#the tinsel garlands were a pain to draw

[allium-art]

Saint Is Not Pleased

i hadn't actually done any christmas themed drawings yet despite it being that time of year, so have a christmas tree saint

[carmyberzattosjournal]

S2 Entry 3: One Thousand Short Lives

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Summary: Christmas trees don’t sit well with Carmy (679 Words).

Warnings: Swearing, panic attack, vomiting (not graphic), hurt, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, mentions of Syd, mentions of Richie, mentions of Donna Berzatto, mentions of Mikey Berzatto.

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in CB Journals Season 2 and will be tagged with #cb journals s2.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Prompt: Pine needles

Richie was trying to kill me, I’m sure of it.

Why the fuck else would he have secured a dwarf fucking Christmas tree to put in the dining hall? Here, I thought I was getting to the kitchen extra early to take a stab at the 3 recipes that Syd left a thousand notes on—the second of which was just a “no” without any elaboration. Very helpful—and instead, I get assaulted by a barrage of memories, wraiths from my history, from the one thousand short lives I’ve endured. All the chill of that morning (it’s frozen hell season) was annihilated by a surge of red-hot… I don’t even know, was it rage? Was it hurt? Was it frustration? Some amalgam of fiery emotions, all furled together into this tangled mess of heat. Boiling. I was boiling. I had flames pouring down my throat.

The fucking pine needles were strewn all over the fucking floor around the tree, some cursed confetti that’d fallen off the branches while it sat overnight in the miserable fucking corner where there used to be a two-top, lurking for me to find while it familiarized itself with its deathbed. Dressed to the nines in garland, sparkly tinsel, ornaments in blues, silvers, golds, reds, greens, string lights—off at the moment—adorned with a star on top, leaning precariously to one side. Carmy, fix the star. Ma, ask Mikey to do it, he’s tall enough. He never fucking does anything right, now fix the fucking star; we need to take photos.

I could almost feel the ghost of a glass bulb crunching under my heel, exploding with a pop, grinding into my shoe tread as I took a step back. Then the flash of a camera—in my mind? A car going by? How am I supposed to know—the smell of ma’s perfume, so sickly sweet, so saturated in florals and mixed with stale cigarette smoke, that they might as well have been her fucking funeral sprays, invaded my sinuses, damn near crawled down my throat and seized my stomach in a vice grip. My feet carried me on autopilot to the bathroom, where I collapsed next to the toilet, vision blurred, breaths caught in my throat, chest and stomach twisting in pain, are you motherfuckers okay? Some awful, foul beast, an eldritch abomination, swelled under my ribs, but nothing would move past my larynx—not air, not sound, not bile. Warmth trailed down my cheeks.

The light makes a buzzing sound. It’s faint, inaudible any time other than early morning or late night, drowned out by even the traffic outside. I could hear Darling’s voice in my head, almost see her crouched on the floor in front of me. Breathe, baby. Breathe. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. I hunted for the sound through the twisting of my insides and eventually found myself drawing in and blowing out shaky breaths. That’s it, pretty boy. There you go. My head still spun. Everything still hurt. Tears still welled up and spilled down my face. But I was breathing.

I fumbled my phone out of my jacket, intending to call Darling. It was early. She was probably headed out the door or was already on the road headed to the hospital. She didn’t need me to worry her, did she? No, but I needed her. I needed Darling like I needed air. I couldn’t fucking do this, not alone, not today. Especially not today. Fuck you, Richie. Fuck, I felt so fucking alone. I just wanted to hide in her sweater, inhale her scent, hear her coo and hum at me while she rubbed my back. Darling, baby, I had a bad one. I really just need to hear your voice right now. Please. Tell me it’s okay. Tell me I’m okay. Tell me you love me. Tell me another story of Cookie the dog.

I caught sight of a pine needle on the floor that I’d tracked in.

I hurled bile into the toilet bowl.

Okay. Fine.

Dish two is a no.

Tags: @carmenberzattosgf @jess248 @catharticconsolation @persymons @morgthemagpie @glitch0o0 @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly @fridavacado @lumoslemon @cyarskj1899

[hobbit-in-kuroshitsuji]

Kuroshitcember 2022 Prompt Nr. 12

Prompt: As Christmas draws near, so does the cold, which plays hell with Tanaka’s old bones.

You can find all prompts here!

All of these will be uploaded/archived to this blog's Ao3 eventually

Summary: When Christmas Decorations go missing, Tanaka has to search through the entire manor to try and find them despite his aching bones. CW: Major spoilers for Kuroshitsuji - if you don't know about O!Ciel and R!Ciel, don't read.

The 14th of December was the twins’ birthday. At their age, they thought the entire month of December belonged to them and only them. Which meant that the Christmas decorations were not just for Christmas, but also for them. Lights, tinsel, candles and special sweets: all for them.

So when Tanaka found some had been stolen, he made it his personal mission to ensure he would find it before the twins noticed.

He searched and searched and searched, but just could not find the garlands and accompanying tinsel anywhere. The cold made his bones ache, age not being his friend most of the time but especially not during harsh winter months. Fires were lit everywhere to keep pipes from freezing shut and break – but it was still not enough to keep his joints from aching.

So the search was taking him a while, and hurting him.

Grumpy, despite the happy smile on his lips, Tanaka paused to think this through. He knew the twins had taken the decorations. So where would two 5 year olds have taken it?

A lightbulb lit up within Tanaka, and his grumpiness disappeared as he headed for the library. Vincent often spent time there whenever he had friends over, but that was the only time he was there. That meant that whenever there were no guests, it was a perfect hideout for the twins…. If they were up to mischief.

The library was tucked away in a corner of the manor. It was still beautiful, tall windows offered light where one could sit, and the many rows of bookshelves were kept safely away from sunlight. In the middle, an iron, spiral staircase led up to a small attic where artifacts of importance were stored.

It was underneath that staircase where Tanaka found the thieves. Having built a little yurt out of two blankets and some rope, Tanaka heard the two boys giggling within their hideout, unaware someone was onto them.

As quietly as he could, Tanaka attempted to sneak over despite his painful bones, and opened the makeshift door carefully –

Inside, the twins were sat huddled over the stolen garlands, braiding them together to create one thick bush. The tinsel was used to decorate the oddly shaped garland.

“What on Earth are you two doing?” Tanaka’s voice was gentle, amused even. Both boys gasped and turned so quickly Tanaka worried they might get whiplash injuries from it.

“Nothing!” In an effort to hide their mischief, Ciel sat in front of it, failing miserably at hiding the evidence. His brother, instead, offered Tanaka a scared look before tears welled up in his eyes as his bottom lip protruded.

“I can see nothing mischievous is going on here, yes,” Tanaka chuckled, offering both boys a gentle pat to the head to calm them down. “If you wanted to do Christmas crafts, you should have simply told me and I would have prepared a table-“

“We’re sorry, Tanaka,” Ciel interrupted, “but it was meant to be a surprise.”

“Oh?”

Ciel and his brother exchanged a look. Then one of them voiced: “Well… Father said the servants don’t have any decorations in your quarters, and father also said you should be resting more when it’s cold for… your bones. We didn’t understand it but if you need to rest, you shouldn’t rest without decorations!”

“You’re preparing decorations for me?” Tanaka questioned, not fully believing it.

The twins nodded their heads eagerly.

As they turned and presented their… makeshift little Christmas tree to Tanaka, no warm fire was needed to heal his bones. That gentle show of affection from his masters was more than enough to warm the soul of this old butler, and any pain was quickly forgotten so long as he could keep serving these two precious boys whatever they wished for...

__ @eemoo1o-animoo

[septemberfire]

It Rains

A Severus Snape Fanfic

Severus/Original Character

Romance/Slowburn/Smut

A Childhood Memory

Cold seeped in through the door and windows of the last house on Spinner’s End. The overcast sky merged with the blackened snow caused by the perpetual cloud of smoke that came from the factory chimney and the constant coming and going of its humble inhabitants. That Boxing Day morning, Severus found his mother sleeping with her head resting on the rickety kitchen table, next to her an empty bottle of sherry and the plates still containing he remains of the Christmas dinner that she had taken pains to prepare with the few ingredients she could afford. The plate served at the head of the table was untouched and cold. Despite the ramshackle tinsel tree that had been donated years ago by the town parish and the paper garlands little Severus had spent making the day before, the house looked dingy and unkempt; just as unkempt was the appearance of the child who at that moment sat in front of the window and amused himself by drawing figures with the mist of his breath against the dirty pane.

“Mummy, Dad´s coming!” - He yelled when he saw the tall, stocky figure of his father staggering down the narrow street.

Eileen sat up slowly and looked scornfully at the mess on the table and the pots and pans waiting in the tiny kitchen sink. She averted her eyes from Severus who had risen to his feet and ran to the door, opening it and letting in a chilly wind that carried with it the acrid smell of coal smoke.

“Close the door.”

“But Dad´s about to come.”

“I'm telling you to close the damn door!” - Eileen's voice cut off and she ended up letting out a sob. - “Close it, Severus. Please.”

Severus gulped in fear. His mother had never yelled at him like that. He looked once more at his father who had leaned against one of the streetlights and was vomiting in the middle of the street. The little boy felt the urge to go to his father's aid, but even before he could open the door far enough to get out, a sudden force made the door slam shut, almost knocking it off its hinges. Severus turned his gaze to his mother who had stood up and was pointing with what looked to him like a thin twig.

“Your father already knows. Now it is time that you also learn why you are so different from the other children.”

Eileen walked over to her son and knelt beside him putting her eyes on the same level as the six-year-old's. She took his face with her hands and breathed hard trying not to break her voice, trying to hide her anger and anxiety. Growing up, Eileen never imagined that one day she would feel so much regret having to explain to her son the reason for his powers and his magic. Hailing from an ancient pureblood family, the magical ability that her son Severus had shown to possess from such a young age was something to be extremely proud of.  She bit her lip at the thought of her own father, Vespertilius Prince, who had died cursing the name of his youngest daughter on his deathbed upon learning that she had run off with a despicable Muggle, the son of the owner of a miserable pub near his land. Surely, if her father were still alive, he would appreciate and encourage the abilities and skills of his only grandson, even if he were a half-blood.

“Mum, is that why you don't let me go to school anymore?  Because I am different?”

Eileen angrily recalled the blows that Severus had come home with after his first day at the muggle school Tobias had insisted he go to, the children attacked him when they saw how he caused some bugs to grow disproportionately and then made them dance on the playground.

“You're a wizard, Sevy.  Like your grandfather and your great-grandfather.  Like all my family.  A wizard like in the fairy tales”.

Severus narrowed his eyes, looking suspiciously at his mother.  He turned away from her and went to sit by the window again, hugging his legs and fixing the gaze on his threadbare socks from where the tip of his toe was poking out.

“You're lying. Wizards don't exist, just like Father Christmas. They are not real.”

Eileen wiped her nose with her hand and stood up, ready to reveal her son why she insisted on keeping him isolated from the muggle world, why she had kept the secret of his magic even from her own husband.

“This is a magic wand.” -Eileen sat next to her son, at the same time that she passed him her thin chestnut wood wand. – “Don't be afraid, shake it.”

Severus took it and closed his eyes in fear as he shook the wand with a sharp movement. A wild blaze of bluish fire engulfed the hideous tinsel tree that began to melt over the dirty carpet and fill the room with poisonous gases. Eileen quickly took the wand from Severus' shaking hand who was staring at the flames with an expression of deep dread on his face. Whispering a couple of incantations, the flames died down and the black smoke immediately vanished.

“I hated that rubbish tree too.” -She said hinting a smile and hugging her son who was still trembling. - “I'm very proud of you, Sevy. One day when you turn 11, you will have your own wand and you will go to a very special school where you will learn everything about our world, but you should never talk about this with anyone. Can you promise it? Other people would not understand it, they fear us, they despise and fear what they cannot understand.”

“Is Dad a wizard too?”

“No, he's not like us… he's scared too, Sevy. Try not to mention any of this when he comes back ... and try not to do magic in front of him, I know it will be difficult to control it, but you are such a smart boy ...”

A loud knock on the door announced the arrival of Tobias, who stumbled upon entering the room and looked with watery and reddish eyes at the mess on the table, the remains of the burned tree and his wife and son hugging by the window.

“Come here, son.” - He said as he staggered towards them and yanked little Severus out of his mother's arms. Picking him up with his huge hands and hugging him tightly as he sobbed, soaking his sweater in gunk and tears. - “You are a good boy, Severus. You are not a freak… You are not a freak.”

Without quite understanding why, Severus burst into tears on his father's shoulder as well, inhaling the scent of alcohol and the acrid smell of winter that had clung to his coat.

[pocket-luv101]

Happiness || Chapter 10

Fandom: Servamp Characters: Mahiru, Kuro, Licht, Hyde Pairings: KuroMahi (main), LawLicht (side)

Summary:  Mahiru found a baby in front of his orphanage and he thought that it belonged to Kuro. But the infant could be the key to finding his lost mother. {Historical Romance// Family AU}

Ch.1 || Ch.2 || Ch.3 || Ch.4 || Ch.5 || Ch.6 || Ch.7 || Ch.8 || Ch.9 || (Ch.10) ||

Mahiru sat on the couch and threaded popcorn together to make a garland. After they brought the tree to Misono’s inn, he asked them to help with the Christmas decoration. He happily agreed and he thought it would be best to bring Machi in from the cold. He made certain that she was bundled and warm during the short trip but he tended to fret over Machi as if she were his own daughter.

His glance fell on Kuro and Machi sleeping nearby. Their soft breathing was the only sound in the room and it relaxed him. Mahiru couldn’t explain why but he thought that their simple presence was soothing. He was careful not to make a sound as he set the popcorn garland down even though they only made a tiny rustle. He took a blanket from the couch and lightly pulled it over the two.

They had the same peaceful expression while they slept. A part of him wanted to lay next to Kuro and drift off to sleep in his arms. The sight of Kuro caring for Machi reminded him of a dream he let go of long ago. He wanted a family with the man he loved. Mahiru quickly shook the thought from his mind but he could feel that his cheeks were red.

He pulled away from Kuro and returned making decorations. Mahiru watched Machi in the corner of his eyes in case she woke up and started crying. He was distracted and accidentally stabbed himself with the needle. A sharp cry of pain escaped him but he tried to stifle the sound by biting his lip. He cautiously looked back to the two sleeping and he was glad that Machi wasn’t awakened by the sound.

On the other hand, Kuro sat up sharply the moment he heard him cry. Mahiru placed his finger on his lips and then pointed to Machi to tell him to be careful to not wake her. Kuro noticed the small bead of blood on his fingertip and moved to kneel in front of him. Gently, he cupped his hand around Mahiru’s and brought his finger closer. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s just a small prick, Kuro. I was startled more than anything.” He reassured him. His heart jumped when Kuro licked his finger and then kissed it lightly. He took a napkin from his pocket and wrapped it around his finger. The wound was small but he held his hand as if it were made of fragile glass. Mahiru couldn’t help but remember how tenderly he would touch him in the past. “Thank you, Kuro.”

“Where’s Misono and the others?” Kuro asked and looked around the room.

“Misono left to buy more candy canes to decorate the tree and Lily went to help him carry everything. I stayed behind to make the garland and put up the decorations. I’m almost finished so you can go back to your nap. I’m sure you’re tired since you had to move the tree into the lobby.” Mahiru slipped his fingers from his grip and Kuro realized that he had been holding his hand the entire time.

Kuro blushed and moved back from him. Even though he knew that being so close to him wasn’t proper after they broke up, he missed his touch. He looked back to Mahiru threading popcorn together and he knew he couldn’t leave him to decorate on his own. He walked to a box overflowing with Christmas decorations and he pulled out an ornament.

“Where should I put this on the tree?” Kuro asked him. While Mahiru was always the first to offer his help to others, he rarely asked for help himself. “You’ll finish decorating the room quicker if you let me help. I’m taller than you so I can reach the top of the tree easier.”

“It’ll be easier to put the decorations on the branches if we wrap the tinsel and popcorn around the tree first. I’ll get a chair for you.” Mahiru attached the final popcorn to the string and then made a knot. Together, they hanged the colourful strings and popcorn onto the branches in a pattern. He helped Kuro arrange the ornaments until the tree was full of colours. He imagined how beautiful the tree would be in candlelight and he wished they could stay to enjoy the sight.

Mahiru stepped onto the chair so he could place the star on the top of the tree. His fingers were barely able to touch the tip and he cursed his height. He rose onto his toes and Kuro placed a hand on his hip to help him stay balanced. He managed to slip the star into place and he grinned down at Kuro. Their eyes met and Mahiru found himself spellbound.

A loud sob pulled them out of the moment and Mahiru instinctively turned to help Machi. His foot slipped off the chair but he didn’t fall to the ground. He quickly placed his hands on his shoulder to catch himself. Kuro expertly slipped his arms around his legs and held him securely. “Thank you, Kuro.”

“Wah!” At the sound of Machi’s tears, he placed Mahiru on the ground so they could go soothe her. They were careful to be quiet and not disturb her rest. He guessed that she cried after waking up alone in an unfamiliar room. She kicked off her blanket and then flopped onto her stomach. Machi looked around the room until her eyes fell onto Mahiru kneeling in front of her.

“We’re right here, Machi.” He said in a gentle voice and she became calmer. She pushed herself onto her hands and knees and Mahiru thought that she was about to crawl. He sat a small distance from her and clapped his hands to encourage her to crawl to him. Machi stretched her tiny hand forward but she didn’t crawl like he thought she would. Machi laid down and rolled on the ground.

Still, he smiled proudly and lifted her into his arms. “You’re progressing well, Machi.”

“Mah.” She babbled and leaned her head against his shoulder. He tenderly stroked her hair until Kuro’s hand fell over his. He comforted Machi as well.

“Since she’s up, we can show her the Christmas tree. It has a lot of shiny ornaments and colourful decorations so she’ll like it.” Kuro suggested and Mahiru nodded. He carried her to the tree and they watched her expressive eyes widened at the combination of colours. He was glad that she liked the Christmas tree and he took out a spare ornament from the box. “She can choose where this one goes.”

“Machi, can you point to an empty space where we can hang this?” Mahiru asked her. He didn’t know if she fully understood them as she pointed to the star at the top of the tree. He chuckled and placed the ornament near the area she pointed to. As he leaned closer to the tree, Machi grabbed the shiny tinsel. She pulled on the decorative string and caused ornaments to fall loose from the tree.

Kuro gathered the two into his arms and covered Mahiru’s head with his hand to protect him. He winced slightly when the ornaments struck him but he didn’t let them go until they stopped falling. He glanced at their feet and he was glad that the decoration didn’t break. Between them, Machi smiled innocently and held up the tinsel.

“You really are a troublemaker, Machi.” He sighed. Kuro wasn’t angry with her since he knew that she was merely a baby and thought the decorations were toys. He patted her hair and said, “We have to put these ornaments back on the tree.”

“We can have Machi’s opinion on where to put them this time.”

“What do you know about the Servamps and the disappearance of their mother?” Licht asked bluntly. The group he approached humoured him with an awkward laugh but then walked away from him. He wasn’t disheartened by their reaction and walked to another group to ask them the same question. Throughout the night, he tried to learn what could’ve happened to Hyde’s mother but no one would answer his questions. He didn’t know why they avoided his questions.

A few feet from him, Hyde watched Licht. He didn’t know if he should groan or laugh at the disaster before him. The delusional angel was honest to a fault and too straightforward with his approach. Licht was much different from the coy vultures around them. The upperclass circle could overwhelm a person easily yet Licht marched through them with a determined glint in his eyes.

When another lord brushed Licht aside, Hyde decided to help him. He waited until Licht was standing in the middle of the room before he approached him. With a practised smile, he bowed and held out his hand to Licht. He projected his voice to draw the attention of everyone in the room. “May I have your first dance, Angel Cakes?”

At first, Licht didn’t understand why he would ask him to dance when the party was meant to find information about his mother. The devilish gleam in his red eyes told him that Hyde had a plan behind his dance. Licht placed his hand in Hyde’s and walked with him onto the dancefloor. With a wave of his hand, Hyde signalled for the band to start another song.

They faced each other and Hyde placed his hand on Licht’s hip. He drew him closer and whispered into his ear. “I know Mahiru asked you to help but maybe it’s better if I dealt with this on my own. You can go back to the orphanage.”

“I thought you asked me to dance because you had a plan to find more information about Machi and your mother. If you were going to tell me to leave, you could’ve talked to me in the hall.” Licht’s brows furrowed and he considered stomping on Hyde’s feet in his frustration. He didn’t know why his pride hurt after Hyde asked him to leave.

“I know you’re trying to help but your methods aren’t going to work on the sharks. They know you want something from them and they’ll hold that power over you. You have to be more subtle with your approach. An angel like you is too straightforward to do that.” Hyde told him. “Rumours will fly when they see me dancing with a nameless commoner. Then they’ll gossip about Mother. I might find a credible story about my mother among their chatter. You can go home after this dance. You don’t want to hear the stories they make about you.”

“Demon.” Licht spat in a low voice. An angry, blue fire appeared in his eyes but Hyde thought he saw a hint of hurt as well. “This dance was to use me to start rumours and now you’re going to toss me aside. I don’t know why I agreed to help a selfish demon like you. Nobles are all the same. I can’t believe I felt an ounce of pity for you.”

He pushed Hyde away but he used more force than he intended. Hyde stumbled backwards into a table of food. Dishes crashed to the ground and the sound drew everyone’s attention to him. Licht stood in the center of the room with a thousand glares pointed at him. He was accustomed to people watching him when he played the piano but then they began to whisper.

“Crazy. Violent. Freak.”

“I’m an angel.” Licht’s back straightened and he regarded the crowd with unwavering eyes. He wouldn’t let the crowd turn him into a spectacle for them to gossip about. He turned on his heel to march out of the room. Hyde watched him leave and he couldn’t help but respect him. He pushed himself to his feet and he began to laugh loudly.

“And I’m a demon. I deserved that for being too forward. Is there anything I can do to earn your forgiveness, Angel Cakes?” The room’s attention shifted from Licht to Hyde. Licht wondered if that was his intention. Hyde was raised among the ton so he knew they would start to make rumours about him now. No one in the room knew Licht’s name yet Hyde went out of his way to protect his reputation.

“Kuro will be home late. Do you think I should stay up and wait for him? He told me that I can go to sleep first but I want to make sure he gets home safe.” Mahiru told Machi. He spoke with her often to help with her speech development. He found that it was also a good way to sort through his thoughts. “We should plan a special breakfast for Kuro. He’s working hard.”

He entered a shop and waved to Tetsu at the counter. It felt strange to stay in Kuro’s home without him present so he decided to take Machi on a walk and visit his friend’s shop. Tetsu sold furniture but Mahiru wondered if he could commission a few wooden toys for Machi to play with. “How has business been today, Tetsu?’

“Good. Does the baby like the crib I built her?” He asked. Before Mahiru could answer him, Machi cheered loudly. She clapped her hands as if she wanted to tell him that she liked the crib. He chuckled and fondly patted her head. Mahiru was the only customer in the store so he spoke with Tetsu.

“Big brother Mahiru?” Tetsu’s voice became a low whisper and Mahiru didn’t understand why he suddenly sounded secretive. “I think you’re being followed by a man. He walked by the shop a few times and stare at you through the window. He’s tall with dark hair.”

Mahiru stiffened when he heard Tetsu’s description of the man. Licht said a similar man had visited the orphanage and tried to take Machi. He instinctively held Machi a little tighter and he considered what he should do. He might cause trouble for Tetsu if he stayed in his shop. On the other hand, the man would know where they lived if he took Machi back home.

He felt Machi grip his scarf in her tiny hand and he knew he had to protect her.

[everlarkchristmasgifts]

Rated T for mild language

A/N: Part Four to the Christmas Drabbles followup of Pasty White Raisin for @everlarkchristmasgifts

Nine Days to Christmas - Christmas Tree

The tree for the inside of the brewery’s restaurant had gone up promptly the Friday after Thanksgiving. It was a beautiful, if fake, eight-foot thing with white fairy lights, paper-craft snowflakes, and garlands made of kettle corn that mysteriously lost kernels whenever patrons had to wait for seating. The rustic look was all Annie’s doing.

The real presents under the tree, were Katniss’.

Peeta routinely donated unsold baked goods to the local Salvation Army and youth center. Back in the summer, when they’d still been together, Katniss had often tagged along on his post-closing deliveries to them, and gotten to know some of the staff and regular patrons.  With Annie’s blessing, she’d offered up the Tribute Brewery’s tree to double as a charity tree come Christmastime. And so, along with the other decoration, gift-wish tags from kids hung on the branches, and fulfilled requests were already starting to pile up under the tree.

It set the atmosphere, made the already cozy grill feel more like a place for family.

Sung its own carol of home.

Katniss felt a deep pang as she walked past it, pushing through the doors to the outside.

There, at least for the moment, others were feeling their own Christmas tree pain as well: The big spruce outside was only half done.

“I’m not Gumby, for crying out loud! Get me closer!”

The box at the top of the man-lift swayed precariously, jerking Finnick around like Raggedy Andy while Thresh operated the controls from the ground.

“Sorry,” Thresh called up, not sounding sorry.

“Next year, it’s you up here,” Finnick shot back. “And this year I actually mean it!”

“Nah uh, you like the thrill too much!”

On cue, the box jerked again, making Finnick grip the railing to keep from getting bucked out.

The owners of the brewery had been using the machine to decorate the tree for Christmas since long before any of them had come to work at Tribute. And every year was discussion and theorizing about how old the rickety thing was. Based on the peeling paint, rust, and tendency to produce grinding noises, general consensus among staff was was that it was probably at least as old as Christopher Reeves’ stint as Superman. The controls up in the box had long-since stopped working, and for the last several years, what should have been a two-man job, had required at least six staff:

One to operate the box from the controls at the unit’s base (Thresh), one to fetch whatever forgotten items needed fetching in terms of decoration (Katniss), one to risk life and limb going up high (Finnick), at least three to watch with oohs, ahhs, and wisecracks, and make bets about whether Finnick “really might die this time” (Johanna, plus two), and one to direct the placement of the decorations (Annie).

It was supposed to have been decorated for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving, like the tree inside, but between staff sick calls, a super busy season, and Finnick having seemed mysteriously distracted, it’d been put off.

“No, further to the right,” Finnick shouted down.

The box, with Finnick in it, jolted again, wobbling excessively.

“I swear, Finnick’s actually going to fall out of that thing one of these times,” Katniss said as she handed Annie a box of outdoor decorations she’d been sent for from one of the storerooms.

“He’s got a thick skull; he’d survive,” Annie smirked, right before a look of sudden horror crossed her face. “No, Finn baby, loop it on the next branch over! Yeah… No… Yeah, that one right there. Perfect!”

“Of course I am,” he called down.

Katniss snorted, then left them to it.

__

“What the hell is that?”

Haymitch muted the t.v. then tilted the neck of his beer bottle to the thing Katniss was dragging in with her through the front door. She wrestled it inside far enough to kick the door shut.

“It’s called— wait for it— ‘a Christmas tree.’”

“And what exactly do you do with one,” he smartassed back.

“You erect it and decorate it.”

“What,  sort of like a—”

“STOP!” Katniss glared at him as severely as she could, anticipating the joke, and growling when she almost tripped while dragging her haul towards the living room. “Come on, just help me.”

“Just help me,” he aped back in a little girl’s voice. Nevertheless, he dutifully set his beer on the coffee table and helped her pull it over next to the t.v. It wasn’t a large tree, but it was still larger than her, and she had to body hug it to keep it upright. “I don’t have the stand anymore, you know,” he said.

“Under my arm,” Katniss butted him with her elbow as best she could, to signal where.

She and the tree almost went over for it.

“Stay,” he said to both, once he’d helped them back to satisfactorily vertical. He ferreted the base free and knelt down to work on setting the tree in it. “Scraggly damn thing,” he complained, once it was up and the netting cut away. He felt bad enough for it he actually tried to help the branches spread apart a little. “Where the hell’d you get it, Boyscout clearance aisle?”

“The youth center sells them.”

He eyed her.

“How come you didn’t just stop by the hardware store and get one of those fake ones that don’t shed damn pine needles all over my floor?”

“Our floor,” she grumbled, stripping herself out of her jacket like she’d been having a fight with it all day. “I live here, too, remember? And anyway, it’s a fir, not a pine.”

“Whatever.” He snatched his beer bottle back up dramatically, but instead of drinking, he eyed her again. “The center’s way outside your normal route home. That was a you and the boy place. Why’d you do that to yourself?”

“I had to go see  them about a Christmas Eve thing. The brewery’s working along with their gift tree program this year.”

“Is it now.” Haymitch looked at her like he suspected she wasn’t telling the whole truth, but he didn’t press. Instead, he took a sip of his beer. “You do remember I don’t have ornaments, right? I got rid of all that stuff after you and Prim left.”

Katniss rolled her eyes, went to her room and came back with a small stack of boxes, putting them on the coffee table, opening each to reveal ornaments, lights, and other decorating fare.

“I’m the one who took them when I moved out, remember? Exactly because I knew you’d never set up a tree.”

“I had a tree last year.”

“It was ten inches tall and its lights were powered by a USB cord. Not exactly big enough to put presents under.”

“Which is another draw back to having a real tree: Now I have to populate it with presents. This coming back home thing of yours is getting expensive.”

“Uh uh. Like I haven’t already seen the top shelf in your bedroom closet.”

“And why exactly were you in my bedroom closet?”

“It’s where you always keep the presents.”

“When you were a kid.”

“I was never a kid,” she came back, and then kissed him on the cheek. “But you loved me anyway.”

“Yeah,” he said, after flashing her a look of faked irritation. “I guess you kinda grew on me. A bit like a weed. But, anyway, that’s a pretty ballsy assumption. Who’s to say those presents are for you?”

“I’m pretty sure the thing wrapped up to look exactly like a compound bow isn’t a regifted ugly sweater for that lady friend of yours.”

Haymitch humphed.

“Yeah well, haven’t decided whether to give it to you yet.”

“Because I might shoot you with it.”

“Exactly.”

Katniss started picking through the boxes, and pulled out a glass pickle ornament. It was one Prim had begged Haymitch into buying the first Christmas after their parents had died.

Haymitch noticed Katniss drawing her fingers over it.

“Did you call her back yet?”

Katniss tucked her braid back behind her ear with a quiet, “No.”

“You should take her up on the offer. You haven’t seen her in almost a year.”

“What, and spend Christmas as an  outsider with my sister’s boyfriend’s family?” She shook her head. “Not my idea of fun.”

“It’s a hell of a lot better than hanging out here with your Uncle Grinch while pretending you’re not hurt about the boy. It might distract you. Throw on a bikini and you might even meet one of those muscled surfer types, too.”

She frowned at his attempt to cheer her up.

“I have plans here.”

“Come on, a little California would do you some good. Watching streaming video with your uncle over beer isn’t exactly Christmas, sweetheart.”

A thought made her snort. “It is if we watch the Hallmark Channel.”

“Like hell!”

She grinned. “Yeah, agreed.”

Haymitch took the pickle and placed it front and center on the tree, despite her complaints about it needing to go on last. Then, he unmuted the television and they decorated to the background noise of Storage Wars until Katniss caught a glimpse of her watch twenty minutes later.

“Here,” she handed him a strand of tinsel and got up.

“I hate tinsel.”

“Then wrap it in the loving arms of our tree creature.”

She disappeared to her room, then reemerged carrying a wrapped present. She slipped into her sneakers and jacket.

“And where are you going?”

“To deliver a present.”

“To who?”

“Don’t forget to water the tree,” she said as she left.

“Another reason to have a fake tree,” he grumbled once he was alone. He shook the dregs from his beer into the base, then gave the tree his best stink eye, “You start dripping resin onto my carpet, son, and it’s to the fireplace with you.”

[theairportau]

the airport AU, part 119 by rjdaae and hopsjollyhigh

Previous parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100 101, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10 111, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

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DARIUS

The smile that Darius offers in return is tinged with an unusual sadness. “I am happy here,” he agrees. “I just wish it were that simple for everyone else- here, this is our stop.” He ushers Christine off of the train, walking just behind her to be certain not to lose her as a new wave of people enter, moving the opposite direction. They emerge onto a platform that smells of old food and wet stone, and he motions for her to follow him as he heads towards the gate; once the noise of the crowd fades, he continues speaking. “I’m happy, but I know that Khan isn’t. He couldn’t bear being in Iran any longer, but spends every day missing it. I don’t know if there’s a place in the world right now where he could really be happy. Paris is isolating to him, though. And with what happened the other day, he’s only retreated more in the past few days.” He isn’t certain whether he can make Christine understand what he sees every day- has been seeing for years now. She never knew him as he was. He remembers Khan being athletic and cunning, constantly moving, always doing something- now, more often than not, Khan spends his days sitting in a chair, watching things that he doesn’t care about on television and waiting for Erik to have a problem. Without Erik as his project, Darius fears that Khan might fade into nothingness. He seems like a shadow of a person sometimes, just barely moving around the apartment. And Darius feels so helpless watching him- no word of comfort seems to make any difference. Day by day, he deteriorates, collapsing in on himself in a private struggle that Darius has no ability to aid him in. “I swear,” he sighs. “Khan will talk all day about the help that Erik should be getting, but he would never accept any help for himself. It got worse when we got to Paris, I guess, but nothing in Iran helped him, either.” He sets his jaw for a moment, attempting to clear his head. He wanted today to be about having a good time with Christine, but some issues just seem to permeate every facet of his life- and he has so few people to talk to candidly about it. He forces a smile that seems a bit more optimistic. “It’s a lot, I don’t mean to spill it all on you. Out of everyone here, I’m just sorry you got picked by the most dysfunctional trio in Paris,” he says, really only half-joking in an attempt to lighten the mood.

---

CHRISTINE

As the spartan grey concrete of the train platform slowly gives way to bright glass and steel, Christine is quiet, only giving the occasional nod when Darius looks across at her; the way she sees it, she’s said enough already. Memories nudge at the edge of her mind, but sharing them would be too presumptuous—too painful. She’s left walking a delicate line: listening closely, trying to give her friend’s worries the full attention that they merit—but at the same time, trying to keep herself from thinking too deeply on what he is telling her. She sweeps her gaze over their new surroundings, trying to distract herself from the painful knot welling up in her throat; here, too, decoration for the holidays has begun, and the sight of a strand of Christmas lights sends Christine’s eyes to the floor again.

Maybe Darius picks up on the things that she isn’t saying; or maybe he regrets the turn of conversation for his own sake, his eyes sad and distant and reminding Christine, ever so briefly, of those of the man of whom he speaks—a resemblance born of shared pain, if not shared blood. Whatever the case, he tugs his expression into a new smile; apologizes; clearly trying to shake the pall of the past few minutes. Christine has the grace to offer a small smile of her own at his joke, but the overall look speaks more of sympathy than it does amusement.

“Even if you *were*,” she rebuts, in a tone lighter than she feels, “I wouldn’t wish to have been picked by anyone else.”

---

DARIUS

Finally, the returning smile feels natural rather than forced, as they push away from the upsetting nature of their conversation. “Well. Maybe it’s a bit selfish, but we’re all certainly glad that you’re here,” he says to her, and takes a few steps to the side before stopping to look around at their surroundings. They’ve made their way properly into the mall, and here, there are no strange looks for conversation in a different language- tourists from all over the world wander the vast halls with shopping bags. The murmur of conversation is everywhere, bright bursts of laughter standing out like rays of light. People lean against railings and take pictures together, giggling and making faces; it always brightens Darius’ mood to see such crowds of people. “Paris has such wonderful decorations for Christmas,” he says, gesturing to the festive garlands that have begun to appear around the area. “I love to look at all of it, even if I don’t celebrate it. The streets are beautiful when it snows, and there are lights everywhere- it really makes a dreary season so much more tolerable,” he says, motioning for her to follow him as he starts moving through the crowd, going slowly to be certain that she doesn’t fall behind or get lost. “Even without the holidays close, this place is a lot to take in. This place has everything. So you’re not going to be the only one shopping today,” he says good-naturedly. “I haven’t been out for clothes in a long time, so we’ll both get some new things.”

---

CHRISTINE

For a moment, she envies him—able to enjoy the colourful trappings of the holiday from a safe distance; appreciating each light and piece of tinsel for its own merits, without the ache of the things that *should* have been there. At the same time, his enthusiasm helps to draw her thoughts away, reminding her of how much there still is *to* appreciate. She smiles again as she follows Darius forward into the babble of shoppers.

It’s hard to believe that this *isn’t* a routine trip for him; even putting aside the fact that he always seems to be dressed like someone out of a magazine, Darius seems as comfortable amongst the upscale shops as he does back on his own street. For her part, Christine feels out of her depth. On all sides, expensive-looking goods shine from behind walls of plate glass—with even-more-expensive-sounding names hanging overhead; a few familiar logos jump out amidst the tangle of French, but none are places that she could have afforded to consider shopping at before now. Her eyes trail across the window of each shop as they pass, and she lets herself imagine actually *buying* the things she can see on offer; reminds herself that that *isn’t* such a far-fetched idea, after all, anymore.

“I’d…like to find a jacket,” she says, her voice sounding unsure in her own ears; light glints from a display of brilliant, cut-crystal figurines, echoed in the flash of Christine’s eyes as she turns them towards Darius. “I mean…I don’t *have* to get one *here*. But… Everything else I need is really basic—just a couple of shirts, maybe a spare pair of jeans. I can find them somewhere else. I can find *a jacket* somewhere else. But…it would be nice to find, well, a *nice* one,” she finishes, sounding no more certain than she had to begin with—and doubting that she’s making half as much sense.

---

DARIUS

As clear as it may be in her voice and disposition, Darius is at a level of distraction that does not allow him to absorb Christine’s uncertainty. The suggestion of shopping for a jacket sounds like perfect fun to him; he replies with his usual cheer. “Of course!” he says. “There’s no shortage at all of places to get nice jackets here, I’m sure you’ll find something you like. Here, we can start right in here.” He leads Christine gently by the arm into the nearest clothing store, an H&M. It’s a good start, he thinks- he shops there, anyway. Plus, he has no concept of how much money Christine has. If he took a moment to consider it, he may have realized that it would be of some comfort to her that he expects Erik to have given her money. He knows as well as anyone that Erik is predisposed to give vast amounts of material wealth and to the people he cares about, occasionally in place of a functional understanding of how friendships actually work. But he isn’t thinking about the potential awkward situation that it could cause for her- he is focused on shopping, and his own budget. And the display of slim-fit patterned shirts to his left as he enters the store. The majority of the store is women’s clothing, so he points a few basic areas out to Christine and giving her instructions to meet her by the dressing rooms before disappearing into the men’s section. The sound of conversation is muted here, and blocked a bit by the music coming through the speakers. It is a bit more peaceful than the general mall outside. As much as he loves to buy new clothes, he is cautious with money. Having hired the new manager recently, he isn’t looking to go on any sort of spree, and walks in loops debating for some time- he doesn’t want to buy more than a couple things. And he already has so many pastel and printed shirts at home. He ends up with a sensible forest green collared shirt, and a more relaxed fit in slate gray to try on after a solid amount of time picking through racks and weighing options against one another. Not the most exciting things he could buy, but he does indulge a little bit, picking a black silk scarf off of the rack- there are plenty of things that it could go well with, he reasons. And right outside the dressing rooms, he finds a rotating rack of accessories- sunglasses. He stands in front of the spinning mirror, trying on nearly every pair on the rack as associates hover nearby, seemingly anxious about whether he intends to pick apart their display, and he waits for Christine to come over.

---

CHRISTINE

Christine could almost laugh when she notices the logo that Darius is steering her towards. To come so far—what will Mama say, when she learns that Christine’s first footstep into the world of ’Parisian fashion’ landed in a store that they had once lived just down the street from.

As Darius vanishes between a display shelf and a rack of coats, though, Christine is rather grateful for the familiarity of her surroundings.

She adjusts her purse on her shoulder, turning to scan the stacks of neatly-folded blouses on the nearest table; the rows of skirts and dresses hanging just beyond. She wanders forward, idly skimming through the rows.

It’s uncanny, really: other than the specific pieces of clothing on display—and the abundance of euro symbols—she could nearly be back in Gothenburg.  

Back in Gothenburg, in those days when Paris was only the most misty dream; before she ever needed it to *be* more than that.

“Puis-je vous aider, mademoiselle?”

Christine startles, a soft, “—Va?” escaping as she turns her gaze away from the small cluster of mannequins that she suddenly realises she’s been staring at; a young woman with short-cropped black hair and a lanyard returns her gaze.

“Puis-je vous aider?” repeats the girl, perhaps two or three years younger than Christine herself; she gives a meaningful glance towards the display of mannequins, and Christine shakes her head, suddenly understanding.

“Ne–non. Non, merci,” Christine says, taking an apologetic step backwards. “Um… Ça va.”

The other girl purses her lips, but only gives a shrug before moving off towards a pair of young teenagers who seem on a mission to unfold every t-shirt within grasping range.

Christine glances up at the mannequins again, actually focusing on them this time. The nearest wears a furry-looking sludge-coloured sweater over glossy red pants that practically sparkle in the bright lights of the store. Her nose wrinkling in a mixture of amusement and distaste, she leaves the questionably-attired figure behind, and forges forward  into the grove of clothing racks, determined to begin her exploration in earnest.

It doesn’t take long to spot the assortment of jackets that hang at one corner of the store; more difficult is resisting the impulse to seek out the clearance rack instead. It’s a strangely discomfiting feeling, simply *considering* spending more money than strictly necessary, and she tarries—assuaging her conscience by picking up a couple of shirts with comforting red stickers on their tags, along with a flower-dotted skirt that’s nearly as cheap as anything she could have bought secondhand.

Her first instinct, when she finally allows herself to consider the jackets, is to find something on the order of the one that she’d had before; after all, it had always been a favourite of hers, with its light, silky fabric, precisely the shade of a clear morning.

But she discards the idea nearly as quickly as it comes to her; it’s too easy now to picture that pale blue nylon shot-through with red.

Something different, then. Something that won’t bring to mind blood and panic.

Browsing through the racks, she quickly finds several options that practically *define* ’different’: jackets that are close-fitting and sharply-tailored, rigid where the old one was yielding,  as opposite to it in style as they are in colour. Without letting herself look at its tag, she pulls one from its hanger—faux leather with a wide collar, in a purple so dark that it’s nearly black—and carries it over to a nearby mirror; holds it up against her shoulders.

It does look different; that she can’t deny. She tilts her head to the side, smoothing a hand across the dimpled leatherette. Its dark shade makes her hair look even brighter by comparison, and the rugged material feels solid, secure.

But as much as it doesn’t remind her of her old jacket, it doesn’t remind her of *herself* either.

Her lip quirks as she gives her reflection one last glance before turning back to the clothing rack.

And then, after digging through a few more rows of jackets, she finds it.

The cut isn’t so different from that of the purple one—but the soft, dove-grey suede from which it is sewn is entirely distinct. A strip of imitation lambskin rounds the cuffs and collar: silky curls that brush against Christine’s fingertips as she reaches to take it from the rack, her purse strap slipping from her shoulder in anticipation.

She doesn’t wait to get to the mirror before shrugging the soft garment on over her sweater dress; she doesn’t have to see her reflection to know that the jacket is *her*. But she makes herself *see* it—lets herself be *convinced*—before she allows herself to check the price.

Her smile shakes a bit when she reads, ’70 EURO’.

She looks into the mirror again.

This is what Erik *wanted* her to do with his money. Even before he offered to help her pay for anything (and everything) else, hadn’t he insisted specifically upon replacing the jacket that she’d sacrificed on his account?

She peels the jacket from her shoulders, her grip on the soft fabric light and noncommittal as she carries it back towards the display.

The other clothes that she has picked out still lay where she left them, on a shelf beside the rack.

She picks them up, shifting the grey jacket into her other arm, before scanning for the dressing rooms where Darius asked her to meet him.

---

DARIUS

Still oblivious to any turmoil going on in Christine’s mind, Darius turns at the sound of her footsteps, a ridiculous pair of blue-tinted sunglasses taking up far too much of his face. “What do you think of this new style?” he asks, tossing his shirts over his shoulder to strike a pose- narrowly missing hitting the rack itself. He turns back and mutters “sorry” at it, then looks back at her and flicks the glasses down his nose enough to peer over them at her. “Ah, you found a jacket! Look at that. It’s nice,” he says cheerfully, and removes the glasses from his face altogether. The hovering employee walks away as he puts them back and turns away from the display. He hasn’t managed to mess it up- or to knock it over completely. “Looks soft. Is there anything else you need in here?” he asks. “I don’t have to try anything on, I shop here enough that I don’t need to try these things on.

The coat does suit her- its gentle gray color only accentuates the clear blue of her eyes; it truly looks Nordic, with the muted colors and lambskin. Whatever Christine’s doubts may be, Darius immediately makes the connection between her and the coat; it just seems to make sense to him that she would buy it, given that she’s looking for a coat, anyway. He doesn’t pause to consider the price.

---

CHRISTINE

Christine keeps her grip loose on the jacket as she walks, still pretending as if she might simply change her mind and return it to the nearest rack at any moment—still wary of the whisper that tells her that she *should*.

She knows there’s no *rational* reason for it, for any of it: no reason for the nagging feeling of dread that rolls like an undertow beneath her pleased expression; no reason for her to put the jacket back, or to feign that she might do so.

The jacket is perfect. Just her style; just what she *needs*. Nothing like she’d imagined, and yet exactly what she was hoping for.

Other than the price, at least—but, thanks to Erik, she shouldn’t worry about that either.

‘Shouldn’t’. Easier said than done.

Yet, even as a part of her balks at each footstep that carries her farther away from the winter-wear department, her light touch only just keeping the jacket from slipping from her bent elbow, there is another that twists its invisible fingers ever-tighter into the faux-suede treasure—small and tentative, but wonderfully selfish and unworried, smiling a smile that is kept secret only from her own fretful conscience.

The grin—and her nervousness—cracks into a laugh when Christine finally finds Darius: he may have the *style* of somebody in a magazine, but perhaps not the *grace* to go along with it; she bites her lip, muffling her amusement as her friend turns back around.

“Thanks,” she replies to his comments, adjusting the jacket to give him a better view of it, “it seemed really nice. And I do really need it.” She bites her tongue before she’s able to comment on the price.

She glances at the various pieces of clothing that Darius holds. “I found a couple of other things, but I don’t really need to try them on; just some t-shirts. And…” she separates the skirt from her own small pile of items, “I don’t think that I need *this* one, anyway; I can just put it back. There isn’t really anything else I need here."

---

DARIUS

“Great!” Darius says, cheerful as ever. “It all looks wonderful, you do need some new things. It just feels nice to wear new things sometimes.” He glances around the store; the music is loud, and the lighting is beginning to give him a bit of a headache- like he’s been looking at a screen for too long. “Okay, then. I like shopping, but it can be exhausting, can’t it? Here, we’ll check out and go get a coffee or something, think about whether we want to go anywhere else.” His hand brushes her shoulder briefly as if to whisk her along as he heads towards the checkout; he’s satisfied with what he has, and she seems content with her purchases. He turns back to her again as he walks. “They’re used to people who can’t speak perfect French here, it’s a popular tourist mall, but of course you can ask me if you need any help with the cashier,” he tells her over his shoulder. “I could do the transaction for you, but it’s probably good practice to try, right? And even better in a touristy area where they expect it.” The line isn’t terribly long, and an array of amusing products make the wait seem short- bargain skin care products, cheap makeup and jewelry, and even more sunglasses for Darius to examine. He plops a floppy black wool hat on Christine’s head, and laughs, his voice bright. “Look at that. Fancy. But it’ll squish your hair,” he says, removing it just as quickly and setting it back on the shelf before a cashier finally calls him over to pay. He takes one last look back at Christine before he heads over, and reassures her- “just call over if you need me!”

---

(Part 120)