got a smart mouth and the inability to shut up. That’s almost the same thing.

P   :   PARTNER.   what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

Personality, absolutely. Whoever George falls for has to be able to snare him. He needs a little excitement, someone to keep him on his toes  ---  definitely someone with a great laugh. If they can make him laugh too, that’s a bonus; he’d love someone with a smart mouth. And kindness is super important  ---  he definitely wants someone who’ll go out of their way to help others out, even if it puts them at a disadvantage. (He has a thing for green or brown eyes, they just get him. Curly hair? Excellent, fun to run his fingers through. But he is...  genuinely not picky whatsoever.)

Q   :   QUESTION.   would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

Oh, he wants to do it. Absolutely. He’s got a plan and everything. Multiple plans. Many of them are elaborate and involve pyrotechnics with the strong potential for disaster, but...   eh, it’ll probably be fine. If no one dies during the proposal, it’s a great omen for the relationship!

R   :   ROMANCE.   is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

He thinks of himself as...  a practical romantic. Like, he’s not all butterflies and Disney ballads, but there’s a very strong streak in him that’s eager to be loved and have someone to dote on in return. When George is falling in love, he’s all about seizing romantic, spontaneous moments when they arise  ---  any way possible for him to show it.

S   :   SWEETHEART.   did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

He didn’t slow down long enough, to be honest. Lil Georgie was an energy ball. I could see him having some crushes on a few other kids, especially as he grew a bit older and middle school hormones happened, but he was no Baby Romeo.

T   :   TRUE LOVE.   does your muse believe in true love?

He...  believes in love. True love isn’t something he’s ever really thought about, because the idea’s always seemed kind of silly to him, like something out of a kid’s story. Love is love. 

U   :   UNREQUITED.   has your muse had their heart broken?

He’s been rejected plenty of times, but nothing’s ever truly shattered him. George bounces back quickly.

V   :   VALENTINE.   how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

“Stupid. Commercial garbage. Not even a holiday, why do we need it? Anyways, I booked us a dinner at eight at that restaurant you love, and don’t look under your pillow ‘cause there’s definitely not chocolate there ---”

W  :   WEDDING.   would your muse get married? why / why not?

It’s not, like...  the be-all-end-all of his happiness, and if his partner didn’t want to, he’d be cool with that. Yeah, he’d personally really like to get married and start a family, but... more than anything, he wants someone who’ll stay. You don’t absolutely need a ring for that.

X   :   XOXO.   does your muse use / like pet names?

He will absolutely make up goofy pet names for his loved ones to tease them, and likes to get creative with them. Nicknames come easy to George, and are always affectionate  ---  he jokes that he’s got so many nieces and nephews that no way can he remember all their names, but he’s got a nickname for each one and remembers those without even trying.

Y   :   YOURS.   does your muse get protective easily?

He can be, if he feels like a person he cares about is being threatened! If George sees a loved one in a tight spot, he’d going to jump in real quick. He won’t get immediately confrontational, that’s not his style...   but he’ll be there, at their backs, ready to step in if needed. His go-to move is an arm around his loved one’s shoulders, with a grin and a too-cheerful  “we got a problem here?”

Z   :   ZZZ.   how many people has your muse slept with?

Like...  he’s no nymphomaniac, but if he can, he will. Consent is very important to him, and he’s very in tune with his partner’s feelings, so he’ll only do it if both parties are firmly on board...  but if someone’s interested in him, and he’s in the mood? Sign him up and pin him down.

[spookytsubaki]

Gifts

@babes-week prompt No.3 Gifts. And what better to write about than anniversary gifts?  enjoyyyy

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An anniversary to anyone is obviously a special occasion. The flowers, the loving little notes, and the occasional gift. Lydia Deetz found she thrived when planning such things. She had been working on her idea for quite some time now; where to go, what to say, and what she would get her beloved friend. She knew oftentimes, she was the one who was planning meticulously for whatever idea they had set up, but she knew he wouldn’t forget something as huge as this.

After all, who could forget their own anniversary?

She had been able to keep everything hidden for the majority of the week, most of the time just stuffing the supplies in her school bag- then eventually her closet. However, she was surprised he hadn’t tried to pester her at all this week about it. She knew very well by now that anytime a holiday (or anything involving exchanging gifts) was coming, he would try to figure it out, to check all the knooks and crannies of her room, sometimes the entire house. However this year, he seemed almost unbothered by the fact.

Nevertheless, tonight was the night. She had practically raced home from school, ignoring any snide comments Claire offered that day. As she arrived home, she was quick to cover any mirrors that could let him see what she was doing. She then took out all the supplies she had stockpiled over the week: a little black book filled with all sorts of poetry and incantions (More for the mood than anything), A dark cloth, small red candles, a box of candied beetles, and two rings. 

While she knew these things were nothing too special, she figured the little bands might mean something regarding their friendship. She had specifically had them engraved (costing her a good two month’s allowance) and now they laid in a velvety striped box, safe from any peeking eyes. 

She lit the candles, set the beetles directly across from her, and took a breath. She hoped he liked it. She knew it was silly to be this grand over something like this, but he was a showman, and she knew he was always one to be loud and proud of his trinkets. And maybe a bit of her hoped he would see the intention behind the rings. 

So with one last look around, she cleaned herself up and sat down. She was ready, box stuffed in her pocket, candles drawing a lovely silhouette, she summoned him. 

“Though I know I should be wary, still I venture someplace scary. 

Ghostly hauntings I turn loose,

 Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice.”

For most of the week the ghost with the most had noticed his younger friend acting rather strange. He couldn't place his finger on it, but she seemed to be hiding something. He had checked the calendar Lydia had gotten him to see if any special date was coming up. It wasn't Christmas, Halloween, or her birthday. He thought that maybe it was that time of the month for her, maybe that was why she was being strange. 

With a sigh he sat on the old couch in the road house waiting for her to call him, yet she was late to calling him. He checked the time once again and groaned, what was taking her so long? He had missed her all day due to her being at school also known as  hell for her- at least in his mind. The ghost tapped his foot on the ground as he placed his head in his hands. What was his friend up to? As soon as she got home she always called him. 

That's when he finally felt it through his body, she was saying the magic words finally! Once that final saying of his name came he appeared in her room a big grin on his face. “LYDIA!” He yelled happily before yanking her into a bone crushing hug. “Why ya so late on callin’ me?” He asked, looking at the tiny girl with curious eyes. “Ya never wait this long babes.” He continued, still holding her close, not even noticing the whole set up she had. His eyes only focused on her. 

Little did he know he had really messed up on forgetting today.

“So whatcha wanna do babes?” The ghost with the most asked as he let go of her and spun her around a big toothy grin on his face. He looked at her with almost loving eyes as he waited for her answer. 

She watched as the green light filled the room, giving her ghoul a grand entrance as usual. She was excited to see his reaction to everything when he finally took it all in. She should’ve known better than to expect him to just sit down so they could exchange their gifts. As she was tackled in a hug, soft laughs escaped her. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I had a lot to do! That’s all!” She explained a big grin on her face. She was sure he remembered. Why wouldn’t he? He was always so good about this stuff- considering it was probably one of the only things that kept him out of trouble. She sat back up, fixing her hair as she kept that chipper little smile on her face. When he asked what she wanted to do, however, she gave him a confused look. She thought she made it pretty clear with how everything was set up. Maybe he was just playing a game with her. 

“Well, I was thinking we could stay here and hang out, after a long day there’s nothing I’d rather do than hang out with you.” She quipped sincerely, fidgeting with the ring box in her pocket. She hoped he would get the idea of this gift. After this year, and certain events ensued, the tension of their relationship had thickened quite a bit.  That wasn’t to say they weren’t still thick as thieves, but every hand brush, every meaningful look, every scheme, one of them was always looking out for the other’s signals. 

He felt his dead heart melt at her words. That was his favorite thing to do with her anyways, just hang out. As he finally looked around he noticed the set up and looked a bit confused, an interesting way to hang out he thought. “What’s this for?” He asked his face still confused as he looked back at her. 

His eyes then landed on the black and white box she held, he tilted his head like a dog. “Fancy box, is it for me?” He asked with a small chuckle. Now he was curious as to what his lovely best friend had planned for him. Maybe there was something special going on today? His birthday? No, no couldn't be that. Maybe it was some mystical holiday she knew about and wanted to celebrate it. 

Whatever it was he was curious as to what if was.  

Lydia frowned slightly when her friend asked her what the set up was. Was he really continuing this game? She looked around at the ornate details she had included. She was fine with playing it this way, it just seemed a bit odd. “For ambiance.” She answered noncommittally with a shrug. 

She had mindlessly taken out the ring box in the process of her getting lost in thought. She stroked the velvet as if using almost for meditative purposes; that is, before she was drawn from her thoughts by his raspy voice. She looked at the box as he gestured to it, as if it had just been placed in her hand. 

“Uhm yeah..But why don’t we wait for a few..” she chuckled nervously, wanting to now back out of her plan. Who was she kidding? She was a child. Why would he like her? She shook away these thoughts. Now was her chance to give it to him, if only she could work up the nerves now. 

“Oh! I got you something else as well! That was the last one in store, apparently beetles are quite a popular sweet.” She teased, handing him the box. This should buy her a little more time to work up the nerves. Besides, if they kept beating around the bush, maybe she would get an easy break. 

“Beetles! You know me so well babes.” With almost delicate hands he took the box and opened it picking up one of the beetles. He plopped it in his mouth almost swallowing it whole as he did. “The beetles are great babes, but I’d really like to see what's in that.” He motioned once again to the velvet box.

With one quick movement he grabbed the velvet box his curiosity taking over him as he needed to see what was inside it. He floated above her as he observed the small box wondering what could be so important in it. What did it have to do with this day as well? He questioned. 

“Why did you wanna give this to me today? What’s so important anyway?” He asked his raspy voice, still curious as he looked down at her about ready to open the velvet box. 

Her grin returned as she thought she distracted him a little longer, and could have her way with time. Unfortunately, it appeared he had other plans and was not so easily distracted. “You’ll see it soon I swe-Hey!” 

With one swift movement, he had snatched the small box from her grasp. She jumped, trying to reach it, but alas, being that short held it’s disadvantages. “Give it back! Come on Beej! I’ll let you see it soon! I promise!” she tried to bargain as she continued her futile attempts at getting the box. 

When he asked her what was so important about today it hit her. He didn’t remember. He wasn’t playing dumb, he truly didn’t remember. Her heart sank as she stopped attempting to reach for the box. “You really don’t remember, do you?” she asked softly, sobering reality setting in. 

Slowly he floated down to her and handed her the box back, he noticed how sad her face went. What could he be forgetting that was so important to her? “Remember what?” He mutters looking at her feeling bad for how upset he made her. 

“Lyds just tell me what today is, I looked at the calendar nothin’ was planned.” He mutters with a sigh. “Ya know I mark everythin’ down since ya got it for me.” 

She shook her head, feeling her heart shatter. Was their relationship really that insignificant? She had put so much thought into it. And he forgot. She handed the box back to him and gave a pitiful chuckle. “Forget it.  Here’s your gift. Happy anniversary Beetlejuice.” She mumbled, brushing past him. How could he forget?

The rings sat in the box, untouched, and engraved in delicate silver letters was the phrase:

‘Till Death do us apart’