merry christmas and happy holidays to those who are celebrating! obviously this includes hannakuh, kwanzaa, diwali, lunar new year, yule, etc. <3 hope everyone is surrounded by lots of love during this time of year! to add onto the festivities here is a christmas drabble post. this is also very far in the future just like the rest of the drabbles.
INGI: The walk back from the midnight mass is peaceful. The snow falls in big, soft, clumps like a romantic comedy. Ingi is holding onto your arm, their cheek pressed against your coat.
Tonight, they weren't in their usual attire instead it's something sharper, darker, more modern. The clothes came from a magazine you pointed out. It was a brief moment between the two of you. All you said was "You'd look nice in that." a passing thought and yet Ingi listened.
"Did you hear what the pastor said?" Ingi asks as you unlock the apartment door. "About how loving someone isn't a distraction from God, but a reflection of Him? That it doesn't matter what they look like or what gender they are?"
They usher you inside setting both your jackets against the coat rack. Your home smells like cinnamon and beeswax. The Christmas tree in the corner is decorated with a fervor that borders on mania. Decked in hundreds of vintage glass ornaments shimmering in the firelight.
"I really liked it." Ingi admits as they wrap an apron against their waist, hands trembling. "I usually feel so guilty during service... but looking at you as the candlelight shimmered against your face. I finally felt at peace."
You smile softly "I'm glad you decided to come. I won't lie I was kind of nervous bringing you to a church but I heard good things about this place and I'm happy you liked it." Ingi responds by kissing you softly obviously satisfied with your effort.
They guide you to the velvet sofa and immediately bustle to the kitchen, returning with a tray of star-shaped sugar cookies and two mugs of hot chocolate. They sit on the floor between your knees, looking up at you with wide, worshipful eyes, the lights of the tree reflecting in them.
"Do you think this outfit actually looks good on me? I hoped that I could make this Christmas perfect." Ingi confesses, touching the hem of the long-sleeve.
You reach down, brushing a melting snowflake from their hair. "I think you always look beautiful Ingi."
Ingi lets out a shaky breath, their face flushing pink, not from the cold, but from the praise. They lean their cheek against your knee, closing their eyes.
"I think God knew my faith was weak," Ingi murmurs softly into the quiet room. "So He sent me an angel I could actually hold. Merry Christmas, Bren" ORENDA: The ranch is finally quiet despite the wood stove popping rhythmically in the corner. You are sitting on the couch leaning against Orenda's broad chest. It's Christmas morning, but the world outside the two of you, is dark and covered in snow.
Orenda reaches for a bag sitting on the side table. "I wanted to give this to you before my siblings wake up and cause a ruckus." They hand it to you with a shy, nervous smile.
"I made this for you." Orenda murmurs. "My grandmother taught me how to harvest and dry it properly but I've never done it by myself."
You open the box. Inside lies multiple braids of dried grass, fragrant and earthy, smelling like vanilla and fresh rain.
"It’s sweetgrass," Orenda explains, their voice low and reverent. "In my culture, we say it’s the hair of Mother Earth. But it’s also medicine. It brings in Ka’nikonhrí:io. Which means a good mind."
Orenda reaches out, resting their large, warm hand on your shoulder. "When you burn it, it clears out the heavy thoughts. It reminds you to think clearly, to act with a good heart."
They look at you, their dark eyes full of a fierce, quiet protection. "I know this life gets hectic for you, Brenner. I wanted you to have something that brings the quiet back. Something to remind you of our home."
You run your thumb over the woven strands. "It’s beautiful, Orenda." you whisper.
"Merry Christmas." Orenda says softly.
They lean down, not just to kiss your forehead, but to capture your lips in a slow, deep kiss that tastes like woodsmoke and forever. "As long as you have this, and as long as you have me, you're never fighting against the world alone."
GABI: Nochebuena at the Vázquez Burgos household is a sensory overload in the best way possible. The music is deafening with Hector Lavoe blasting from the speakers so loud the windows rattle. The house is packed with so many cousins you can barely remember all their names.
"Brenner! Baila conmigo!" Gabi shouts over the noise, grabbing your hand before you can protest. They look radiant, cheeks flushed from rum and joy, wearing a silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the chain you gave them years ago.
You laugh, letting them pull you into the center of the living room. Gabi spins you with a confidence that makes the room blur. They are a show-off, twirling you for their tías to applaud, but their eyes never leave your face.
In a room full of people, Gabi is only performing for you. Eventually, breathless and laughing, Gabi pulls you out the back door onto the snowy porch to cool down.
The sudden quiet is startling. Gabi leans against the railing, pulling you into the space between their legs, wrapping their arms around your waist to keep you warm.
"You know..." Gabi murmurs, pressing their forehead against yours, their voice dropping to a low, intimate register. "Everyone in there keeps asking me about next season, about my future, about the endorsements. But I just want to talk about you. How you came back to me, even though I didn't deserve it. How you are so talented. How you get me and most importantly that you are the best person in my life."
Gabi reaches into their pocket and pulls out a small, hastily wrapped box. Inside is a bracelet. It's simple but clearly expensive the silver is engraved with coordinates.
"It's the coordinates of the park." Gabi whispers, looking at you with a fierce, terrifying amount of love. "Where we started. Because no matter where we go, or how famous we get, that’s home. You’re home, Brenner. Te amo. Merry Christmas mi amor."
LUCK: The penthouse is sleek, modern and aggressively non-festive. Holiday season seems to be just a regular time of year for the two of you. Luck claims it because they hate the hyper-capitalistic consumerist performance of it all. Yet, when you unlock the door, the place smells of ginger, scallions, and slow-cooked rice.
You walk in to find Luck standing over the stove in silk pajamas, stirring a pot of congee. On the counter, there's a box from a high-end bakery, so obscure that you can't even make out the French. It's a bit of a disjointed feast but you decide not to question it.
"I thought we were ordering takeout." you say, hopping onto a barstool. You watch them garnish a bowl before turning towards you.
"Plans change, baby." they return to the bowl and start plating everything carefully with a trained precision that comes from doing this frequently.
"You know... cooking comfort food on Christmas is a sign of homesickness. Did you decide to call your mom?" you ask carefully running your hands against the marble slab.
Luck pauses. They don't slam the spoon down like you anticipated but rather they take a deep breath. A wall goes up behind their eyes.
"Of course I didn't. Life ain't a Hallmark movie." Luck says evenly, their tone light but final. They glance towards you, a practiced smile sliding into place to signal the subject is closed. "Besides, why talk about the past when the present is staring right at me? You're the only family I need."
Luck opens a drawer revealing a small velvet box. They carefully slide it towards you.
"Open it." they command softly, watching you closely.
Inside is a vintage gold lighter, heavy and engraved with a tiny, intricate clef note. It’s elegant, practical for your vices, and undeniably cool.
"Luck..."
"Don't get weepy," Luck interrupts, sitting next to you and bumping their shoulder against yours, then they slide their hand over yours, intertwining your fingers on the cold marble. "It’s just a lighter. Now eat your congee before it gets cold. I'm not reheating it."
SASCHA + BEE "Tada!! It's perfect" Sascha declares jazzing his hands around the gingerbread house currently collapsing under the weight of three pounds of frosting and m&ms.
"It's a structural nightmare." Bee counters as they glance at their outfit, looking miserable. Bee is in a matching LED Christmas sweater that Alex definitely forced them to wear. "You used gum drops to support the walls it was doomed from the start, babe."
You are sitting on the couch watching your two best friends quarrel. Sascha is buzzing around the studio, wearing a reindeer antler headband. Bee is trying to look grumpy, but the way they're leaning on Sascha gives them away.
"You're just jealous of my vision." Sascha says sticking out their tongue. Before, Bee can retort, Sascha leans down and plants a loud, wet kiss against their lips.
Bee freezes, their cheeks changing to a hue that matches their sweater. They try to shove Sascha off, but there's no real force behind it. "Get off me! You're so sticky and you're covered in flour!"
"Nope, come give me some suga! I love you." Sascha beams, as they start to pepper kisses all over Bee's face. Eventually, Bee breaks, laughing and burying their face in Sascha's neck to hide their smile.
"Brenner! You have to save me!" Bee mumbles into Sascha's chest, though they are hugging Sascha extra tight. "Lex is out of control!"
"You guys are so gross. Why invite me to your makeout session? It's like seeing your siblings kiss."
"We are super mega gross." Sascha says wiggling their eyebrows insinuating something you refuse to even think about. Alex finally lets Bee up for air, keeping one arm securely around their waist while extending the other hand to you. "Now get in here it's not a Christmas pile without you."
You slide off the couch and join them on the luscious rug. Sascha pulls you into the huddle, just the three of you. You can't help but to smile being grounded by the people you know best.
"I got us presents," Sascha whispers conspiratorially, leaning their head on top of yours. "But you have to promise not to return them."
Bee and you both giggle knowing it has to be something preposterous. "I'm going to say merry Christmas now so you don't complain when I check the return policy." Bee responds.
God you've missed your friends.
