#bow down... bow down... before the power of santa!

[the-alien-incident]

Bow down... bow down... before the power of Santa!

Glamour shots under the cut:

[onlyhereforthestories]

A Little Christmas Event (Mapi Leon x Reader)

Day 9. Sorry this is late I forgot to queue it! Also this title is shit but I couldn't think of one so.

The holiday season was in full swing, and this year, Mapi had been buzzing with excitement about the charity event the team was hosting. It was all she could talk about for weeks, her enthusiasm infectious. You were more than happy to join her, both of you ready to make it a night to remember for the kids and families coming to celebrate the season.

The event was held at a community centre decked out in holiday decorations. Twinkling lights hung from the ceiling, a giant Christmas tree stood in the centre of the room, and tables were set up with games, craft stations, and, of course, a Santa’s Grotto. Barcelona had pulled out all the stops, Mapi had been one of the first of the team to agree and had convinced a lot more to the girls to join too.

“Look at this place!” you said, glancing around as you took in the holiday decorations. “It’s like a Christmas wonderland.”

Mapi grinned, adjusting her festive green sweater. “I know, right? And I’m glad you’re here with me to see it.”

“Me too. I can’t wait to meet the kids and hand out gifts with you,” you replied, giving her hand a squeeze.

As the night began, families started trickling in, each one met with a warm welcome from Mapi and her teammates. She was a natural with the kids, her usually tough exterior softening as she bent down to greet them at their level, her smile wide and inviting. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride as you watched her laugh and chat with them, her genuine warmth making each child feel special.

You and Mapi moved around the room, stopping to help at different activity stations. At the cookie-decorating table, Mapi immediately jumped into action, leading a demonstration for the kids on how to create snowman faces with icing and candy.

“Alright, everyone, this is where you show off your creativity,” Mapi said, grinning as she squirted a generous amount of icing onto her cookie.

A young girl beside her giggled, watching as Mapi’s snowman face turned into a gooey, delightful mess. “I think mine is better,” the girl said confidently, holding up her carefully decorated cookie, and Mapi burst out laughing.

“Okay, okay, you’ve definitely got me beat,” she admitted, playfully bowing to the girl. “But that means you have to share your tips with me.”

As they compared decorating techniques, you felt a tug on your sweater. You turned to see a little boy holding out a handful of sprinkles, his face hopeful.

“Can you help me with my cookie?” he asked shyly.

“Of course! Let’s make this the best cookie ever,” you said, leaning down to help him. Together, you added sprinkles, a tiny frosting scarf, and a snowman nose, the boy’s eyes lighting up with excitement at each detail.

After cookies, it was time for gift-giving. The team had gathered donations and bought a wide variety of toys, from board games and art kits to soccer balls and dolls. Mapi led you to a small stage where the gifts were arranged, and you both began helping the kids pick out their presents.

Mapi handed a soccer ball to one boy, who looked up at her in awe. “Are you really Mapi León?” he asked, wide-eyed.

Mapi grinned, squatting down to meet his gaze. “That’s me,” she said, playfully nudging his shoulder. “You know, this ball has some of my power in it, so you’ll definitely score goals with it.”

The boy’s face lit up, clutching the ball to his chest as if it were the greatest treasure in the world. “Thank you!” he said before running off, looking back over his shoulder with an expression of pure joy.

“You’re like a superhero to them,” you whispered, watching the boy run back to his family.

Mapi chuckled, shaking her head modestly. “It’s funny. I think they give me more energy than I give them. Look how happy they are. That’s the real reward.”

You handed out gifts alongside her, each child bringing their own story and personality, their excitement filling the room with this energy that just couldn’t be matched. Some of them even recognized Mapi from her games and shyly asked for autographs or photos, and she obliged each request with genuine joy, sometimes pulling you into the photos as well.

“Come on,” she whispered to you at one point, tugging you into a picture with a group of kids. “They’ll have something to look back on and so will we.”

Toward the end of the event, the two of you found yourselves back by the tree, where a group of kids had gathered to hear a holiday story. Patri was reading aloud, and you and Mapi took seats on the floor nearby, listening with the kids as the story filled the room with a sense of peace and wonder.

As the story ended, Mapi glanced over at you, her eyes soft and a little tired, but happy. “I think this might be my favourite night of the year,” she whispered, leaning close.

You smiled, resting your head on her shoulder. “Mine too. You’ve made such a difference here tonight, Mapi. Look at them.”

She looked around the room, watching as the kids and their families gathered their gifts, their laughter and smiles lighting up the space. The simple joy in the room, the sense of community, and the shared holiday spirit made every moment feel even more meaningful.

As the event began winding down, the kids slowly filtered out, waving goodbye to you and Mapi with sleepy smiles and tight hugs. You helped clean up, stacking chairs and tidying up decorations, before finally stepping outside with her. The night was crisp and clear, stars twinkling above as you both took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill your lungs.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Mapi said, taking your hand as you walked toward the car. “It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

You squeezed her hand, glancing over at her with a smile. “I wouldn’t have missed it. Watching you with those kids… I feel lucky to be here with you.”

She grinned, pulling you into a warm hug under the starlit sky. “Well, you’re not getting rid of me now. You’re my partner in holiday charity events, for life.”

The drive back was quiet, both of you content and a little sleepy, but your hearts full from the warmth and joy of the night.

[leonw4nter]

Warmth For The Winterfall

ID!Leon x GN!Reader ; roommates/house decorating || Leon Secret Santa || 🎁: @uhlillie 🎄: @leonsecretsanta <3

Leon's operations always proceed as follows: infiltrate, carry out, and slip out covertly. It's always that easy in principle, but in practice, things never turn out the way he had hoped. He's tired of it all; it's the holidays, goddamn it, but work won't let him take a break for even a moment. A gloved finger releases the safety catch as a far-off, rhythmic vibration brings him out of his reverie. He is driven insane by the absence of any other sensory cues than touch, sound, and sight, as well as the darkness trails behind him where his flashlight isn't focused. The experienced agent feels as though he is heading down a path with no assurance of return since the tunnel seems to go on forever in front of him.

“Hunnigan, are you sure this is the right one?” He asks into his comms, voice low. “I’ve been walking for 30 minutes but I did hear a noise earlier.”

He hears her type into a keyboard and click a mouse before she responds back to him. “Yes, I’m tracking you now and you’re exactly where you need to be. The tunnel is purposely long to throw any wanderers off; years ago, there were functioning gate systems for every kilometer walked but it appears that they’re not employed anymore and haven’t been for a few years now. Stay vigilant Condor One, I’m picking up a heat signature somewhere in the system. Stay safe.”

“Copy,” he responds before turning it back off to listen to his environment better. He sighs before he continues forward, unable to speed through things and wrap it up for the year– he can’t afford to do that.

After a few more minutes of walking, he reaches a seemingly unassuming manhole in the ground and after receiving instructions from Hunnigan, he opens it with some effort and descends down the narrow opening. Before he can totally reach the ground, something grabs him by his ankle and yanks him down with enough force to smack him down; the impact forces air out of his lungs, stunning him for a moment as he tries to take in large amounts of air. He recovers quickly though, retrieving his loaded gun and aiming at his beastly assailant: an alligator as tall and long as a double-decker tour bus in the roads of LA, its scaly body covered in green grime and some sort of slime mold. The BOW lunges at him, its hideous maw wide open as it charges but Leon dodges the charge, aiming expertly at fatal points but his bullets do little damage to its thick hide; he realizes this, also recognizing that using a grenade in this space would kill him as well, opting to run to safety to avoid the gator as much as he can. Luck not being on the agent’s side, the alligator is a lot more intelligent than he thought it was, using its tail to slam Leon and send him flying into a wall, landing awkwardly into his forearm before a particularly nasty fall. Pain struck through him like a thunderclap, a resonant ache too powerful for Leon to ignore, amplifying the sickening awareness that something had been horribly misaligned. His consciousness was ebbing, bending to the will to cave into the fresh surge of torment, yet he managed to retrieve a grenade from his gear. With his good hand, he pulled the pin and sent it to the gator’s direction. Right before it explodes, he gathered whatever strength he had left to find the most secure spot around to duck in. A white-hot brilliance is followed by a roar that interrupts the air, from the grenade or the BOW Leon isn’t sure but he’s relieved that the damn beast is in chunks and bits now, turning on comms again to relay information back to HQ.

“Mission cleared,” he grunts. “Request back-up… broken arm…”

“Report your status agent,” Hunnigan asks to repeat.”

“Just said my arm’s broken,” Leon repeats with a slight edge of impatience. “Rat bastard flung me against the wall… goin’ to fucking pass out…”

“Copy,” she responds. “Hang in there Leon, I’ve dispatched a rescue team and they’ll be there in 20. Stay with me.”

“I’ll… try…”

He groans a little more, trying to limit movement in his bad arm as he props himself up from his previous ball curl position. Such a simple injury shouldn’t render him this weak but that hit was just too strong for him to make it out unscathed, his consciousness beginning to give way to a creeping desire to fall asleep. The world began to darken around him, vision unfocusing but he kept his resolve steadfast: if he could make it through this one, he won’t let the holidays pass without him letting you know your laugh, your kindness, and your mere presence had kept him fighting. He’d trade his silence for vulnerability because if he could survive this madness, he’d be able to survive the terror of telling you that he’s loved you from the start. He admires your mind, how your thoughts could dance between profound and playful, how you could say something so wise and crack him up with a stupid joke at the same time; he adores the way you make him feel understood and be his truest self, and how enchanted he is with the way you can be fiercely independent and also nurturing– your existence is proof that the universe fought tooth and nail to bring such a blessing in his dark life.

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The scent of antiseptic, the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor, and a soft pillow supporting his head greets Leon as he stirs awake from his unconscious state. The blinds are drawn around his bed and his bad arm is now in a black sling, taken care of by the doctors who tended to him. He quietly groans, running his hand through his face and feeling the prickly stubble that’s begun to grow on his cheeks and chin. Somewhere in the room, he hears Hunnigan’s faint voice conversing with someone and since it sounded like she’s the only speaker present, it must be over a call. He doesn’t have the energy to eavesdrop, preferring to close his eyes and fall back asleep for a little longer but his FOS agent interrupts his plans, pushing aside the curtains and greeting Leon.

“You’ve been out for nearly an entire day,” she points out. “How are you feeling?”

“Crusty.” He deadpans, earning a nod from her.

“Makes sense.”

Silence fills the room again before the FOS agent speaks up again. “Called HQ today and field for a 2-month rest and recuperation period for you. You deserve it after 7 years of non-stop work. They’ll still need a written report from you though but I told them to cut you some slack since your arm’s broken and the holidays are right around the corner.”

She purposely leaves out the part where she nearly instigated an argument because her and Leon’s higher-ups refused to let him off, standing her ground fiercely and convincing them to let the man off the hook otherwise she’ll personally email the President herself and send in documented reports of over fatigue, violation on ethics, and liability regarding an overworked employee being denied a recuperation period; Leon certainly wouldn't like hearing about her nearly getting nasty with his boss so she decided to keep this to herself.

“Thanks, Ingrid. I appreciate it,” he says with a closed lip smile. “So, uh… when do I get discharged? And the hospital bill?”

“You’ll be discharged in about… 4 hours and the agency’s got your bill covered, just focus on getting better soon. Anyway, how’re things between you and them?”

A barely perceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lip though briskly concealed carelessly with a clear of his throat that gave away the simmering nervous excitement beneath his nonchalant exterior.

“I’ll do something about it soon,” he carefully responds, it being his tender affections kept lock-and-key in his heart. He looks up at Hunnigan whose arms are crossed, looking down at him with a look that shows that she doesn’t quite believe that that is all he has to say.

“What?” Leon asks with a shrug. “You look like you want me to say more.”

“Because I know there’s more than just that,” she points out. Leon looks down and stays silent, remembering the promise he made to himself moments before he passed out. “Don’t act like you don’t spend your work break talking to me about them and texting me at ass-scratching hours of the night because Jill and the Redfields are sick of you not doing anything.”

“Guilty as charged,” he says with a half-smile. He took a moment to collect himself internally, to shift in his hospital bed that will display a convincing feigned indifference that will redirect attention away from the telltale crimson burning in his ears. “But I… I promised myself that I won’t let the holidays pass me by without letting them know that I’ve loved them for so long, so that's something, right?”

“Mhm.”

“They deserve to know how incredible and precious they are to me but there’s this voice that tells me they’re better off not knowing, and I hate how much I listen to it. It sounds selfish of me but I don’t want them to walk out of my life just because I couldn’t keep myself in check.”

“Why do you think that they’re better off not knowing? Sometimes we assume that silence is safer but it can create a distance when there doesn’t need to be any,” Hunnigan begins. “It’s okay to feel scared but don’t let it rob you and them of a chance to experience something genuine. Do you trust them to treat you well, Leon?”

“Yes–”

“Then trust that they’ll handle your feelings with care. Certainly you’ve got reasons on why you trust them and I’m sure that it’s because you’re treated kindly and valued so why not trust them with your feelings? With your heart?”

Chapped lips parted with the intent to say more words but instead, a soft sigh of resolution is released. Hunnigan gave him an encouraging pat to his shoulder before walking to the other side of the bed, letting the nurse who came to do their rounds in. “Good to see that you’re back with us, Mr. Kennedy. How are we feeling?”

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In the meantime, he will have to accept rides from friends or use public transit a bit more frequently; his beloved XDiavel will have to spend the next six months gathering dust in the basement parking of his apartment complex. It will take some time to get used to using his left arm, and asking for help from others will make it even more difficult. He is unsure of how he will handle this aspect of his life for the time being, but he is aware that he will need to practice putting on shirts with his less dominant hand, especially sweaters and button-ups now that the weather calls for layering clothes. He will definitely miss the thrill and breeze that riding his bike brings him, but it's a welcome change if it means allowing his arm to heal properly. 

The car ride to Leon’s apartment is filled with comfortable silence, neither agent energized enough to start small talk, especially at 2:17 AM. As he looks out the car window, blue irises meeting the sight of ice white like the sclera of eyes, he internalizes the fact that he’s lucky to make it to the end of the year, still alive to see another Christmas; the year has been rough, like last year and the year before last year, but he’s amazed at how long he’s kept going despite it all. Instead of the weariness and stench of his line of work sticking to him, it’s the stingy scent of hospital disinfectant that clings to him like a distant memory. He leans his head against the window, the coolness of the external environment oddly grounding as he thinks of his dear roommate and a clandestine focal point of his most tooth-rotting indulgent domestic dreams– you, who unknowingly filled in the cold and empty spaces of his life. Even when he’s out in the field, hyperfocused on the mission objectives, his thoughts always find a way to circle back to you: he swore to protect you from the horrors he’s faced, even from afar, yet he’s too terrified to ask for more of you. For the longest time, as a man who is no longer a stranger to losing people he cares about the most, the idea of being your trusty roommate was enough for him.

“Catch some sleep, Leon.” He cranes his head to look at his coworker from the corner of his eye.

“We’re still a few minutes away. I’ll wake you up once we’re there.”

Leon mumbles a faint ‘thanks’ before settling cozily into his seat, succumbing to the bone-deep exhaustion and dozing off to a light slumber.

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He tries to keep his footfalls as light and muted as possible, a conscious effort to make the pads of his heavy combat boots lighter. Now, he stands in front of the door; he’s sure that you're fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the world around you as you’re somewhere in dreamland. Carefully, he unlocks the door and steps inside a dark home before locking it once again behind him; everything is neat and in order, just like how he left it 3 months ago, though the couch definitely looks a lot cleaner, the throw pillows have cases he’s never seen before, and the air smells faintly of mistletoe room spray. He walks down the hall, careful to avoid bumping into anything, and turns the corner where the bedrooms would be– yours to the right and his to the left. He doesn’t mean to be creepy or unsettling but as he stands near your door, he listens closely for any noise and to his relief, he only hears soft snores which ever so slightly tilts the corners of his lips skyward. Once he realizes that he’s grinning fondly, he brings a hand to rub at his stubbled chin as he chastises himself for foolishly folding for something as simple as a soothing slumber of the one person who unknowingly occupies all 4 chambers of his heart.

“Mushy,” he inaudibly scolds himself while still sporting a stupidly-in-love grin.

Shaking his head to rid his mind of such soft thoughts, he decides to head into his room and have the first proper sleep he’s gotten in months. He forgoes a shower– too tired to have one, fuss around with his sling, and wait for the water to run warm. Grabbing a clean blanket from one of the cabinets inside his bedroom, he kicks off his boots then lays down on his bed and drapes it over himself, laying on his bare mattress in his Levi’s and the same black shirt, his leather jacket now on the ground somewhere near his boots. 

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Morning comes, prompting you to start your day a minute before your alarm disturbs the tranquility. After your morning rituals, you cook yourself a packed lunch to bring to work in order to save up for a gift for Leon– that is, if work won’t hog him until Christmas. You’re not even sure what he likes aside from sleek watches and neat jackets, something within the bounds of your salary. A shaving set? Premium leather cleaner? A gift card to a popular barbershop in town? Something for a grill? Does he even own a grill?

“I swear, Leon, you’re so going to get Vaseline lip balm from me because I don’t know what you want that I can afford,” you tell yourself as you flip the food over to thoroughly cook the other side. “What the hell do you even do for a living to earn 6 figures? How are you still living in an apartment and not in some mansion at a mountain overlooking an ocean, seriously. Might just be a man thing.”

“Not really a big fan of huge houses,” a raspy and baritone voice coming from behind you responds.

Your heart leaps and lodges into your throat, turning quickly as your breath hitches while you come face-to-face with the owner of that voice with your eyes wide. A soulful, honest-to-god scream coming from the depths of your chest crawls its way out of your chest and it’s now Leon’s turn to be wide-eyed and off-guard, his face nearly mirroring the same shock from your own face.

“Easy, it’s just me!” Leon explains, voice tinged with his own nerves– too much for just having woken up in the morning.

“You scared me! Why are you freaking out?!” You say with a flinch. “What the hell, Leon?!”

“Smelled something good cookin’ so I got up,” he begins to explain as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Missed your cooking.”

Unable to form coherent words with the overwhelming blend of emotions, you opt to go in for a hug. In your haste, you don’t notice the black sling that nearly blends in with his shirt. To your confusion, he steps away an inch and politely extends a hand to place some distance between you both.

“Arm,” he points to his injured left arm. “I just got it treated yesterday so uh… we’re gonna have to find an alternative to the usual hugging.”

With the dramatic overload of information dumped on you all at once in under a minute, you end up sobbing instead and you’re certain you don’t look a single bit attractive which definitely won’t work in your favor if you want to woo your roommate.

“Don’t scare me like that again!” You sniffle as you wipe your tears with the back of your hand. “And your arm too, that looks like it hurt like a bitch.”

He chuckles and steps closer to you, bringing you into a one-armed hug as you press your face to his chest and cry a little more at him being back home safely, at the injury he sustained, and at the unintentional scare he gave you.

“It’s so good to see you again, Leon. I was wondering if you’d even be back for the holidays,” you say as you begin to calm down.

“Yeah, me too. I’ve missed seeing you,” he regrets his words when he sees your eyes subtly widen at his phrasing. “And uh… I’ll be here until March so you can have me as long as you want. Feels good to not be bothered for a couple of months, y’know.”

“That sounds great. You’ll finally be able to watch the DVDs you have stacked,” you motion to the neatly kept stack on the center table beneath the wall-mounted TV.

“You can watch them with me if you want,” he instantly offers. You’re not sure if his cheeks have always had that subtle flush in them or if his pupils are normally large, but you agree to take his offer anyway.

You finish up cooking your miraculously unburnt lunch, packing it in tupperwares as Leon watches from the dining table while he nurses a mug of instant coffee; it’s a little sweeter and creamier than how he usually has his but he doesn’t mind, you cared enough about him to even share some of the sugary coffee you enjoy. You chatted about whatever happened in your life while he was gone– being a contender for a promotion, a plan on adopting a kitten around the new year, unproductive coworkers making workload heavier, and other random things that come to mind. Leon chuckles and offers his own commentary, missing your voice more than he previously thought; he notes how your hair is now a little longer, there’s slight bags under your eyes, and you’ve got a new bracelet; he wonders from who.

“Sorry but I’m going to cut my yapping short, I gotta clock in to work now.”

He nods, getting up to place his mug in the sink before walking you to the door.

“I’ll be here waiting, it’s not like I can go anywhere with this arm.”

You smile and give him a kind pat to his right shoulder. “Right. Welcome home, Leon. Feel free to grab some sweets by the way, they’re in the left cabinet.”

He nods and watches you leave, only shutting the door once you’re out of his sight. Looking down at himself, he decides to take a shower but first: he’ll have to figure out how to put on the waterproof cast by himself and thoroughly clean himself up.

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In the days leading up to Christmas, your routine merges with his in order to help him out; frequently seeing Leon shirtless becomes the norm along with helping him put on button-up shirts, slip his arms into cozy sweaters, changing his slings, and cooking meals for two… almost like how couples do. Despite how often you see his chiseled midriff, fingers cautiously ghosting over scar tissue and lean muscles, you always require a breather afterwards in order to rid your face of that telltale redness. Just hours ago, your cheek brushed against his and you swear you felt him rein in a sigh from escaping his lips; you wished that he was feeling just as clammy and nervous as you were, hearts synced in beats and powerful emotions. His eyes trailing your movements as you secure his sling doesn’t help your confusion too, causing you to frequent ‘signs that he is in love with you’ articles each night. On a more surely positive note, his fast food intake has been reduced and he’s been enjoying healthier meals that you cook: constantly giving you compliments and his detailed praises for each dish and technique. You cringe at yourself whenever your mind automatically drifts to your wild imaginations at being happily married to him. 

Leon finds himself unable to fall asleep; he’s tried everything– white noise, a sleeping mask, and getting off of his phone but to no avail. Each time he sleeps a little deeper into his slumber, images of the grotesque and macabre dance through his mind and drive him mad. It’s not like he can even get into his usual sleeping position due to his arm, preventing him from fully getting comfortable, so he sits up with a groan before slipping out his room and into the living room; christmas decorations are half-up, some adorning the room in festive reds and greens but there are some that appear as if they were placed there without a care, a little more of the decorations still in boxes. You did note that you’ve been busy covering shifts and working overtime, leaving no time and energy to finish furnishing the house in time for Christmas. Struck by a brilliant idea, he takes the initiative to complete the rest of the decorations so you’d wake up to a Hallmark movie dreamscape in the morning… and it’ll all be thanks to him and you’d smile real wide and call him charming– he’s getting ahead of himself, a mindless smile once again gracing his features. He gets to work on what he can, finding little to no trouble on using one hand for this task.

He shocks himself with how good and fitting his pairings are: the decorations, tinsel, wreaths, and holiday charms complementing each other a lot better than he expected. Maybe he should come over to the Redfields and help them put up decorations, Chris could seriously use some lessons on coordinating and matching. One break per hour turns into two then three and eventually, he’s conked out on the couch with a box of christmas balls on his lap and tinsel on his free hand; his mouth his open, head thrown back and some brunette fringe curtaining an eye. You’d love to spend the entire day giggling and describing the state you found your endearing roommate, teasing him to no end– the poor man woke up confused, seeing the first rays of daylight filter in and hear your muted chuckles as you took pictures of him.

“Fell asleep decorating?” you ask, though it’s a little pointless to ask: you know the answer.

“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck before setting aside the box and standing. “I couldn’t sleep last night so I decided to get busy. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I seriously don’t mind. I could use some help since I’ve been so busy and tired so you’re heaven-sent for putting some of it up, thank you again. You’ve done so much for me already–”

“No, you’ve done so much for me already. Don’t give me all the credit,” he says with a timid grin.

You walk around, stopping around the walls and tables and in front of the tree. “You’re really good at this! You even swapped out some of the things I already put up– no biggie though, it looks even better now. Who knew Leon Kennedy could make a–”

“Hallmark movie dreamscape?”

“Yeah!”

The entire thing isn’t particularly funny or the pinnacle of comedy but you both find yourself sharing a fond chuckle and you feel your hummingbird heart rattle against its bone-cage and Leon already knows he’ll be obsessing over this moment all day long.

“You’re great at this, Leon– genuinely. It’s so… pretty and magical and basically the stuff of dreams. I love the arrangements, I don’t know what’s better to keep staring at: you or this Christmas wonderland.”

He’s sure to yap Hunnigan’s poor ear off all afternoon while you’re out.

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From that day on, he spends most of his days (and sleepless nights) planning the perfect confession: writing it down on paper, pacing around the room acting it out, and mumbling the words he’ll use. He knows he’s acting and treating this like a silly teenage boy with an out-of-league crush and in a way, he thinks you are: you’re heaven-sent, God’s apology for all the evil and scum in this world. He giggles and chuckles at the prospect of confessing to you, getting all wiggly until an ache in his bad arm cuts it short and causes him to wince for a moment before getting back to where he left off. Claire calls him delusional, Leon thinks he’s being a romantic visionary. 

The sight of Leon’s brightened, reinvigorated puppy eyes stuck with you until you reached your workplace; those bedazzled eyes, coupled with his perfect smile, is the kind of thing that belongs to someone who has it all: charm, looks, and confidence. If there were already others interested in him, surely you can’t compete: he deserves someone bolder and more upfront, not just someone fumbling with half-hearted attempts to be seen by their secret darling. Every attempt to flirt and hint at your affections seemed to go unnoticed, his responses always polite but never suggestive of anything more; maybe you weren’t clever enough to capture the attention of someone as effortlessly suave as Leon Kennedy

“It’s not his fault,” you bitterly thought to yourself as you bit on the edge of your pen. “I’m just not that outstanding for him to leave an impression…”

“Who’s fault?” your coworker asks, peeking over their cubicle.

“Nothing,” you quickly dismiss the slip-up. “Work must be getting to me, I’m talking to myself now, haha...”

There’s already an ‘incident’ wherein you took the time to shape the foam in Leon’s coffee into a heart. “Thought I’d sprinkle some love for your day.”

“Lattes aren’t really my preference but thank you,” he responded that one embarrassing morning. “Mm, this is really good.” Despite him enjoying the coffee enough to take it to work, it still left you red-faced and ashamed of yourself.

Unwilling to let other embarrassing memories like these get the best of you, you push those thoughts down before they have a chance to simmer up and bother you so you occupy yourself with work.

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“I can do it myself,” Leon mutters half-heartedly though his predicament betrayed his words: the remaining sleeve of his favorite sweater dangling around his neck like a sad scarf.

You ignored his stubbornness, hands gentle as you fumbled with his sweater as you fixed it up for him before slipping his bad arm inside with tender care.

When the sleeve finally aligned, it’s as if your heart overrode your ability to logically reason with yourself and so, you placed a hand on his stubbled cheek to steady him. The touch lingered for a little longer, the seconds stretching on a little longer. Leon’s breath camps out in his throat, too terrified to make a little move and shatter the magic. Unfortunately for him, you took your hand back as if his face was a cup of hot cocoa too hot to hold.

“Sorry,” you whisper before backing off, leaving an achy emptiness in the blue-eyed agent’s heart. “Is it all okay now?”

“Huh? Right– yes, it’s fine now. Thanks, by the way.”

You nod, excusing yourself from his presence to occupy yourself with something else, the awkward void palpable than ever though you both know that you felt a shared crackle of something precious.

The night is all so perfect and cozy– a delectable Christmas feast, soft Christmas sweaters, and a comforting atmosphere settling over your shared apartment with Leon. You don’t want this night to ever end, for this feeling to dissipate come morning time. It’s now or never, so you direct Leon to stand with you in the arch of the doorway. Taking a deep and steadying breath, you let your feelings be known before the fear can ruin everything again.

“I know you probably think that this is sudden,” you carefully begin. “But it’s not. It’s been simmering for a year and 3 months now– each time you come home from some work-related thing or when I make you smile or when I help you out with your sweaters and shirts, there’s this feeling that threatens to crumble me deliciously and it’s all because of you.”

Leon tilts his head, unconsciously mimicking a confused puppy. “What do you mean…?”

“Under this stupid mistletoe that I placed while you were taking the pies from the neighbor, I can’t let this moment pass without me being honest to you: you mean so much to me– so much that if I lost you, I’d go insane. I’m completely, overwhelmingly, and all-consumingly in love with you and honestly, it’s impossible not to.”

Your voice trembled and if even the slightest thing didn't go your way, you’re certain you’ll cry from the immense pressure on you. You laugh softly, trying to soothe yourself as a nervous warmth flows through you.

“You’re not the only one,” Leon speaks up, voice thick with emotion, “who’s been thinking about this moment.”

He steps closer, cautiously perching his right hand on your hip.

“I was going to say something first but you beat me to it first,” he adds while sporting a tantalizing smile. “I planned on telling you later tonight but guess I’ll have to let you win this time.”

Your eyes locked with his, the weight of formerly unspoken feelings suddenly lifting and giving way to something charged. Taking a tiny step closer, you cup his face in your hands again and you sigh at how perfect the fit is.

“So… what did we learn?” You jokingly ask.

“That we both suck at keeping secrets?” He jokes back.

A shared and equally shy giggle erupts between you two like you’re both teenagers new to the whole shtick of love.

“So… you do know what being under a mistletoe requires us to do right?” he softly asks.

Beneath the mistletoe, time seemed to stop and the seconds that flowed were tinged with genuine nervousness intensifying as your faces drew ever nearer.

“I love you,” Leon says before meeting your lips with his, gentle and feather-light with hints of hesitation. It was slow yet sweet, sweeter than all the combined holiday treats you both had. The shared warmth and affection blurred the rest of the world into insignificance; each brush of lips were delicate like falling snowflakes. As you both pull away to catch air, you rest your foreheads together and share a giggle in the tingly aftermath of your first kiss.

NOTE - Happy holidays everyone <3 I would like you to give yourself either a tight hug, a pat to the shoulder, or both for making it to the end of the year. The year certainly wasn't smooth or easy for some of us but I'm proud of you for ending the year with me and the rest of us who deeply care about you. I hope that every single one of you are warm and cozy in your homes, with stomachs happily full from a tasty dinner, and content with your lives right now. If you're currently going through something, please hold on and stay strong: things will all be okay in the end and if they aren't okay right now then it's not the end just yet-- rest and slow down if you must but never give up <33 You got this and I know you do because I believe in you, sending virtual hugs and kisses to every single person who sees this post on their dashboards *<]:D !! If you're seeing this, thank you for taking time to read and interact with this post :3 I <3333 UUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The dividers are made by @cafekitsune (the moving red line divider), @bernardsbendystraws (the Christmas lights divider), and @wcnderlnds (the red and blue snowflakes) + the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[geeky92]

Normal People on Christmas Eve: 🎶Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way! Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh!🎶

Me on Christmas Eve: 🎶Bow down, bow down, before the power of Santa! Or be crushed, be crushed, byyyyy his jolly boots of doom!🎶

[radioisntdead]

Can I request Child Reader in Hazbin Hotel, during Christmas because Charlie loves to give.

Alastor gifts a new knife set to Reader and Reader gifts everyone a dead Valentino that was shoved in a box :)

HEHEHEHEH

T'was Christmas

[the poem I'm parodying]

Warnings: DEATH TO THE PIMP, lowkey morbid

’Twas the night before Christmas,

when all through the hotel, only one creature was stirring, not Charlie, nor Alastor, or little fat nuggets, it was the youngest resident in the hotel, you.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care and you snuck past them with such delight,

Alastor had given you a set of pretty knives for an early Christmas delight, small enough to hold comfortably in your small Chucky-like hands.

you tiptoed out of the hotel, trying not to awaken anyone from their slumber.

The Vee's were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of their utmost desires danced in their sleeping heads, thankfully you couldn't see dreams or else Vox's dream with Alastor would've given you nightmares.

With Velvette in her bonnet, and Vox powered off in his cap, Valentino was left unprotected.

He had just settled his stupid brain for a long winter’s nap, when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, small little footsteps pattered.

He sprang up from his bed to see what was the matter, away to the window he flew like a flash, tore open the shutters, ripping away the curtains.

Hanging from the window like a little lemur, eyes bright with a grin so wide.

The pimp stepped back from the window arms recoiled as little hands pulled up the window, sneaking in like a shadow.

You landed on the ground with such cheer, skipping over to the purple man in the corner, his blank eyes filled with such fright.

He pushed past you so lively and quick, trying to open the door, only for it to be jammed like a cheesy low budget horror movie.

You waved your knife at him scoldingly, like an angry grandmother.

he screamed and shouted, calling for his friends by name,

“Voxy! Velvette! There's a Pequeño demonio aquí!!!"

"Help me! Help me! Quickly!!"

But to no avail his friends were fast asleep warm and snug in their beds, fast asleep, not even a peep from him could be heard.

No one was coming to save Valentino this Christmas night, no Christmas miracle would save him from your wrath.

Dry leaves crunched beneath your little winter boots as you dragged your Santa bag back to the hotel, it was heavier then when you left, filled with one of your gifts.

When daylight approached and Charlie gleefully slipped into your room waking you to open up your gifts.

You ran down the stairs, holding on to the rail so tight as everyone else gathered around the tree, holding mugs of coffee, spiked coffee or hot chocolate, also possibly spiked.

The bottom of the tree was full of gifts, some for you and some for everyone else, as you sat in your corner, gleefully unwrapping your presents,

A new pajama set, many toys from your favorite kid appropriate shows, a radio, and many other things that you would spend the day playing with, you were distracted as the other began opening their gifts.

A moth fur coat for Al, nice and fuzzy, warm for the colder months of hell.

A striped feather pen for Charlie to draw with.

A pink sewed bow that you handmade for Vaggie.

A sharp golden tooth shaped pin for husk.

A big chunk of soft moth fluff for Niffy.

And last but not least for Angel, a familiar pair of heart shaped glasses and a ripped up contract.

He stared at you for a moment, how could a kid like you kill an overlord? He didn't know and didn't want to find out, with a flick of his wrist he put the glasses on and watched you merrily play with your toys, like you didn't take down an overlord the night before.

It was a very merry Christmas for the hotel, warm, cozy, filled with joy and laughter, unlike the vee tower, cold and fearful, filled with anger and grief.

A very merry Christmas indeed!

GOOD EVENIN' FOLKS!! I DO HOPE YOU ENJOYED AND I HOPE YOU HAD A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS!! THANK YOU FOR TUNIN' IN, I HOPE YOU ALL HAVE A WONDERFUL NIGHT!!

Psst!! Join our discord

[kaspavanlortsyal]

❄️✨Smutty Quaritch Oneshot - Christmas Eve✨❄️

CONTENT: Christmas!, I Wanted Quaritch to Wear a Santa Hat, Ribbons for Lingerie, You Are The Gift✨ AHA—, Light Bondage (with the ribbons), Gagged, Teasing, You Get Glazed like a Donut, Oral Sex (receiving), Vaginal Sex, Size Difference (per usual), Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Fingering, Tit Sucking, if I had to write “If there’s one thing Miles Quaritch enjoys eating more than Christmas cookies, it’s your pussy” you have to read it, Sprinkle of Fluff.

Nobody wants to spend Christmas Eve alone. You were waiting a while. Almost too long—almost long enough that you considered sending him a picture of exactly what he was going to find on his bed—but finally, the door opens.

Quaritch’s glowing amber eyes narrow onto you. You’re laying on the bed, propped up on your elbows, and wrapped in thick army-green ribbon. Candles flicker on the beside table and the top of the headboard is wrapped in twinkling lights that cast seductive shadows across your body.

The colonel reaches for you, but you stall him with a look and nod your head towards the Santa hat on the corner of the bed.

He huffs a laugh. “Really?”

You bite your lip and grin.

“Fine,” he muttered, snatching the hat and tugging it on, careful not to trap his sensitive Na’vi ears. It was a little small, but that added to the charm.

Quaritch grabs your ankles and slides you to the foot of the bed, tail swishing in anticipation. “What a pretty present,” he murmurs, fangs flashing with a wicked grin. “All wrapped up for me, huh?”

“Merry Christmas, colonel,” you say.

His long blue fingers brush the edge of the ribbon snug against the top of your breasts, tied with a large bow in the centre. Your nipples peak the shiny satin as a shiver shoots down your spine. There’s a matching bow between the dimples in the small of your back.

Quaritch pulls his shirt off and tosses it aside. On cue, you undo the large buckle of his belt. You take your time, fighting the desire to touch as much of him as fast as possible after dreaming about this moment all day. Judging by the stiff bulge in his cargo pants, you’re not the only one, but he stops you before you reach the zipper.

“My turn,” he says.

He tugs one side of the bow holding your breasts and watches hungrily as the ribbon falls away. Part of you is annoyed that the hour you spent tying yourself up /just right/ is unravelled so easily, but those thoughts fade as the colonel kneels before you and flicks your nipples with his rough tongue. You arch and gasp, locked in place with his hands on your hips.

Your fingers tangle in his cropped hair and the fuzz of the Santa hat as he sucks your tits into his hot mouth, his tongue continuing to work the rosy bud as his teeth scrape your tender skin. His breath tickles your collarbone as he pulls you in, tasting you like a man starved. His attention travels from your breasts to your neck, inhaling the sweet vanilla perfume as he nips and sucks.

“You’re like a god damn Christmas cookie,” he grunts.

He devoured the batch you’d made earlier this week. “Gonna eat me too?”

“Damn right.”

You squeak as he tosses you back on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he crawls on top of you, caging you within his powerful limbs. For a moment he simply studies you, your breasts gleaming with his saliva and half-unwrapped. Then, Quaritch smirks and picks up the discarded ribbon. He brushes the soft fabric over your skin and watches the goosebumps form across your flesh.

You close your eyes and arch, thighs squeezing together. He takes his sweet time teasing your flushed skin with the feather light touch of the ribbon, teasing over our belly and chest before up your arms. You don’t notice that he’s looped the ribbon around your wrists until he pulls it snug, shackling you to the headboard.

He chuckled as your eyes fly open. “Don’t give me that. I think this is exactly what you had in mind,” he tells you, leaning down and kissing his way down your arms.

You couldn’t deny that. A moan escapes you when his mouth finally meets yours, the kiss deep and full of promise.

Quaritch’s knee parts your thighs and you whimper at the delicious friction. He lets you grind against the thick muscle of his thigh as he slips his hands beneath you and unties the second emerald ribbon. He smirks upon finding the section that falls away from your needy cunt already wet with desire.

“Open up,” he instructs, and slips the damp ribbon between your teeth, gagging you with it before you can protest. The sight of you tasting yourself as he ties it snug darkens his eyes with a more carnal desire.

Deciding he’s going to taste you too, the colonel pins your knees to the mattress and parts your slick folds with his tongue. His groan of satisfaction reverberates through you. You strain against your bonds with building pleasure as his devilish mouth works on you, arching. Muffled by the gag, your moans fill the room, mingling with the sloppy attention of his mouth.

If there’s one thing Miles Quaritch enjoys eating more than Christmas cookies, it’s your pussy.

He sucks your clit until you shudder before soothing you with greedy licks. Covering your entire cunt in his fanged mouth, he lets you grind against his tongue until your pleasure soaks the blanket. He kisses the puffy lips of your pussy as you ride through the aftershocks of your orgasm, almost reverent, and nuzzles the flat bridge of his nose against the apex of your thighs. You squirm and whimper, already aching for more.

Quaritch slicks two fingers on your pussy and pushes them deep into the burning heat of your core. He curses under his breath at the unbearable tightness and pumps his hand slowly to relax the quivering, silken walls.

You want to beg for more, to insist you’re ready to take him, but the ribbon pressing against your tongue betrays you. You can only moan and hook an ankle around his neck, pulling him closure, desperate.

The ribbon binding your wrists doesn’t budge. Of course he knows how to tie a damn good knot, being marine a and all. The burning strain in your shoulders reminds you just how much power he holds. You want him to unleash every inch of himself upon you. You were his Christmas present, after all.

Quaritch sits back on his knees and wipes his chin on the back of his hand. As he removes his pants, you strain your neck to glimpse the thing you’ve been craving all day. He adjusts the santa hat, securing it. You giggle breathlessly around the gag.

He rests down on you, smirking at how your body tenses when his member brushes your inner thigh. Your moan of impatience is almost animalistic as he rubs the head of his cock between the wet lips of your pussy, lubricating his ribbed shafted in preparation.

He kisses you, then pulls back just enough to watch your expression as he thrusts his hips.

You scream around the gag as his alien cock forces its way into you. It burns like sweet fire as the walls of your cunt stretch to fit him. Your back arches as he works his way deeper with each thrust, hissing at the sensation of your tight sex gripping him, sucking him in.

It’s far from the first time he’s fucked you this way, yet every time you’re not sure you can take it. He pants and grunts as he ruts into you, the head of his cock pounding your cervix. You can’t scream his name so you settle for wordless moans that grow to hoarse cries which each slam of the headboard.

The colonel grabs your hips and lifts your lower half from the mattress, growling as he brings you down onto his cock, again and again. He’s tense with concentration and a thin sheen of sweat gleams gloriously upon his striped skin.

His relentless pace doesn’t stop as your mind shatters and another orgasm bleeds through you, white hot fire spilling out from your core into every nerve and fiber of your being. You’re vaguely aware that he keeps going, growing closer to his own release in your spasming cunt, but for a moment all you know is weightless pleasure.

Quaritch drops you to the mattress, leaving your thighs to tremble on either side of your ruined pussy as he fists his cock. Hot, glowing cum coats your stomach and tits in thick ribbons as he roars his release, tail lashing through the air behind him. The bioluminescent dots of his skin flicker.

You tilt your chin up, whining softly.

Chuckling, Quaritch tugs the gag down and kisses you. The white pompom at the tip of the santa hat tickles your forehead. He drags the ribbed underside of his cock over your overstimulated clit and you shudder, twitching away.

After a long shared shower and another round beneath the steaming water, you find yourselves curled up in bed amid the twinkling lights.

Wearing the Santa hat once more, Quaritch produces a small gift from beneath the bed. He hands it to you wordlessly as his fingertips trace your bare shoulder.

You frown and tear open the plain wrapping paper and reveal the present. It’s a pair of fuzzy pink socks.

“I thought we weren’t doing gifts,” you protest, caressing the buttery material.

“Yeah, well, your feet turn into damn icicles at night and I’m tired of you warmin’ them up on my back while I’m sleepin’,” he says.

You smile. You can’t help it, not as he fails to suppress the hint of softness in his tone. “Thank you.”

He catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Your gift, though?” he smirked, and kisses you. “Outstanding.”

Happy Holidays, Simps!

[sseniita]

hero vs domesticity 3

part 1 part 2

The villain took hero all around town, finally ending up in a Christmas night market on a tree farm- he’d been in an absurdly good mood. She tried eggnog for the first time, not a fan, tried fruit cake and spat it out. Villain settled on feeding her chocolate peppermint candies every now and then instead. They found the perfect tree being sold by a plump, bearded man the villain referred to as Santa Claus. Hero would have been charmed if she wasn’t incredibly suspicious about the breaking and entering. They stopped at many stalls, most of which met a gawking hero pointing and exclaiming her interest. Villain took good note- after a while of patrolling around looking at all the festive oddities, the villain excused himself with an excuse the hero didn’t quite catch, they were supposed to meet back in around 15 minutes so she continued browsing around the stalls until a woman caught her attention. 

“Where’d that handsome boyfriend you were with go?” The woman yelled, she seemed kind enough, middle aged with puffy blond curls, Hero and Villain previously looked at the poinsettias and other plants she was selling. The hero approached her stall. 

“Oh, um. He went to go do something, he’s gonna meet me near the entrance” she answered. The crowds present when they got there had died down and all that was left were scattered couples and people seemingly on first dates, perhaps the villain didn’t notice it, but he was getting touchy, linking their arms and leaning close to tell her something. It seems this lady had gotten the wrong idea. 

“Oh! Actually! He’s not my boyfriend!” She quickly corrected herself. 

“No?” the woman seemed genuinely shocked. 

“Uh no. He’s um. A friend? Almost.” 

“Almost?”

“Sort of.” 

The woman tutted, nodding her head with disapproval. “Well that just won’t do.” She pointed back to a couple of clusters of plants tied together by bows hanging by hooks on her stall. “Get one of those and boom! You gotta start the engines running somehow.”

Hero must’ve looked confused enough so she didn’t have to ask what that meant.

“Mistletoe.” The woman said.

“Beg your pardon?” Hero felt insulted.

“The tradition? I can’t believe it! No wonder you two haven’t gotten together. You have no romantic bone in your body!” 

The hero was already red from the cold, but it was kept hidden underneath the scarf that came up to her nose. She was more than sure everyone could see it now though. She didn’t like the villain that way… did she? For the first time she considered all the subconscious heart shaped sourdoughs and mysterious, dreamy man paintings. The realisation came crashing into her and she felt she might vomit at the thought that the villain might feel the same way. She was ready to deny her feelings and run away from the woman but before her body could move, her heart did. 

“You think he likes me…?” she asked, practically whispering, twiddling her thumbs enclosed in knitted mittens. The woman smiled, glad the hero was finally catching on. 

“Yes. In fact I think anyone could see that.” The hero was filled with determination out of nowhere. It’s as if THE hero she once was came out again, manifesting itself as the confidence she’d been lacking and the power she held dormant. She practically lit up the entire stall. 

“What's the mistletoe toe have to do with that?” 

“You hang ‘em up. When two people find each other under it at the same time they gotta give each other a kiss.” Hero’s confidence quickly disappeared as she began nervously giggling. 

“Oh no no no. I can’t do that. It's a bit forward, I think.”  

“Forward? You two were practically making out when he was feeding you mints.” 

“Oh! I think that’s him! Gotta go ma’am.” She began scurrying away before she turned back halfway. She pulled out the change in her pants pocket and handed it to her. “Thank you.” The lady laughed, rolling her eyes.

“The only thanks I’ll accept is if you two come hand in hand next time.” She began to close her stall, “Which I bet won’t be too far from now” She smirked. The hero didn’t think she could get any redder. She smiled at the lady and paced back to the villain. He greeted her with a smile and she swooned. “Made a friend?” He asked. 

“Not exactly. I did learn a thing or two.” she teased. 

“Oh? Like what?” 

“Um…” hero was at a loss for words. “Girl stuff?” 

The villain laughed as he put his hand on her back leading her out of the market. 

The villain could barely see the hero's face but he could see she was red like the poinsettias they were looking at. She took short and quick steps, scared to fall on the ice. It was humbling and charming to see Hero, a retired weapon of mass destruction, drowning in a scarf and scared of falling on the ice. He lent her a tight hand as they walked over a particularly icy spot and the hero froze. 

“What’s wrong?” 

The hero could die. Right there hanging on the arched entryway gate was the fated mistletoe. Hero could have sworn it wasn’t there before, and the kids running back to the direction of the Poinsettia Lady’s stall were very suspicious. The villain traced the hero's sight to the hanging promise of doom. At such a bold and daring chance, he smiled. Something grew in him that he knew was there all along. This time, he welcomed it and it fueled him with something more than just friendship. 

“Oh, I see. You learned about mistletoes.” He teased. The hero stayed silent, gripping onto the villain's arm, fear of falling still very much present, in more ways than just one. 

“Hero, come on. We have to get to the car somehow.” He pulled the hero, just the slightest bit.

“But we’re-” the hero’s slow and careful steps followed. 

“Not anymore.” 

“We could-” 

“It’s the sacrifice we must take, hero.” 

“It’s just-” 

“They’re closing” he sang, pulling her closer and closer towards him and the mistletoe. Finally, there they were. Villain had managed to snake an arm around her waist, holding her close to get a clear view of her big, brown eyes, now shining red, yellow, and green, reflecting the Christmas lights overhead. “Hero?”

The hero said nothing, almost entirely being held up by the villain’s arm around her. He leaned in, their noses almost touching. “Is this ok?” he whispered. Hero had long stopped working, her legs became jelly and her heart raced so fast she was light headed. He slowly raised his other hand to pull down her scarf and very carefully cupped her cheek. 

The hero felt her head might pop right off, so she hoped it wouldn’t, closed her eyes, and nodded quickly. First she heard the villain’s soft laugh, secondly, she smelled the villain’s familiar cologne, and finally she felt on her cheek the most chaste, soft, sweetest and hero’s first ever kiss.

part 4

[aldbooks]

A Strange Melody by ALDBooks for @sunshinebingo

Merry Christmas friend, from your Secret Santa! I hope you enjoy this one. It's not a Christmas story but I def tried to play into your love for the Little Mermaid 🧜🏻‍♀️

@acotargiftexchange

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

Gwyn perched on the algae covered rock in the mouth of the Dark Lagoon and stared at the rock in her hand. The onyx stone shot through with bursts of silver like stars, known as a Midnight Stone, served as the calling card for the mysterious entity known only as the Bargainer. At least, according to the rumors.

Many claimed to have met him, but every story about him varied so greatly it was hard to tell what, if any of it, was truth. The one detail that seemed to be consistent was the Midnight Stone. Made from bits of a rare element encased in hardened ash and created in the heart of the underwater volcanoes of the Northern Sea, one had to venture into the deadlands to seek the stones which- according to the rumors- were used to barter with the Bargainer.

Gwyn had ventured into those dangerous waters just that morning on a whim. A wildly stupid whim, but one that had paid off as evidenced by the stone now sitting in her palm, whose bits of silver star winked at her in the warm evening light. As she glanced up at the sun just disappearing over the horizon, Gwyn clutched the stone in her hand and wondered if this wasn’t the maddest idea she’d ever had before her mouth opened, and she spoke the words that would seal her fate.

“I’d like to make a bargain.”

The air around her seemed to still as the last of the sun’s rays vanished and an unnatural darkness filled the lagoon. Gwyn’s breath caught as a massive, dark winged figure appeared through the star flecked night mist, the handsome features of a man taking shape as the darkness coalesced and she found herself staring into a pair of eyes so blue, they almost appeared violet. 

The figure blinked, glancing around then down at where his boots stood in the sand, lazy waves lapping at his toes. His gaze caught on her tail, surprise flickering over his face as he slowly dragged his gaze back to hers. “Well,” he said, in a voice as velvet smooth as deep night. “This is new.”

The man tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead as he cocked his head to the side, studying her intently. “Syren?” he asked.

“Oceanid,” she corrected. The sister species to her kind lived in much deeper waters than the reefs and lagoons that housed her people. Unlike the syrens, the oceanid nymphs were protectors of faekind, not their demise.

“Apologies,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “It has been centuries since I have met one of your kind. What is your name?”

Gwyn hesitated, still clutching the stone tightly in her palm. Power rolled off this man in waves making him seem inherently dangerous in a way that had her second guessing every second of the desperate scheme that had brought her to this moment. And yet, she found herself answering him, as though compelled. “Gwyneth.”

He smiled, a devastating smile that sent a fluttering sensation through her belly. “Gwyneth,” he repeated, his voice practically a purr. “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady. How can I help you, Gwyneth?”

“I- I want to make a bargain,” she stuttered.

His eyes glittered with amusement. “Yes, I know. You said as much when you called. What is it that you desire?”

Here Gwyn stumbled, unsure how to voice exactly what had been plaguing her dreams for weeks now. Ever since that fateful day. The day she’d seen- him.

Gwyn had always been happy with her life, content, if a bit lonely after the loss of her beloved sister. She had encountered many fae in her time, guided them through the treacherous waters of the North Sea’s many reefs and islands. None of them had ever piqued her interest enough to wish to leave the water that had been her home for nearly a century. Not until the day she’d seen him, soaring through the skies far above her. 

She didn’t know what about the man had captivated her so. She’d seen many of the flying race of fae before, but this one was- different. He moved through the sky with a grace she had never seen before, diving and swooping as naturally as a bird, a breathtaking smile on his face when he flew low enough for her to make out his features. He had been utterly beautiful and that smile had haunted her ever since, to the point that she had found herself coming to the surface every day, hoping to catch another glimpse of him.

“I see.” The amused voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “You’re in love.”

Gwyn flushed deeply. “I- hardly! I don’t even-” she blinked. “Wait, how did you-”

The man laughed, the sound deep and rich. It made her shiver. “Besides the utterly smitten expression?” he teased, tapping his temple. “Daemati. I suppose that’s one thing the rumors leave out about me for whatever reason.”

“You- read my mind?” She blushed anew, wondering just how much of her nightly musings he had seen. 

His smile turned wicked. “Oh yes. Don’t worry dear. Your secrets are safe with me.” His posture relaxed as he studied her anew. “So you wish to see the handsome Illyrian again? Is that all? Surely you do not need me for such a thing. Given time, he would have passed over your waters again. What is it you truly desire?”

Gwyn’s mouth opened, but she once again found herself at a loss. She hardly knew what she wanted herself. She hadn’t quite made it that far in her planning. All she knew was that she was desperate to relieve the aching longing that filled her every dream. Wanted to know why, exactly, she was so drawn to this man she had seen only briefly and knew nothing about. 

The man smiled. “Would you like an introduction?”

She blinked, “You know him?”

“I know many people,” he said vaguely. “I can facilitate such a thing. Even provide you an opportunity to spend time with him…”

Gwyn stilled, sensing the ‘but’ that was surely coming. 

“But- it will require you leaving your waters… As you can imagine, the Illyrians are not overly fond of water.”

Gwyn’s mouth dropped open as she gazed around her in dismay. Her kind were able to walk on land for short periods of time though few ever felt compelled to do so. The waters were their home. 

“If I’m not mistaken,” he continued. “The oceanid can walk on land for two days before they must return to the water, correct?”

She nodded slowly.

“Hmm… I might be able to extend that time briefly. Perhaps no longer than an extra day. That would give you three days with the man of your dreams. Of course, if things work out as you hope they might, perhaps you can visit him again after you return to the water for the necessary time. But, I can only guarantee you access to the palace for those three days. After that, it will be up to you to secure another invitation.”

“The palace?” she asked, glancing towards the mainland in the far distance where a large, dark palace stood at the sea’s edge. The King of the Night Court’s residence was rumored to be a place of unfathomable riches and beauty but presided over by a dark master that many of the fae feared. 

“Aye. It so happens the man you seek is the King’s Spymaster and part of his Inner Circle. I can get you inside the palace walls as a guest. The rest is up to you.”

Gwyn shivered as she imagined the sort of horrors she might encounter in such a place. Thinking again of the man’s carefree smile, she found it hard to reconcile with the reputation the King’s Spymaster had amassed over the centuries. Was this truly what she wanted? Was it worth it?

“What is your price?” she asked, returning her attention to the man. 

He smirked. “Do they not tell that part in the stories about me either? My price,” he said. “Is a favor. To be recalled at a later time of my choosing. I decide what the favor will be when it is called in and, should you refuse to honor it…” he trailed off, a clear and obvious threat in his tone.

Swallowing hard, Gwyn once again considered if she had gone mad. What might a man like this possibly ask of her? Was what she got out of this deal worth the price she might pay for it later? It was impossible to say, yet, even as she considered it, she could feel the tug of longing in her chest that compelled her to accept.

“Yes,” she breathed.

The man arched a brow. “You accept my terms?”

Taking a deep breath to still the trembling in her bones, she nodded. “Yes.”

Interest sparked in the man’s eyes before a truly wicked smile curved his lips and he held out his hand. “Then we have a bargain.”

As Gwyn’s fingers slipped into his hand, she felt magic wrap around her wrist, pulling a gasp from her. As she pulled her hand away from his, she looked down at her wrist to find a black spot marked on the inside, shot through with silver and realized the stone in her hand had vanished, now emblazoned on her skin to mark their deal.

Uneasiness churned through her as she looked back at the man. “When do the three days begin?”

“Now,” he said, as darkness engulfed her once more.

[vitorofthescaleless]

T'was the night before Soulsmas, and all through the land, not a creature was stirring, especially the Brigand. All the stockings were hung by the hearth with care, with Gwyndolin being careful as not to singe off her hair. All through the Archives the Channelers were running, for Santa's great sack Seath the Scaleless was gunning. If you're dismayed by the way that was said, cheer up good fellow it's all in your head. The old dragon Seath, clever as ever, would set a trap for the old geezer no matter the weather. "All those gifts will be mine, an endless resource, immortality assured with absolutely no remorse!" Was something he'd say, if he actually can talk, we'll never know to this day. So Hollow by Hollow were placed by the chimney and its fire, rigged with black fire bombs to be the old saint's funeral pyre. Such an artifact of power and items will surely survive explosions galore, Seath's mad thoughts would quite insanely implore. A mad plan indeed as found in a commode, who'd think to capture Santa in a way he'd explode?

Along came the night the old dragon did wait, the thought of the goodies made him salivate. A jingle on the roof and a slip down the stack, the fuse was lit and he'd have the old sack! Again if you're worried how that's displayed, your train of thought leaves something to say. Down with a thud came the jolly old man, then cacophonous explosion lit him just as planned! With a great furor he slid down the stairs, only to find an angry Gwyn in his crosshairs. "You foolish oaf, you giant git, you tried to set me on fire, now THAT's quite a sin!" Seath was perplexed at the sight with great pain, he had used up all the smarts that were there in his brain! "You nambling ninny, you sodding old goat! I'M Santa Claus, you unclever stoat! I visit the homes of all good boys and girls, leaving behind presents all over the world! I came to see you, but the sight makes me puke, a trap set for Santa, by Gwyn's only Duke!" Seath bowed his head unsure what to say, he'd made a fool of himself this cold Soulsmas day. Gwyn heaved with a sigh and in a move he'd resent, held out a box, a singular present. Seath clapped his hands and tendrils with glee, "What did you get for little old me?" Inside was a paper neatly pink and carefully folded, that somehow survived the fireplace that'd exploded. It read as thus: "For being such a dimwitted liar, pack up your bags because you are fired!" So Seath learned a lesson on this Soulsmas day, when Gwyn comes to visit, revenge he will pay! For every lit fuse, for every bomb left exploded, if you stick to your wicked ways your head will be imploded! Out of the Archives and into the street, did Seath slither out on his not quite feet. "Now what to do and where are my manners, as a true Christmas Gift, the Archives will be run by the Channelers!" So now you see why Seath isn't here, he was fired by Gwyn one Soulsmas year. Wrapped up with a bow that couldn't be neater, here's a free silly not quite true backstory for your old Channeler, Vitor. Merry Christmas/Xmas and all in between, for holidays most cheery and years yet to be seen!

[ladylilithprime]

Merry Yule, from your Pond Secret Santa!

Title: Seasons Change With The Scenery

Pairing: Sam x Rowena

Word Count: 2249

Summary: Sam thought there should have been some warning when he stumbled through an archway in a graveyard in Massachusetts two weeks before Midsummer and stumbled out again through an archway in a graveyard in Scotland two weeks before Midwinter some three hundred years or so earlier.

Gifted To: @leatafandom

THERE SHOULD HAVE been a warning sign. Not that trouble on a hunt was in any way unexpected usually, but then usually the trouble had something to do with the actual hunt rather than being completely out of left field. And part of Sam's current problem was that no one around him would understand that metaphor because baseball hadn't been invented yet. Barely anyone could understand him at all, and only then because Sam remembered years of high school English classes pouring over Shakespeare and apparently that was close enough to stumble along when combined with hand gestures and crudely sketched dirt pictures.

It had been a fortnight shy of Midsummer when he had stumbled through the stone archway out of the graveyard and into the stone circle somewhere and somewhen else. The locals were understandably wary of a strange man in unusual clothes who spoke English with such a strange, flat accent, but Sam had his knives and had done a decent job shooting down a rabbit with a borrowed bow and arrow, which had netted him an introduction to the village hedge witch. Rowena was a slight, slender redhead with a sharp eye and a sharp tongue, and she had received the rabbit and Sam with all the dignity of a woman who knew her worth and wasn't about to beggar herself.

"Ye come a long way," she said to him when the hunters had been shooed away from her hut and left them alone. "And I cannae send ye back meself, not 'til Midwinter. I haven't the power on mah own."

"I'll do my best to help where I can and keep out of your way when I can't," Sam assured her, keeping his own impatience ruthlessly under wraps. Being impatient or rude with his only source of assistance, he knew, was a good way to have that assistance rescinded.

From the brief smirk that curved Rowena's lips, she had a good guess what he was thinking. "Aye, good lad. Go an' dress the rabbit fer a stew, then."

Sam went.

Read the rest on AO3

[zoozki]

Bruh imagine a One Piece had a version of Santa that turns Bad Kids into Presents for the Good Kids. Although in truth Santa has been working as a slave by the Navy in order to quelm rioting and uprising among the rising Pirate Nations as the Straw Hat Pirates Sail towards finding the One Piece while saving towns and islands from corruption of the Evils in this world's Government's Agenda. In secret the Navy kidnapped and is holding Mrs. Clause and their 9001 Elves as leverage over Santa as they force fed him the Conversari-Conversari Fruit because Santa doesn't like Cold Fruits he loves Hot Fresh Cookies The only way to lure him out is a plate of cookies cooked in a forest Fire the size of Pompeii and a cold glass of Milk as tall as the Eiffel Tower that was chilled in the Artic Sea. After defeating Santa Luffy and his Crew discover Santa was used by the Navy so they set sail to the north Artic to rescue the Jingle Nation's Citizens where they find The Man behind it all an Admiral Called Grinch Sourmilk. He has The Power of the Wrap-Wrap fruit and his power to encase in anything he touches slowly overtime with Enhanced Haki Tape and Prism Stone Lined Navy themed wrapping paper. The reason he volunteered to overwatch the The Jingle Nation was because he always hated Christmas because 27 years ago one cold Christmas morning he had nothing to eat but snow and salt and never had presents until one day he was recruited by a Navy Officer to work as a Janitor on his ship after the Crew had recently got attacked at sea by sea monster fish half of the crew quit or had never survived the journey. He was told by the Navy Official if he ever wanted to leave his impoverished lifestyle and to be able to never look back again he must leave this small port town at the break of dawn tomorrow. 17 year old Grinch had felt like after hitting rock bottom he's finally moving up in the world and sneaked upon the vessel at sunset the very same day and even stole a uniform from one of the fallen recruits that perished at sea and in the right hand pocket was a small fruit unbeknownst to Grinch that it was a devil fruit as his stomach growled violently as his fingers traced the outer skin of the plumpy red fruit and chomped on it without a second thought to who could be watching him grave robbing. Unfortunately due to the power of the Wrap-Wrap fruit any presents Grinch gets for his Birthdays or Christmases ends up getting wrapped again along with the person giving him the gift. A miserable experience for Grinch as he never has been able to open any gift he's ever received also the person that gave Grinch the gift is also to be wrapped in the Stone Prism Lined Paper alive leaving them to suffocate and die. The families of these victims are horrified each and every year their kin are returned to them and left at the front doorstep as a deceased Bow Wrapped Navy themed corpse with the paper slightly damp with tears of fear and pain. Grinch doesn't have any enemies or at least not for very long because he fights dirty always going for the weak first and attacks members of the victim's family without warning. No one is brave enough to stand against him. His peers revere him as a god because he keeps an iron fist in shutting down pirate crews before they even make headlines on the local town newspapers but Grinch hates them because he hates being stared at when in public because he gets this weird feeling he's gonna be asked something but they never say a word and just stand and stare making things awkward as it wastes his precious spare time. He enjoys anything he can drink through a straw and hates anything he has to touch with his hand to eat because he ends up just magically wrapping it in paper instead unable to control his powers. He wears regular wool gloves and sunglasses even when he sleeps!

[little-earthquakes-rp]

Main Verse:

Full  Name: Skye Faulkner

Known  Alias(es): N/A

Age: 38-42

Gender: Cis-male

Birthday: 12/31 Capricorn

Heritage: Jamaican & English

Religion: Spiritual

Sexual  &  Romantic  Orientation: hetrosexual & hetroromantic

Residencies:  New Orleans, LA or verse dependent

Highest  Education  Level: Master's in Counseling

Occupation: Clinical Therapist & Sleep Specialist & Hypnotist

Faceclaim:  Ricky Whittle

Eyes: Brown Eyes

Hair: Bald-shaved close

Weight: 200

Height: 6'1

Body Type: Muscular Athletic

Piercing & Tattoos: N/A

Mental Disorders: N/A

TW: Murder

Skye practically came out of the womb practicing magic; born on Samhain his mother knew immediately her bouncing baby boy was bestowed with magical abilities. The nurses and hospital staff were quick to come when the little boy let out a cry or even a  gurgle, all practically falling over one another to soothe him. The moment he was born his mother’s world changed completely.

Life was rather simple for the pair as Skye spent his childhood living rather nomadically. Lucy his mother never could stay in a place too long, and the small boy would scoot from small towns to large cities throughout the US on nothing more than a whim, or at least it seemed. The truth was that Lucy had a rather bad habit of falling in love, only to have the feelings quickly extinguished. It was only later in his adolescence that he picked up on the nuance, and felt slightly resentful by his mother’s unrelenting quest.

While his mother knew from the moment of his birth he’d been blessed it wasn’t until Skye was six before discovering it as well.  It had been Christmas Eve and after filling the boy with chatter about Santa Claus he excitingly lay in bed wanting to catch the man. Despite the words of warning from his mother, he shot out of bed the moment he heard a noise coming from downstairs. The little boy silently tip-toed from the room and down the hall careful not to make a sound. Peeking his head around the corner he caught his mother affixing a bow to a brand new bike. There was a feeling of elation over getting a bike, but also disappointment that the myth of Santa was a farce. 

Suddenly, his mother sensed him peeking from around the corner and scowled,  “Skye climb back in bed at this instant, and don’t be afraid.”  The little boy was confused by what she meant but turned on his heel feeling guilty he disappointed his mother. He walked the small distance back to his room.

When he turned the corner confusion swept over him when he saw himself lying in bed already, and yet he stood in the doorway. It didn’t make any sense, and he cried out to his mom.  Comforting the child she explained he slipped his soul out from his body, and he only needed to climb back into bed to return.  She assured him it was normal– for him anyway, but must keep it secret from others.

Other things came quickly to the boy, and his mother was always rather impressed by his innate skill; knowing he was going to be powerful was something that scared her a bit. In time, he caught curiosity over why his gift was so different from his mother’s, but she was quick to squash any questions about his paternity. It was something which lingered and bothers him still to this day.

The single mother and her son continued to put miles on moving across the US. Settling in a small town outside of Oklahoma City where Lucy met a rather mysterious man and became smitten.  Like with all his mother’s relationships, things transgressed rather quickly, and the man moved into the small rental property with them. Within days Skye figured out what was so enigmatic about the man–as he two was a witch. For a very short time, the boy was happy to have a magical male presence, but things took a turn rather quickly.  A dark mood set in over the house. His mother didn’t want to leave and had become withdrawn. She seemed lost in infinite sadness, and despite his best attempts he could not raise a smile or bring her any joy. Even his own mood had soured, and he spent his time angry even having a few outbursts at school. Their life seemed to be coming apart at the seams, and Skye was desperate to figure out why. 

It was then he happened upon her boyfriend standing out in a clearing out back of the home casting a conversion spell; the man was slowly draining his mother of her life force. The threat of his mother’s life brought a rage over the young boy, and without even a second thought Skye grabbed the man’s wrist. He let out a terrible scream as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. The abhorrent smell of burning flesh filled the area and was swept up by the wind. Eventually, the man collapsed on the ground lifeless. Lucy stumbled upon the scene, and after questioning her son everything slid into place. While she hurried to hide the incident– she was struck at just how powerful and deadly her eleven-year-old son could be.

Within the year the pair wandered into New Orleans, and while Skye was convinced it was going to be like any other home: temporary. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Lucy’s move to the Big Easy was nothing if calculated, and perhaps for the first time put her son’s needs ahead of her own. It was no secret that the community was a haven for most witches, and once there the two were quickly swept up by the Wardell Coven.  Lucy thought to wipe the memory of the burning from her son’s mind, but it served too important of a lesson. Instead, she insisted it be kept a secret.  After a year Lucy felt the itch to keep on moving and made the weighted decision to leave Skye in the care of the coven; figuring they would be able to provide better care for the powerful witch. The child only thrived under their watchful eye, and he found a certain peace by putting down roots.  

As Skye grew into adolescences he grappled with the knowledge of his past. He made a point of underselling his capabilities and preferred not garner too much attention of others. The last thing he wanted was to be challenged and run the risk of falling into an uncontrollable rage.  Instead, he slid into a lowkey life, and is known throughout the community as friendly.  Despite his affiliation, he thinks one day the covens will unify, and believes calls other witches either sister or brother, and is known for being rather passive. 

Once he completed secondary school, he wanted to put his gift to use. In time, he earned degrees in psychology and counseling.  Currently, he rents a small office out of a larger psychotherapist firm, and you can find him listed under cognitive behavior therapy. While he tends to use his scholastic training mainly, magic does slip in from time to time. In the past, he’s been able to help others who weren’t improving by conventional methods by dream leaping. He’ll engineer a safe environment where his patients can interact at a higher level. This would be achieved while the patient is either in their bed sleeping peacefully or in his office under the influence of hypnosis. 

Gifts & Talents

Astral Projection:  The very first attribute which showed itself all those years ago on Christmas Eve. The ability to project the consciousness into an astral form outside of the body has served him well.

Cloaking: The ability to make himself, or anyone invisible and undetected. Astral projection will only get you so far, and sometimes he needs to physically interact with objects while at work.

Dream Leaping:  This was discovered totally by accident during a routine astral projection; however, it served him well when he was giving a passing mark in trigonometry. The ability to project and manipulate others via their dreams.

Touch of Death: The ability to kill other beings through touch by burning and boiling them from the inside. This power is triggered by intense emotions of hate. The others don’t know of the gift with the exception of his mother, but he wonders if some that are skilled are able to detect. Skye puts a lot of effort into staying calm and wants to keep this dark gift quiet.

Vortex Creation: The ability to create vortexes to other dimensions, planes, or parallel worlds. This was something he worked with intensely while traveling and alongside others from his coven. It takes an insurmountable amount of effort, and the moment his concentration is interrupted the vortex dissipates.

Full  Name: Skye Faulkner

Known  Alias(es): N/A

Age: 38-42

Gender: Cis-male

Birthday: 12/31 Capricorn

Heritage: Jamaican, English, & Greek

Religion: Spiritual

Sexual  &  Romantic  Orientation: hetrosexual & hetroromantic

Residencies:  New Orleans, LA or verse dependent

Highest  Education  Level: Master's in Counseling

Occupation: Clinical Therapist & Sleep Specialist & Hypnotist

Faceclaim:  Ricky Whittle

Eyes: Brown Eyes

Hair: Bald-shaved close

Weight: 200

Height: 6'1

Body Type: Muscular Athletic

Piercing & Tattoos: N/A

Mental Disorders: N/A

Verse: Demigod Bloodline of Hekate

Skye Faulkner was special, alright, divine blood flowed through his veins. Lucy, his mother had a brief romantic entanglement with a powerful witch who went by the name of Jonathan Basella. The man passed as a witch like many demigods do, and was old enough to have stopped counting as he'd seen several empires rise and fall. Basellla hailed from the bloodline of Hekate, a powerful goddess.

While initially drawn to the enigmatic man, she began to notice less than savory attributes rather than dwell Lucy did what she always did and moved on. Not long after, she found out she was pregnant. A few weeks later, Jonathan showed up on her doorstep in the middle of the night, claiming he already knew about the pregnancy because he chose her to carry his child. He wanted to make things work and wanted to start a family.

Lucy was spooked and initially agreed because she was worried about what he would do if she rejected the idea. Two days later she split town and traveled across the country and began warding against Jonathan. From that point on Lucy hadn't heard from her ex.

The rest of Skye's witch bio picks up here, and Skye hasn't a clue he's a demigod.

Additional Demigod Abilities

Mediumship

Skye can communicate with the dead a gift that extends to the living as he can speak to someone's consciousness when sleeping. Currently, he's working on telepathy with another witch friend.

Shapeshifting

The first time it happened took him by complete surprise he'd been sleeping and woke up as a large black mastiff. At first, he thought he'd awoken to dream within a dream but soon found out when he jumped off the bed that he was definitely in reality. Panicking he enlisted a friend to help him transition back. He's been practicing for the last few years and has complete control shifting. In time he found he could also shift into a snake.

Immortal

In the last several years, he's noticed he has stopped aging.

[naradivision]

“Pardon the intrusion, sir but you have received a gift.” Chishio bowed as he entered the room, holding a rather elegant present in his hands. Saigo raised a brow and frowned before sighing and gesturing for Chishio to set the gift down to which the assistant did so, “Is there anything you need?” He asked and Saigo shook his head, “No, you’re dismissed.” Nodding, the assistant took his leave and Saigo looked at the gift in front of him with vague interest before opening the box only to be surprised at what he found.

It was a brand new tea set, handcrafted and beautifully made that it genuinely made the man impressed by how high quality it is, Saigo looked at the gift to see if there was any indication of who sent it and sure enough there was a letter attached inside the box.

‘Fuyugami-san, right?

To be completely honest, I’ve never heard of you and I’m sure you’ve never heard of me but since it was your name I got for this whole secret santa thing, I thought I might as well introduce myself, the name’s Lola Takahashi, hope you enjoy your gift. Merry Christmas.’

Taking a closer look at the intricate paintings on the tea set, the ex-tycoon now-turned property appraiser nodded in satisfaction as he knew that there was still someone who appreciated the authentic beauty of traditional arts nowadays.

The fact that his secret Santa hadn’t heard any of his name wasn’t something surprising to him. Though the Fuyugami was considered one of powerful families in Japan no less than other prestigious families or companies out there, now their company’s stocks were seemingly in a downturn possibly thanks to a certain someone who only knew how to talk big but utterly clueless at how to do her job right. Other than that, it was this same bitch who did his name dirty before he resigned himself from the company. No doubt that the old folks in board of directors try to silence anything related to him since he had framed to be the one stain that made their family look less high and mighty …Like how they mentally cut his late mom out of the family just because she wasn’t chosen by them to be his father’s fiancé.

But at the same time, after all that shit, he didn’t really care.

The house affairs were never his thing to begin with, and what to complain about it since he had finally achieved his free time which he always longed for. On top of that, he had his private life back! …Well, if you didn’t take the daily trespassing of those brats in account, that was.

—Shaking his mind off the petty things he didn’t like to recall them in the first place, Saigo was a bit surprised at how this blonde model actually knew the traditional craftsman who can make the high-quality stoneware like this; didn’t all the models these days seemed to be more into modern fashions? Whatever.

“Hmm. This may not be an antique but I think it suits my office pretty well.”

Saigo tapped on his desk in a thoughtful manner. He still got a few paperwork waiting for him to take care of before the meal time.

“…Besides, Hasuto must be surprised if he knew I got the new ceramic set from someone other than him.”

Oh, can’t wait to see the pottery-lover cousin of his being thrilled by these magnificent art pieces the next time he paid a visit.

—Thank you for the gifts and Merry Christmas! 🎄

[morgenstern16]

Fuck it, insane Fumiko theory time

You ever had an insane theory that when you first have it you're like "oh man this is actually crazy if it's true! it explains so much!" but then later you're like "no this is actually just stupid". Well today instead of focusing on my homework my brain decided to come up with a theory that everyone's favorite Public Safety Agent is actually Freckles-chan from all the way of the start of Part 2, disguising herself via the Skin Devil. This has been haunting me all day so I'm exorcising this thought right now so I can forget it.

Freckles-chan, as I'm calling her, has a weirdly minor but notable role in Part 2. She's introduced as one of Asa's bullies and as a target of Yuko's vengeance. (Speaking of Yuko, I miss her). Yuko kills the other bullies, but Freckles-chan survives her initial rampage.

However, she isn't so lucky with the resurrected Yuko, and it looks like Yuko will finish her off...

... except for an unlikely hero to step onto the scene.

Denji makes mincemeat of Yuko and attempts to dramatically reveal his secret identity to Freckles, only for Yoshida to warp him away (just before Yoru brains him with a Yuko Leg Sword).

That's about it for Freckles-chan, except for one weird thing. After Yuko and Asa's last meeting, there's a set of panels showing Asa, Yuko, and Denji lying down. Well, there's one other person shown: Freckles-chan.

Given that Fujimoto loves his foreshadowing, there's been a few theories as to why he decided to show an unnamed minor character in a line-up of very important characters. It could be that this is a plot thread he dropped later on or that Freckles is actually the host of Fami, like Asa is to Yoru, but my brain decided to connect her with a unresolved plot thread from Part 1: what happened to the last Aldo brother?

As a refresher, this guy was the last of a trio of American brothers who had made a contract with the Skin Devil, allowing them to take the appearance of other people. Unlike his brothers, however, this guy wasn't the worst human being in the world and was last seen trying to blend in with Santa Claus's minions (either that or they actually infected him, it's pretty ambiguous).

A lot of characters from the second half of part 1 are now showing up in Part 2, so how would that plot line show up again? Well, my brain said, clearly at some point Public Safety got a hold of him or a contract with the Skin Devil and had Freckles-chan make one with it. See, it's quite possible that Freckles is one of the few people around who've seen Denji's human form (yes Yoshida warped Denji before he could transform back, but it's possible she did see him and Public Safety, through their insane surveillance or w/e, found this out and conscripted her instead of just locking her up, having her impersonate Fumiko (either dead or on a covert mission) to keep an eye on Denji, perhaps in hopes that Denji would easy to collar around if an attractive woman keeps an eye on him, without sacrificing an actual agent. This, my brain said, would explain a number of weird things about her, like why she's so immature and calls Denji "Senpai" (she's actually a bit younger than him)

Or her weird and inconsistent behavior towards him (she's being fed lines to tell him but also confused as to how she feels)

And most infamously, her complete incompetence in a fight (she's a conscripted civilian teenager).

And with her running off, there would great potential to run into her former victim, Asa, who's now the host of the powered-up Yoru. I could easily imagine a terrified Freckles begging for her life in front of Yoru, and an amused Yoru letting her go in exchange for some kind of deal. It'd also be a way for Asayoru to find out that Denji is in fact Chainsaw Man. A neat little bow to wrap up a number of puzzling elements in Part 2 so far.

However, if you're obsessed with Part 2 as much as I am, you've probably spotted a few holes in this, particularly that this is rather convoluted for a CSM plot line. Also, she has to be a pretty good actress to pull off some of her lines and make them sound convincing, and she WAS competent enough to dodge Nayuta's chains at short range, which is a bit much for a random civilian teenager to pull off. It's also quite possible that Freckles will have a role to play, but not this one. I probably forgot some parts and flaws of the theory here and there but whatever I can just fill them in later.

[ribbondee]

BOW DOWN!

BOW DOWN!

BEFORE THE POWER OF SANTA!

OR BE CRUSHED, BE CRUSHED, BY...

HIS JOLLY BOOTS OF DOOOOM!

MERRY CHRISTMAS GUYS!!! :D

[peterkothe]

Now for WEIRD SANTAS!! Who remembers the time a little green, screaming #Irken invader named #ZIM posed as Santa with a nano-suit that had a mind of its own!? BOW DOWN! BOW DOWN! BEFORE THE POWER OF SANTA! OR BE CRUSHED! BE CRUSHED!! BY HIS JOLLY BOOTS OF DOOM!!