Sapphic Sorority Christmas Special 2025

Elsa doesn’t love Christmas music, but it’s here to stay. CCL House smells like holiday candles, and the old decorations that come out of the huge plastic bins in the basement every year are admittedly impressive. There’s a spiral-bound notebook that’s probably from the 80s with notes about which decorations are for which rooms. It’s mostly garlands and ribbons. The 12-foot tree will have to go up in the spacious foyer, but Elsa wants no part of that. It just seems like a pain. She carries an armful of thick, heavy ribbon, trying to locate the nails in the walls that have been there for decades for just this purpose.

The foyer looks nice draped with ribbons and bows, and it’ll look even nicer once the lights are up. If someone would just turn down the Carrie Underwood, that would be great. Or even just switch it to instrumental Christmas tunes—but Elsa doesn’t feel like getting into an argument.

There aren’t many girls left at CCL House this time of year; most have gone home to family. It’s usually just the international students holding it down over the break, but who is Elsa going to visit? Her old foster parents? No.

She climbs onto a stepstool and still has to get up on her toes and really reach to hang the mistletoe over the door. While CCL is not what it used to be, the tradition of actually smooching anyone who comes through the door has amazingly not been struck down by the Fuhrer. Elsa has already decided that she doesn’t care; she isn’t kissing anyone that she doesn’t want to.

There’s no snow, nor will there be, but it’s pleasantly cool outside. She has friends, but people tend to be busy with their families this time of year. She’s always hesitant to ask them to hang out. She trips over a bathrobe on her way into the kitchen, and the smell of Bath & Body mist on it leaves no mystery about who it belongs to.

“Jesus.” Shaking her head, Elsa picks it up and dumps it on a chair in the foyer. It’s the season for gratitude; Elsa chooses to be grateful that she hasn’t seen Donut yet today. She pours a double shot of Captain Morgan in a mug, then uses a pod for spiced cider in the Keurig to make the lazy version of a CCL hot toddy.

Very maturely sipping instead of gulping, she leans on the kitchen island and consults the notebook, idly wondering about who wrote it. She needs to find the wreath for the door, and she’ll locate the lights, but she’s not about to actually hang them. That seems like a lot of work.

The doorbell rings.

Elsa takes a deep breath and listens. She hears no approaching footsteps; it’s up to her, then. As she shuffles back into the foyer, she glances up at the mistletoe. Well, at least her breath is spiced and boozy.