#Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night

[airybcby]

Hi and merry Christmas🎄💕 I was wondering if you can write one about Isagi🫐🎂 for the new event! Thank you !!

Hi! I hope you had a good christmas! sorry for taking a while on this :)

an isagi yoichi blueberry birthday :)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° just wanna be part of your family

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event

♡ content — isagi yoichi x gn! reader, ex bf! isagi, gn! reader, one-bed trope, isagi's only love is soccer, reader has feelings for isagi, unrequited feelings, some cuddling

♡ synopsis — Living with Isagi Yoichi helped you realize many things; just how much he loved soccer and how helplessly in love you were with him

You never expected to be paired with Isagi Yoichi. Out of all the people in the marriage simulation program, he seemed like the most focused, goal-oriented participant. Quiet but polite, friendly but not overly so—Isagi wasn’t exactly someone you’d call a “relationship type.”

Not that you minded at first. You didn’t really know him, and he didn’t know you. You figured it would just be two strangers coexisting for the duration of the program. But it wasn’t long before you realized how wrong you were.

The first thing you learned about Isagi was that soccer wasn’t just his passion—it was his life.

Every conversation, every thought, every decision seemed to tie back to the sport. Whether he was strategizing over game footage, muttering plays in his sleep, or using metaphors about “field vision” to explain something mundane, soccer was always at the forefront of his mind.

At first, you found it endearing. His drive, his determination—it was admirable. But as the days turned into weeks, you started to notice other things.

The way his hair stuck up in the mornings, messy and endearing. The way he scrunched his nose when he was focused, his brow furrowing in a way that made you want to smooth it out with your thumb. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about soccer, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

It didn’t take long for your admiration to shift into something else. Something more dangerous.

The first night in the apartment, you discovered the program hadn’t exactly prioritized comfort.

“There’s only one bed,” Isagi said, staring at the modest mattress like it had personally offended him.

You shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “We can share it. It’s just sleeping, right?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “If you’re okay with it.”

And so, with a pillow barrier hastily constructed between you, you both settled into the bed.

It wasn’t as awkward as you thought it would be. Isagi kept to his side, arms rigid at his sides like he was afraid of encroaching on your space. You fell asleep quickly that night, comforted by the steady rhythm of his breathing.

The pillow barrier worked—until it didn’t.

It was a chilly night, colder than the program had prepared for. At some point, you must have both shifted, seeking warmth. When you woke up, you were curled against him, his arm draped loosely over your waist.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. His face was close—so close you could see the way his eyelashes fanned against his cheeks, the subtle rise and fall of his chest. He looked so peaceful, so unlike the intense, focused Isagi you’d grown used to.

You tried to move without waking him, but the shift in weight stirred him. His eyes blinked open, hazy with sleep, and it took him a moment to realize the position you were in.

“Ah—sorry!” he said, pulling back so quickly he nearly fell off the bed. His face was flushed, and you were sure yours was too.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, sitting up and avoiding his gaze. “It’s just... cold, I guess.”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Cold.”

Neither of you mentioned it again, but the memory lingered.

The weeks passed, and you found yourself falling harder.

It was little things—the way he grinned when he successfully cooked something new, the way he always said “thank you” when you helped him with laundry or grocery shopping, the way he always made time to check in with you, even when he was swamped with soccer strategies.

You started to picture what it would be like to stay like this. To come home to him after a long day, to share meals and quiet evenings, to wake up next to him every morning.

It was foolish, you knew that. But you couldn’t help it.

“Do you ever think about what happens after this?” you asked one night, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Isagi glanced up from his notebook, where he’d been sketching out game plans. “What do you mean?”

“After the simulation,” you clarified. “When it’s over. Do you ever think about... what comes next?”

He paused, tapping his pen against the page. “Not really,” he admitted. “I guess I’m just focused on soccer right now.”

Your chest tightened. “You don’t think about things like... relationships?”

He let out a small laugh. “Not really. I mean, soccer’s everything to me. There’s not much room for anything else.”

The honesty in his words hurt more than anything else could have.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Makes sense.”

You tried to temper your feelings after that. You reminded yourself that Isagi wasn’t the kind of person to do things halfway. Soccer was his dream, and nothing—not even you—could compete with that.

But your heart didn’t listen.

The program ended sooner than you expected.

You packed your things in silence, stealing glances at Isagi as he carefully folded his clothes into his suitcase.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah?”

“I, uh... just wanted to say thanks,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “For putting up with me during all this.”

“Putting up with you?” you echoed, forcing a laugh. “Yoichi, you’re probably the easiest person to live with.”

He smiled, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it was just for you.

“Still,” he said, his voice softening. “I really appreciate it.”

You nodded, unable to trust your voice.

As you walked out of the apartment for the last time, you couldn’t help but glance back.

Isagi was already walking ahead, his focus set on whatever came next.

And you knew, with a painful certainty, that whatever it was, it didn’t include you.

It wasn’t his fault. You couldn’t blame him for chasing his dream, for being the person he was.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

shorter than what i would've liked but writing sad stuff for isagi makes my heart hurt

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[pensherosjourney]

lullmark Merry Christmas everyone! 🎅🏼🎄

[missathlete31]

Just thinking about an It’s a Wonderful Life situation with Hangman and him getting to the point where he sees that Maverick and Rooster are both dead if he’s never been born. That no one else could have flown fast enough or launched like he did to save them during the mission or if the mission would have been even more different without Jake in the mix.

Also how much the Daggers would be changed without him to push them and antagonize them to be the best…

Oooooo the angst potential lol

[idontlikeem]

can’t wait to open up this package 😏😏😏😏😏

[evelynnocto]

merry Christmas, even if you don't celebrate

At this point it really isn't much of a christoan only holiday. If you don't celebrate Christmas, I hope you all have an amazing December 25th!

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night

Also to all my transfem friends I hope you magically grow boobs of your desired size for your Christmas gift

And for my transmasc friends I hope your boobs just kinda like. Poof and they are gone.

Anyways I dunno where I was going with that. I'm going to bed now. I hope Santa brings me some retractable roller skates shoes!

[fawnuh]

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good fight!

Abilities / description

Candy cane - sharp and pointy

Elf gun - a t-shirt gun filled with feral elves

An entire Christmas tree - can be used kinda like a claymore

Gift wrap-inator - instantly gift wrap your enemies for a jolly and joyous time!

Gingerbread hammer - basically just building in Fortnite but with gingerbread

Rudolph - a noble steed, ran over grandma, can blind enemies with his nose, antlers also pack a punch

The Kris Kringler - Krises everyone's Kringle within a 10 mile radius, whatever that means (can only be used once)

The naughty list - GET OVER HERE

Fragilé leg lamp - sexy, bright, could probably mortally wound someone if you swung it hard enough or launched it at someone

Scrounge's candle - think fire flower from mario

Vanilla extract - vanilla extract

[thoughtofadumbteenprotagonist]

literally just stopped a panic attack by thinking to myself “the magic of Christmas is more important than your stupid anxiety”

[walkthevalley]

The Flames of Advent: Joy

How long, O Lord?

How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? For ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily? How long shall mine enemy be exalted over me? Consider and hear me, O Lord my God: lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death.

In case this feels familiar to you, this is what depression sounds like. Yes, even David ben Yishai, celebrated giant slayer and would-be king, suffered from depression like so many of us. The "lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death" is a plea to God Almighty for some miniscule spark of happiness before ... well ... I think it's pretty obvious what David was ideating.

For the past two and a half years I too have battled a deep and severe depression that themed my previous Flames of Advent posts. This one, I hate to tell you, is no different.

See, I was not looking forward to writing about joy. I had none. And to tell you the truth, I don't really even have it yet. But I knew that when joy was ready to be written about, she would make herself known to me. More correctly, joy would teach me her lesson when I was ready to learn it, and then I would write about the lesson I learned.

Joy showed up last week when I got schooled by an eight-year-old boy.

I'm a streetmosphere actor at my state capital's zoo and it's my job (no literally it's in my actual contracted job description) to bring holiday cheer to zoo guests in a festive and jolly manner. But how do you do that when you'd rather crawl in a hole and cry? How do you embody "the joy of the Lord" which is supposedly everlasting when at your core you are the first three verses of David's lament? How do you lighten someone else's eyes when yours want to "sleep the sleep of death"? Well anyway, I'm an actor, so I do what I do best: I act.

One such night this past week, I was a cookie elf who was "interviewing" guests to drum up enough Christmas spirit that the giant pre-programmed lights and music display magic Christmas tree would light up. I asked this young boy, eight years old or so, what his favorite thing was about the Christmas season. He couldn't pick just one thing, so I said, "Lemme put it this way: if the whole Christmas season came and went, and one thing didn't happen, and it made you feel like it just wasn't Christmas, what would that be?" He thought for one brief moment more before confidently declaring, "The Christmas joy. Without the joy of Christmas, none of the rest of it means anything."

Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, thou hast perfected praise.

When I tell you my heart broke open ...

This child of less than ten winters has already mastered a lesson that people have spent sixty and eighty years trying to relearn. I was at once comforted and put to shame.

Well, the pre-programmed lights and music display magic Christmas tree lit up with an inspiring rendition of "Carol of the Bells," and the vivid lights danced in time in beautiful shapes and bright flashes. During the sentimental bridge before the tension chord ushering in the grand finale, the lights spell out "HAPPY HOLIDAYS" in big bright white block letters. It was the right hook to follow up the lesson from the little boy young man.

I got to thinking about the original meaning of "happy holidays" which wasn't the "whatever you celebrate I don't want to offend you" global platitude. It was just a heck of a lot easier than trying to spit out, "Happy Thanksgiving, merry Christmas, and happy New Year!" to everyone you met. As the lights continued dancing and flashing like so many angels trying to make hearts light, I realized that the holiday season was meant to be a reprieve from the stresses and weights of a year's worth of life.

"HAPPY HOLIDAYS" scrolling around that tree was a whisper from God to my heart: "Rejoice and be exceeding glad."

"This season is your break from the weight of the world," He told me. "I've tried to give you a chance to be in a state of sustained happiness and peace for a few weeks. You've got the rest of the year to burden yourself needlessly. The holiday season is sacred, like the Sabbath. Rest your heart through all these holidays. Take your break. I got it from here."

For us here in the US of A, the holiday season consists of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's packed into about a month and a half, and most people view it as a marathon of stress, long to-do lists, and merriment shaded by fatigue. For some, it's not even a holiday season at all, but an intense triple fortnight of comparison, failure, lack, want, and spinning wheels. Neither of those things is conducive to the holiday spirit, Christmas merriment, or joy.

The fourth Flame of Advent is a fragile candle. Joy is the most easily snuffed of all them, and she is the hardest to light.

And yet she burns the brightest of them all.

How long, O Lord? Until you come inside.

Have you ever tried to light a candle in the wind? Elton John did once, apparently. It's not easy. Arguably impossible. Striking a match in a storm, lighting birthday candles under a ceiling fan, keeping a torch lit in the rain, whatever image you want to call up in your mind--they all preach a sermon of futility.

However ...

I will say of the Lord, he is my refuge and my fortress.

Come thou into the ark.

The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and ... my high tower.

God's telling you He KNOWS you can't be joyful in the circumstances of this life most of the time. He KNOWS you can't light a candle in the wind. He KNOWS you can't ignite the fourth flame of advent when you're tossed about on the stormy sea that is the majority of the human experience.

He's not angry at you for not having joy during the Christmas season.

Read that again, oh ye ragged and exhausted ones.

He's not angry at you for not having joy during the Christmas season.

He's trying to tell us all that we can't light the fourth flame of advent unless we first come inside from the storm and shield ourselves from the violent wind. He's trying to tell us we can't be joyful unless we take a break from the heartbreak and the expectations and the bullshit and the fucked-up ways this world dictates we exist.

Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

The fourth flame of advent cannot burn by itself: it must be lit after the second flame, which is peace. Peace is the second, and joy is the fourth, so I guess you could say that joy is peace squared, and peace is the square root of joy.

Or, perhaps more accurately, peace is the root of joy.

"Sounds great and all but how the hell do I do that?"

I know, I feel like I've just given you a Rubik's cube and told you how great it is to solve it. Trust me, I get how unfair it is to be in such a place mentally and emotionally and get told, "Just take refuge in God." At that point I just sound like a churchie who's parroting whatever this morning's devotional was, and I'm truly sorry for that. I get it, because I've been there. Words don't help unless they come with step-by-step instructions.

All I know is that the pivotal point in this journey for me was the moment I really truly understood what "letting God handle it" meant.

Did you know--and this will come as a shock to some of you--that you are not responsible for everything that goes on everywhere at all times? Did you know that you do not have within you the capability to control how everything turns out? Did you know you are not limitless and expansive enough to have control and influence over every minute detail of any one life, even your own?

Did you know you're not responsible for the world's problems?

Did you know you're not at fault when the world isn't perfect?

Did you know, furthermore, that if you took a step back ... (sit down first and take a breath before I tell you this) ... the world would continue turning?

You are not the lynchpin in God's plan. Everything will not fall apart if you lie down and rest.

Now that you know you're not responsible for the end of the world, nor are you responsible for the Christmas season being joyful or unjoyful, you can take shelter in His infinite reach and skilled machinations, block out the wind of the intense season, and come to a peaceful place where you have a sporting chance of lighting the fourth flame of advent.

Her light may start small. I want you to know that. I just want you to be prepared for the possibility that joy's flame may be tiny at first, a faint rim of blue around a blackened knob of cotton wick. In these moments you might be afraid to breathe too hard, or laugh too loudly, or sing too exuberantly, or that tiny flicker of joy will just ... poof! ... become nothing more than a tendril of smoke and the melancholy memory of almost. Joy is so easily extinguished, as I said. That's why you gotta stay inside in the warm peace of Christmas, to give her a chance to grow.

I'm living the example right now.

As I said, I'm a streetmosphere actor, and the season from the PSL drop to L'Epiphany (the twelfth day of Christmas) is my busy season. It's my literal job to make the holidays magical for others, which means mine get put on the back burner. I have three Christmas trees of my own and for the past five or six years they've been boxed up and packed away in hopes of "next year." As a matter of fact, I've spent one of my precious few days off being sick with a cold because I've been outside in the elements too much. I was supposed to spend the whole day finishing up a project for a friend, doing laundry, decorating for Christmas which is three days away, Christmas shopping, grocery shopping, card signing, and "resting up" (lol) for my next scheduled elf shift. Oh and by the way, today was when my parents were planning to come to the zoo to see me in action, so the stress of being well enough to give a strong performance for them and all the others was tickling my throat and burning my ears. Today I was too sick to even do my job, let alone do anything to prepare for a Christmas celebration.

So much for Christmas joy ...

Unless of course I remember that I'm not in control of whether Christmas has meaning or not. I'm not in control of whether the holiday is bright and magical or not. I'm part of it, and I lend my effort when/where/how I can, but I'm not in control of it. Christmas at the zoo does not come to a screeching halt if I'm not there. Christmas does not come to a screeching halt if I haven't decorated the house from stem to stern. Christmas isn't even dependent on whether I'm well or sick in bed.

Christmas depends on how well we keep within us the Spirit that established Christmas, that founded it upon the ages, that wrote its Name in blood on the breast of humanity.

The first Christmas depended on a cave to shelter from the cold night and a carved-out rock to rest a fragile Baby in. The first Christmas was about shelter.

And it's okay if this Christmas is about shelter, too.

[tilthefeelingsgoneforever]

view from a backyard in Arcata, California

12/25

[abbysimsfun]

Cozy Celebrations in Henford just hit right 🥰🎄

(6) Winther Fest Chronicles

On the last day of the Cozy Celebrations, Noelle and her best friend Penelope decorated the Christmas tree and exchanged gifts

So with that, Merry Christmas from Holly...

...and the girls ❅

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

hrrrmmmmm.. I know it isn't halloween BUUT

more vampire/werewolf fiddlestan?? :}

Took me FORever to answer these, you guys don't even want to know the amount of asks I have that I really want to answer with full comics 😭🙏

Anywayy, sorry to keep you, @elishevart waiting for responses to your asks, when you've sent so many, so long ago!!

Comic time 🤞😋

I call this one: Second hand embarrassment and surprise guest: Continuity Error!! ❤️

Previous!!

First!!

[natalievoncatte]

Everything was in place. Lena dropped down into the passenger seat of Jess’s car. The trunk was loaded with presents and books and Lena was ready. Jess fired up the engine of her 2009 Honda Civic and off they went, navigating National City traffic.

Lena’s stomach was full of butterflies. She had her hood up and was dressed down in sweats, not looking at all her fashion place self. Jess parked by one of the service entrances and a security guard let them in with a curt nod. Lena had dropped him a four figure tip to cooperate.

The kids were gathered in a common area on the fifth floor pediatric intensive unit, ranging in age from three to fifteen. Lena fought the lump that formed in her throat as they gathered, some of the younger ones in the laps of the older.

Lena started with a reading of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, complete with sill voices and big smiles and a lot of effort on her part to keep tears from welling in her eyes.

Some of these kids were having their last Christmas, and some of them knew it. Some didn’t. Others would go home, and a lucky few would help change the world with their participation in clinical trials.

On some level Lena knew that Kara would show up eventually- she’d been dropping in regularly enough, once learning that Lena read to the kids.

Sure enough, she showed up as the kids were eating turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy prepared under the supervision of a Michelin star chef that Lena had hired at great expense to prepare their dinner.

Supergirl, all swagger and power, strode into the room. The response was curious. They knew her of course, and she’d been there enough times, even read to them, that there was a peculiar familiarity to her visits and only the new kids got truly excited.

They were more excited by Kara’s plus one. She’d brought with her the most perfect Santa Claus that Lena had ever seen. No fake beard here; every whisker was real, as was every crease and wrinkle. Even his costume was flawless, velvet coat and paints lined with genuine fur. He had a huge beach sack thrown over one shoulder and greeted the kids with a cheer, setting to work handing out gifts.

Kara came over and stood next to Lena.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” said Lena.

Across the room, Santa gave a hearty Ho! Ho! Ho!, and had taken up a seat to invite kids onto his lap.

“Believe it or not,” Kara said, “he owes me a favor.”

Lena snorted and Kara winked.

“‘sides, I live at the North Pole, too. Sort of.”

Lena watched the man with the children. He really was quite good, a consummate professional.

She looked over at Kara. There was a twinge of pink in her cheeks and snowflakes melting in her hair, and her new suit showed off her muscular arms. More than that, there was a look of a wistful joy in her eyes as she watched the kids enjoy themselves.

Lena’s heart would have grown three sizes that day, if it didn’t already feel like it might burst through her ribs every time she looked at Kara, really looked at Kara.

She’d long ago admitted her feelings to herself- it was getting them out that was the problem, even now.

Across the room, Santa Claus stood, startling Lena out of her reverie.

“I’m sorry kids, but I really must go. Lots more visits to make tonight!”

He stood and walked over to Kara. “I do have that one stop to make before I begin my rounds proper. Shall we?”

He even had the perfect Santa voice.

Kara turned to Lena and offered a hand.

That was how Lena ended up in something like the setup for a bad joke: Riding in an elevator with Santa Claus and Supergirl.

It was actually rather awkward. Kara opened the roof access door and motioned for Lena, and the Santa Claus impersonator followed her out. Kara went last, lingering by the door.

“May we speak in private?” Santa said.

“Sure,” said Lena, happy to play along. She pulled her hood up against the chill and walked a few dozen paces from Kara, and Santa turned to face her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you that easy bake oven you wanted when you were six,” he began.

Lena’s face fell. Lillian had exploded at her when she asked on Santa’s lap, a much less convincing Santa, and asked for the silly cooking toy.

She’d screamed that menial tasks were beneath a Luthor and Lena was supposed to ask for the American Girl dolls that Lillian had already bought, and what an ungrateful, spoiled little bitch she was. It was the first time that Lillian had called her that and far from the last; she’d added many insults to it over the years, like stupid or lazy or, most painfully of all, fat; dropping that one had sent Lena into a spiral of crash dieting that almost turned into full blown bulimia by the time she graduated from high school.

She’d never told anyone about the easy bake oven. Not even Kara.

Before Lena could demand an explanation or even speak, Santa reached into his bag, withdrew something, and handed it to her.

Lena took the stuffed bear on instinct. When she did she knew it was more than a bear. As her hands touched the somewhat ratty fur and she saw the little tear in his left ear she knew, she knew.

When the Luthors took her in, Lillian destroyed everything of her old life- everything of her mother, as if to erase her from ever existing. It was spiteful, and hateful. Lillian couldn’t revenge herself on his husband’s mistress so she did it to her child.

She’d burned Lena’s stuffed animals. They were all gone, reduced to ash.

Except… except…

“Clive?” Lena whispered, hot tears burning down her cheeks. “This is impossible, how…”

He placed a gloved hand on her shoulder and Lena felt a wave of indescribable shock roll through her. Something just… opened.

Her mind filled with an image of perfect clarity, and a song fresh and bright in her ears. Her mother’s voice and the distant sound of the sea that would eventually take her. All her life Lena could barely remember her mother- she clawed at scraps, more able to feel her than truly remember her.

Not anymore. As she clutched the bear to her chest, memory flooded her mind like warmth from a hearth fire filling a cold room. She grinned like a fool and choked back sobs.

“How?” Lena chirped out.

“Kara asked me to bring you something very special, and I do owe her a favor. I really must get going, though.”

Then she heard it. Jingling bells.

Lena had seen a woman fly; said woman had saved her from splatting on the pavement too many times. She had never seen reindeer fly, pulling a sleigh behind them.

Wait.

No.

This was not possible.

Santa Claus threw his sack in the rear of the sleigh and climbed aboard. He threw Lena a wave.

“Merry Christmas, Lena Luthor.”

“Wait,” Lena called. “Did you bring Kara something?”

“What Kara Zor-El Danvers wants, I cannot give her,” he said, with a cryptic grin.

Lena stumbled back as the reindeer launched into a full gallop with a blast of air, the rider snapping his reins. It was only then that Lena noticed that the lead animal had a glowing red nose.

Kara stepped up behind her and put her hands on Len/ shoulders.

“Kara,” Lena said. “That was the real Santa Claus.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t understand. That was the real Santa Claus. He’s real. Santa Claus is real and he gave me my stuffed bear back.”

As Lena turned, Kara smiled. “I know, baby.”

Lena swiped at her cheeks.

“I-I don’t know how you did this, but thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t even know what to say.”

Kara stepped closer, into her space. Very gently, she brushed away one of Lena’s tears with the pad of her thumb.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“He said he couldn’t get you what he wanted. I find that hard to believe.”

“He can’t just give it to me because it’s not his to give. He did give me this, though.”

Kara reached under her cape, drawing out a small twig with a pair of scalloped leaves and some red berries.

“Is that mistletoe?”

“Yeah,” said Kara.

She lifted it over her head and held it there, smiling at Lena.

It took a moment for her brain to catch up. Kara was holding the mistletoe over her head. She was under the mistletoe.

Lena faltered for just a moment, but then stepped forward, closing what little gap was left between them. Kara was every inch the dashing prince as she put her arm around Lena’s waist, spinning her a little as the other hand cupped her chin and tilted her head just so for Kara to place a gentle, loving, and utterly devastating closed-mouth kiss on Lena’s lips.

Suddenly Lena understood what it was that Kara wanted and for the second time in as many minutes her heart soared and Lena threw her arms around Kara’s neck and they swayed there like dancers amid the snow flurries until Kara flew them home.

[genshin-impact-updates]

"Captain Eula, should I place the present over here?"

"You would like to know what's on your card? You'll find out when you open your present."

"Captain Eula, should I place the present over here?"

[sbeep]

To be a loyal leader of this land’s lances would have suited him well, And would have been better than brought to ruin By an elvish man, for nothing but his pride.

(my OCs)

[baggy-holmes]

i was so good this year, santa came twice

[lillyorlyracat]

It is technically no longer Christmas, but I'm still gonna make festive imagines; f✨️ck you

Your familial f/o(s) putting together festivities with you. Decorating, baking, gift-wrapping, etc.

You and a romantic f/o(s) snuggling together on a sofa in front of a fireplace nestled in a cozy blanket, bathing in each other's warmth.

Getting together with your platonic f/o(s) just to goof around. Caroling, ice-skating, watching bad Christmas movies, shopping for gifts, etc.

While shopping with platonic f/o(s), they give suggestions for what you should get romantic f/o(s). (They might also secretly be telling romantic(s) what to give you as well but you didn't hear it from me)

Finally unwrapping presents with familial(s). Watching them exclaim with glee at the gifts you got them. "Oh my gosh– what? You didn't! No way!" And then the same thing with the romantic(s), except that they kiss you

Speaking of kisses, there may or may not be some mistletoe hung upon the ceiling of your celebratory location 👀

Romantic f/o(s) stealing a mistletoe kiss from you and being very forward about it. Taking you in their arms and staring into your gorgeous eyes before locking lips. "You're so wonderful."

Alternatively, you steal a kiss from them, and they melt almost instantly. You pull away and notice their enormous blush and dopey smile. You giggle and call them cute. They reply, "Look who's talking."