Grumpy Xmas Romane & Geschichten

Tiny white pieces of plastic simulated falling snow and encircled the jolly soul as he wiggled in a swirling winter wonderland. “That’s pretty cool!” Reid replied, forcing as much fake enthusiasm into his voice as possible. While he attempted to enjoy the holidays for Michael’s sake and though he usually did a pretty good job of pretending, Christmas just wasn’t the same as it used to be. He would manage to get through the holidays, like he always did, but he was certainly one of those people who couldn’t wait to flip the calendar to January.

Months later Amber I've never been a big fan of Christmas. Those cheesy songs, little lights flashing everywhere, and that air of "forced joy" always irritated me deeply. And of course, after everything that's happened in the last few months, my contempt has only increased. Kris was dead. My father... well, I still couldn't even think about him without feeling a shiver of disgust.

By the time the phone hung up, Mr Whitman's voice came from the other end of the room. Jasmine internally rolled her eyes. What was it she didn't do right this time? Mr Whitman came into view, his face etched with worry. “There's still a lot to be done before Christmas and you're here slacking off on a phone call?” The restaurant wasn't even crowded and most people would rather spend their Christmas holiday at some resort and ski trip, rather than a restaurant, but unfortunately, that was spoken inward, he would never understand.

I had made it. ‎People rushed past me—families reuniting, couples holding hands, businessmen barking into phones—but I stood frozen near the curb, a small island in a chaotic sea of coats and scarves. A giant Christmas tree glittered near the taxi stand, its lights blurring as my eyes stung. ‎ ‎*Don’t cry, Ariana. You promised Mom you wouldn’t cry.* ‎ ‎I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of jet fuel and roasted chestnuts, letting the memory of the goodbye at the terminal back home wash over me.

A fervent light was in each set of eyes as well. The room filled in behind us. I could recognize Grams' energy signature. I didn't really care who else was here as long as they were willing to discuss their thoughts with me later. "We're ready. But I swear to the stars, Tove, you speak in technobabble, I'll intention your shit to pieces," Grumpy said with a grimace.

Your man’s going to spank your ass later,’ he said in his mind before following them. Demie, on the other hand, was still clinging to Aly's arm as they entered the inside of the venue. Christmas decors on every corner, a large Christmas tree was settled on the side with its bright chirstmas lights and a gold star on the top. And with the christmas song played, people smiling at each other, Demie can really feel the spirit of Christmas. Someone meets them, a man who Demie thinks is the same age as Sandro. "Auntie, Merry Christmas," he greeted the woman and kissed her on the cheek.

Molly admitted. “Has he already been visited by the first ghost?” Mrs. Carmichael asked. “Ghost? What do you mean?” “You know, the Ghost of Christmas Past, The Ghost of Christmas Present—” she explained. “Mom...” Molly couldn’t help but chuckle at her mom’s implication. “He’s not a total Scrooge. I think he just doesn’t get Christmas. It’s like he doesn’t know how to enjoy it or something.”

I saw a wolf who had just cleared the board. Jeffrey had left the previous evening after a friend called to say he was in town. That left just the three of us. Again. Me. Chloe. And the man who had spent the last forty-eight hours systematically stripping away every layer of my resistance. *** "Come on, Maya! Stop looking so gloomy. It's Christmas Eve!" Chloe's voice snapped me out of my trance. She was sitting cross-legged on the plush white rug in front of the massive stone fireplace, holding a glass of champagne.

For now, I wanted him to relax with the false hope that I wasn’t angry with him. Soon Mrs Sandy Krampe entered the room. She glared at us all when no one got up or even looked at her to greet her. She silently settled in her seat and started doing some of her own work. I sighed heavily. Being in the presence of the grumpy old Mrs Krampe was something that always made me tired. Especially when she was looking up and glaring at us every now and then. “Pssstttt!” I heard someone whispering and turned my head to find Xander giving me an apologetic smile as he motioned towards my phone. I looked at my phone to find a message from him on the group chat.

But the years dragged on, and as one bitter moon rose after another, I began to accept the painful truth: my mate was likely long gone, lost to some cruel twist of fate. That realization, combined with the heightened expectations of my people, kept me in a constant state of grumpiness. I've found comfort in the familiar bitterness of my thoughts, but sometimes it slips out, catching even those around me off guard. Just last month, during an elders' meeting—one of those predictable shows where every old goat clamors to share their outdated wisdom—I snapped at Old Man Granik. He mentioned winter preparations as if it were a surprise, and I couldn't help but grunt, "We've done this dance before