#Boss Christmas Present

[noisycowboyglitter]

Top 10 Reasons to Love Grammy Bear: A Collector's Dream

Grammy Bear is a beloved character that embodies the warmth and comfort associated with grandmothers. This cuddly teddy bear is designed to evoke memories of cozy hugs, homemade cookies, and cherished family moments. Dressed in a floral apron and sporting a pair of reading glasses perched on its nose, Grammy Bear exudes a gentle, nurturing presence.

Buy now:19.95$

The bear's soft, plush fur is perfect for snuggling, while its rounded belly and kind eyes invite children and adults alike to seek solace in its embrace. Grammy Bear often comes with accessories like a miniature recipe book or a tiny pair of knitting needles, reinforcing its grandmotherly persona.

More than just a toy, Grammy Bear serves as a comforting companion for those missing their own grandmothers or seeking a connection to family traditions. It's popular as a gift for new grandparents, a keepsake for grandchildren, or a nostalgic item for adults.

Grammy Bear also plays a role in intergenerational storytelling, encouraging the sharing of family histories and creating new memories. Its timeless appeal speaks to the enduring importance of grandparental love in our lives, making it a cherished addition to any family.

I'd be happy to elaborate on any aspect of Grammy Bear if you'd like more information.

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Christmas gifts for bosses require thoughtful consideration, balancing professionalism with holiday cheer. Ideal options often include high-quality office accessories, such as a leather portfolio, a sleek pen set, or a stylish desk organizer. For the tech-savvy boss, consider a wireless charging pad or a smart notebook.

Gourmet food baskets or premium coffee and tea sets can be excellent choices, especially if you know your boss's tastes. A sophisticated business book or a subscription to a relevant industry magazine shows your support for their professional growth.

For a more personal touch, a customized item like a monogrammed business card holder or a framed motivational quote can be appropriate. If your workplace culture allows, a nice bottle of wine or spirits could be well-received.

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Remember to keep the gift within a reasonable price range to avoid appearing inappropriate. It's often best to coordinate with colleagues for a group gift, which can allow for a nicer present while maintaining professional boundaries.

Funny Christmas gifts add a dash of humor to the holiday season, bringing laughter and joy to gift exchanges. These playful presents range from witty novelty items to clever gag gifts that poke fun at common holiday traditions.

Popular options include ugly Christmas sweaters with outrageous designs, humorous slogan t-shirts, or quirky ornaments featuring pop culture references. Practical jokes disguised as gifts, like prank gift boxes or silly gadgets with absurd functions, are also crowd-pleasers.

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For the food lover, consider unusual flavored candies or bizarre cooking utensils. Amusing books, such as adult coloring books with snarky themes or humorous "survival guides," make for entertaining gifts.

When choosing funny gifts, consider the recipient's sense of humor and ensure the joke won't offend. The best funny gifts strike a balance between being comical and still having some use or sentimental value.

[nyxofdemons]

wouldn't it be so funny if they dropped sinsmas on like dec 1st just to fuck with us

[hehe-hoho-ohno]

Merry Christmas!

I was hoping I would be able to finish the next chapter of Misfits in time for the holidays, but that obviously has not happened. So, here's a snippet instead.

Warnings for spoilers (and I do mean that this time) and a lot of innuendo.

----

“My plan is flawless. My ideas are brilliant.”

“They most certainly are!” Ingo agreed.

“Uh-huh.” Skyla did not sound convinced.

“My brain is huge. My ears are mighty.”

“Absolutely,” Ingo chirped.

Skyla rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s definitely not true.”

“My face is handsome. My wood is hard.”

Skyla’s head whipped around so hard her hair smacked her in the face. “I’m sorry, what?!”

A truly agonised expression crossed Ingo’s face, but his chipper tone didn’t falter at all. “Whatever you say!”

“I say only normal things,” Emmet insisted. “I have tough wood! Sweet birch has a Janka hardness rating of 1470 lbf. That’s pretty good!”

“Wowza!” Skyla clapped her hands on her cheeks in mock astonishment. “Over a thousand, you say? You must be so hard!”

“I am!”

She snorted.

“Can we talk about something else for a bit?” Ingo asked, oddly red.

“Oh, but I haven’t finished yet!” Skyla said, giggling behind her hand. “Are you hard, Ingo?”

“I- I- I don’t want to discuss this.”

Emmet tilted his head. “Are you embarrassed? You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

“There are no good answers to any of these questions,” Ingo lamented.

Although Emmet didn’t know what specific wood Ingo was made of, most his guesses would have placed above birch on the hardness scale. He wouldn’t have guessed a softwood, but it would explain why Ingo kept evading the question. He knew it could be a point of insecurity in the other soldiers.

“It’s okay, I’m hard enough for the both of us!”

Skyla wheezed.

“SURELY THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS FOR US TO BE DISCUSSING RIGHT NOW!”

[risingsunresistance]

the day i got this thing compared to today is just a bit funny

[bloodmoon24]

A Sinsmas Carol~

[mazezkr]

Btw, Happy Sinsmas everybody!

Sorry that it's late, but I forgot:(

[luetta]

my poppy (granddad who is like 90 years old) said i looked gorgeous 🥺🥺🥺

[seenthisepisode]

.

[thatdrawdavid]

A Loona I drew as a Christmas present for a friend!

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

WE'VE GOT A DRAFT, FOLKS

[tjerra14]

Other than for a baffling lack of imagination, I became a vet to eventually be more capable in treating potential diseases of my (pet) fish. Uni was very disappointing in that regard, but lo and behold, today is the day where the whole thing finally pays off.

[fazcinatingblog]

I should be black friday shopping tonight

[noisycowboyglitter]

Ugly Christmas Golf Shirts for Men - Dry Fit Fabric Keeps You Cool

Combine holiday cheer with athletic performance in these unique Ugly Christmas Shirts designed specifically for men's golf. These shirts offer a humorous twist on traditional golf attire, featuring outrageous Christmas-themed patterns and designs that are sure to turn heads on the course.

Buy now:19.95$

Made with high-quality dry fit material, these shirts provide comfort and functionality for the avid golfer. The moisture-wicking fabric keeps you cool and dry, even during intense rounds, while the stretchy material allows for a full range of motion in your swing.

Designs may include comical golf-related Christmas scenes, such as Santa teeing off, reindeer caddies, or Christmas trees made of golf clubs. Bold colors and intentionally tacky patterns embrace the "ugly Christmas" aesthetic while maintaining a sporty look.

These shirts are perfect for holiday golf tournaments, casual rounds with friends, or as a unique gift for the golf enthusiast in your life. They offer a fun way to showcase your festive spirit without compromising on performance.

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Available in various sizes, these Ugly Christmas golf shirts ensure you'll stand out for both your style and your game this holiday season.

Xmas holiday gifts encompass a wide range of items perfect for spreading joy during the festive season. From thoughtful presents for family and friends to creative options for coworkers and acquaintances, the choices are diverse and exciting.

Popular gift categories include tech gadgets, cozy winter accessories, gourmet food and drink sets, personalized items, and experience gifts. For children, toys and games top the list, while adults might appreciate luxury skincare products, books, or home decor items.

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Practical gifts like smart home devices or kitchen appliances are always welcome, as are sentimental presents such as photo albums or customized jewelry. For the eco-conscious, sustainable and ethically-sourced gifts are increasingly popular.

Whether opting for traditional presents or unique, handcrafted items, Xmas holiday gifts offer a way to show appreciation and strengthen bonds during this special time of year.

Selecting an appropriate Christmas gift for your boss requires thoughtfulness and professionalism. Consider items that are useful yet not overly personal. High-quality office accessories like leather portfolios or premium pens make excellent choices. Tech gadgets such as smart speakers or wireless chargers can be both practical

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and impressive. For coffee or tea enthusiasts, a gourmet beverage set could be ideal. Books related to leadership or their industry interests show attentiveness. A stylish desk plant or a sophisticated desk clock adds a touch of elegance to their workspace. Remember to stay within company gift-giving policies and your budget.

[bloodmoon24]

A Sinsmas Carol

Moxxie as Ebenezer Scrooge

Stolas as the Ghost of Christmas Past

Beelzebub as the Ghost of Christmas Present

Asmodeus as the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come

[official-redhood]

Commission for my sister in law

[pricetagged]

Here's a young (maybe 19-early 20s) Simon struggling with his emotions, working as a butcher's apprentice, and fixating on the pretty student waitress at the café next door (':

Content: plus size f-presenting reader; allusions to domestic abuse (Simon's past); fat-shaming (not Simon); little bit of violence, unedited. (Link to Ao3)

He's not sure that it counts as desire. Interest. It crawls over him, makes him feel aggressive, makes him want to dig his teeth in and shake and snarl.

It's hunger.

And he knows hunger. Knows it like he knows the cigarette burns on the back of his hand. Knows it like he knows his old man's a waste of space and that he has to defend his mum and protect Tommy and- and-

He's the man of the house, only the house is rotten. Woodloused frames, crumbling bricks. Gutted. Empty shelves hidden behind broken doors. Chipped plaster, electricity cutting off. Squeaky steps that always clued them in when the old man was on a rager (not that it helped, creaking out a warning but giving no clue where to run. The percussion leading to a gallows' jig; the heavy step before the hit).

But the old man's gone now. And Simon is left trying to fill in the boots he doesn’t know how to wear. All growth spurt and gangly limbs and anger. So much anger at the old bastard. Tear-soaked anger at his mum sometimes (buried deep behind the shame that he feels when he thinks of her black and blue. Anger and shame, bitter roots that he chews at to soothe the clench of in his jaw and the grind of his teeth). And then he sees you through the window. Through the peeling CHRISTMAS SPECIAL sign highlighting ham joints and turkey and pigs in blankets.

You're so soft.

You look like you’ve lived a life well-fed and well-loved. Something round and sweet and helpless, like the puppies he and Tommy had seen dumped in the park while they snuck cigarettes and swigged from cheap supermarket cider.

And that brings him back to the hunger. He's an awkward creature, shuffling to the café where you work part-time. He's more feeling than man, all rage and appetite stuffed into a skin suit. You sense it too, nerves tugging at the tilt of your smile as you approach the scavenger that swept in to sit at the cheap plastic tables in this greasy spoon. He sits awkwardly, too, hunched over the table like his stomach is gnawing at him. Big hands snapping the disposable plastic coffee stirrers and shredding the napkins. That first day, he just stares at you. Sneers a little when you flutter over to take his order.

You slosh the tea a little when you serve it.

He sees the burn bloom, watches as you suck at the sting with plump cheeks and a rosy little mouth, and he just wants to dig in and scratch hard to see you do that again.

It becomes a habit, watching you. He finds out bits and pieces listening as he rends and chops and saws through muscle and bone, stinking of sweat and iron. You're here as a student. You're living in student digs (good, best that you avoid the up-and-downs and rough streets that would fit a student budget), and you're a real sweetheart. Old Sal who has been running the café for the past 30 years leans a heavy elbow on the display counter as he chats with the boss.

"She's lovely, taken to it like a fish to water," his raspy, smoke-charred voice is cheery as he waits for the bacon and sausages to be weighed and wrapped. "Only asked for Thursdays and Fridays off since she has afternoon classes then. Otherwise, I almost have to round her out of the shop, doing more afternoons and weekends than my own kid."

You're hardworking too, then. He wonders if it's because you're hungry too, needing something to do with your time, living on pot noodles and supermarket ready-meals like he'd heard some students do. It's strange how that thought sits uncomfortably, makes him want to hunch over you and bring you his scraps.

That week, he decides to talk to you. Only the words get caught, don't come out quite right as he stares at the way your jumper clings to the soft curves under your faded apron. When you turn around, bustling to other customers, he can't help but stare at the line of your skirt. It's real pretty, decent, sitting just above your knees but Christ, he wishes that it would roll up a little higher. That it would catch on the corner of a table or hitch up as you raise your arms and swish past with a tray full of fry-ups. He almost gets lucky as you bend over to mop up a spill just across the room. Your thighs widen as they press against the table, tights stretching thin and sheer and he just can't tear his eyes away-

(The hunger in his stomach turns hot and biting, makes his cheeks flush and his mouth dry-)

But it's ruined. Fly in the soup, hair in the dish, as you catch him and your eyebrows pinch together as you look away. There's something guarded, bitter, in your lovely eyes, and the dryness in his mouth turns wet and sour. You seem to take pains to avoid him, swapping out with Sal's son so that you can work the counter instead of the floor.

"'m Simon," he grunts as he goes to settle the bill. "Work at the butcher's across the street."

You clearly didn’t expect an introduction, shoulders relaxing and hesitant smile blooming as you give your name in return.

"Yeah, I know. Sal mentioned you a few times. He's tried to give me the rundown of practically everyone on the street, feels like."

"Y'should come in t'the shop," the invitation rushes out in a way that makes him feel clumsy. Perhaps that’s why he did it; to have you in his space, with his head and his footing right. Here, he feels every inch the artificial man. Pieced together, too big and too looming, with no help or guidance on how to talk to soft things and pretty girls.

You grimace a little, eyes focused on the till as you count out his change. "Not really on a butcher-shop budget right now."

"'S'alright. I can keep something aside for ya," he doesn't mention how it would come out of his wages. How it would come out of what he brought home to his mum and Tommy. It didn't matter, though, when he was used to going without.

"That's - that's really nice, actually," Your sweet face is glowing now, and he feels like he could bathe in the warmth of it. "Next time you come by lunch is on me."

He sees the way you tuck your chin and smile as he walks away, and that bottomless pit in his guts feels just a little more full.

(He doesn't quite catch the snickers of the boys at table three, whispering and nudging each other as you come to take their orders. This time.)

He stares more and more through the window of the shop, watching as you come and go. Watching the way you greet the regulars and skirt around the group of lads who like to linger in the evenings. There's something sharp, nasty, to the way they circle around the entrance. The way they cackle and hoot when the one with the eyebrow piercing smirks and whispers to his mates as they force you to brush past. They're a pack of hyenas, shrieking and smug as they toy with the poor little thing that's walked past their watering hole. He's seen this type before, practically grew up with them. His old man was probably one of them, perfecting his cruelty while young, cementing it as part of his nature.

It has Simon sharpening his knives while he grits his teeth. Has the boss tutting at him when he cuts too close to the bone.

He knows there's something violent in him. The old man tried to bring it out then snuff it out, getting scared when the knife that he sharpened was able to cut him in return. He's no stranger to bloodshed. No stranger to the calloused, deprivation-dimmed apathy that breeds like algae in the environment where he was forged. Dripping, slimy, suffocating.

Doesn't mean he likes it, though.

(He'd gone back for those puppies, you know. Felt wrong leaving them. Felt like a rebellion against his old man's sick life lessons as he dumped the box outside the doors of a local veterinary clinic).

So he keeps his eyes peeled, stakes out the café like he owns it. Stares down anyone who looks at you wrong until they look away, muttering under their breath. 'Fucking freaky dead-eyed git.' It seems to work.

And you seem to like it, sparing more smiles for him. Bringing him bigger portions than normal and topping up his cup before he even needs to ask.

"I know you've been working since seven, Simon. Gotta keep your strength up," You seem bashful as you slide the plate across, and he just eats it up.

You've been looking at him, thinking about him. It's not something he's familiar with, having someone care for him. His mum loves him, of course. Tommy too. But it’s not the same, not when it's been his job to take care of them. His job to step up to the mantle and into the shoes that his father should've filled. Watching the sway of your wide hips as he tucks into the steak and kidney pie with gusto, he feels satisfied. The hunger is there, always is, but it's not gouging at him under the skin. It's satiated, pleased. The kind of comfort that leaves his eyes heavy and his belly warm.

It's a routine you fall into, and everything is rosy-

Until it's not.

He's closing up shop, wiping down the counters and getting ready to haul down the shutters when he sees them. Those stupid pricks, travelling in their pack and signaling that their quarry is in sight. Look, there it is alone and limping and- You're in a rush, leaving later than usual and shrugging your coat on carelessly as you shout your goodbyes to Sal. You're in that skirt again, the one that makes his lower belly tighten and mouth feel dry.

"Oi, look! Dirty scrubber has her fat arse hanging out!"

It sets them off, chittering and howling as you freeze wide-eyed and lip-quivering.

"Gonna be sick, mate. Don't want to see your knickers, love. Didn't even know they came in that size."

He doesn't even see red. Doesn't see anything but your pretty, round face crumpling as you try to tug your skirt out from where it got caught under your coat.

The ringing of the bell by the door muffles the sound of the first punch. His fist crunches into that prick's nose, and he wants nothing more than to keep going until his face is little more than meat and pulp and blood. He can taste it, smells the blood in the air like a shark.

But you're watching.

"Bit bored with y'taking the piss out of her," he snarls it as he hauls the man by his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall until his head thwacks against the bricks. Easy as hauling a side of beef. "Why don't ya try me next?"

The man seems dazed, head spinning and nose dripping. His mates, too, look floored. Ready to scatter and abandon their leader to the bigger beast. Only the promise of more blood keeps them watching, feeds their nasty appetites and he's just itching to let them see. Watch what happens; it's coming for you next.

"Speechless now, eh? Had so much to say earlier," he's spitting the words out, teeth snapping as he leans down so close to the man's face that he can see how his pupils constrict. "Apologise."

And he's smarter than he would give him credit for. Smart enough to whimper out his 'sorry, sorry, sorry' as he drops to the filthy, damp pavement when Simon swivels towards the others. Something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hands and apron are splattered with the gore of man and animal, has them scattering.

"That goes for the rest of ya! Don't ever want t'see your ugly fucking mugs around here again," he spits on the ground, itches at his jaw with his wrist as he watches them run.

He can't hear them anymore. Can't hear anything over the sound of his heavy panting and pounding heartbeat.

It's cold out. He's only realising it now, standing in the December chill with just an apron over his jeans and t-shirt. It has him shaking, flexing his hand as his knuckles start to sting and swell. He welcomes it, welcomes the familiar bite as he pushes down the savage, ragged anger rippling through his chest.

"Simon-"

"Y'alright?" he cuts you off, faces you head-on.

And all the rage saps out. You're not cowering away. There's no disgust on your face. No tears or embarrassment either, no. You've got a crumpled packet of wet wipes in your hand, reaching out for him. Concerned.

"Figure you'd want to get that prick's blood off you soon as possible," you give him a sad little half-smile. "Didn't have to do all that for me, Simon."

"Yeah, didn't have to." He concedes as he steps closer to you. Crowds into your space until you're toe-to-toe and he can feel your warmth. He brushes his fingers against yours, lets them linger on your soft skin as he reaches for the wipes. "I wanted to."

-----------------------

Let's all pretend that this was okay and ignore the fact that I still haven't posted the wips that I keep going on about 🫠💖

Just a little self-indulgent drabble idea that I had today, thinking back to watching 'My Mad Fat Diary' as a teenager, feeling nostalgic ~ (The Finn-defending-Rae scene had 18yo me in a chokehold lol).