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versupital · 9 days ago

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⋆⁺₊❅. like my stockings? satoru gojo.

on dasher, on dancer, on prancer, on vixen, on comet, on cupid, on dunder, on... gojo? the one in which your husband notices you're not having a great time at your christmas party, but he knows exactly how to make you feel better.

soundtrack! a nonsense christmas (duh)

content warning. sexual maturity under text, creampie, slight exhibitionism, gojo wears antlers, afab/fem!reader, jealousy, marriage/established relationship, switch!gojo

word count. 3.7k

{au/timeskip of this fic!} | inspired by this classic poem.

You would not have guessed that your crush from college would have ended up putting a ring on your finger. Back then, not a cell in your body had in you told you that he’d ever even notice you, let alone plan a future with you.

But it had happened. One night of lust and bliss had turned into forever. The two of you had not been separated since your first hookup, and it had amazed everyone around you.

Four years later, it’s still as surreal as the day you met. You glance around your large home (the one you don’t pay a dime for); the smell of pine, cinnamon, and gingerbread consuming the air. People stand from wall to wall, garland hangs from every banister, and your thirteen-foot tall Christmas tree is at the center of it all.

Your husband, Satoru, to whom you have your eyes glued, has on a pair of white antlers. He looks like a snow elk, perfect and icy and ethereal, and you can tell that everyone is noticing as much as you are.

Dozens of eyes follow him as he prances around the party, holding a silver tray of spiked eggnog, flicking his hips to the music and making sure everyone is having a good time. You, on the other hand, look like St. Nick himself, in the way you stare red-faced at him, jealous smoke encircling your head like a wreath.

You notice him perking up, sensing your stare, and in the next second he looks directly at you with care. He drops a wink until he realizes that you are not smiling back.

He captures the attention of Nanami, before passing him the drink tray, whispering something in his ear. Nanami’s back is to you, but you wish you could have seen his face; seen his response to whatever Satoru had said.

“Someone’s not feeling Holly Jolly,” Satoru pouts as he approaches you, flicking your nose.

“Mhm,” is all you reply, avoiding eye contact with him and leaning away from his touch.

“Hey, ‘m gonna give you coal, naughty girl,” he narrows his eyes and dips his head towards yours, but when you don’t crack a smile, he grows more concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Yep,” you say, absently reaching up to adjust his hair, and he instantly responds to your touch.

Realistically, you know you have nothing to worry about, but when the whole world finds your husband attractive, the fear never truly goes away. You yourself had witnessed the way he’d managed to make the entire room go silent, based on looks alone, the first time you’d met him.

“You’re not,” Satoru sighs. “Have I told you that you look ravishing in your little Mrs. Claus dress?”

You glance down at the red two-piece you wear, complete with white stockings and boots. Satoru had emphasized several times already that you look beautiful. It’s not that.

“You did,” you crack a small smile at him, “I’m fine, really, it’s stupid.”

Satoru takes a deep breath. You can see the wheels turning in his head as he picks up on what exactly is bothering you.

“Alright, who was it?” he asks. “Who stared at me for too long? We’ll go over together so I can introduce you. You know, as my wife.”

You nearly break character and laugh at him, but you hold the stark expression on your face.

“More like who wasn’t staring at you.” You hold your hands up, and Satoru’s face contorts as if he wants to be touched by them. “It’s alright, I’ll be over it soon. After all, I should be used to this by now.”

Satoru clicks his tongue. “You know,” he slithers his slender fingers down your arm, inducing chills from your nerves until he links his fingers with yours. “I’ve been over all of this socialization for the past half hour. Maybe I’m overstimulated. Need some peace and quiet.”

Your gaze travels up his arm, his torso, before locking with his eyes. “Maybe I do too,” you say, remembering that a large crowd does tend to make you tense. Right. “Where should we go?”

Satoru grins and begins to tug on your hand, leading you in the direction of the stairs. “We have so many rooms to choose from.”

You think about it for a moment. You want to be somewhere warm. Somewhere with a fireplace.

“Baby?” you say, voice unconfident and small. “The bathroom.”

“The bathroom?” Satoru nearly falters, but doesn’t stop walking or look back.

“It’s… quiet, and warm in there,” you justify, but both of you know that that has nothing to do with why you’re ducking off to the bathroom with your husband in the middle of a party.

“Is it?” Satoru coos, rounding the corner to your bedroom, before you stride across together to the bathroom. “That’s just perfect, my little Vixen.”

You swallow thickly, the rage that had been coursing your veins earlier nearly gone now. What had you even been mad about? Your brain can’t think of the answer as your hormones start to water down your common sense.

“Maybe we should wait,” you say suddenly, nearly as soon as Satoru turns the lights on. “After all, someone will come looking for us.”

“No they won’t,” Satoru releases your hand and heads over to the fireplace, “Nanami’s got us covered.”

“Does he?” you tilt your head to the side. You watch as he effortlessly crouches and sets the firewood ablaze, heat entering the room and engulfing you.

“He does,” Satoru says, voice suddenly deep and commanding. “So you should just come sit, and stop worrying the sugar-plums in your head.”

Your body obeys, as it always does. Not a moment later you’re sat right next to your husband, bottom on the plush bath mat on the floor in front of the hearth.

He’s warming up his hands as you’re watching the fire light up his face. He’s usually so egg white pale, but with the warmth from the light, he’s glowing an orange tone, and it’s beautiful.

Then he laughs, and shatters your moment of hushed admiration.

“That’s what all this was really about, huh?” he questions, turning to you finally, moving his now warm hands from the fire and slithering them under your thighs – on the bare skin between the hem of your skirt and the top of your stockings. “You’re grumpy from cock withdrawals.”

“Wh-what?” you blink rapidly up at him, furrowing your brows. “No, you know that I have a jealous streak.”

“Right, but,” Gojo perseveres forward, the tips of his fingers delving deeper into your skin, “you were staring at me, all in heat.”

“Was not,” you argue, clenching your thighs, trying to shrink away from him, but you know that it’s useless. He’s got his claws on you, and he won’t let you get away that easily. “I was just making sure you didn’t burn yourself.”

“C’mon now, Vixen,” Gojo cocks his head, antlers jingling, still perched atop his snowy locks. “I would recognize that look anywhere. After all, it’s exactly how you used to stare at me during my horse races. Back when we still hooked up in the locker rooms. Isn’t it?”

“You’re wrong,” you argue, but your voice is meek, because even you don’t believe that.

Satoru nearly has his face attached to yours, his torso leaning over you. You hardly noticed, with his enchanting stare, that he’s pulled your legs over his, and he now rests between them. You can smell the peppermint and cocoa on his breath, feel the heat radiating off his palms.

His frosty eyes are half-lidded. He’s purposely sliding his tongue over his bottom lip, showing you what you’re missing out on, and it drives you mad.

“There it is,” Gojo taunts, voice ripe with desire. “It doesn’t take much, does it?”

You furrow your eyebrows and once again attempt to pull away with a scoff. Satoru uses your movement to rip you into his lap once and for all, forcing you to straddle him.

You gasp as your knees hit the material of the mat on either side of his hips, cunt resting on the material of his silk pants. Your hands mindlessly grip onto his biceps, steadying yourself.

He looks up at you through his ivory lashes, reading your face as he decides his next move.

“You’re delusional,” you squeak.

Gojo laughs at this, his whole torso shaking against yours. Instead of answering, he grips the tip of your chin gently with his long fingers.

In a blur, he’s got you melting into his mouth as he dips his lips against yours, kissing you as deeply as his mouth will let him.

Your lips slide together, his warm and wet with saliva. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, officially locking you in, now there’s no escape. His hands are moving to dangerous places: the crease of your thighs, the small of your back, prancing up your spine like the gallop of a reindeer.

The fire in the hearth is slowly growing; the warmth dancing across your backside in time with Satoru’s hands. The small silver bells on his antlers jingle as he slowly rotates his head to accommodate the movements of your jaws.

Now, the tips of his fingers are sliding down the outer edge of your thigh, daring to dip underneath the material of your stocking and pull it down.

You gasp, and bring your hands to his pecs, fingers pressing into the thick flesh there. This earns a groan from his throat, reverberating onto your tongue, and his fingers curl until you feel his nails breaking open your skin.

Seems you’re not the only one who’s easily turned on, huh?

You break away from the kiss, trying to hide the fact that it feels like Satoru has sucked the breath from your lungs. You glare down at him, his lips already pink and puffy, his blue eyes low and dazed.

“You done yet?” he questions, entangling his fists in your socks. You respond by bucking against him, feeling his hard cock poking you the minute you do so.

“Done what?” you grit, sliding your hands down his torso, finding the hem of his holiday sweater.

“Securing your spot on the naughty list,” he smirks.

“For what?”

“Lying.”

“Lying about what?”

You stare at each other for several moments. Then, a clatter of clothes more grand than hooves on the roof and several eye blinks later – you sit bare chest to chest, save for your white cotton bra.

“About how badly you wanted me to drag you up here all evening,” Gojo breathes, his fingers on your body mimicking the flow of his words; slow and syrupy. “About what really had you upset downstairs.”

“I told you,” you huff for the last time, nails burrowing into the skin of his shoulder blades as threateningly as possible. “I was jealous. Everyone was drinking up my husband–”

Your back hits the floor in a smooth transition.

“And you wanted them to know you drink me up in ways their pathetic brains could never comprehend.”

His voice travels along the pulse in your neck. It’s almost painful how sultry and warm it is. The tips of his hair tickle your cheek as he cocks his head to dip his mouth perfectly against your collarbone.

“No,” you say again, still fighting him.

His palms ride up the goosebumps on your ribcage, finding the stretchy band of your bra, threatening to pop it. You don’t care. You know for sure he doesn’t.

“Should I put coal in your stockings?” he whispers. “Or something else just as rock solid?”

You push at his chest, but he barely falters. He’s propped himself up with his free arm, his hand still expertly working that bra off of you. The hooks disconnect, the straps sliding down your shoulders.

His antlers jingle again as he tilts his head to the side, innocently awaiting your argument. But you don’t have one, and he knows it.

“Guess I have been pretty bad this year,” you hum, back threatening to arch from the mat.

You wrap your arms around his neck, and nothing else has to be said before he’s pulling you back into a sitting position.

“Well?” Gojo watches as your bra falls in your lap, and you take it and throw it to the side - nearly right into the fire. “What should be done about that?”

“Maybe we should talk about you first,” you argue, wasting no time crawling back on top of him, watching as he cranes his neck to look up at you with a wishful glint in his eye. “What kind of reindeer abandons his duties in the month of December?”

This earns you a chuckle, just before his face drops and his palm comes into contact with the base of your throat. A final gasp erupts from you before he presses his fingers into the skin, cutting off your breath.

“I’m serving punishment to girls on the naughty list, aren’t I?” Gojo murmurs. “Surely, Santa will understand.”

“Not when the punishment is being served by someone else on the naughty list,” you purr. “I mean, is it really a punishment if we both feel so good doing it?”

“Hm,” Gojo shrugs one shoulder lazily, “let’s see how good your punishment feels first.”

One, two, three cracks and the last things separating your skin are gone. You sit, bare cunt dripping onto his length, stockings nearly ripped from the tugging and twisting they’ve endured so far. Gojo opts to keep his antlers on, and you can’t help but find that it makes the situation that much more exhilarating.

You dip your head, and he parts his lips in expectancy, but at the last minute you connect your mouth to his jaw. You hear it snap shut as he closes his mouth, but not before letting out a slutty sigh. Your hands are everywhere: his shoulders, his chest, his neck, the back of his head. Everywhere but where he wants them to be.

He’s letting you take your time, grinding his hips up into yours, releasing your throat and leaning back on his palms, chest heaving as you drag your wet lips along his jaw, ear, and neck.

He’s so silent, you have to glance up at him to make sure he’s alright. His eyelids are low, but he seems to be enjoying himself. His cock jerks against your clit and makes you spasm. He won’t warn you again.

You breathe out against his neck and then your hand slithers between your thighs. It grabs ahold of his needy cock, but before you can keep going, he cuts you off.

“Still worried about what our guests think?” he questions, hand sliding up to cup your face, watching your expression as you sit up on your knees.

“No,” you answer, sitting up straight and finally bringing the tip of him in alignment with your ready, needy hole.

“Good,” he coos, “giddy up, then.”

You nearly cackle, but there’s no time. His cockhead is pushing through your wet ring, filling you immediately with the girth of it alone. His eyebrows momentarily furrow, but you can tell he’s trying to maintain his poker face.

After you’re sure he’s in, snug as a bug, your hands come back up to his shoulders, and you lean into his face – desperate to get some kind of noise, praise out of him.

“A-Am I redeeming myself yet?” you stutter, rotating your hips as you glide all the way down on his cock, bottoming him out.

This gets some kind of reaction out of him. He jerks a bit, his stomach rising and falling as he pants from being so deep inside of you.

“Think I need a bit more convincing,” he purrs, and his hand finds itself creeping back up your thigh, tucking his thumb right in the crease.

The rest of his fingers work on holding onto your hip like it’s a reign.

You begin to feel a sweat forming on the small of your back, but you suspect it’s partially from the heat of the fireplace. You lean your chest intentionally against Gojo’s and feel that he’s equally as warm. The action, albeit small, drawls a reaction from him – his spine arching, his lips quavering.

You use your hands on his shoulders and the flex of your knees to push your cunt back up the length of his cock, just barely hitting the edge of his tip before you’re sliding back down again. Juicy squelches make an appearance in no time; your pussy managing to be embarrassingly wet for your husband as always.

“G-G…” Satoru begins, his eyes squeezing shut just moments after being unable to finish his thought.

“Hmm?” you question, finding your rhythm now, abusing your hips as you pound them down against his thighs.

“G-God,” Satoru says humorously, peeking open one eye just to see your reaction, which is nothing short of irritated.

“Hngh, stop playing, ‘Toru.”

You need to hear it – you’re working for it. Just two words.

“S-Stop riding me like that,” he groans, his grip growing tighter on your hip. His own hips would normally be drilling up into yours, but this time, he sits stationary – letting his torso do the moving.

He’s twitching, clearly trying his hardest not to crack, trying to act like he isn’t completely pussydrunk.

“Like huh?” you question innocently. “Am I not doing what you asked?”

“Mmh,” Gojo shuts his eye again, lips parting as he slowly begins to give up. He grunts before muttering out, “Your punishment feels r-really damn good.”

“Doesn’t it?” you reply. “Don’t you think I’m being good?”

“So good, little Vixen,” he grunts, guttural and raw. “My good girl.”

You nearly giggle, but you’re too caught up in how deep and harsh you’re letting his cockhead dip into your cervix. How your cunt is sucking him up, drenching his groin in your juices.

Plap, plap, plap. Each time you slam your ass onto him, you nearly stick. Everything is wet and nasty and warm. Satoru’s given up entirely, and he begins to crumble beneath you.

He adjusts himself from putting his weight into his wrists, and now, he’s got his arms wrapped securely around your body. His face rests perfectly between your breasts, which he’s licking and kissing each time you slam down again.

The room, loud with moans and the crackle of fire, is thick with lust and a bubble of tension. His antler bells ring like a soft afterthought, perfectly in tune with the thump, thump, thump of your hips.

It’s not going to be much longer before you undo him or come undone yourself.

“Such a good… fucking… girl.”

The words barely make it out of Satoru’s raspy throat. His nails are breaking open your skin. Your hands can barely hold on to his sweaty shoulders.

The stockings have rolled down to your ankles. You don’t want to think about the state of your hair or your holiday makeup.

“Please, ‘Toru,” you beg, “one more time.”

He knows why you’re asking. It’s all you need, to hear it one more time, to cum all over him. To nearly suck his cock right up into your stomach with the clenching of your walls. And he knows he wants it just as bad as you do.

“You got me,” he grunts. “Ngh– riding me like this. Like a good girl.” He lets out a deep groan. “Show me how bad you want off the naughty list, Vixen.”

“‘M sorry ‘Toru,” you cry, “just wanted you to fuck my jealousy out.”

“I know,” he grins, “just cum for me and it’ll all be better, yeah?”

“Ngh, all better,” you sigh, feeling the high creep up on the tip of your toes and travelling through your nerves before it bursts from your clit.

You hold onto Satoru’s arms, and he holds onto you tighter as if you’d fall into pieces if he let go. You shake in the cradle of his grip, letting your orgasm take over, your head lolling and eyes rolling.

Gojo’s not far behind you, his spurts of cum as hot as the fire next to you filling you up. You recall how you’d let him fill you up from the first time you’d had sex and every time since, never quite getting enough of it.

He’s panting against your chest, which feels like it’s about to crack open from the pounding of your heart.

You’re catching your breath as you feel him softening inside of you, slowly beginning to slip out. He pulls his face away from your chest and his white hair is stuck to his forehead boyishly, his eyelids fluttering as he comes down from his high.

“Feel s’much better,” he says, “m-maybe I can work something out with Santa, y’know, about getting you off that list.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you grit, rolling your eyes as you slide off of him, leaning back against the mat again, his cum dripping out of your hole as he watches, pupils blown.

“Again? Think we’ll have time?” he glances up at the clock. “I mean, surely, the guests notice we are missing.”

“Hm,” you tap your chin, “I’ll just tell them I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof, and that I had to go investigate.”

“Only to discover your husband, cumming down the chimney,” Satoru snickers, making his way onto his knees and crawling over you – slick as a panther.

“Making me scream, for everyone to hear,” you gasp, feeling the heat of his chest radiate against yours.

“Merry Christmas to all,” Satoru murmurs against you, his cock jerking up again at the sight. “And to all a good night.”

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

BOOM SHAKALAKAAAAAAA

this is kinda, dare i say, short n’ sweet…

but i hope you all enjoyed <333 i liked connecting it back to my cowboy gojo fic from halloween.

anyway, i hope december is treating you all better than it’s treating me.. what with $1000 car repairs and all <3 i love it hereeee

i hope yall enjoyed my ‘twas the night before christmas’ references too i think i cooked a bit idk tho what yall think…

until next time!

~ pennjammin xx

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devildomwriter · 4 days ago

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Jolly Old St Nick | Solomon x Reader

1.2K Word Count | GN! Reader | Fluff, Humor | CW: none? Magic shenanigans

You’d never been so relaxed while in such a crowded place. You held Solomon’s hand tightly as he slowly walked from booth to booth at the Christmas market.

When Solomon called you away on business, he’d done so specifically to stop the brothers from following you on what was actually a surprise date.

You like Solomon so you didn’t mind the surprise date but you were shocked at how good of a job he’d done choosing locations.

A world-famous Christmas market hadn’t been your first idea for a holiday-timed date but he was fully prepared to buy you anything that caught your attention so you weren’t complaining about the crowds.

“Look, ___, they’re making candy canes,” he pointed out the booth next to you and you stood on your tip-toes to sneak a look as the sugar was poured into the molds.

“Are they all made like that?” You asked aloud and he proceeded to give you a more in-depth explanation than you were expecting. Even the booth owner looked shocked by his expertise and appeared to quickly be taking notes on his phone.

You pulled Solomon away from the candy canes after he bought a few to a booth with glass blowers who were making custom Christmas ornaments.

“Blowing glass art, it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen anyone do it. It’s still as incredible as it was thousands of years ago,” he sighed nostalgically and got a few curious looks.

You gave him a cautious look and he laughed and patted your back. “Ah, there’s no need to worry now. No one would believe me anyway.” He made a valid point so you decided to have fun with it instead.

“Did you ever meet Saint Nick?” You asked him as you clutched the paper bag with your glass ornaments.

Solomon laughed and stopped walking, “would you believe me if I told you I am him.”

You ran into somebody in Sienese and dropped your delicate bag. “Oh!”

Solomon quickly caught it before it hit the icy stone path. You breathed a sigh of relief and he chose to hold onto it instead. A wise decision from the wise king himself.

“There’s no way. You just snuck into people’s houses and gave them stuff?”

“Well, sort of. I’m certainly not the only one who did something like that but when I came into my power more I experimented with it a little and tried teleporting small things. Every so often if I overheard a family wasn’t doing well, their child especially, I’d place something small and fun in their drying clothes.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “So…you’re a king of ancient times, a sorcerer, and Santa Clause? All in one, huh?”

Solomon laughed it off and shrugged. “I wouldn’t say ancient…”

“That’s the part you disagree with?”

You laughed at Solomon and you both continued through the Christmas market. You found a few cute items for everyone. A hand-stitched angel ornament that reminded you of Luke, a hand-carved wooden cow from a nativity scene (Belphegor didn’t need to know that part), an antique metallic Christmas tree from a fad decades past, and a fancy leather belt you thought would be perfect for Thirteen.

Solomon found a booth with kettle corn and immediately purchased some while you found a free bench. As soon as you sat down a distraught woman sat next to you on the phone while the kid held onto her leg looking like they’d cried for a long time.

You knew it wasn’t your business but as soon as she hung up the phone you had to pry. Just to see if you could help them.

“I’m sorry for intruding but…is something wrong?” You asked.

The mom looked slightly annoyed to be asked as she’d been through enough but the child quickly fessed up. “My doggy,” he trembled and his mother quickly picked him up and sat him in her lap to coddle him.

“Did your doggy go missing?” You asked as Solomon approached you from behind.

“Oh dear, did he?” Solomon asked with a frown.

The mother shook her head. “It’s his stuffed animal. I told him not to bring it,” she began but the indication it was his fault brought a wave of tears from the young child so she stopped herself.

You thought about it for a moment and looked at Solomon who nodded with a similar idea. “Do you have a picture?”

The mother shook her head, “It’s okay. Really,” she dismissed but you shook your head.

“I happen to be a private investigator, mam. I’m pretty good at finding things. If you hand a picture, I promise you’ll have that dog back in the hour.”

She looked horrified you’d made such a promise with her son in earshot but Solomon nodded confirming the same thing.

Reluctantly she took out her phone and found a picture. The dog appeared to be handmade and well-loved.

You nodded and took off into the crowd with Solomon to keep an eye on the woman.

After searching for a while using a tracking spell you had no luck so you texted Solomon for help. He sent you a laughing emoji which frustrated you and then sent you a spell you hadn’t tried before and asked you to recite it out of sight.

You slipped away into a dark alley behind some booths and recited the spell with the stuffed animal in mind and it materialized in front of you. You gasped and caught it before it hit the ground.

It was identical to the photo. You weren’t sure if you summoned it or made it but either way, you knew a little boy was about to be very happy.

You quickly rushed back to the bench and the mother’s eyes widened when she saw you.

The little boy sprang free from her arms and ran to you to quickly hug his beloved stuffed dog.

“You actually found it!” The mother gasped and looked teary-eyed. “I can’t thank you enough. What do I owe you?”

You shook your head, “I’m Santa’s helper, Mam, I find kids their toys for free, it’s part of my job.”

Suddenly you heard a laugh from Solomon and gave him a puzzled look.

“Time to go,” he said quickly and you walked his way as a man called out to the mother and son.

“Honey I found the dog, it was by the vending machine still—huh?”

The family looked at the dog in the dad’s hands to the one in the boys and to you and Solomon smiling like nothing weird just happened.

“How did you…this dog was hand-made by my mother…she died last year…” The woman was too shocked to say more and her husband stood there silently bewildered.

“Umm…merry Christmas from Saint Nick!” you said and grabbed Solomon’s hand running away as quickly as you could as he laughed loudly.

“Shut up Solomon! Didn’t that break some kind of rule!?” You exclaimed and he shook his head.

“Who cares? You magically created the exact toy a child wanted. I think that makes you a st nick just like me,” he chucked and you rolled your eyes.

“Give me the scarf. I want to look around more but now I need to hide my face.”

Solomon continued to laugh at you the rest of your date at the Christmas market.

Sure enough, the story of the two stuffed dogs made it to the local news as a Christmas miracle from one of Santa’s mysterious helpers.

#obey me shall we date #25 days of obey me christmas #obey me 25 days of christmas #obey me solomon #obey me fluff #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date x reader #obey me x gn!reader #obey me solomon x reader #omswd solomon #omswd solomon x reader #obey me shall we date solomon x reader #obey me shall we date solomon #obey me Drabble #obey my fanfic #obey me shorts #obey me story #funny obey me

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rocknrollsalad · 12 days ago

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rating: G cw: creepy christmas ornaments, pranking each other tags: steddie, platonic stobin, Buckingham, everyone lives together in this apartment, sometime in the future, a cursed version of elf on the shelf word count: 999

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt "ornament"

ornament inspiration here

“What the hell is that!?!”

“Santa,” Eddie responded, annoyed Steve would dare to ask.

“No, Santa is a jolly, fat man. That is…I don’t know, stuff of nightmares.”

Eddie turned the face of his pipe cleaner St. Nick to face him as he reassured the ornament it wasn’t a nightmare. The painted-on face and sad eyes made it look like the ornament disagreed.

“Do you often dream about old men?” Eddie asked and shared a silent laugh with the ornament.

The thing looked terrifying enough but Eddie interacting with it like it was real made it worse. Steve would take a demogorgon over this thing any day. At least he knew how to get rid of a demogorgon.

Ignoring the question meant to bait him, Steve addressed the real problem. “That’s not going there. Not in our tree.”

“He’s the centerpiece, Steven. This is his holiday,” Eddie scoffed.

“Fine,” he said, stomping off to take a shower. Eddie could enjoy the few hours he had with it because the instant his back was turned, Steve was going to bury that thing in the woods. Perhaps learn a few things about vampires or demons to prevent it from coming back to life.

No one talks about this when they make a big fuss over moving in together. It’s always “get used to snoring” or “you’ll never have any private time” like they weren’t piling four people into this cramped apartment. No person, magazine, or advice column said anything about dealing with someone’s terrifying holiday decor.

They also don’t talk about what to do when that same bit of decor is on your pillow, tucked in and cozy.

“Eddie!” Steve bellowed.

Robin popped into the doorway, “He went out to get some candy canes to hang on the tree, said it was real important to the holiday look. Chris went with him.”

“Great. You up for planning a murder,” Steve motioned to the creepy Santa “sleeping” on his pillow.

“Murder wouldn’t be enough, we need to burn the bed,” Robin shuddered and walked back out of the room.

Steve followed, thankful someone was on his side here. “Wanna go to the library and look up what to do with it?”

“Please. Chrissy wants to make him reindeer friends and a wife.”

“Oh god, not her too.”

“If anyone was on Eddie's side here, it’d be her.”

It didn’t take them long to hatch the groundbreaking plan of hiding the Santa. They’d lie and say they put it back. Steve would make vague threats about it going in the garbage disposal if it was in his bed again and everyone would move on. Eddie didn’t believe the lie and dismantled the whole tree.

When Steve went to bed that night he felt a bit guilty but if Eddie wouldn’t listen to reason, this was the only course of action. Steve could not have that thing haunting him from the Christmas tree for a whole month. This was what had to be done.

The next morning, feeling a bit too safe, Steve trudged to the bathroom to get ready for work. Going through the motions, he opened the cabinet to get his toothbrush only to find it in the arms of the stupid, awful Santa. Forcing Steve to touch it and the decades of dust caked into it's bristles. He hated every part of it. Time to do something bigger.

So Steve took it to work with him, left it there on purpose, and refused to answer questions about it. The next day it was buckled into the driver’s seat of his car with broken candy cane bits all around. The hook of a candy cane had been sucked into a point and left in Santa’s hand. Steve wasn't the only one raising the bar.

For their next move, Robin went to three different stores to find red pipe cleaners. They chopped them to bits and left them on the dinner table. A few cotton balls were also sacrificed for Santa's beard and it looked like they'd ended things once and for all. Something Steve wished he could have done for real but Eddie came with so few things. Ruining one, regardless of how terrifying it was, seemed like a step too far. Just hide it until Eddie forgot it existed, that was better, right?

Two nights later dinner was the little bits Robin had staged and the actual Santa. Steve was sure the delay in reveal was so Eddie could try and find one of those silver domes to put over this “meal”.

Steve walked the plate into the “office” they’d created in the dining room to give nerds space for their hobbies. Eddie sat smug at the head of the table, the “I’ve been expecting you” was loud but not spoken.

“I’ve come to call a truce,” Steve said, putting the plate down on the table, suddenly wishing Eddie had found the dome so he could hide the awful face.

“You forgot the white flag,” he said with an arched eyebrow.

“Don’t push it.”

“What’s the deal, then? Santa gets prime spot in the tree? Right at eye level? Oh! No, he's the star on top!”

“Counter offer; I let Robin chop the real thing up.”

“Okay. What if, like the real Santa, we put him up Christmas Eve before bed and he stays until the new year?”

Steve thought the offer over, he didn’t like it but if they were coming to a mutually beneficial agreement then he’d have to give a little. For all his people-pleasing ways, Steve was in a safe space so he dragged out the internal debate.

“Fine but he has to go on the side, I don’t want that to be the first thing I see when I come home.”

Eddie didn’t debate, he showed his cards immediately and lit up like the very tree they were talking about. He jumped out of this chair and grabbed Santa, cradling it like a precious animal. “Deal!”

#steddie #written for: steddie holiday drabbles 2024 #divider thanks to strangergraphics

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bcacstuff · 5 days ago

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The History of Santa Claus

Santa Claus—otherwise known as Saint Nicholas or Kris Kringle—has a long history steeped in Christmas traditions. Today, he is thought of mainly as the jolly man in red who brings toys to good girls and boys on Christmas Eve, but his story stretches all the way back to the 3rd century, when Saint Nicholas walked the earth and became the patron saint of children.

Santa Claus wasn't always "chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf." PHOTOGRAPH BY CLASSICSTOCK/CORBIS

The Legend of Saint Nicholas

The legend of Santa Claus can be traced back hundreds of years to a monk named St. Nicholas. It is believed that Nicholas was born sometime around A.D. 280 in Patara, near Myra in modern-day Turkey. Much admired for his piety and kindness, St. Nicholas became the subject of many legends.

One of the best-known St. Nicholas stories is the time three young girls are saved from a life of prostitution when young Bishop Nicholas secretly delivers three bags of gold to their indebted father, which can be used for their dowries. He was very religious from an early age and devoted his life entirely to Christianity. The strict saint took on some aspects of earlier European deities, like the Roman Saturn or the Norse Odin, who appeared as white-bearded men and had magical powers like flight. He also ensured that kids toed the line by saying their prayers and practicing good behavior. In continental Europe (more precisely the Netherlands, Belgium, Austria, the Czech Republic and Germany), he is usually portrayed as a bearded bishop in canonical robes.

During the Middle Ages, often on the evening before the anniversary of his death, December 6, children were bestowed gifts in his honour. By the Renaissance, St. Nicholas was the most popular saint in Europe. Even after the Protestant Reformation, when the veneration of saints began to be discouraged, St. Nicholas maintained a positive reputation, especially in the Netherlands.

Coming to America

In the Netherlands, kids and families simply refused to give up St. Nicholas, or Sinterklaas as the saint is called in Dutch, as a gift bringer. They brought Sinterklaas with them to New World colonies. St. Nicholas made his first inroads into American popular culture towards the end of the 18th century. In December 1773, and again in 1774, a New York newspaper reported that groups of Dutch families had gathered to honor the anniversary of his death.

The name Santa Claus evolved from Nick’s Dutch nickname, Sinter Klaas, a shortened form of Sint Nikolaas (Dutch for Saint Nicholas). In 1809, Washington Irving helped to popularize the Sinter Klaas stories when he referred to St. Nicholas as the patron saint of New York in his book, The History of New York. As his prominence grew, Sinter Klaas was described as everything from a “rascal” with a blue three-cornered hat, red waistcoat, and yellow stockings to a man wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a “huge pair of Flemish trunk hose.” An appearance that was more derived from the English 'Father Christmas' and was quite different from the Dutch Sinterklaas.

Santa Equivalents Around The World

Eighteenth-century America’s Santa Claus was not the only St. Nicholas-inspired gift-giver to make an appearance at Christmastime. There are similar figures and Christmas traditions around the world.

The English legend explains that Father Christmas visits each home on Christmas Eve to fill children’s stockings with holiday treats. Father Christmas dates back as far as 16th century in England during the reign of Henry VIII, when he was pictured as a large man in green or scarlet robes lined with fur. He typified the spirit of good cheer at Christmas, bringing peace, joy, good food and wine and revelry. As England no longer kept the feast day of Saint Nicholas on 6 December, the Father Christmas celebration was moved to 25 December to coincide with Christmas Day.

In the Netherlands and Belgium, the character of Santa Claus competes with that of Sinterklaas, based on Saint Nicholas. Santa Claus is known as de Kerstman in Dutch ("the Christmas man") and Père Noël ("Father Christmas") in French. For children in the Netherlands, Sinterklaas still remains the predominant gift-giver in December mostly celebrated on Sinterklaas evening the day before 6 December.

In Germany, the Christmas season is marked by the presence of two significant figures: Weihnachtsmann and Das Christkind or Christkind'l. Weihnachtsmann, a term that literally translates to "Christmas Man," is the German counterpart to Santa Claus. In contrast, Das Christkind, meaning "The Christ Child," represents a more traditional and religious aspect of German Christmas celebrations. Christkind was believed to deliver presents to well-behaved Swiss and German children on Christmas Eve. The name "Kris Kringle", a common variant of Santa in parts of the United States is derived from Christkind.

In Nordic folklore, the figure known as Tomte or Jultomten holds a special place in Christmas traditions. Originating from Swedish and Scandinavian mythology, Tomte is a small, mythical creature often depicted as a friendly, bearded being resembling a garden gnome and wearing a red cap. During the Christmas season, Tomte takes on a role similar to that of Santa Claus, delivering presents to children in a sleigh drawn by goats on the night of December 24th.

In Icelandic folklore, the Yule Lads, or "Jólasveinar," are mischievous characters associated with the Christmas season. These thirteen brothers, sons of the mountain-dwelling trolls Grýla and Leppalúði, are known for their playful antics and sometimes slightly sinister behavior. Traditionally, the Yule Lads would visit homes in the thirteen nights leading up to Christmas, each leaving small gifts or playing pranks depending on the behavior of the children.

In Italy, the Christmas season is marked by the presence of two iconic figures: Babbo Natale and La Befana. Babbo Natale, the Italian counterpart to Santa Claus, shares many similarities with the global image of the jolly gift-bringer. The other Italian icon, La Befana, is a unique and beloved figure in Italian folklore. Unlike the festive and plump Babbo Natale, La Befana is portrayed as an old woman, often depicted as a haggard but kind witch. According to tradition, La Befana visits homes on the night of January 5th, leaving small gifts and sweets for children who have been good and a lump of coal for those who have been naughty.

In French-speaking regions, the iconic figure associated with Christmas gift-giving is Père Noël, also known as Papa Noël. Père Noël is akin to the global representation of Santa Claus, often depicted as a jolly and benevolent character who travels in a sleigh pulled by reindeer, embodying the spirit of generosity and joy during the festive season.

In Spain and many Spanish-speaking cultures, the Christmas season unfolds with the anticipation of visits from both Papa Noel and Los Reyes Magos, offering children a delightful blend of traditions. Papa Noel, the Spanish equivalent of Santa Claus, is eagerly awaited on the night of December 24th. Following this, the celebration continues with the arrival of three kings known as “Los Reyes Magos” on January 6th. This holiday is known as Three Kings' Day or Día de Reyes. On the night before Día de Reyes, children place their shoes or small containers filled with hay under their beds for the Kings' camels. In return, Los Reyes Magos leave gifts, sweets, and small toys, creating a magical and cherished experience for children who wake up to the joyous surprises.

In Russia, instead of Santa, there is Ded Moroz and his granddaughter Snegurochka, who deliver gifts to children on New Year’s Eve. Children would sing Russian songs around the yolka.” A yolka is a coniferous tree similar to a Christmas tree. Ded Moroz is described as a grandfather with a long white beard.

Mikuláš (also known as Saint Nicholas) is the father of Christmas in the Czech Republic, as well as in Hungary. Mikuláš looks like the Pope and Santa combined. However Mikuláš is not always the person delivering presents on Saint Nicholas Day, it is typically believed to be Jesus. Saint Nicholas Day in the Czech Republic is predominantly celebrated on Dec. 5-6, although depending on the region, it is also celebrated on Dec. 25. Children put a boot out on the eve of Saint Nicholas Day and hope to find it full of candy and toys from Jesus in the morning. Bad kids can expect only a wooden spoon in their shoe.

In Japan Hoteiosho, or Hotei, is the equivalent of Santa pictured as a fat man with eyes in the back of his head who can tell if kids are naughty or nice. He is also known as the “Laughing Buddha,” because he is often depicted with a jovial face and surrounded by grinning children. Hotei is one of the Seven Lucky Gods, stemming from ancient Chinese and Indian religion. Hotei may have been based on a real person, named Budai, a man who died in 916 A.D. and was later worshipped in Buddhist practice.

So far a selection of customs and traditions similar to Santa Claus. Of course there are more, and in many traditions parallels to other cultures can be found.

sources; history.com, nationalgeographic.com, wikipedia

#santa claus #saint nicholas #kris kringle #sinterklaas #father christmas #pere noel #papa noel #history #jultomten #christmas eve #december 6 #december 24 #yule lads #weihnachtsmann #christkindl

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lovinglonerhybrid · 4 days ago

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I hope y’all are having a happy holidays! Have a little Christmas fic I wrote at work!

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ship

Not a creature was stirring, not even ratchet;

The stockings were hung up in quarters with glee,

In hopes that St. Nicholas would leave us something;

The crew were nestled all snug in their beds;

While visions of energon danced in their heads;

And mags on the bridge, and I on my berth,

Had just finished a shift and was all out of sorts,

When out in the hall there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my berth to see what was the matter.

Away to the doorway I flew like a flash,

Tore open the door and gave a small gasp.

The lights in the hallway were all turned down low,

And the decor was starting to look just like snow,

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a human sized sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,

With a little old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in that moment he must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the end of the hallway! look out for that wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So down to the bar the coursers they flew

With the sleigh full of goodies, and St. Nicholas too—

And then, in a twinkling, I heard echo down

The prancing pawing and a jingling sound.

As I slipped through the hallway and looked in the door

Out jumped St.Nick with a bag full of ore.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of goodies he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.

His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I gasped when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And placing the goodies he pulled from his sack, he magiced them down without hardly a tap;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight—

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

Rodimus onlined slowly he powered on his optics and pushed himself off of his berth. The speedster stretched and flared his plating. Rising from his berth he walked to his washrack and turned the solvent on to warm up. The captain stepped back through to his room and paused. The night before Rodimus had all the crew members hang stockings somewhere in their quarters to celebrate the human holiday of Christmas. But there in the stocking the speedster had hung the night before sat what looked like little gifts. Rodimus walked over to the stocking and gently pulled it off his wall. He placed it on his berth and pulled out a package of energon sweets. Some data slugs labeled with human films and a couple new video games. The captain was stunned that someone would give him some gifts especially after how the quest has been going so far. The red speedster repacked his stocking and placed it on his desk to grab later. The mech then walked back to his washrack and took a quick shower. As he left his quarters the mech grabbed the stocking full of little gifts and made his way to swerves for a treat. When he entered the bar the captain was bombarded with laughter and EM fields full of joy. The speedster waded his way to the bar and claimed an empty stool.

“Looks real busy in here this morning swerve what’s the occasion?”

The minibot bartender gave Rodimus a grin and placed a cube full of warmed energon on the bar. “Yeah it’s been hopping since First shift! Everyone woke up with gifts in their stockings and no one’s fessed up yet!”

Rodimus paused and pulled out his stocking “yeah I came down to see if it was just me”

Swerve pulled out his stocking and laughed “nope I heard even old bucket head got something”

Rodimus grabbed the hot energon cube and lifted it to his intake. He watched as swerve was pulled away to serve more customers. The speedster turned and looked out over the bar he saw tailgate and Cyclonus sharing some oil cakes. In a booth Magnus and Megatron looked to be debating something on a shiny new data pad. At a table drift and ratchet sat talking to Rung who was working on a new model. The medic had some new polish on and Rodimus spied some cristal ornaments on drift’s plating. Whirl was bouncing between tables showing off the new decals he got and chromedome and rewind where fiddling with some new camera equipment. As the captain took stock of his crew the bar suddenly fell silent at the sound of the doors slamming open. Brainstorm stood in the entryway, his eyes full of manic glee.

Everybot to the observation deck ASAP!” The jet shouted. Rodimus stood from his seat and watched as the scientist stepped back from the doors and transformed jetting towards the aforementioned deck.

The bar was soon filled with the sounds of scraping chairs and questioning voices. Rodimus clambered his way to the front of the group. The speedster paused at the entrance to the observation deck. In the middle of the room stood a ginormous Christmas tree. Decorated with fancy glass and fuzzy earth animals the tree was lit with strings of multicolored lights that reflected off the glass ornaments giving the whole deck a warm glow. At the back of the tree stood percepter and brainstorm their optics wide. Rodimus slowly approached the tree as he grew closer to the base he saw stacks of gifts nestled under the branches. The room quickly filled up as mechs all quietly filled the room gazing upon the tree with wonder. Rodimus thought back to what he thought was only a dream that night but the tree confirmed the truth. As bots got over their awe and began passing out presents the captain settled in next to drift and gladly accepted his gifts. Out of the corner of his optic Rodimus caught sight of something moving outside of the window. He executed himself and walked over to the viewing area. Flying alongside the ship was a tiny little sleigh and eight reindeer. Sitting in the sleigh sat a human wearing a furry red coat with a large sack in the back area. Rodimus pressed his faceplate to the glass as the sleigh took off into space. Rodimus straightened and looked behind him at all the bots laughing and opening gifts. The speedster smiled casting one last look out the window the captain smiled and rejoined his crew well at this point they were really a big family.

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ghostofnuggetspast · 1 day ago

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Red Hat Man

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I will eventually post a recording, but for now, here are the lyrics to "Red Hat Man", a St. Stephen's Day parody of "Red Right Hand" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. In this story, our St Nick was traumatized by the death of his best friend Stephen. A wren is the yearly target of his rage, representing the wren who sang to wake the guards when Stephen tried to escape. Sherlock and John are intrigued by the mystery of this serial killer and have been set on the case by the Irregulars.

Originally inspired by @totallysilvergirl 's The Holly and the Ivy: December Drabbles Chapter - 26: Boxing Day. I'd link it, but A03 is down. :(

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*Begin urban jungle groove of a beat walker* *Goth Matchgirl match flicks alight*

*smokey voice begins*

Take a little walk in London Town and go across the Thames. Where the viaduct looms where a bird met doom The water shifts and bends. No secrets hide from his scraping eyes. Our Sherlock hunts his prize, But Nick, he knows he’s gonna get away, Past the roofs, past the wharf, past the banks, past the rats. On a stretcher white lies the Bloody Wren! Watching from afar is the Red Hat Man.

*Jingle bells of quiet horror*

He does his job, checks his list, tells you if you’ve been a Good boy. He’ll hide his vengeful dreams, rekindled rancor from a lifetime Or ten before. His Stephen’s brutal faint, face dripping like red paint! He became a saint, But that won’t ever kill Nick’s memory. He’s an elf, he’s a ghost, he’s the Judge, he’s a huntsman. Sherlock’s on his trail through this godforsaken land! John writes whispers up of the Red Hat Man.

*Jingle bells of quiet horror* *Oscillator of spookification*

You don’t have no clothes? He’ll drop you some. You don’t have respect? He’ll get you a gun. You need a way to get your little girl a pink tea set, Well, don’t you worry buddy, 'cause here he comes. Through the homes and the flats and the corners and the slums. He gives what’s needed, and sometimes what’s needed can Bring the heat down upon the Red Hat Man.

*Jingle bells of quiet horror* *Gothic guitar of guilt* *Organ of avian anxiety*

You see him in your movies; you see him in your dreams. He always looks so jolly and fat, but he ain't what he seems. You'll see him in your tales on the TV screen, And hey buddy, you had better not tick him off! He’s an elf, he’s a ghost, he’s the Judge, he’s a huntsman. Strike out the possible to understand his plan, The impossible killer called the Red Hat Man.

*Outro of previous creepy Christmas cheer and distant Hunt hounds baying*

@friday411 @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @chriscalledmesweetie @naefelldaurk @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @iwantthatbelstaffanditsoccupant @eardefenders

#sherlock holmes #john watson #st nick #st stephen #red right hand #red hat man #song parody #ghostofnuggetspast

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raging-violets · 6 days ago

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Red One: Have Yourself a Merry Little Crisis | Chapter One

Also on AO3

Summary: Dolly, head of Santa’s PR team, navigates the chaos of keeping the North Pole’s magic alive while managing the world’s growing disbelief in Santa. As she clashes with Jack, a disillusioned human solely responsible for Santa’s abduction, sparks fly. Can they overcome their pasts and truly allow themselves to accept the Christmas Magic they’ve been keeping at arm’s length all this time? Authored By: Rhuben

Divider by @strangergraphics

And thanks to @ceruleanmusings for the term "frost my cookies." XD

Snow Thank You

Last Week of November

“We know that somewhere inside every lost grown up is the kid they once were.”

And that was exactly why Dolly Goodwish refused to accept the idea that she had to work with Jack O’Malley. Because deep down, Jack O’Malley, the child,was just as…uggghhh as an adult. And he was one of those kids (and man-child) that made her job harder. And all she had to do was promote the image of Jolly St. Nick™ for every girl and boy across the globe. It should be easy.

But, no.

Not when Jack O’Malley was involved.

Did everyone else forget how much of a headache he was last Christmas? Did no one understand how much harder it made her job to keep the image of Santa alive in the face of his abduction? In one stroke of his ENTER key, Jack O’Mally – and yes, the Naughty Lister did deserve to always be referred to in a first-name last-name capacity – almost caused their whole operation to go down the snow tubes.

And not the fun snow tubes, either.

A Christmas without Santa and presents? Without Christmas Magic?

It was unheard of.

And it was not going to happen on her watch. No matter what, kids were going to believe in his image and his message. She worked too hard and too long perfecting The Santa Claus™ image for something like this. Every single detail—down to the last white glove—had been crafted with the utmost care. All the photo shoots, and image deals, and live paintings, and personal appearances, and parades, and quotes to the media - in multiple languages to boot - that didn’t all just happen!

“It’s not our job to change people. People change themselves,” Nick reminded her, speaking in his low, soft tone in response to her blank expression. The kind of fatherly tone that made anyone and everyone listen to what he had to say.

Unfortunately, this was one topic she just didn’t want to listen to. Even more unfortunately, with the tingling she currently felt at the tips of her toes, the bottoms of her feet, she knew it wasn’t one she could just walk away from. Nick would make sure they were going to have this conversation, even if it meant using some of his Christmas Magic to keep her in his office.

“And Jack O’Malley has changed.” Dolly almost snorted out of her red tipped, upturned nose. Her respect for Mr. Claus – Nick to his closest confidants - stopped her in her tracks. Something must’ve shown in her face for his lips twitched upwards into a hint of a smile and he added, “He’s trying. That’s all anyone can ask for. That’s all I can ask for.”

Nick lifted a finger and gently tapped underneath her chin, forcing her to snap her jaws shut from the dropped position it had been in since he had told her about the employment news. His eyes twinkled in the way it always did, but even more so the closer it got to Christmas Day.

“I trust you’ll find a way to explain this at the all staff meeting at the end of the week?” he asked, his tone light with amusement.

Dolly pushed a close-lipped smile to her face. She pulled her clipboard tighter to her chest. Slowly, she sat down into the seat behind her. She was surprised it didn’t fall over with how quickly she popped out of it in outrage when Nick dropped the Hot Chocolate Bomb on her.

“Nick, with all due respect, I don’t think I know how to positively frame the image of a man who, literally, would steal candy from a baby,” she replied.

Nick’s eyebrows lifted as he silently settled back into his desk chair. One hand lay across his flat stomach, the other reaching up to start stroking his white (it was starting to look more on the gray-white side nowadays) beard. She made a mental note to take a picture of him before she left; Santa at his desk had always been a winning shot.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do this if you weren’t the perfect elf for the job,” he reminded her. “There’s no one else I trust for something like this.”

Dolly grit her teeth, parting her lips into the best smile she could muster. The tips of her ears started to prickle. “Yes, sir,” she said, stretching out her esses. She nodded. “I can start putting the presentation together as soon as I’m back in my office.”

“Great.” Nick silently gazed at her. “Was there anything else you wanted to say?”

“Nope!” Her smile frozen on her face, she said it in more of a high-pitched chirpy way than she intended.

Of course she had something else to say. But she had already told him her reservations. There was no point in continuing to air her negative feelings. It was a well-known dance between them at this point, anyway: the back-and-forth and side steps of her dutifully doing her job amongst her growing frustrations, and his collected and positive rebuttal to every concern. It was equally annoying as it was calming and reassuring.

“Are you sure?” he pressed. He tilted his head to the side, now clasping both hands over his stomach. “Your ears are starting to point.”

Dolly took in a deep breath through her nose. She reached a hand up to tuck her hair behind her ears, and did, in fact, feel the top of her ear wasn’t exactly as round as it had been a moment before. Nick merely watched her in silent curiosity. She cleared her throat and bowed her head, scanning over the list in front of her. She just needed to calm down. Lists calmed her down. There wasn’t time to think about anything but the tasks at hand.

“You know, Nick, we need to get you started on your December itinerary,” she said, changing the subject. She started dragging her finger down the lines of text. “Kittens and puppies have increased in popularity by 200%, so I think we can lean into reporting about our Reindeer-In-Training program. Dasher’s calves look promising, and Vixen’s calves are now weaned. We also need to set up an appointment for you and Mrs. Claus to update your annual photo. Of course, we’ve got you booked to go to Philly for one of the last mall appearances before the big day, but you’ll be pleased to know we’re fielding a lot more appearance requests compared to last year.”

“Dolly.”

“And of course we’ve got the M&Ms commercial set to start rotation, but there has been more chatter online of people missing Garcia’s Coca-Cola commercial, so we might want to bring it back next year, or film new ones. People really do miss those polar bears.” She touched an ear, finding the skin starting to round out again. “The Air B&B rhyming ad is good, and people seem to be enjoying the new Target ad with Santa that looks a bit more like you. Personally, I think it’s a little too close to home, but people like what they like.”

“Dolly.”

“And all your Santa Schools are in their final push for the holiday season. Everyone seems ready to go, and ready to report any oversights we didn’t foresee. This year they emphasized how to interact with children who don’t celebrate anything this time of year. It’s been a struggle with more #SantaIsFake and #SantaTrap videos popping up online, as you know, but—"

“Dolly!”

Dolly gave up all pretense, slapping her clipboard down in her lap. “He’s a Level Four Naughty Lister!” Disbelief, and admittedly, a little whining was now evident in her tone. The tips of her ears, her nose, burned. “You know what he’s done. You’ve seen his file.”

“Of course I have,” Nick agreed, speaking in an even tone. A contrast to the sudden jump in volume of hers. “But I know why he’s done everything he’s done and why he’s always been on The Naughty List; even if Jack hasn’t figured it out for himself yet. But I still see the little boy who once believed. I wouldn’t trust you with this if I didn’t think you could use his expertise to your advantage.”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” Dolly massaged her temples with her fingertips, “I just don’t understand how.”

Nick twiddled his thumbs for a moment before he said, “The world’s changing, Dolly. Kids stop believing in me earlier and earlier in their lives. They’re seeing the truth online or being told about it at school. They’re growing up faster, and in ways we, nor their parents, can control. But we still need to be there for everyone; for the ones who always believe, and the ones who need to learn to believe again. Maybe they only believe in the positive feeling of the holidays. It’s ok. What’s most important is that they believe in something.”

“And,” Nick chuckled, a deep laugh, “I seem to remember a time when you were on the Naughty List. And look at you now.”

Dolly pursed her lips. She blinked. She grasped for something to say. “For Frosty’s sake, that was a long time ago,” she replied. Nick tilted his chin downwards in look of knowing. “Ok, ok, ok. “ With a huff she tried to mask as a sigh, Dolly put her hands up in surrender. “I’ll do it. You can’t say I don’t do my job.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Can I at least get a picture of you before I start working on this presentation?” Dolly asked, getting to her feet.

“Of course.”

She set her clipboard down in front of Nick and reached into her bag by her feet. She dug around for a moment, pushing aside notepads, pens, peppermint and spearmint candy canes, some glitter she thought she cleaned out, and a couple different cameras. Selecting an old-fashioned instant camera, she lifted it to her eye and pointed it at Nick.

“Smile and say ‘Snowflakes’.”

Nick pulled her clipboard closer to him. Reaching across his desk he plucked a shooting star pen out of his cup holder and held the tip over the paper. He smiled at the camera and Dolly snapped the shutter, a flash of light briefly illuminating the space. With a whirr the picture printed out of the camera, and Dolly retrieved it.

“Ah, your best one yet,” she declared, turning the photo around to face him: Reflected in the printed photo was a jolly looking Santa Claus, white gloved hands clutching a quill poised over curled parchment. His white hair, covered by a red Santa hat, was long and curled at the ends, framing his jaw where his white beard was full and fluffed to perfection. Thin gold framed spectacles sat across his nose. “I’ll see about this being put up on your socials. We can use it as we remind kids to start sending in their letters. Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dolly gathered her belongings and left Nick’s office. Her smile dropped the moment the doors shut behind her. She allowed the rest of her body to sag only when she got into the elevators. The only sound in the elevator was the holiday muzak playing through the speakers. It covered the deep breaths she took in an attempt to calm herself down.

For the love of Reindeer, he’s got to be kidding, she thought. She buried her fingers into her hair, feeling the now sharp point of her ears brush against her palms as she did so. She had no idea how she was going to swing this. For if there was one thing that really frosted her cookies, it was people like Jack O’Malley.

“If you don’t take this job, I’ll never speak to you again.”

Normally, this would be the sort of teenage-speak Jack could brush off his shoulders. It was usually accompanied by a scoff or an eyeroll. Or, in Dylan’s case, a mumbling of how stupid the job was, anyway.

Crisis Management? If anything, Jack was the crisis: for those trying to outrun debts, for companies trying to brush internal scandals under the rug, and the targets of anyone with the right price tag.

Still, he didn’t remember any of those words from his son whenever he got offers to work with the FBI. And those were offers to work a steady job. Good pay. Great health insurance. An office bigger than a closet. Sure, his experience and talent was a big draw, but it wasn’t exactly a good look to have deep gambling debts and DUIs under his belt, either. Even if he hadn’t had an instance of the latter in over a year.

But a job with M.O.R.A at the North Pole Complex? Talk about a game changer.

“You’re laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?” Jack asked, stepping around the kitchen table, placing silverware out on the table. He craned his neck to peer around the dining room to check if Olivia and Craig were still preparing the last bits of dinner. “And could you lower your voice, please?”

“Sorry,” Dylan said. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I just think you should take the job.”

“If I take it, it means less time with you, pal.” Jack set down the last bit of cutlery and put his hands on his hips. “Especially around Christmas. Boxing Day, though, apparently, I get that day off.”

“Not even New Year’s?” Dylan asked, his nose wrinkling as confusion crossed his features.

“Nah, that was weird to me, too.”

“Maybe they know how to throw a huge party at the North Pole or something.” Dylan walked behind Jack, re-placing the silverware in the correct spots. “That’d be pretty cool, I guess.” Jack glanced at his son, Dylan’s dark tresses hung over his face (which was growing a bit too long, but Jack knew better than to comment on a teenager’s sense of style), shielding his eyes from his dad.

Jack sighed inwardly. He had done his best to keep his promise to his son over the past year. He showed up to his son’s events, took him out on one-on-one days, he started testing the waters to see how he and Craig being at events together went, (and Craig was nice, a good role model for Dylan, but Jack got lost in the shuffle at times within their lives so he decided it was easier, at times, not to be around), and he even surprised Dylan with days he’d pull him out of school. Olivia wasn’t exactly happy with it, but the smile on Dylan’s face was always worth it.

He even bought a newer, safer, car and moved to a new apartment. And that went against his usual thought process. People didn’t look twice at you, didn’t wonder what you did for a living if you blended in with everyone else. Not like he had much of a choice; he was lucky his landlord didn’t immediately evict him after the smashed door, broken furniture, and holes punched in the walls…of multiple apartments. If it meant Dylan was more comfortable around him, then it was all worth it. Even if it did sort of go against his personal rules: no one looked twice at you when you could blend in.

Still, it was hard to hear the disappointment underlying his son's words: was this the time Jack would go back to how things were before?

He knew his son would never ask the question out loud, but he was getting pretty good at communicating through his face, short answers, and the silent treatment. Then again, what teenager didn’t have the grouchy attitude mastered by 14? Hell, Jack had surliness down pat for as long as he could remember. Game recognizes game and all that.

So why did it take a comment from Callum Drift for him to realize just how much his inaction was actively hurting his son? No, he always realized it, it took Callum questioning him to accept it. It was those same words that made him question whether taking the job was worth it.

It was only for a month, and it would take him further off the radar then he could manage himself. Even with all the encryptions and safeguards in his operation, having the extra protective layer of the North Pole would be pretty nice. It wasn’t like he had been away from his son for a month before. Now? It sounded like an eternity.

Was this really the type of job he deserved to even have offered to him? It sounded made for someone else. Someone better.

“I don’t have to take it,” Jack said, “it’s just an offer. An offer isn’t binding.” Dylan lifted his head, his eyebrows coming together. “It’s the verbal contracts that are. But it doesn’t hurt to get anything in writing. Or cash up front. Either or.” Now Dylan lifted an eyebrow, twisting his mouth to the side. “And, yes, I have told you to not get anything incriminating in writing. It’s all important. Right up there with ‘don’t get caught’.”

Dylan crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “How’d that work out for you last year?” he asked. “You wouldn’t even have this job offer if you didn’t get caught.”

And it was in this moment Jack didn’t like how much his son took after him.

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“You’d be working at the North Pole.” Dylan looked up at his dad with wide brown eyes. “That’d be so cool.”

Jack opened and closed his mouth. First Dylan was threatening him, then he was upset, now he was indicating something in his life was actually cool? Boy, he really didn’t understand teenagers at all. Maybe he should’ve looked at those parenting books when Olivia suggested it to him. God knew it had to have a tip in there about holding onto the pride he felt settle in his chest at the idea that his son thought some part of him was awe inducing.

“Well, I didn’t want to just take it without talking to you first,” Jack said. He reached out a hand to put on Dylan’s shoulder, hesitated for a moment, then followed through and gently squeezed Dylan’s shoulder. “Things have been better between us, right? I didn’t want to just suddenly disappear on you. Ok? Not again.”

“Yeah, ok.”

“Plus, I still haven’t exactly figured out how to tell your mom and Craig I’ll be gone for the month,” Jack replied. “If I take the job.”

“When you take the job.”

Jack copied his son’s demeanor and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you so adamant I take this job?”

Dylan smiled. “Well, now I can guarantee I’ll get what I want for Christmas,” he replied. His smile widened. “The new iPhone was released recently. And I was starting to look at building my own computer next year. The parts are expensive.”

Something he knew all too well. He wouldn’t be able to rake in half of his funds without a decent equipment under his belt. Jack placed a hand over Dylan’s face, pushing his son away from him. Dylan laughed, grabbing at his dad’s hand in an attempt to pry it off him. Then, Dylan’s words struck him, and Jack found himself silently staring at his son, a hint of a smile on his face.

“What?” Dylan asked, cheeks flushed from his dying laughter.

“Are you into tech?” Jack asked. “Seriously?” Dylan merely shrugged. “That’s pretty cool. I mean, hey, you were a natural figuring out how to hack the attendance record, right? You probably would’ve gotten away with it, if you didn’t slash that kid’s bike tires, though.” He shook his head. “You gotta think about the trail, dude. Know when to get in and get out.”

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to remember that next time,” Dylan said, flatly. “I’ll also make sure to do a sweep for security cameras.”

“That’s not a bad idea, either.”

“Should I also expect a lock picking set for Christmas one of these days?”

Jack pressed his lips tightly together. He dropped his chin to his chest, sighing, upon seeing the glimmer of amusement in his son’s eyes. Nope. He didn’t like this teenager stuff. And Dylan wasn’t a new teenager either. He was 14. So he was practically 18. A wistful, sad feeling suddenly washed over him: when did he get to be 14? He wondered if those parenting books also covered how quickly time seemed to fly as a parent.

“Absolutely not!” Olivia stated, carrying a tray of melted butter glistened rolls in her hands. She set it down in the center of the table and pulled her hands out of the oven mitts. “Jack O’Malley, I can’t believe you’d even consider it.”

“He was just kidding,” Jack commented, lifting his head to lock eyes with Olivia. He smiled. “Besides, if I was going to give him anything like that, it’d be a window hammer.” Olivia’s jaw dropped. “What? You never know when you’ll be trapped in a glass room or something. Like school.” He winked at Dylan who offered a quick smile before muttering something about getting the napkins.

Neither of them knew exactly how to explain to Olivia or Craig what had occurred over the last holiday season. So, neither of them said a word about it. Not really. They had tried telling the truth, but Santa Claus being abducted and his workshop being real didn’t exactly land. Jack did end up taking her ire on the chin because he did, technically, pull him out of the concert. So, they told her Jack missed his concert because of stage fright and Jack took him on a long drive to calm down. Father-son bonding. And he got the opportunity to see Dylan perform with the jazz band for their New Year’s show to “swing in the new year.”

(And who scheduled recitals, or pageants, or whatever on Christmas Eve, anyway?!)

Craig cleared his throat as he set a platter of mashed potatoes down onto the table. “It just wouldn’t look good with the forging attendance mark on Dylan’s record,” he commented. He drummed his fingers on cloth covered tabletop.

“You know the school permanent record is a myth, right?” Jack asked, lifting his eyebrows. “I mean I’ve got the worst record of them all, and I’ve still got a steady job.” Of course, they both thought he worked in I.T. in tech sales, but that was beside the point.

“And you’ve got a new job offer,” Dylan added, returning with one hand clutching napkins, the other carrying a pitcher of punch.

“Really?” Craig asked. His eyebrows shot upwards in what Jack could deduce was partly surprise and mostly disbelief. “Well, that’s great, Jack. What kind of job are we talking about?”

Jack hesitated. “It’s, uh, a contract position. Only for a month right now,” he lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. “But, it’s interesting. I don’t even know if I’ll take it.”

“Well, what would you be doing?” Craig asked. He looked at Olivia and they shared a smile. “You ready?”

“Let’s eat,” she replied.

Jack pulled his chair out from under the table and dropped down into it. “It’s Crisis Management,” he replied. “You know, I’d be helping this organization look at their past situations and build a framework for the future, enhancing security protocols, that kind of stuff. I just found out about it recently and I know we’re all busy this time of year. I’d be around as often as I could for Dylan, for you—” He briefly looked at Craig who was busy cutting into his rolls and stuffing them with ham, “you both. Liv, the hospital is so busy this time of year. And Craig, you can be called out of town at a moment’s notice. And this will take up my time.” He waved his hand in the air. “It’s ok. I’ll figure it out.”

“Look, it hard. It’s a new work environment, different responsibilities, different risks,” Craig said. “Anyone would be nervous trying something new. What kind of company will be working for?”

Jack settled back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked over at Dylan, then back at Craig and Olivia, a half-smile coming to his face. “Let’s just say it involves delivery logistics, enhanced security, and damage control.”

#red one #red one fanfiction #fd: red one #jack o'malley #oc: dolly goodwish #authored by: rhuben #by: rhuben #red one was a fun movie

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