#code “Merry Yuletide!”

[jazzstarrlight]

The holidays are fast approaching and that means shopping for the friends and family you love!

So starting today, I'm having a Holiday Season Sale until December.20th for 25% off commissions! Just DM me with the phrase "Merry Yuletide!" and we can discuss details privately.

You can find my commission prices on the pinned post at the top of the blog!

[lokisgoodgirl]

Comfort & Joy: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (9) Roll up, roll up for the Stark Christmas Jamboree. Where candied nuts and cunning plans both come with an extra sprinkling of festive sweetness. (w/c 7.8k) Warnings: Minors DNI. Usual Lakes fare. Humour, Asgardian lore, fluff, all the feels. Smut references. A/N: This is the final final edition of The Lakes.

“Remind me, what named day is this in your charming yuletide festivities?” Loki inquired as you stepped out the revolving door of the Tower.

Charming. You smiled.

Last year it would have been any number of synonyms for stupid. You could hear them, see his lips curling the words from memory. Gratuitous. Senseless. Superfluent. Foolish.

But that was your problem, you recognised, not his.

“I don’t think it has one officially,” you shivered, nestling your chin deeper into the scarf. Fuck, it was cold today. “But I call it Christmas Eve, Eve.”

You sighed, watching crowds of the general populous making their way in shuffling merriment towards the Christmas market. No, not market. Festive Jamboree.

Tony had taken it upon himself to create a mini-wonderland right outside the Tower for one day only, all proceeds to the local children’s hospital.

A ferris wheel rose at the end of the cordoned street, every carriage packed. The smell of hot-dogs and caramelised almonds filled the air, old-time speakers tied to high lamps blaring Andy Williams at a volume that couldn’t be code compliant. “Lighten up, darling” Loki chirped as a gloved hand laced with your own. You turned to him, forcing a smile through the nerves. He looked phenomenal. A high collared coat of darkest green framed his cheekbones, pink tipped in the sudden chill. The one you’d seen in the window. You couldn’t resist. But when it came to Loki, what else was new?

He’d popped the collar, loose strands of onyx hair tumbling over the thick of his scarf. The one you’d bought him, of course.

Against the pale of his skin, dark brows peaked above a lowered fan of lashes while his gaze lingered on your intertwined digits. He raised the back of your hand to his lips, kissing it firmly.

“This will be fun,” he murmured against your glove with a knowing glint. “Have you planned...something?” you laughed. “Other than the thing.”

The nerves were fading, finally. He pressed his free hand against his chest in mock-hurt. “You wound me with your suspicions, madam” he purred, playful insolence thick in his tone. He sniffed, raising his chin. “I am merely imbibed with the spirit of the season.” Mid-giggle, your whole body rocked forwards as two hands shook your shoulders from behind. “Merry Christmas Eve Eve, sister!” Thor boomed in your ear. There was ringing. Thor looked good. He smelled good. And blessedly for now at least, there were no crumbs in his beard. “And to you, brother” Loki said, smile widening.

Thor tilted his head, regarding Loki’s jovial demeanour with suspicion. “And to you, brother-” he rumbled. His interest was piqued. “What has my Sponge of a sibling in such a buoyant mood this fine December day?” “It’s Scrooge,” you corrected, grinning. Thor grinned back as all eyes fell on your lover.

Loki gaped, darting his gaze between you both.

“Scrooge?!” he scoffed incredulously. “In past years, perhaps. Yet despite your attempt to churl me, I shall take it as a compliment,” Loki said, squeezing your hand, “for I too was visited by three spirits and thus...changed forever.” Thor frowned, “spirits, says you?” “Yes, brother. Yourself, Rogers, and the spectre of that ghastly reclining chair.”

Thor chuckled, before being distracted by something deeper within the crowd. Or someone. He cleared his throat. “I must to the candied nuts, brother” he muttered formally.

Out the corner of your eye, you saw Rogers tip the nuts-vendor a quick salute as he nestled a fresh bag in his hand like a hamster. Heat steamed from the opening, wafting through frosty air. “Oh yes brother,” Loki drawled with equal gravitas. “The nuts will not eat themselves.” Thor squinted as a restrained smirk danced at Loki’s dimples. “Indeed,” the blonde replied, clearing his throat. “I shall see you at the bandstand anon.” And with a curt nod to you, he waddled hands in his pockets through the throng. You watched him go as Loki’s warm breath seeped down your neck, his mouth fastening to your pulse-point with a happy hum of pleasure. “You’re naughty,” you chided playfully. Loki nodded against your neck, the vibration of his agreement making you fizz. “And I have the knitwear to prove it,” he whispered. As you made your way through the crowd, Loki’s hand never left yours.

The two of you together were a familiar sight in Manhattan, and Avenger-fans on the whole had been beside themselves at news of your reunion. Confirmations had been slow. At you and Loki’s insistence, there had been no official statement. But the public had cottoned on eventually, with the help of the press.

Fans waited politely for pictures, nervously pulling at gloves and activating their cameras while you and Loki smiled and chatted. It was night and day from the way things used to be, while you stood on the sidelines amid a sea of bodies whipped into a frenzy by the god of mischief’s theatrical adulation.

Every so often, Loki would nuzzle your cheek; checking in. You’d squeeze his hand. One for all good, two for let’s go. You didn’t need that second squeeze today.

“With regret, we must depart for the afternoon’s questionable entertainment,” Loki announced. There was a chorus of disappointment, but he patted down the air.

“Please, join us-” he smiled to the crowd gathered around you, extending an arm towards the bandstand not thirty meters away. “Your participation will be most appreciated to drown out the subpar efforts of all of us. Truly, you will never look at us the same way, I guarantee it.” Despite having been erected overnight, the bandstand in the centre of the wonderland wouldn’t look out of place in Victorian England. Thin wrought iron pillars stretched upwards, twisting to an ornate canopy adorned with Christmas lights. Garlands wound up the pillars, twinkling sporadically. It was only 3pm, but the gathering darkness made them shine. A modest band of brass and strings had gathered beneath the canopy, instrument tune-ups peppering the chilly air.

And in front of it, in a semi-circle, microphones.

Steve stood to the side, handing booklets to a line of anxious looking avengers. Bucky, Wanda, Sam, Natas-

“I cannot believe we have to do this,” Bucky muttered ruefully as he threw his coat in the assigned box. “I can’t believe it. I actually can’t? Someone, fight me. Knock me out.” “We’re all in the same boat, Buck” Natasha lamented. She pulled at the baggy jumper hanging around her hips. Bucky looked down at his chest, pleading eyes meeting her stoic stare. “Fight me, Romanoff. Please.” “Don’t tempt me,” Natasha replied. Their jumpers were matching. Red, thick wool hiding any hint of the lithe muscle beneath. And stitched on them in winding, white-knitted lettering? Nice.

Your chest shook with the effort of holding in giggles. Even knowing what was coming, it hadn’t prepared you for the reality.

Looking around, you clocked each of your teammates in turn. Stark’s logic was thus – Avengers with a ‘harder’ reputation? Nice jumpers. And for those reputed to be on the softer side?-

“You’re wearing the wrong gosh-darn sweater, Laufeyson!” Steve hissed over your shoulder.

Both of you spun to face him. Steve’s arms were folded over the green version of the standard knit, the word Naughty emblazoned on his chest in white bobbling letters. Your shoulders were shaking now, too. “Don’t act like you're surprised, Rogers” Loki drawled. His coat hung off one long finger, before disappearing in a flash of seidr. “The public will not be fooled by Stark’s futile attempt at psychological subterfuge. I am simply getting ahead of the inevitable Tumblr edits.”

Steve’s chin snapped towards you. “Did you know about this?” he piped, flustered. You raised your eyebrows guiltily, making Steve’s hands fly in the air. “Perfect. Just heckin’ perfect. Why I outta-” “What seems to be the problem?” Thor’s voice boomed from behind. The words were accompanied by crunching, flecks of almond littering his green jumper like snow. You and Loki parted, making a four-square shoulder to shoulder and shuffling further towards safety from prying ears. “Laufeyson’s taken it upon himself to go against the agreed sweater-allocation and wear a Naughty, that’s what-” Steve bubbled bitterly.

Crimson had begun to creep up his cheekbones. A vein in his neck throbbed. Thor threw his head back with an almighty roar of laughter. Several almonds bounced from the bag in his hand from the force.

“Come now, Rogers ” he managed through gasps of mirth. “What did you expect? Tis just a silly rule, who cares?” He tossed an almond in the air, attempting to catch it in his mouth. It ricocheted off his eye. As Thor began blinking, Steve raised the clipboard in his hand. He tapped it violently. “I’m in charge of project managing this,” he hissed. “Laufeyson – change back to Nice.”

“Shan’t.” Loki quipped. Steve flushed deeper. “Laufeyson,” he warned. “Actually,” Loki started, enjoying the hushed tension. “I think you’ll find I am rather nice. You saw to that. So in truth, my sweater is fitting for this farce.” Steve’s eye began to twitch.

There was silence.

“Look at us, we’re like a little team," you offered, pointing to each of your green jumpers in turn. “Like the old days.”

Thor chuckled agreement as Loki and Steve stared each other down, a smile playing on Loki’s mouth that was irrevocably absent from the Captain’s. All four of you, it seemed, wore the Naughty uniform today. “In your case, as in mine, our knitwear reflects our essence perfectly my darling” Loki purred to you while his eyes narrowed towards a now vibrating super-soldier. “My naughty...naughty girl.” Steve sighed, hanging his head in resignation. “I told Tony this was a pooper of an idea,” he lamented. “It’s a disaster and it’s not even started.”

Thor’s hand clapped the captain’s shoulder in sympathy, lingering in a squeeze. Steve looked up at him, their eyes meeting.

The blonde god’s gaze widened slightly. You saw his fingers clench as his hand froze. In moments, he raised it; fluffing back his hair before sliding the hand into the pocket of his jeans.

“It’s only one sweater, Rogers” he muttered nervously. “Who cares?” Steve’s face fell, eyes darting to Thor’s crotch with a frown before rising back to his face. “I expected better of you, Odinson” was all he said before turning away.

Loki let out an exasperated sigh, elbowing his brother in the ribs. But Thor didn’t even flinch. His features had crumpled, spinning slowly as he watched the captain leave. His nuts? Forgotten.

But Steve didn’t see it. He was already making his way to the cluster of anxious looking Avengers huddled by the bandstand, examining carol music like they were Hydra files. “That could have gone better,” you whispered to Loki. The god frowned. His attempt to provoke his brother into siding with Rogers had not borne fruit. “Fear not,” Loki replied mysteriously as Thor produced a chicken drumstick from his jeans pocket. He tore off a chunk with a thousand-yard stare. Loki watched him in disbelief, continuing slowly. “There is still time to salvage this operation from the wreckage of my brother’s obstinance.” You gaze flitted between your team-mates. Bucky – Nice. Natasha- Nice. Clint – Naughty. Bruce – Naughty. Wanda – Nice. Sam – Naughty. Scott – Nice. Out the corner of your eye, you saw Loki swipe the half-ravaged chicken drumstick from Thor’s hold with hushed reprimand.

“What’s the big man wearing, I wonder?” you asked no one in particular. Loki snorted, “what else?” he said, nudging his head towards the Santa podium. There he was, Father Christmas aka. Tony Stark. Dressed in ray-bans and custom tailored suit, he looked suspiciously trim for a man in his position.

“Ah,” you smiled.

Loki’s smokey cologne filled your nostrils as he looped his arms around your body, pulling you tight to his chest. “It seems he will not be joining us in this public embarrassment,” he smirked before placing a warming kiss on your lips. Then to the corner of your mouth, then to the angle of your jaw. “Places!” a peaky-sounding Steve shouted, tapping a baton against the music stand at the head of the choir section. There was a deep line between his eyebrows that was decidedly un-Christmassy. “Norns,” Loki muttered. His hands slid down your body, fingers weaving through yours. “Ready?” he breathed nervously, your foreheads touching.

“Are you?” you replied.

Loki squeezed once.

The front row of the audience was made up of children, patients of the hospital. Cushioned folding chairs were laid in a half-crescent, two dozen of their smiling faces staring expectantly. Several of them sat in wheelchairs in the middle. Prime spot. One of them was wearing a pin-badge with Loki’s face on it. A young connoisseur, you thought with a smile.

Behind them, the growing crowd heaved. Sparkling Stark-Industries antlers filled your field of vision, handed out at the gates. There was a static hum, hundred of conversations and jokes and countless eyes inspecting each of you with anticipation. You could feel their excitement fizzing in the air while Bucky fidgeted beside you. Thinking about his solo you had no doubt. You rubbed his back sympathetically. He offered a weak smile of thanks. Steve tapped the pedestal again. “Avengers,” he announced with authority. The hushed whispers and small waves of the team to the crowd came to a halt. “One..two..” he mouthed the three.

All of a sudden, the air came alive with the sound of ten voices, stronger and louder and more melodic than you had expected. Unbelievably, it sounded...good. Hark! The Heralds, angels sing; Glory to the newborn king,

The brass quintet upon the bandstand soared. Even in practice, it hadn’t been this good. A Christmas miracle, you thought as you belted out the words in some semblance of tune.

Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconcile, Your gaze flickered to the other side of the semi-circle, catching Loki’s.

He held his carol-sheet diligently at arms-length, not looking at it. But rather, at you.

He winked.

Steve had rightly separated you. The chances of him squeezing your ass in front of the sick children was just too high. What if one of them goes into shock, Steve had said. But in truth, it was the deep, soulful magnetism of Loki’s singing voice that posed the real risk. If you were standing beside him, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to contain yourself. You winked back. Beside Loki, Thor craned towards the paper his brother held.

Thor had memorised every carol. Every modern classic. Everything in the repertoire. You knew that for a fact.

For the last two weeks, ever since your conversation in the common room – you’d been able to hear him before you could see him. And not in the usual way. You’d become accustomed to hearing his theatrical rendition of Silent Night bouncing its ironic way around the tile of the gym, the hallways, seeping through floors. And what he lacked in vocal melody, he certainly made up for in enthusiasm.

No - in truth, as the God of Thunder stared at the music sheet, he was avoiding Steve’s appraising stare which darted to each of them in turn. Joyful, all ye nations rise, Join the triumph of the skies,

Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from your boyfriend, you focused back on the conductor. The crimson flush of his ears had ebbed. He was beginning to smile. Well, a little.

Hark! The Heralds, angels sing; Glory to the newborn king,

The carol continued. And then the next, and the next. Collection buckets that were being passed amongst the crowd began to overflow, the spectators indulging in a mix of swaying, singing, dancing.

With every song that passed, Bucky became more nervous, his voice a little higher.

You only faltered once during Winter Wonderland when you made the mistake of looking at Loki again. At some point, he had raked his hair back. Pink peaked at his cheekbones, his hip slouched casually, tapping his foot in time. One side of his sweater was concealed in the waistband of his dark chinos. A french-tuck, if you weren’t mistaken. It highlighted the sluttish creases that strained at his crotch.

Dark curls fell around the green knit, half-lidded eyes following each word as he sang it. You would fuck that sweater right off him later. Or maybe, he could keep it on...you mused. His smooth baritone slid over the words like a sled in morning’s first snow, to face unafraid, the plans that we made, walking in a- He looked up with a knowing side-smile in your direction. A sharp elbow in the ribs from Wanda made you realised you had lost your train of thought. Your mouth was open, but no words were coming out. “-winter wonderlaaaand,” you squawked out of time.

Steve’s eyes snapped to you, brow arched. He couldn’t complain, not really. Considering how well it was going. A brief erotically-charged moment of disassociation was the least he could expect, surely. As the song drew to a close with a flourish of conductor Rogers’ arms, the crowd burst into applause. With every passing number, it had become louder. You weren’t sure if there were more people, or if the mulled wine had been refilled. Steve spun to face the audience, growing darkness making the warm glow from fairylights create a halo around his blonde hair.

“And now...a very special treat,” he announced mysteriously to the expectant crowd. “Something very, very special indeed. I’ve heard it in rehearsal and golly, he’s just spiff.” Bucky’s feet began scuffing on the ground. He’s going to do a runner, you thought. But thankfully for Bucky, he had nothing to worry about.

The plan was for Barnes to perform a rousing rendition of Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) by Olivia Holt. Or Michael Buble, depending on the demographic. Backed up by the jingling ooo’s and aaa’s of the team of course. But despite Barnes initial enthusiasm, the thought of it had filled him with more horror each passing day.

Steve had been very excited about the whole affair. A grand finale for his orchestral debut, such as it was. And Bucky hadn’t the heart to tell him. “Buck?” you muttered out the corner of your mouth. You glanced at him, trying to be covert. He was sweating, staring blankly ahead. “Buck?” “Yuh.” Barnes mustered quietly as Steve began to move a microphone between the sick kids. Their little voices made your heart flutter. But you had a job to do. The weight of Loki’s concentration radiated from across the space between you. He was watching you and Bucky, completely still aside from one twitching finger and the small smile flickering at his dimples. You cleared your throat, leaning to the side towards the soldier. “In a few seconds you might feel a bit funny-” “I already feel a bit funny doll,” he murmured bitterly. “Yeah but...well, you’ll see. Just don’t freak out.” “Freak-what-now?” “Out-” “-Yah I got that-” he snapped, trying to turn towards you and failing. He tried to twist, but his shoulders wouldn’t budge. “What the-?” “Buck?” you repeated slowly. He met your eyes, the first shadows of fear creeping in. “When Steve calls you up, just shake your head. You have a little bit of movement in your neck. And you can talk a little. Just a little so I can check you’re okay. Okay?” Bucky raised his eyebrows in a grimacing caricature. You decided to assume that meant it was totally cool. “Who are hoo hurkin’ hor!?” he hissed in a wreckage of lisping syllables. His shoulders shook ever so slightly back and forth like a wound-up nutcracker as he tried and failed to move his feet. “Oh, no-” you said, realising he thought you’d been turned. “No, it’s just Loki’s magic. Don’t worry.” Bucky’s eyes widened.

‘Please welcome-’

“You’re off the hook with the song?” you chirped quietly, hoping it had the intended effect. Barnes stopped struggling. ‘-my friend, James Buchanan Barnes!’ A round of deafening applause snapped you from your bubble. Steve stood back at his podium, baton poised and ready for the band to begin.

Alongside the other Avengers, except Bucky, you bent down and picked up a sleigh bell carefully placed at your feet. You could beat someone to death with this thing, you thought as the chrome bells jingled beneath your hand. Wanda shot you a knowing glance, holding in a laugh.

The applause ebbed as James Buchanan Barnes remained rooted to the spot. His eyes darted side to side across the waiting crowd. He shook his head very, very slowly. Showtime, you thought. “I’m afraid he has a bit of stage-fright,” you explained loudly. Collective disappointment hummed in the air. Steve’s face flushed an immediate shade of fuchsia, features hardening. You could see the cogs in his brain turn, a victorious glittering finale slipping from his grasp. His lips puckered, sucking in his cheeks. “I’m sure with a little...encouragement,” Steve said with a grimacing smile, raising his arms. The crowd roared back to life.

Bucky shook his head, a bit faster this time. Rogers head lowered, the breath from his sigh of exasperation clouding around his face. “If I may...” came Loki’s calm drawl from across the line-up. It dripped with sensual showmanship, treacleish tones sending an immediate flood of desire leaking into your panties.

Men and women in the front rows grasped at each other, gawking as if suddenly seeing him for the first time. It doesn’t get any easier folks, you thought with a smile. “My brother here knows the arrangement by heart,” Loki continued. “The lyrics and suchlike- I’m sure he would be happy to relieve Barnes of his duties-”

Mutters of excitement spread through the crowd like a mexican wave. Thor immediately turned his back to the audience, muttering something at surprisingly hushed volume in his brother’s ear. Loki listened diligently, holding up a penitent finger to the crowd. Steve’s arms were folded, storm-clouds knitting his brow. The foot had begun to tap. “My brother makes the valid point that of the two of us, I am the more musically inclined-” Loki began, gracefully gripping Thor’s shoulders and spinning him back to face the audience.

He brushed his brother’s collar, removing the last of the almond crumbs which resided there. A smile you knew all too well stretched across Loki’s lips as he looked deep into Thor’s eyes, willing him to understand. “But alas,” Loki purred, “I know not the words.” And perhaps these words will heal, Loki thought.

Loki held his breath as Thor began to gingerly shuffle forwards, tugging at the hem of his Naughty- emblazoned jumper. If father could see us now, Loki mused with a shiver as his brother gripped the microphone.

The crowd was beginning to stomp in appreciation, driven into a frenzy by the turn of events. Thor gave a small wave, bashful smile growing wider as people began to whistle. Loki turned his attention to Rogers, standing stiff and poised with baton in the air. He gave it a singular flourish, counting down from three. The crowd fell silent.

Loki saw the moment that Steve and Thor’s eyes met. It seemed to make every fairy bulb glow a little brighter in the darkness, sparks of hope spreading like embers from a fire, fluttering upwards in a night sky. Please brother, Loki pleaded silently as he raised his sleigh bell. Don’t arse this up. He suddenly wondered if Thor had felt this way during their time at the cottage. Loki supposed that he had. The brass band sprang to life, drums making an entrance. (Christmaaaas) Loki sang suddenly with the others. Nine voices harmonised as one.

Thor panicked, pulling the microphone to his mouth. “Snow is...coming down...uh-oof-” he spluttered, the cable tangling around his shoe. (Christmaaaaas) they sang, cringing slightly.

One line in, and Loki had almost lost all hope. “I'm watching it faaaaall” Thor crooned in bass – a little more tunefully. (Christmaaaas) “Lots of...very lovely and festive, yes – you...people aro-hounnnd,” (Christmaaaas) Loki sang, a smile beginning to spread as his brother came alive. He was pointing at the children, giggles and squeals peppering the air. The sleigh bell beat against his palm in time with his brother’s voice. “Baby, please come ho-hommmme,” Thor sang. Loki looked up, catching a look on your face that he hadn’t seen before. There was something different in that look. Some deeper variable of your smile that ignited his heart. But there would be time for overthinking it later, he surmised as his brother launched into the chorus with a glottal barrage of enthusiasm. For now, he had a love to nurture.

As Loki released his practised backing harmonies with the rest of the team, his brother got into his stride. ‘Owned the stage,’ Loki believed was the term. Steve didn’t take his eyes off Thor for the whole number. And if Loki didn’t know better, which of course – he did, he would swear that the captain was blushing.

(Please) they sang, sleigh bells jangling in time. “Pleaseee” echoed his brother. (Please) “Please” (Please) “Please” (Please) “Please Baby, please come hommmme-” You were surprised the operatic efforts of Loki’s brother didn’t make the ground shake.

The crowd were beside themselves, singing and jiving and waving their hands in the air. Thor worked the big crescendo, falling to his knees on the ground. His thighs spread, and whether it was his intention or not, you saw Steve grip the podium as his sensibilities buckled. Just a bit. The captain’s lips rolled together, stifling what you were sure was a bite. Thank god Thor wore the tight jeans today, you mused as you held the final note. With a swiping flourish of the conductor’s baton, the song was over. The cheers were deafening.

Thor stood and gave a small bow, sudden bashfulness descending. He waved, backing off to the side. His eyes met Steve’s, giving him an understated nod. The captain returned it slowly, a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. You watched him mouth two words, thank you, before Thor collided into Loki.

There was only one more song to go. You watched as Loki patted his brother’s shoulder across the semi-circle, pulling him into a hug. His face was alight with pride. It melted your heart. Despite the passing of the months, you couldn’t get over how different his smiles were now. Open. Genuine. Real. He’s finally opened his heart.

Have you? The thought came intrusively. Fairy lights shone all around as Loki tussled his brother’s hair. Thor couldn’t stop smiling. And neither could Steve, you noticed. One more song. Rogers tapped the podium for the final time, raising the baton. The mellow sound of the saxophone twisted in the air, followed by strings.

“I'm dreaming of a white Christmas Just like the ones I used to know” you sang. Loki’s eyes met yours, sparkling with the glitter of mischief well done. “Where the treetops glisten, And children listen, To hear sleigh bells in the snow,”

Bucky’s voice began to grow louder beside you. Released from his bodily prison at last. On cue, the Avengers began to peel away from the semi-circle, mingling with the crowd. Of course, any production orchestrated by Steve Rogers would end in a collective heart-melting communal singalong. Nothing else would do.

You watched as Wanda cosied up to a older man holding a mulled wine. He offered it to her immediately, stunned as he mouthed the words to White Christmas. She took it.

For your part, you made a beeline for the children sitting at the front of the audience, joining them in their sway. This whole thing was for them, after all. Loki’s shadow crept behind you, falling over the little girl with his face emblazoned on the pin badge.

“I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, with every Christmas card I write” Loki purred melodically as he lowered to his haunches. He paused, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek. You watched her face, transfixed in joy as all her daydreams came true. The God of Mischief in person, his shadowed blue eyes looking into hers as though she was the only person in the world. That never gets old, either, you thought. He took her hand, pressing her tiny palm against his own. “May your days,” he sang with the crowd as his fingertips glowed green, “be merry and bright-” You couldn’t tear yourself from the look of absolute sincerity on his face. The utter determination painted on softened features to give this sweet girl a memory that would last for the rest of her life – however long that was.

Tears began to prick your eyes, seeing the crane of her neck upwards as her mouth fell open in wonder to the sky. Loki smiled. The green shimmer of his palm pressed to hers grew stronger. A glow flashed across the inky night, a billowing flourish of northern lights erupting over central Manhattan seeped in emerald and pinkish hues. They twisted in waves, swirling like a cloak which moved and rolled. It was alive. Loki's voice was quieter now, but no less beautiful as he sang. “And may all your Christmases, be-” “white,” the little girl gasped as snow began to fall. He did that, you thought in wonder as the crowd began to cheer, hugging each other. All sets of eyes were turned upwards to the sky. All but yours. They stayed fixed on Loki as the band played on amidst a flutter of newly swirling snowflakes. The man I love.

“The tie, brother-” Thor muttered nervously, “is it..?” “It is well done, brother” Loki replied.

He dusted the lapel of Thor’s crushed velvet suit jacket a final time, a deep red the shade of fine merlot. The blonde released a trembling sigh, pulling at his fingers.

It was Christmas Eve. “Did you take the pharmaceuticals as instructed?” Loki enquired quietly as the elevator bounced to a halt. Thor nodded, patting his breast pocket. “The Tums? Yes. I have some on my person should the gaseous beast rear in my belly.” Loki nodded, satisfied. All the bases were covered. He had done all he could do. Now, it was up to Thor. Well, almost. It had been Loki’s idea for the brothers to dress together for the party tonight. And although his initial plan was to ensure that Thor was in peak condition for this eve of great import, Loki would admit that he had enjoyed it. Very much.

He wore a suit matching his brother’s in all but one detail. Loki’s was a crushed velvet of richest emerald green. Thin silk ties of gold adorned them both, fastened tight to the white shirts beneath with a pin bearing their respective emblems. Loki’s gift to his brother. The Asgardian Princes were showing up, tonight. Loki had made sure of it. Mother would be proud, he smiled as the elevator doors opened. Thor’s Yuletide offering to him had been a gift certificate to the Cheesecake Factory, but Loki paid it no mind. Gifts had never been his brother's strong-suit.

The rest of the team was already gathered by the Christmas tree, festive beverages in hand. A rolling cheer of greeting sounded as the duo strode towards the scene. Loki grabbed two glasses from the bar, passing one to his brother who necked it immediately. The dark god swirled his finger, refilling it. Loki felt his brows rise as he saw you, standing with one finger curled over your lip and an entirely too sensual smirk on your beautiful face. Beneath the perfectly cut trousers of his suit, Loki’s cock twitched. “You look handsome,” you coaxed quietly as he slid an arm around your waist, releasing a breath he’d been holding as a charged grunt of need.

“If we had gotten ready for tonight together,” Loki growled hot in your ear, “I fear that dress would never have been seen by another intact.” He pressed himself to you with a lingering kiss, an appreciative thrust of his hips rubbing against your own. He sighed into your open mouth, feeling your fingers dig into his shoulders. “God,” Natasha muttered with playful scorn under her breath, shuffling over to give you both space. “Can’t take them anywhere,” she murmured to Sam. Sam grunted in agreement.

“Presents!” Tony cried, clapping his hands together. “Party starts at eight, tick tock. Cutting it fine thanks to Paris and Nicole here.” He nodded in Loki and Thor’s direction. Steve checked his watch. “One cannot rush perfection, Stark” Loki smirked, releasing you. He watched as Rogers turned and adjusted a decoration on the tree. A plush rabbit wearing a santa hat. He was nervous. Tony knelt down, reading each gift tag and throwing it to the corresponding team-member. An oblong package whizzed past Loki's face, hitting his brother square in the mouth. 'Ooft,' Thor grunted as mulled wine slopped over the side of the glass. He stumbled, catching the present. Loki sighed, flexing his fingers and removing the stain from the front of his sibling’s suit. His brother nestled the empty glass dangerously within the tree branches to his side, inspecting the package. “Tis soft,” he muttered seriously. Across the circle, Loki saw Steve’s anxious gaze darting upwards at his brother in intervals. He noted you offer the captain a comforting nod while Thor tore at immaculate wrapping, ripping off the red ribbon and casting it aside. “Odin’s beard…” Thor gasped as the final sliver of paper fell away.

The team fell silent, looking up from their various body massagers and associated tat. He raised the item in his hands like Simba, slack-jawed in awe. The amazed god stared at it, eyes glossy.

Bruce frowned towards the blonde, peering over his glasses with an oversized posing pouch dangling from one finger. “Is that-?” “-A chicken drumstick?” Nat gawked. “Tis’ soft…!” Thor breathed in wonder, twirling it in his hands. He clutched it to his chest, eyes darting around the group. “A thousand thanks upon whomever bestowed this plush poultry treasure upon me,” he murmured, unable to resist holding the cushion proudly at arms length.

“Truly whomever be my secretive santa knows me to my core-” he continued dreamily, looking to each avenger in turn. They all looked befuddled. All except one. Thor’s brow creased, doing a double take as Steve’s cheeks plunged to new depths of crimson. “Rogers?” the blonde god whispered, so low only Loki could hear it. “Open yours Steve!” someone probed. Captain America still held his own package in his hands, toying with it gently.

Loki maintained his stoic expression, tossing his newly acquired bottle of luxury dry shampoo between his hands as he noted horror descend on his brother’s face. Never fear, brother; he thought smugly. Thor thought that Steve was about to open a small box containing yet another gift certificate to the Cheesecake Factory. But Thor was mistaken. Firstly, America’s saviour was lactose intolerant. Any internet search would have told him that. But despite his brother’s poverty of imagination where presents were concerned, his heart was in the right place. And for the cunning plan his love and he had concocted, there was only one gift which could bring the two men comfort and joy this Christmas. The truth. “Wait, wait-” Thor yelped as he took several panicked strides across the room. He knelt down to Steve’s level, placing his hands over the box that Steve had only just revealed through the wrapping. “It’s not-” Steve looked up, meeting the god’s panicked stare with practised indifference.

“Let me open it, will ya?” he said calmly. Thor sank back, head bowed as he waited for the axe to fall. With every careful unlatching of sellotape, Loki saw his brother’s heart sink a little more into his stomach. “Good gravy, what’s this? A pocket-square?” Thor looked up, regret turning to confusion as he clocked the handkerchief dangling between Rogers slender fingers. It was familiar, heavy with otherworldly silk and trimmed in thread ground from the most precious jewels of nine realms. On one side, deepest burgundy melting to crimson. But on the other, a rich navy which faded to shimmering azure.

Red and blue, not red and green.

The two colours met in the middle, threads glittering and overlapping like foam on the shore. They seemed to move. To change and ebb in the light like a living thing. And stitched across the handkerchief in the finest gold,

En sannhet byttet mot en sannhet. “Jeepers,” Steve muttered as he pulled the silk appraisingly through his fingers. “Someone definitely went over the twenty dollar limit.” Thor twisted his head incredulously towards his brother. Loki narrowed his eyes briefly in response, coupled with a small nod. The blonde god cleared his throat, finally catching up to the scenario unfolding before him. “A truth for a truth,” Thor breathed quietly, looking to the floor.

Steve’s concentration broke, as if suddenly seeing the person kneeling beside him on the floor for the first time. “P-pardon?” he stuttered. There was a sudden wave of green hued light through the room, reminiscent of the northern lights which lit up last night’s sky at the jamboree. “My apologies, Rogers…” Loki purred, stepping forwards. “I feel it best to inform you that the others cannot see nor hear us at this moment. As far as they are aware, you are both by the bar.” Loki nodded to where a slightly glitchy duo of duplicates stood behind Tony’s counter, clinking glasses of tequila. “Just myself, and she-” he nodded to you, “are witness.” “W-witness?” Steve spluttered, trying to stand and finding his knees starting to buckle. He looked at Thor, eyes wide. But all he found was softness. “Say the words, Rogers” Thor urged gently, gesturing to the handkerchief. Steve frowned, as the blonde god pulled the silk from his grip.

“A truth for...what was it? Truth for a truth?” Rogers asked, confused gaze darting between the men and you.

Loki clapped his hands together quietly. “Wonderful. You are now bound to the Accords of the Kerchief.” Steve frowned deeper. “Accords of the what-now?” “Kerchief,” Loki repeated formally, nodding towards the silk in Thor’s hand.

“You have both held it while the other spoke the words. And now, you must exchange the truth which causes the conflict between you – so that it may be resolved.” “And what if I don’t wanna?” Rogers sniffed, ears burning. He avoided Thor’s eyes. Loki released a whittling hum of discontent. “Unfortunately, failure to comply with the Accord of the Kerchief once initiated means instant smiting at the hands of Heimdall.” “Smiting?! You can’t be serious,” Steve scoffed with gusto. “Oh yes,” Loki nodded very seriously. Thor was nodding too. Also very seriously. “The penalties are most grave, Rogers.” “You tricked me,” Steve hissed to the blonde opposite him.

“Technically I tricked you,” Loki smirked apologetically. Rogers eyes narrowed in his direction, his lip trembling with what looked suspiciously like a swear. “Laufeyson,” he warned. Loki extended his forefinger, waggling it slowly side-to-side. “It will do not a jot of good, Rogers. You can thank my mother for this one. Now -” he gestured expectantly between the men. Thor took a deep breath. “Rogers-Ihavefeelingsforyouwhichcannotbeexplainedin,mere...Norns-” “Slow down, Thor-” you cooed gently.

Loki felt your hand slide into his. The nerves roaring in his belly soothed as your fingers interlinked. Despite maintaining an exterior of calm, he was terrified.

“Rogers,” Thor began again. Steve stared at him, transfixed. The aura of suspicion which surrounded him was fading, his stiff spine slackening as he looked at the god. Really looked at him. Saw him.

“I have feelings for you, which run deep to the heart of me. Which I cannot deny any longer. And if you feel that you cannot return my interest, then I shall understand. But I cannot spend another night unable to sleep, thinking that you believe me to hate you. And I apologise for my boorish behaviour these past months.” There was a pause as the god took a breath before continuing. “It was self preservation, you see-” Thor rumbled quietly, before sighing.

Steve looked down, still except for his fingers fidgeting with the wrapping paper in his lap. “That was well done, brother” Loki soothed. Thor shot him a sad smile. “I-” Rogers started.

The three of you held your breath. He looked up, just at the moment Thor curled a blonde tendril behind his ear. “I-” Steve choked, shifting on his knees. “It’s okay Steve,” you coaxed from the side-lines. It was the final nudge he needed. “I feel the same,” was all Steve said. He looked up, meeting Thor’s widening eyes. “Truly?” Steve nodded shyly. “I got myself in a tizz, about a whole bunch of things which weren’t really to do with you. Or….us. Not really,” he stammered. "It wasn't a mistake. And I was a dummy to say so." Loki felt your fingernails dig into his palm, both of you craning forwards as the captain continued. His voice was serious, a slight waver just audible between the words. “For a while, I thought you thought I was just some kinda tart. Some kind of loose Jack. Well lemme tell you Odinson, Steve Rogers is no one’s tart.” “You were never my tart, Rogers,” Thor uttered with gravitas, gently cupping Steve’s jaw. The captain’s eyelids fluttered closed, leaning into his hold. In seconds, the space between them closed. Rogers arms wrapped around Thor’s shoulders, Thor’s hands sliding around the captain’s waist. They fit together like a glove, Steve’s fingers winding in the god’s hair like a spindle through spun gold. Low mutterings of apologies cascaded from their lips between kisses, small gasps and sighs as unpleasantness of past months were forgotten. “What the fuck?” Tony spluttered. Every set of eyes in the room was fixed on the God of Thunder and Captain America’s passionate embrace. Hel, Loki thought with a shock. In all the excitement, he had neglected to hold the spell which shielded them. The kiss ceased, but still their arms were wound around each other. “Sheesh,” Wanda laughed, grabbing a bottle of the good stuff on her way past the bar. “It’s about time.” A murmur of agreement rolled around the room, a chorus of whoops sounding as each teammate stooped to offer a clap on the back to the newly outed couple. And for the first time in living memory, the colour of Thor’s cheeks rivalled his lover’s. “Maybe you guys won’t be the public embarrassment at parties anymore,” Nat quipped as she passed, tapping Loki and you lightly on the ass. Your laughter lit up Loki’s heart. And there was that look in your eye again, the one he couldn’t place yesterday.

‘We did it,’ you mouthed silently to him. Loki winked in response, just as the clock chimed eight. With a spring in his step, Loki made his way to the men kneeling awkwardly on the floor, noting their interlinked fingers with a wave of pride. He offered both hands, and each was taken. He heaved, pulling the men to stand and immediately into a hug.

“Merry Christmas, brother” he whispered in Thor’s ear. “Do you need the handkerchief back?” Thor muttered through a smile. “I am assuming the revised colours were only temporary.” Loki chuckled, pulling him and Rogers tighter. The captain released a strangled ooft as the air was pressed from his lungs.

“I think not that we need such a trinket to ensure our bond. Not anymore. Do you, brother?” Loki murmured into his sibling’s hair.

From deep within the embrace, in a hold which seemed to melt the centuries, Loki felt his brother shake his head.

The party was a roaring success. And in the early hours of Christmas Day, you and Loki stumbled back to your apartment upstairs.

It was tiredness, mostly – and happiness. Strands of tinsel poked from Loki’s curls. You pulled one out with a giggle before unlocking the door and pulling him inside. “Finally,” he growled longingly as one slim finger toyed with the strap of your dress. Making quick work of pushing the velvet suit jacket from his shoulders, your fingers were halfway down his shirt buttons before you suddenly remembered- “-your present!” you cried, making Loki flinch back from where he had been buried in your neck.

“Can’t it wait?” he whined with feigned impatience. You waved an excited hand, scurrying to the cupboard. “No.” you shouted, head popping out behind the cupboard door. “I’ve been dying to give it to you.” Loki sighed, a reluctant smile spreading across his beautiful face. “I thought we agreed no gifts,” he huffed as you ran and sat cross-legged on the bed.

You bounced on your knees while he swaggered over, undoing the last of his buttons with a knowing grin as he enjoyed the roam of your hungry stare across his skin. His carved abdomen flirted into view, obliques visible with each stride as the thick cotton folded to his movements. Loki sat on the bed, legs spread at the edge. His thighs creased the material in a way that made your mouth water.

He picked up the box, inspecting it before throwing you a lingering smoulder. “Mischievous elf,” he purred. “It’s just a small thing” you bargained, biting your lip as the first side of paper was torn. “I stole it, actually.” Loki raised an eyebrow. “Open it!” you said, chewing on your thumbnail as you watched his eyes drop to the package. Suddenly the god’s face changed.

Playfulness melted to a frown, his smirk fading. He swallowed thickly, staring down at the mug in his hands before looking up at you. “-with the yellow bear,” he said quietly. “and the eyepatch!” you beamed. “I took it from the cottage. I noticed you always used it, I thought you might like the-”

Before you could finish, Loki’s hand had cupped the back of your head and pulled you into an all-consuming kiss. He bore down on you, the passion of his adoration sinking through the air and deep into your soul. Every circle of his tongue against yours, every caress of his breath as he repositioned his mouth over your own. He broke, panting. “Darling,” was all he could muster in thanks as he looked down at the ceramic with adoring eyes. You couldn’t stop smiling. His gaze snapped up, a click of his fingers making a perfectly wrapped present appear beside you on the bed. Golden paper shimmered before becoming whole. It was flat, and light. “No presents, huh?” you goaded sweetly. Loki smiled. “Open it,” he echoed. You complied. And inside the paper was a perfectly folded nightdress, adorned with autumnal leaves. The very same one. You hugged it to your chest, a dopey smile on your face. “I knew it was the one thing in that room you would miss,” he rumbled apologetically.

You reached for his hand, thumb running over the veins taut and thick on the back. “I hope this doesn’t mean I’ll be sleeping alone,” you whispered with a smile. Loki placed his mug on the side table, before reaching for the nightdress and placing it beside. “God forbid,” he growled. Loki pulled another errant strand of tinsel from his hair, making it vanish. Without breaking eye contact, he lowered you back on the mattress, the pad of one fingertip tracing down your cheekbone. Memorising it.

The way he was looking at you, the silence that hung where words should be. You knew which words they were. He was holding back, even now as he inhaled against your pulse-point. Holding back for you. As dark curls blanketed your vision, you thought of the excitement in his voice as the cunning plan was formed. Of the way his fists clenched as he silently cheered his brother on, how his face fell when he thought that it was all for naught. How his eyes had swum with joy as it all came together. Not for himself, but for them. And you thought of the smile on that little girl’s face, joyful in the midst of Christmas lights and magic that shouldn't be possible. But for her, and for you - with him...it was. Yes, you’d thought about that a lot. “I love you, Loki” you whispered slowly in his ear.

Loki’s kisses against your neck faltered. You heard a sigh rack his chest, breath hitching as his heart-beart quickened on top of your own. “Truly?” he murmured in response.

It was cautious, wary. His eyes came into view, concern clouding them. You slid a hand up his jaw, kissing him gently. “I love you,” you repeated solemnly. He pressed his forehead to yours, a choke of relieved laughter accompanying a long inhale of breath. “Gods,” he whispered on the exhale, “what have I done to deserve you?” “Everything,” you replied quietly. It was a truth.

He kissed you as though he was trying to absorb each atom of your breath, capture each flutter of the three words he’d longed to hear. As though they might vanish if he did not mark the moment with the seal of his touch. But they wouldn’t. You knew that now. How could they? “I love you,” he whispered back. And you believed him.

A/N: Thank you again so so so much for coming on this journey with me and the gang. I'm so happy with how this ended, even though the expansion was a bit unexpected(!) and I really hope you are too! Although the 'main' story is chapters 1-7, it felt like there was more to explore. Please let me know what you thought, any insights or additional HCs you have - they are always welcome ❤️ Tags

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @muddyorbs @buttercupcookies-blog @goddessofwonderland

[mantrabay]

Christmas Torch Aloft

Season of dream haze and arctic signpost.

Chill and chap brood whose scattered offspring plummet thermal values as welcome mat for “whiskered” chimney guest awash with bounty.

Thief of sun filled days without a twinge but that universal late December rendezvous can’t be thrust off-course.

Primal raw wind howl dissing summer’s distant memory - spotty and erratic though it was.

Deck chair, seat of toil free bliss now cold front recess blob.

Mirage or wishful thinking from a wet weather veteran.

We live in fear of reruns like Ophelia or

2010’s black ice.

Storm Force Brian, Mount Fuji on an airwave shrapnel carrier.

Dormant Loch Ness shadow’s fervent air mass plugging festive tunes.

To fuel dispatch and chimney sweep alike a sacred windfall.

For those who struggle just another inroad on an ever

shrinking pocket.

Yet this annual curtain closer has its grail and saving grace.

Dark art charmer lacing every patch for knee high boot crunch.

Architect of igloo closet ski cap.

Sleigh ride bell upon that maligned feast around our globe (Noel hark the alpine carol)!

Bizarre but only to us frostbite souls aloof from glacial beauty.

Deep freeze spirit canvass may not surface.

Christmas anthems booming over frolic footfall streets adorned by night owls.

Chaser lights that gee up gutted ghost town black spot.

Urban ice rink dome another fantasy or wonderland.

Toy shop stock n trade whose only trade is stock.

Colour coded gadget clutching every cell of window space.

Fashion fodder wizards magic spark a toddler’s glee at every turn.

Boisterous strains of Santa rousing inner reindeers - the sort beloved by children down the ages.

Yuletide decor gift band holly bush spike.

Log tossed on fire, kindling stick incendiary, leaping flame enshrouds smokeless polish.

Skim milk skyline flaunts its snow fleck jewellery aloft.

Stars of astral compass spread their twinkle dash on human garlands.

Winter’s stepwise edging in a whirl plume of slush.

Christmas well and truly has arrived.

Photographs and piece

all my own work

Dedicated to my wonderful sister Jay Pallen.

Happy Christmas to you and your family/ friends, Jay.

Wishing everyone on tumbrl a very merry Christmas

To those on tumbrl who read, liked, and reblogged my various works, a deep and genuine thanks

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Not only are you an amazing writer (and the sweetest person from what I can tell based on your interactions with people on here) but you’re a TON fan too?! You continue to amaze with how awesome you are♥️please tell me the Engel & her bestie x konig AU is based on My Girl’s Girlfriend too! 😄 and while at the topic of TON/peter steele being very konig coded, Wolf Moon deserves its Konig twist as well tbh (this man would make his face a throne for his queen regardless but imagine werewolf!konig??? Who would be a whole new level of a menace😭💕 and imagine if this 6’7 beefcake of a psycho who already has a hard time controlling his urges during normal circumstances turning into a literal beast once a month, even more so when your cycle synchs with his transformation🥴💕)

Ps.: I hope you’re doing well, taking your time to rest and relax and enjoy life🥰 I remember reading a while ago that you were going through a bit of a rough patch, I don’t want to come off as prying for any details but I just hope you’re in a better place and space now, bc you’re such a sweet soul 💕and my Tumblr crush bc you are not only someone I hold as an example when it comes to being a writer but you’re so genuinely kind to everyone in your inbox and that kindess literally radiates off of your blog☹️👉🏻👈🏻you honestly deserve the world sweet Salome🥰💕ok that got kinda sappy real quick 🥴but I wanted to let you know how much you are appreciated💕😚 And also, happy Holidays! May the new year bring you & your loved ones all the health and happiness 🥳👏🏻🥂

Ahhh what a message 😭🥹❤️

I feel like a Victorian maiden who just read a love letter of the sweetest kind, I'm smiling and blushing like an idiot here (also I read this like 10 times because it just gets better and better lol) You're so kind for sending me some love! I'm in a much better spot now and enjoying life and the holidays, resting and seeing friends and eating like crazy (we're practising for Christmas dinner hehe) ty for asking 💞 I hope you're enjoying your holidays too!

And you're a fellow writer, gosh now I'm curious! I don't wish to push you but please just know that it makes me so happy to hear that my work has inspired you. And as for the TON/König, yes he's everything they sing about in Wolf Moon. An adoring beast, a king, a predator and a servant for his chosen queen... Send help, I'm drooling! Also the song Love You to Death reminds me of König x Engel 💕

Anon I wish you a Merry Christmas/Yuletide and a wonderful New Year, may it bring you everything you wish for! 🩷✨️🌲

[lookwhatyoudidithasanxiety]

Happ͢y Holidays!

Sun: Whether you're with family-

Lunar: Friends-

Solar: Or alone,

Moon: We hope you have a great day today!

Eclipse: ...Even if you're family isn't the greatest...

Sun: We hope you have a great day regardless! Put yourself first!

Solar: And if you don't celebrate the more 'mainstream' holidays, we wish you a merry holiday.

Kill Code: B̧e ͠s͘u͟ré ̧tơ ̧re͝m̶embe͞r̵ ҉t͞hat͟ ̶f̢a҉m̨i͝ly̢ i̷ş ͞n̡ơt̶ a͢l̀way̨s ͟thé on͠es̶ t̛h͘a̕t̀ ̀y͘o̶u͠ s͟ha̢r͢e b̀loo̴d̕ wi͜th̷.͘

Harvest: Family can be those you find along the way, no matter how 'unconventional'.

Bloody: Eat good food!

Sun: Or just spend time with those you love.

Lunar: Happy Holidays!

//I've also decided to extend the Christmas/holiday event through January 1st! Yuletide ends that day, so I figured it makes sense. Also, this is all really cute and I'm liking being able to write fluffy responses over angsty ones. I'll try to get the Secret Santa oneshot written and posted today or tomorrow.//

[hillzhqs]

'𝚝𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗

hear those silver bells? it's christmas time in los angeles. some families actually do make the yuletide gay, managing to leave their troubles far away. other families have a merry little christmas even when their troubles aren't so far away. some presents might end up returned but some gifts are for keeps. other presents come when you least expect them and everyone knows the biggest present comes in the smallest box. then there are those boxes you wish you had never opened. have a holly jolly christmas, xoxo.

‹   ⅰ.   › you have been cordially invited to celebrate christmas eve at the kennedy estate in hidden hills, california. this year's theme is 'the colors of the season.' there will be different themed rooms throughout the home that will be color coordinated - red, green, white, silver, gold and black. the dress code is to wear one of these colors. admission to the party will not be granted if you are not following dress code. this is not a casual event by any means, so please do dress your best.

‹   ⅱ.   ›  the party will be taking place on discord. please keep an eye out for the link. while the event will be taking place over the span of one night rp time (december 24th, 2023), you can start writing on sunday, december 10th, 2023. threads can continue until everyone completes their writing.

‹   ⅲ.   ›  in the spirit of the season, kathy kennedy hosts an annual 'kathy kringle' where she pairs up people from the party to exchange gifts with one another. under the cut, please find your partner. there will be a channel in the event server where you can drop pictures and edits of the gifts called 'kathy kringle' and you can write out your characters exchanging gifts in the 'grand foyer' channel

‹   ⅳ.   › gossip girl has eyes everywhere, especially in an event as star studded as this one. if there's anything specific that you don't want leaked, please be sure to come to me before hand. if not, everything is up for grabs and can potentially be blasted for everyone to see.

‹   ⅴ.   ›  be inclusive! make sure you're writing/plotting with everyone and most importantly, have fun!!

✳    𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐤𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬   ﹕please see under the cut!

LEX -adrian fitzgerald . - DEE - julian calvary

SOPHIE -mallory wells - T - travis buckley .

KELLY - tyler cobb - SOPHIE -kaya khalid

KELLY - drew monroe - CANDICE -bentley hart

CANDICE -sienna spencer - T - vincent hart .

KELLY - madeline kennedy - CANDICE -genevieve evans

DEE - lilian hawker - CANDICE -sebastian davis

KELLY - roman barlowe - LEX -teddy taylor .

LEX -camryn kennedy . - T - hunter valmont .

BECCA - juliette hart . - KELLY - matteo rossi

SARA- oliver van horn - LEX -madden kennedy .

BECCA - stacey ortiz . - KELLY - franz wanger

SOPHIE -angel griffin - CANDICE - felicity dupont

SARA- avett marie - LEX -keanu carter .

SOPHIE -ford anderson - LEX -jade santos .

LEX -beau calvary - SOPHIE -archie sinclair

DEE - ezra basel - T - james vanderbilt .

SOPHIE -everly blackwell - CANDICE -jackson blackwell

SOPHIE -zion davis - FREY - na-eun seo

T - austen sinclair . - CANDICE -johnny kennedy

KELLY - charlotte windsor - SOPHIE -maddox mckelvie

CANDICE -adelaide windsor - BECCA - erin halliday .

KELLY - ayaz demiric- SARA- caleb khan

DEE - dominic law - FREY - penelope kennedy

DEE - gigi majok - SARA- finley kennedy

T - jordana kennedy . - CANDICE -brooke hawker

KELLY - ethan briggs - T - hana hershey ratanavadi .

SOPHIE -kacey king - DEE - carter talbot

KELLY - afia amoabeng - T - caiden sharpe .

FREY - kwame amoabeng - KELLY - seo sieun

KELLY - merve baysel - CANDICE -persephone sinclair

SOPHIE - ophelia evans - BECCA - farrah osmond

LEX -selene sinclair . - T - alabama messi .

DEE - derek taylor - CANDICE -bianca sinclair

T - bristol decker . - SOPHIE -mackenzie kennedy

[the-writer-nerd-ro]

Merry Porfmas! If I was really dedicated to the bit I would have written them actually at the Christmas party and called it "Two Losers At A Christmas Party" to harken back to the first fic I wrote about them "Two Losers At A Party." Maybe that'll happen after Christmas

For now, enjoy these nerds as they prep for a party

Make The Yuletide Gay

“How do you feel about Christmas parties?” Sara asked, chewing on a pen.

“How does anyone ever feel about Christmas parties?” Hunter replied with a shrug.

“Jovial, generally.”

“Oh. Then not that?”

Sara laughed good-naturedly. “Alright, Scrooge.”

“I’m not successful enough to be Scrooge. And it’s not the Christmas part, it’s the party part. Christmas parties are just a worse form of normal parties.”

“Mm, yeah, you don’t go to a lot of those. Would be fun if you did, though. With me. You could be my arm candy.”

Now it was Hunter’s turn to laugh.

“I’d be happy to go to your party, I’m just warning you, no one in the history of parties has ever thought, ‘You know what would make this more fun? Hunter Richardson.’”

Sara leaned across the kitchen table, peering deep into Hunter’s soul. “I have.”

Hunter felt her face growing warm, so of course she was forced to change the subject. “When’s the party?”

“Friday, 6 to 11.”

Hunter made a face.

“Dress code?”

“It's an ugly Christmas sweater party.”

“That's what I was afraid of,” Hunter said with a sigh.

“Don't worry, you can borrow one of mine.”

Just like that, they'd moved from the kitchen to the bedroom and Sara was whipping out sweaters in a frenzy.

Hunter had already brought up the whole “we are different sizes” thing, but Sara still insisted on dressing up her tiny girlfriend now and then. What was a slightly oversized ugly sweater on Sara was essentially a dress on Hunter.

It also, true to its name, was very ugly. It was green and red and covered in a rainbow of pom poms and it read, “Make the Yuletide Gay.”

“Do you like it?”

“Uh…”

“I made it,” Sara said proudly.

“It's very you,” Hunter replied.

Sara chose to take that as a compliment.

“You look adorable in it.”

“What are you wearing?”

Sara presented an equally queer Christmas sweater that had a picture of Santa holding a finger to his lips and the caption “Shh, nobody knows I'm gay.”

Hunter had to admit that Sara looked incredible in the sweater, but she still had some concerns.

“Do the people at the party know you're gay?”

It wasn't like these people were her friends, in fact most of them were complete strangers. As part of her business, SaraPenaPartyForHire, Sara got paid to go to parties and dance and mingle and “make things hype.”

“There's a discrimination clause on my website that says I am within my right to deny service to anyone who is bigoted towards me or my staff based on gender identity or sexual orientation, and I vet my clients accordingly.”

“That's pretty smart. Wait, what staff?”

“That would be you. They legally have to pay me more if both of us attend. It's part of the Deluxe Diamond Party Package.”

“Oh, so that's why you wanted me to come,” Hunter teased, though she'd known from their “second date” that this was part of dating Sara. The grind never stops, not even for Christmas.

“It'll give us a little extra money just in time for the holidays. Plus… I just love seeing you in my sweater.”

Hunter couldn't argue with that.

“Alright, I'll go. I just have one more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Will there be mistletoe?”

Sara grinned and leaned down to kiss Hunter, accidentally brushing a pom pom off of the sweater. “I think we can make do without.”

[pers-books]

Here it is, Merry BigFinishmas, everybody's having fun. Look to the future now and treat yourself over the Yuletide season with delightful deals on download audio adventures, PLUS some fantastic freebies!!

Newsletter subscribers will receive early bird notifications of the stories on offer each day, so if you're not signed up already, click HERE to join the mailing list now!

Use code MERRY23 to access the offers! 

Unless otherwise stated, all offers will be available until 23:59 (UK time) on 07 January 2024. 

David Tennant

BIG FINISH MAGAZINE ISSUE SIX

FREE DOWNLOAD! We blow the dust off Big Finish Magazine Issue 6, which was originally published on CD in August 2005 and features interviews, behind-the-scenes insights, and previews of forthcoming audio productions.

Click the button below to get the freebie. 

Elisabeth Sladen

BIG FINISH MAGAZINE ISSUE SIX

FREE DOWNLOAD! From the Big Finish Archives! Issue 7 of the Big Finish CD magazine was originally published in April 2006 and features Sarah Jane Smith, Doctor Who and Bernice Summerfield.

Click the button below to get the freebie.

[adoptfashion]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Mickey & Minnie Christmas Tree Skirt.

[fandomstatsorg]

A small Christmas update:

After spending a few months in a “conserved” state due to hosting issues, Fandomstats.org is back up and running with full capabilities, graphs and all!

You now (again) can:

See statistics for an AO3 tag, displayed as graphs (breakdown of ratings, most popular categories, ships, warnings, other tags)

Get the same data as CSV or JSON

Use the API directly (and read some basic documentation)

Look up bookmarks of works by a specific author

AND (because I was already tinkering with the code and wanted to build something fun)

Get a random AO3 work from a tag, or any other list of works (including non-filterable searches). For example: a random work from the Yuletide 2021 collection

Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays to anyone who celebrates, and a nice time to everyone else :)

[basilone]

Today, on the topic of self-indulgence, we’ve got.. the Bois-Jacques forest, Liebgott, and a special guest. Special guest being Maggie Paquin, who originally sprung from my brain but has since been adopted by @mercurygray for liberal use in The Darkening Sky. 😉 I hadn’t worked with Maggie myself yet at all and what better way to remedy this, truly, than by putting her with the one paratrooper she’s got a whole basketcase of complicated feelings for? I hope you’ll enjoy this one, folks!

Oh, and.. merry Yuletide to you all.😊

the act of making noise

There are two things in life that Joe Liebgott knows with absolute certainty.

One: he will stop at nothing to see his enemies dead and defeated.

Two: Marguerite Paquin is the most infuriating woman he’s ever met.

“Would it kill you,” he gripes, wincing as her foot connects with his shin for the second time in less than a minute, “to stay fucking put? For just this once?”

Paquin hums a noncommittal sound he knows full well is code for whatever as she peers over the edge of the foxhole. Of all the noises she makes – and there are a lot of them, because apparently he went and got himself stuck with the one person who’ll never pass up an opportunity to run her mouth – this one has got to be the worst of all. It’s not even the sure, Lieb, when hell freezes over she usually uses to dismiss him, or the I will bite your head off noise that he’s learned to catalog solely because it comes paired with some degree of violence.

No, this is the full-on do not care sound. This is the fuck you, I will do what I like noise. Which would be fine, really, if they weren’t at the back of Easy’s line in a cold as hell forest. It would be fine, honestly, if he wasn’t stuck in this foxhole next to her because her usual companions had been called to the front of the line. It would be fine, truly, if she went and did something stupid as long as it does not involve him. But he’s here, and he can tell all the ways this idea of hers is going to be monumentally idiotic already, and so he all but lunges for her as she attempts to crawl out of the foxhole.

“Ow! Lieb, get the fuck –”

He claps a hand over her mouth as he pulls her back inside. Winces as her full weight lands on top of him. He’s almost sure there’s a part of him that’s used to the impact by now, as his arm tightens its hold on her, because he’s managed to pull her out of trouble four times in the past month just like this.

“Ow!” he hisses as a sharp pain shoots through the palm of his hand. “Packin’, what the hell, did you just bite me?”

“Serves you right,” she shoots back now that her mouth is no longer covered by his hand. Hits his chest, his shoulders, his arms in an attempt to break free. “Lieb, I swear, if you don’t let me the hell go right now I’m going to smack my head into your nose so hard it’ll be the only thing that fills that empty void you call a skull.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell you’re doing crawling out of our foxhole like that,” he hisses, leaning back so her head won’t connect with his face if she does decide to resort to an attempt to hurt him. “The fuck’s so important out there right now?”

“I’m freezing.”

“Congratulations, so am I.”

“No! You don’t say! Get outta here, really?” Her voice turns from petulant to mocking in the blink of an eye. He sighs as she cranes her head to look at him and narrows her eyes. “You may have told me this. Once. Or twice. For every hour in the past five days.”

“Beautiful, Packin’, you’ve learned to count to five. What’s next, ten?”

“You won’t live to see day ten, you ass.”

“No, really,” he says, then, because her mouth is set into a stubborn pout and her attempts to break free of him are remarkably weak, “what were you tryin’ to do?”

“I was going to grab some pine resin from those broken trees down that way.” She jerks her chin at the part of the forest that’s been ravaged by artillery. “It’s really, really flammable. Like, it’s going to go whoosh without great trouble at all and if we light the small chunks we could get warm and still keep light discipline up. At least, I’m hoping that it’ll take the same way it does back home.”

“You want to start a fire. In our foxhole. Right now. With the use of pine resin. Highly flammable pine resin. Highly flammable pine resin that’s going to keep burning and burning and burning.” Joe keeps his voice flat to keep from screaming. “Packin’. Of all the stupid.. did you think about how to get any sleep somewhere in that plan?”

She shrugs. Bites her lip as she eventually shakes her head. He sighs at the wordless admission. Of course she didn’t think about that. As good as Paquin is in navigating these woods, somehow capable of remembering the exact positions of everyone out on the line with them, she’s remarkably out of touch with anything she needs on a personal level. Sleep’s elusive, and he’s got the bruises to show for how restless she gets in the hours when she finally dozes off.

“You gonna head out there now?”

“No,” she mutters, not meeting his gaze as he releases his hold on her. “Gonna wait. It’s gonna b–”

Her eyes widen almost comically. Her speech dissolves. He means to laugh about it, laugh at her and poke fun at her the same way he always does, but he catches nothing but a mouthful of her hair for his troubles as she topples them over. A sharp pain shoots through his back as he lands on root and hard earth with her crawling fully on top of him. He hisses out complaint when her hand catches in his hair and forces his head down.

“Fuck, Packin’, what –”

The air around them picks up a whistling sound that strikes him with sickening certainty. A flare of noise echoes around the foxhole. Joe shuts his eyes. Tries to grab hold of her – waist, uniform, hip, hair, shoulders – while her own grip on him turns into a deadly vice. He knows what’s coming. Is relieved to find his limbs aren’t as close to paralyzed as they were the last time.

The earth beneath them shakes. The air overhead is dark, menacing, noisy, alight with heat and sharp roars of sound. He pushes at her. Topples her over onto her side and onto her back. Pushes her as far into the earth as he can manage. Covers her with his body just as the world explodes.

He wraps his hands around her head. The earth trembles, rumbles, rolls beneath their bodies. Her hands come to rest on his head. She pulls him close as the air at his back seems to shake. He’s shaking too, he knows, shaking somewhere deep inside of him where terror lies. Shaking before the gaping maw of his fears. His fingers won’t hold still before he weaves them into her hair and buries his face in the crook of her neck.

She shudders out a breath against his bare skin. She’s trembling, too, shaking alongside the earth in a perfect mirror of him. He registers the sound of trees snapping like they are no more than twigs. Registers the noise that comes with the fire, the blinding white, the whistles and bangs of artillery that hits far too close to home. Registers the cry out for a medic before the noise around them goes high-pitched and finally turns deafening.

Most of all, he registers her. He’s got her memorized, he does, right down to the sharp intake of breath against his ear and her fierce hold on his head. He knows how she feels beneath him, hollowed out by this forest, too-sharp knees digging into his thighs, all lean and hard to the touch, and how wiry and unspooled he might feel to her in turn. He knows Paquin. Knows her blind, knows her by her sound and fury alone, knows her even when all the rest is blown to pieces.

Maybe he should be terrified of that. But as his heart races a pitter-patter against his rib cage, as his breath trembles against her ear, as the scent of pine needles seems to be lodged in her hair for all eternity, he finds some clarity in it too.

The world pops back into sound abruptly.

“– kidding me!” is the first thing he hears, distant but distinct in the silence that follows the enemy’s onslaught. It’s Billie Mitchell, he thinks after a moment of attempting to place the vicious snarling loudness of the woman, sharp as anything and none too happy. “Frohe fuckin’ Weihnachten to you too, assholes!”

Paquin, beneath him, lets out a giggle. He scrambles off of her at the sound. Knows she’s all right when she can laugh and sit up right away. He snorts out a laugh of his own as Billie’s voice mingles with Chuck’s relaxed tones and Tab’s breathless-sounding fury out there as Easy comes alive again. He sits up fully and tries to get his bearings.

He feels the earth shift beneath him anew at the look on Paquin’s face.

“What?” he mouths at her, but she doesn’t seem to see him. “Pack–” His eye catches what she’s looking at, now that he’s turned his head. He turns back to her sharply, abruptly. Reads the terror in her gaze. “Paquin. Fuck.”

Joe rakes a hand through his hair. Shifts until his chest presses up against her arm. She could turn away. Swat at him the way she always does when he gets too close. She doesn’t lash out this time, though, fixed as her gaze is on the destruction around them. She just sits there.

He bites his lip.

“Paquin,” he tries again. Then, softly, so soft he knows she’ll be the only one to hear: “Maggie.”

She turns to face him, then, and her eyes are wild. “Lieb.” His name is a breath he has to strain to understand. She’s damn near breathless. Terrified. “That.. I was.. I would’ve..”

“Yeah,” he says, sharply, fear on his tongue so tangible he thinks she’ll hear, “but you’re not.”

“I..” She seems to shake herself. “I-I.. Fuck. I just.. I’m fucking cold, I’m miserable,” she sums up, voice shaking and cracking like the earth and trees out there where she would’ve been if he hadn’t stopped her. If he hadn’t held her back. “I’m so t-tired. I’m – fuck – Lieb.”

“You’re okay,” he hushes, and tries to keep his voice steady despite the climbing panic he feels in his own chest. Despite the fear that lives in his throat now, thick and sweeping, as he realizes she wouldn’t be here anymore if he’d let her go. If he’d just let her crawl out of the foxhole, let her grab that resin from the woods, let her go without a fight. He shakes himself. “Maggie. You’re okay, you hear? It’s.. It’s fine.”

He’s never heard her make this sound before. Has never heard her fear, her exhaustion, her life escape from her lungs the way this strangled, choked-out sob now wrenches free from her body.

He hesitates only a moment. Hates himself for it, after.

“You’re all right,” he sighs as he pulls her quivering body in close to his chest. He wraps his arms around her and tightens his grip on her as he tries to forget the sight of the ruined trees and the smoldering fire where the pine resin used to be. Feels her hands clench around the folds of his uniform moments later. “You’re okay, Packin’.”

He resorts to what he always calls her. Anchors her with it. Anchors himself with it, too. She’s alive to hear him. Alive to gripe at him about how her name is Paquin, all French and pretty, and how she refuses to listen to Marguerite if he ever dares call her that. He smiles against her hair as he figures out how to stop her from crying. How to stop her from sounding so broken against him.

“Hey, Packin’,” he says, and tucks her head under his chin as he does, “the world’s come to an end after all. You’re finally hugging me.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she snarls, halfhearted but genuine. Her hold on him doesn’t dissipate, but her breath evens out in the next moments. The choked-up sound vanishes from her voice as she resorts to familiar insults. “Seriously, Lieb, verpiss dich.”

“Love you too, Packin’,” he chuckles.

He thinks the noise she makes is midway between annoyance and disgust. Catalogs it and holds onto her a little tighter for it. He’ll take it. He’ll take anything, as long as she’s here to make it.

[bananaofswifts]

Your guide to the singer-songwriter’s surprise follow-up to Folklore.

By

CARL WILSON

When everything’s clicking for Taylor Swift, the risk is that she’s going to push it too far and overtax the public appetite. On “Mirrorball” from Folklore, she sings, with admirable self-knowledge, “I’ve never been a natural/ All I do is try, try, try.” So when I woke up yesterday to the news that at midnight she was going to repeat the trick she pulled off with Folklore in July—surprise-releasing an album of moody pop-folk songs remote-recorded in quarantine with Aaron Dessner of the National as well as her longtime producer Jack Antonoff—I was apprehensive. Would she trip back into the pattern of overexposure and backlash that happened between 1989 and Reputation?

Listening to the new Evermore, though, that doesn’t feel like such a threat. A better parallel might be to the “Side B” albums that Carly Rae Jepsen put out after both Emotion and Dedicated, springing simply out of the artist’s and her fans’ mutual enthusiasm. Or, closer to Swift’s own impulses here, publishing an author’s book of short stories soon after a successful novel. Lockdown has been a huge challenge for musicians in general, but it liberated Swift from the near-perpetual touring and publicity grind she’s been on since she was a teen, and from her sense of obligation to turn out music that revs up stadium crowds and radio programmers. Swift has always seemed most herself as the precociously talented songwriter; the pop-star side is where her try-hard, A-student awkwardness surfaces most. Quarantine came as a stretch of time to focus mainly on her maturing craft (she turns 31 on Sunday), to workshop and to woodshed. When Evermore was announced, she said that she and her collaborators—clearly mostly Dessner, who co-writes and/or co-produces all but one of these 15 songs—simply didn’t want to stop writing after Folklore.

This record further emphasizes her leap away from autobiography into songs that are either pure fictions or else lyrically symbolic in ways that don’t act as romans à clef. On Folklore, that came with the thrill of a breakthrough. Here, she fine-tunes the approach, with the result that Evermore feels like an anthology, with less of an integrated emotional throughline. But that it doesn’t feel as significant as Folklore is also its virtue. Lowered stakes offer permission to play around, to joke, to give fewer fucks—and this album definitely has the best swearing in Swift’s entire oeuvre.

Because it’s nearly all Dessner overseeing production and arrangements, there isn’t the stylistic variety that Antonoff’s greater presence brought to Folklore. However, Swift and Dessner seem to have realized that the maximalist-minimalism that dominated Folklore, with layers upon layers of restrained instrumental lines for the sake of atmosphere, was too much of a good thing. There are more breaks in the ambience on Evermore, the way there was with Folklore’s “Betty,” the countryish song that was among many listener’s favorites. But there are still moments that hazard misty lugubriousness, and perhaps with reduced reward.

Overall, people who loved Folklore will at least like Evermore too, and the minority of Swift appreciators who disapproved may even warm up to more of the sounds here. I considered doing a track-by-track comparison between the two albums, but that seemed a smidgen pathological. Instead, here is a blatantly premature Day 1 rundown of the new songs as I hear them.

A pleasant yet forgettable starting place, “Willow” has mild “tropical house” accents that recall Ed Sheeran songs of yesteryear, as well as the prolix mixed metaphors Swift can be prone to when she’s not telling a linear story. But not too severely. I like the invitation to a prospective lover to “wreck my plans.” I’m less sure why “I come back stronger than a ’90s trend” belongs in this particular song, though it’s witty. “Willow” is more fun as a video (a direct sequel to Folklore’s “Cardigan” video) than as a lead track, but I’m not mad at it here either.

Written with “William Bowery”—the pseudonym of Swift’s boyfriend Joe Alwyn, as she’s recently confirmed—this is the first of the full story songs on Evermore, in this case a woman describing having walked away from her partner on the night he planned to propose. The music is a little floaty and non-propulsive, but the tale is well painted, with Swift’s protagonist willingly taking the blame for her beau’s heartbreak and shrugging off the fury of his family and friends—“she would have made such a lovely bride/ too bad she’s fucked in the head.” Swift sticks to her most habitual vocal cadences, but not much here goes to waste. Except, that is, for the title phrase, which doesn’t feel like it adds anything substantial. (Unless the protagonist was drunk?) I do love the little throwaway piano filigree Dessner plays as a tag on the end.

This is the sole track Antonoff co-wrote and produced, and it’s where a subdued take on the spirit of 1989-style pop resurges with necessary energy. Swift is singing about having a crush on someone who’s too attractive, too in-demand, and relishing the fantasy but also enjoying passing it up. It includes some prime Swiftian details, like, “With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from your door,” or, “At dinner parties I call you out on your contrarian shit.” The line about this thirst trap’s “hair falling into place like dominos” I find much harder to picture.

This is where I really snapped to attention. After a few earlier attempts, Swift has finally written her great Christmas song, one to stand alongside “New Year’s Day” in her holiday canon. And it’s especially a great one for 2020, full of things none of us ought to do this year—go home to visit our parents, hook up with an ex, spend the weekend in their bedroom and their truck, then break their hearts again when we leave. But it’s done with sincere yuletide affection to “the only soul who can tell which smiles I’m faking,” and “the warmest bed I’ve ever known.” All the better, we get to revisit these characters later on the album.

On first listen, I found this one of the draggiest Dressner compositions on the record. Swift locates a specific emotional state recognizably and poignantly in this song about a woman trapped (or, she wonders, maybe not trapped?) in a relationship with an emotionally withholding, unappreciative man. But the static keyboard chord patterns and the wandering melody that might be meant to evoke a sense of disappointment and numbness risk yielding numbing and disappointing music. Still, it’s growing on me.

Featuring two members of Haim—and featuring a character named after one of them, Este—“No Body, No Crime” is a straight-up contemporary country song, specifically a twist on and tribute to the wronged-woman vengeance songs that were so popular more than a decade ago, and even more specifically “Before He Cheats,” the 2006 smash by Carrie Underwood, of which it’s a near musical clone, just downshifted a few gears. Swift’s intricate variation on the model is that the singer of the song isn’t wreaking revenge on her own husband, but on her best friend’s husband, and framing the husband’s mistress for the murder. It’s delicious, except that Swift commits the capital offence of underusing the Haim sisters purely as background singers, aside from one spoken interjection from Danielle.

This one has some of the same issues as “Tolerate It,” in that it lags too much for too long, but I did find more to focus on musically here. Lyrically and vocally, it gets the mixed emotions of a relatively amicable divorce awfully damned right, if I may speak from painfully direct experience.

This is the song sung from the POV of the small-town lover that the ambitious L.A. actress from “Tis the Damn Season”—Dorothea, it turns out—has left behind in, it turns out, Tupelo. Probably some years past that Xmas tryst, when the old flame finally has made it. “A tiny screen’s the only place I see you now,” he sings, but adds that she’s welcome back anytime: “If you’re ever tired of being known/ For who you know/ You know that you’ll always know me.” It’s produced and arranged with a welcome lack of fuss. Swift hauls out her old high-school-romance-songs vocal tone to reminisce about “skipping the prom/ just to piss off your mom,” very much in the vein of Folklore’s teen-love-triangle trilogy.

A duet with Dessner’s baritone-voiced bandmate in the National, Matt Berninger, “Coney Island” suffers from the most convoluted lyrics on Evermore (which, I wonder unkindly, might be what brought Berninger to mind?). The refrain “I’m on a beach on Coney Island, wondering where did my baby go” is a terrific tribute to classic pop, but then Swift rhymes it with “the bright lights, the merry go,” as if that’s a serviceable shorthand for merry-go-round, and says “sorry for not making you my centerfold,” as if that’s somehow a desirable relationship outcome. The comparison of the bygone affair to “the mall before the internet/ It was the one place to be” is clever but not exactly moving, and Berninger’s lines are worse. Dessner’s droning arrangement does not come to the rescue.

This song is also overrun with metaphors but mostly in an enticing, thematically fitting way, full of good Swiftian dark-fairytale grist. It’s fun to puzzle out gradually the secret that all the images are concealing—an engaged woman being drawn into a clandestine affair. And there are several very good “goddamns.”

The lyrical conceit here is great, about two gold-digging con artists whose lives of scamming are undone by their falling in love. It reminded me of the 1931 pre-Code rom-com Blonde Crazy, in which James Cagney and Joan Blondell act out a very similar storyline. And I mostly like the song, but I can’t help thinking it would come alive more if the music sounded anything like what these self-declared “cowboys” and “villains” might sing. It’s massively melancholy for the story, and Swift needs a far more winningly roguish duet partner than the snoozy Marcus Mumford. It does draw a charge from a couple of fine guitar solos, which I think are played by Justin Vernon (aka Bon Iver, who will return shortly).

The drum machine comes as a refreshing novelty at this point. And while this song is mostly standard Taylor Swift torrents of romantic-conflict wordplay (full of golden gates and pedestals and dropping her swords and breaking her high heel, etc.), the pleasure comes in hearing her look back at all that and shrugging, “Long story short, it was a bad ti-i-ime,” “long story short, it was the wrong guy-uy-uy,” and finally, “long story short, I survived.” She passes along some counsel I’m sure she wishes she’d had back in the days of Reputation: “I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things/ Your nemeses will defeat themselves.” It’s a fairly slight song but an earned valedictory address.

Swift fan lore has it that she always sequences the real emotional bombshell as Track 5, but here it is at 13, her lucky number. It’s sung to her grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who died when Swift was in her early teens, and it manages to be utterly personal—down to the sample of Marjorie singing opera on the outro—and simultaneously utterly evocative to anyone who’s been through such grief. The bridge, full of vivid memories and fierce regrets, is the clincher.

This electroacoustic kiss-off song, loaded up with at least a fistful of gecs if not a full 100 by Dessner and co-producers BJ Burton and James McAlister, seems to be, lyrically, one of Swift’s somewhat tedious public airings of some music-industry grudge (on which, in case you don’t get it, she does not want “closure”), but, sonically, it’s a real ear-cleaner at this point on Evermore. Why she seems to shift into a quasi-British accent for fragments of it is anyone’s guess. But I’m tickled by the line, “I’m fine with my spite and my tears and my beers and my candles.”

I’m torn about the vague imagery and vague music of the first few verses of the album’s final, title track. But when Vernon, in full multitracked upper-register Bon Iver mode, kicks in for the duet in the middle, there’s a jolt of urgency that lands the redemptive ending—whether it’s about a crisis in love or the collective crisis of the pandemic or perhaps a bit of both—and satisfyingly rounds off the album.

[cosmosfated]

A lone figure in a space once overrun with vibrant magic stands at the entryway to a home well loved and well protected, wearing furs and heavy fabrics to shield from the cold weather. Carefully, fingers remove themselves from pockets of a coat, removing a couple of items from inside and placing them at floor level in a box. A small purple tinted terrarium of forget me nots and gladiolus on a chain, and a pair of nice gloves. ['To: The Guardian. For Yuletide.'] A knock, then they're gone.

A knock at the door rouses the attention of a yokai, a father sitting on one of the couches while his daughter and youngest child open their gifts. Strange, they weren’t expecting visitors. Possibly Melanie and Trey were stopping by to have Christmas dinner with them─ oh that would be lovely… but they tend to call a day ahead of time so they all know what they’re doing.

“one moment, i’ll be right back.”

There’s a hum from Saros as they fiddle with one of their gifts, a bubbly smile on their face as they go back and forth with Pacifica about their joke gifts to one another. It’s a tradition after all to get these sorts of gifts! …they don’t quite recall who started it…

Whisper opens the door, starting to greet who’s at it, only to find an empty entryway. He blinks, blinks again, adjusting his glasses and catching a glimpse of a box at his feet. Strange gets stranger… an odd box out of nowhere after an unexpected knock. Worry gnaws at him for a moment before there’s a complaint about the cold being let inside from a young star-child, whined out and pleading.

He chuckles, apologizes, and picks up the box to take inside and shut the door. Wait, there’s a tag on this… The Guardian? Who is that referring to?

“Daddy, what’s that?” Saros speaks up as they toy with the space themed tangle puzzle in their hands. They could always use another space oriented fidget item, it keeps them from running around wildly without any care for anything else! Or stuck in their room sniffling from either understimulation or thinking too much about things they can’t bring up to anyone but Captain Dad, who seems to be busy with both Code stuff and Mister Shane.

“ah… i don’t, know actually.” He leans in towards the box, hearing nothing but the slight shift of chain like that you’d hear from a necklace. “it’s addressed to the guardian, but i don’t know if they delivered it to the right house or not.”

“I dunno, maybe they were being real cryptic and vague but referring to you, faushar.” Pacifica pipes up while smoothing out the terribly ugly but somehow fitting sweater that reads ‘merry christmas motherfuckers’ on the front with several patterns of bells and reindeer in alternating rows. “What’s it say it is?”

“it just says “to the guardian, for yuletide.” as far as i know, none of us celebrate yuletide.” 

Saros looks down at the gifts to their side, conveniently placed where they aren’t looking at their adoptive dad and sister. “Huh, that’s pretty weird. Maybe that’s just their way of saying Merry Christmas, or Gyftmas.”

“maybe…”

“I swear I’ve heard of Yuletide before…”

“it’s a pagan holiday that’s celebrated at the same time as christmas, or gyftmas, but without the christian undertones. because christianity is like that.”

“Oh, welp. Yeah, that sounds fair. Could be their way of wishing us a good holiday!”

Saros nods in agreement as the other two go into the kitchen, leaving the odd and strangely plain box on the coffee table. They look up, say they’ll go organize their stuff in their room… and take the box with them as they go. 

Their door closes, and they let out a shaky breath of relief… or is it pain? They look towards the small hidden portion of their bookshelf that their brother had made for them. He made it with that hidden spot in case they want to hide snacks, or toys, or money they earn. He understands the need to hide, though they wish he didn’t have to understand it. Right now, though, that understanding helps.

They huff, place their toys and clothes and other gifts on their bed, and then take the small box to the hidden area in their bookshelf, placing it alongside a few other personal gifts. Most of the gifts are for their brother when he gets back, not if─ he’s coming back, he promised he wouldn’t leave them alone. But a couple of them are for their brother’s big brother. Ian, that was his name. 

They nod, proud of their work and ready to go down and pretend as if everything is alright.

Pretend. Right. They can pretend. They used to be good at pretending.

They pause at the door, glancing back to the once again blended in portion of the bookshelf. “…y’come back to us, okay? Safe and sound. We’ll be waitin’ for you to come home, big brother. Always.”

And then they head downstairs with a cheery fall of footsteps upon hardwood.

[damedarcy]

More #questionsandanswers from our #livestream #tarotreading ... it was really fun to get in touch with you all and We’re definitely going to do it again for the #wintersolstice #yuletide #christmas #hanukkah #holiday season ! #damedarcymermaidtarot #fortuneteller #oraclecards #divination https://etsy.me/2P2GXol⭐️👁⭐️#damedarcy @damedarcy .com #merry #drawcember everyone✍🏻! https://etsy.me/2OEDj58👑#stregapez #telekenisis #witchpowers #womenincomics #gothgirl #graphicnovel #meatcakebible #damedarcy @damedarcy .com ⭐️USE CODE: 'HOLIDAYS' at Checkout or click the link Discount: 25% off when you spend $100 https://www.instagram.com/p/B5koLoElNa-/?igshid=1wd5tpcoa1ppf

[lunariarts]

Merry Christmas, Zoey.

Over the past year we've learned much of one another; fighting game techniques, shared love of many forms of art, power levels gained by wrestling animals of the earth, air and sea.

This year shall soon end its chapter and a new page will be turned. I hope to see you there, and to send you more missives as my whims steer me towards a giddiness that must ultimately be shared.

Ad my digital quill comes to code arranged in the shape of parchment, my breath fogs upon my window. I am blessed to still see the green leaves on the trees surrounding my home, despite the harsh cold of these recent days. I wonder then, what of your windows? What lies beyond the walls of the warm and cozy home I hope you find yourself in this Christmas?

Lest my letter become a novel, I must stop here as I hear the falling hooves of my coach approaching.

-With love, from the desk of that one anon who keeps sending you shit

Hello my dear Anon!

I have just awoken from a yuletide nap. The outsides of my shitty childhood home are wet and soppy, and I find myself yearning for the snows of my youth. Alas, the warming of our little globe has stolen them from me.

My back may be sore from concrete floor air mattress, and my lungs may be full of 2nd hand smoke, but I'm still happy for the holiday times. For letting me see some loved ones and eating big meal.

I must refute your final line, as you've never sent me shit. Over this past year (more? I have bad brain + memory) you've done nothing less than send me lovely little gifts throughout the year. Fun little messages which make me giggle and prompt me to doodle or think of yet further funny little messages.

I have had many Bad Days, as is typical for me, but oftentimes you have swooped by leaving a letter on my porch which has helped me giggle and move past the negativity I was stewing my brain in. For that I am so grateful.

I look forward to seeing the bizarre things you send to me in the coming year. I wish your coach ride treats you well, and hope that you've also had a wonderful Christmas time.

Here is your present, anon. Happy Holidays 💕

[aestheticambrosia]

hed! This Merry Lewyd is part of the Yuletide collection! Find it in the shop! If you’d like to see the full series of finished pics come on over to my Ko-fi! You can see the feed for free to see my social media feed without the algorithm in your way and Subscribers get exclusive content! ☺️ Not on the mailing list? DM me with your email if you’d like to be added to my free monthly e-mail newsletter and given first access to news, new collections, sales and where you can find my collections in person! 😊 Sign up and get 10% off! 🥳 Want to support my art in other ways? Find me on Ko-fi! There are two tiers! *Wildlings Tier is for my jewelry creations-You’ll get “First Look” pictures, videos and announcements before anyone else, first access to new collections, get a 10% discount code for my website, and get daily and monthly content too like, concept art time lapse videos, full creation and sculpture time lapse videos, process pictures and videos, packaging videos, supply unboxing videos or participate in polls for what I create next! Future live video chat QandA’s possible in the future as well! *Strangelings Tier is for my digital art where you’ll see sketches, life and nature drawing studies, full time lapses of all the artwork and a backlog of classical pencil, marker and color pencil renderings with possible polls on what I draw next! ☺️ Never have to rely on unreliable algorithms or miss important posts and info ever again! ☺️ SHOP- aestheticambrosia.com (link in bio) Find me- https://beacons.page/aestheticambrosia Donate- https://ko-fi.com/aestheticambrosia E-MAIL- aestheticambrosia@gmail.com FOLLOW ON- Tumblr, Ello, Vero, Pinterest, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, TikTok (links in the beacon.com link) PLEASE TURN ON POST NOTIFICATIONS #aestheticambrosia #Pittsburghartist #copperjewelry #handsculptedjewelry #jewelryartist #artistanjewelry #gothjewelry #stregafashion #witchyjewelry #sculpy #witchyaesthetic #gothaesthetic #handmade #witchyvibes #yuletide #yule #merrylewyd https://www.instagram.com/p/CXo5GrvvoVX/?utm_medium=tumblr