#cal clause

[reusedtvseriescostumes]

This Colors Robe is worn in Riverdale: Night of the Comet (2022) on Cole Sprouse as Jughead Jones and worn again on Austin Kane as Cal in The Santa Clauses: The Secessus (2022)

[reusedrobescostumes]

This Colors Robe is worn in Riverdale: Night of the Comet (2022) on Cole Sprouse as Jughead Jones and worn again on Austin Kane as Cal in The Santa Clauses: The Secessus (2022)

[bellarkeselection]

I love Cal on The Santa Clauses. He's a cute dork 😊

[everyonesonthespectrum]

Today’s Autistic character of the day is:

Buddy "Cal" Calvin-Claus from The Santa Clauses

[safyresky]

okay okay, last one for today i swear i'll go to bed now

[qveenpoppy]

i love how even the santa clause fandom saw the s2 news and went, “no thanks, we’re good”

[shipcestuous]

I've been watching the new Santa Clauses show and Scott and Carol's teen son and daughter, Cal and Sandra, are pretty shippable imo! They've grown up with each other as their only human peer in the North Pole and I have a feeling the show is gearing towards them taking up the role of Santa *together* in the future, and that just has shades of "Santa and Mrs. Claus" to me.

I haven't watched this series yet but I plan to check it out when the season is over. That does sound very shippy! I like that they grew up at the North Pole with just their parents and a bunch of elves. That's good stuff.

[youngestclaus]

holly wants powers 😔

[diazsdimples]

Sev....eral sentence Sunday!

Tagged by @cal-daisies-and-briars @wikiangela and @loserdiaz, thank you guys!! Here's another snippet of the Musician AU and poor Eddie is going through it today.

 At rehearsal the next day, Eddie is a complete, flustered mess. From the moment he walks into the auditorium and sees Buck sitting up the front with Bobby, he can’t stop thinking about the feeling of Buck’s lips on his, the way Buck was grinding against him while pushing Eddie against the wall, or how Buck’s hands had run all over his body as if he were mapping it out. Eddie can’t stop watching Buck as he plays, which isn’t exactly a problem until Eddie’s thoughts run away with him. Buck’s cello is held tightly between his legs as he plays and Eddie can’t stop thinking about how much he wishes it was him between Buck’s thighs instead, those big quads squeezing him from every direction. He watches as Buck’s fingers tap incessantly against the fingerboard and he wonders what else Buck’s fingers can do, wonders how good they’d feel if they were curled inside him, tapping against his prostate as he slowly finger-fucks Eddie into oblivion. Eddie’s cock gives a hopeful twitch in his pants and he takes a deep, steadying breath, willing himself to calm down and think about something else. He’s a professional, for God’s sake, and he will not get an erection in the middle of rehearsal. He forces himself to think about wrinkly, old grandmas and mall Santa Clauses and definitely not the way Buck’s pecs are straining against the buttons of his shirt or the way he – “Eddie, are you with us?” Eddie’s brought from his thoughts with a jolt as he realises Bobby is looking at him with a mixture of annoyance and concern on his face and everything has suddenly gone silent. Fuck, he’s been so caught up in his fantasy that he’s missed his entry and now everyone is looking at him. His eyes flicker over to Buck and the bastard is smirking at him, slowly licking his lips as he looks Eddie up and down. “S-sorry Bobby, lost count” Eddie stammers and he can feel his face burning. If Bobby thinks Eddie’s acting weirdly, he doesn’t press it, but Eddie knows he’s got to pull himself together sharpish if he doesn’t want there to be any uncomfortable questions later.

(no pressure) tagging @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @smilingbuckley @fruitandbubbles @eddiebabygirldiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @monsterrae1 @watchyourbuck @fionaswhvre @knightlywonders @housewifebuck @evanbegins @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @incorrect9-1-1 @wildlife4life @daffi-990 (let me know if you want adding/removing)

[heyheycaitalin]

He's named Buddy after his maternal grandpa.

Now he's named Cal? I guess short for Calvin aka Scott's old last name?! Excuse me? Someone has the creativity of a dry Ramen packet.

I'm mid way through the first episode of the Santa Clauses, and I thought their sons name was Buddy? But Mrs. C, calls him "Cal"? Was I hallucinating the whole buddy thing from Santa 3??

[ofduskanddreams]

This Lovely Enigma

For @catboyjamesbond. The prompt: Royalty AU Azris, Eris is king and needs a consort. Azriel is the one who catches his eye.

Azris ✦ Rated M ✦ 2.5k words (yeah ik) ✦ on AO3

"The Ruler shall take a consort within a year of their coronation lest they forfeit the title to the Heir. The Crown is too heavy a burden to bear alone." 

Eris knows that particular stipulation so well that he sees it in his dreams and behind his eyelids whenever he blinks. 

His crown hits the ornately carved walnut throne with a dull thud as Eris looks to the paned glass dome of the ceiling above the dais in the empty throne room and groans. 

A wry laugh echoes from his left, “Ah, let me guess: woe is me, I am but a king facing the truly arduous task of choosing a partner from a selection of the most competent and beautiful of my subjects.”

Callan has been Eris’s most loyal guard for nearly a decade. Eris would never allow such flippant sarcasm in public or from any other member of his staff, but Callan is the closest thing he has to a friend, not counting Eris’s brothers.

“I just don’t understand why my ancestors felt that such a useless clause would be one of the few immovable laws. Why do I need a consort in order to keep the title that is rightfully mine? I’ve been perfectly fine on my own so far,” Eris allows a granule of petulance to lace his words.

Cal just smiles and softly shakes his head. It’s unsettling to witness because that gesture is identical to one his mother often makes. 

“There’s nothing that can be done to change it, you know that. It’s been six months since your father’s passing—stars smile gently on his soul even though he was a right bastard—and now that the mourning period is coming to a close you know you can’t afford to waste another minute. This way you are giving yourself a little time to get to know them at least.”

“If I meet them today,” Eris points out, tracing the vines carved into the throne’s arm with a ringed finger. 

Knowing it’s better to voice his feelings than quash them, Eris sighs and begrudgingly continues the thought, “What if I can’t stand any of the people I meet today? Aren’t they all the children of the gentry? I don’t care about liking them, but I need to be able to tolerate them. You know how I hate sycophants, and that’s all they’re going to be—hoping that they can woo their way into the royal family and a better title.”

“Defeatism does not suit you, dear.” Serafina Vanserra, the Queen Mother, approaches the throne at an elegant glide.

Eris rises and descends the three steps of the dais. “And black did not suit you, Mother. It’s wonderful to see you in color again.” 

She’s donned a wine-red gown for the occasion, the rich color making her fair skin appear lit from within. The black they’d been wearing always made her look sickly pale. This, Eris thinks, is a very welcome change. 

Her lightly painted lips tug up in a smirk. “Flattery, while always welcome, will not divert my attention, Eris. Try having a little more faith in humanity. Giving up before the race has begun is the quickest way to ensure defeat.”

“I know,” Eris agrees. She’s right, of course, she is. He knows that he frequently walks the line between realism and pessimism and, while such an attitude guarantees that he is always prepared for worst-case scenarios and puts secondary measures in place for every plan, it is not an ideal outlook for the day ahead of him.

His mother raises a brow, waiting. 

“I promise to try,” Eris tells her. “I wouldn’t have bothered setting up this whole affair if I did not intend to make an attempt. It would have been far more efficient to simply select a name from a list but, believe it or not, my heart is not made of stone.”

“I know that, darling.” Her hand is soft and warm, the touch to his cheek a brief allowance of the affection that they’d been denied for so many years. “But it’s my hope that you will permit others to learn this as well.”

The ‘now that he’s gone’ hangs unspoken in the air between them.

“I hope so too,” Eris replies. It’s the best he can do while remaining honest. 

Hope, an ember banked for years upon years has, against every odd, retained its glow. Eris might even go as far as to say that, since his father’s death, the ember has sparked a flame.

 ✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel tries his best to hold still while his mother fusses with his jacket collar, but he’s restless.

“There,” Zahra smiles proudly as she steps to the side so he can view his reflection in the long mirror.

He scarcely recognizes the man staring back at him. His typically unruly hair is swept back off his forehead and tamed by something that smells faintly sweet. The clothes he’s wearing are finer than anything he’s owned before. The jacket is sapphire blue, laced up the back in gold—the same gold laces that begin at his wrists and end at his forearms. 

He’d thought the process of donning the garment ridiculously complicated, but Azriel can’t help thinking that the effect might be worth the effort. He looks… elegant? Everything is tighter than he’s used to. The jacket clings to the curve of his waist, and the breadth of his shoulders. The trousers are impossibly soft and fit like a second skin. His boots are supple black leather and buffed to a shine. 

It’s not just the clothes though. What really makes his reflection so foreign is the tint on his lips and cheeks, making it appear like he’s slightly flushed; it’s the hint of kohl smudged into his lashes and bringing a new brightness to his eyes. 

“My beautiful boy, my Azriel. Look at you,” his mother murmurs and the rosiness of his cheeks darkens at the sheer pride in her voice. 

“Thank you,” for this, for everything. The emotional rasp of his words embarrasses him.

It’s a public secret that Azriel is Lord Blackwell’s bastard despite his father’s begrudging formal claim. He’s certain that, had the decision been left to his father alone, he would have turned them out on the street. It had only been his paternal grandmother, to whom his mother was and is chief caregiver, threatening to change her will and cut him off that made the lord claim Azriel as his own. 

Sometimes, less often now than when he was young, Azriel wonders if life may have been better had they been forced to fend for themselves. It’s a notion he quickly shakes off. Who’s to say what could have happened? It was pointless to dwell upon.

“I’ve raised you for this, there’s no need to be anxious.” She takes his fidgeting hands in her own, thumbs tracing arcs over the pale web of scars. 

“I know,” Azriel assures her, dropping her hands with a squeeze to pull on his gloves. Knowing that he is thoroughly prepared has no effect on how he feels though. 

Only a fool wouldn’t be nervous before being presented as a potential consort to the king.

Azriel has caught glimpses of the then-prince now-king over the years, but there’s one memory that stands above all the rest: 

He was five and hiding from his brothers. Azriel had wandered into the stable as he often did and climbed the rickety ladder into the hayloft. 

Unlike all those previous afternoons spent up there, however, the hayloft was already occupied. A red-haired boy was sitting on his heels on the far side, his hand outstretched to something in the hay.

“What are you doing?” Azriel asked as he approached. 

The boy startled, his honey-colored eyes narrowing at Azriel. “Who are you?”

“My name is Azriel. Who are you?”

“You don’t know who I am?”

“Should I?”

The boy had laughed then and beckoned him over to come see. 

One of the barn cats had given birth to a litter of kittens. Azriel forgot all about his brothers as they passed the afternoon watching the kittens stumble around each other as their mother took turns licking them down.

It was only after the boy left that Azriel realized he’d never been told his name. 

The next time he saw the boy, a few months later, he was crossing the west courtyard with his mother. 

“Bow!” She hissed at him, dropping into a graceful curtsey as the boy and two guards walked past them. Azriel bent at the waist, waiting for his mother to rise before straightening his spine.

“Who was that, Mother?”

She looked at him, astonished. “That was Prince Eris. One day he will be our king.”

“Oh.”

It’s childish but, as Azriel makes his way down to the carriage his grandmother has arranged to take him to the palace, he can’t help wondering if Eris will remember him. If, maybe, he will look at Azriel and be reminded of golden dust motes and the sweet smell of hay just as Azriel is whenever he sees the king. 

He chides himself for being foolish as the carriage trundles through the city streets. He cannot afford to let something as asinine as sentiment distract him. This is his only opportunity to secure a better life for his mother, and he refuses to jeopardize it because of one afternoon a lifetime ago, even if that afternoon is one of the best he’s ever had.

✦ ✦ ✦

Eris smiles politely as the next prospect is introduced. The firstborn of Lord Arminta has an education overseen by a herd of tutors and an admittedly impressive number of instruments they play proficiently. They’re beautiful in the way a painting is beautiful—attention grabbing and pleasing to the eye—but Eris carries out a brief conversation with them as he has with everyone else who has been escorted through the throne room doors and feels nothing. 

As they go to join the other dozen prospects already milling about the refreshment tables, Eris leans over to ask his mother, “How many more are there?”

“You’re about halfway through.”

Eris swallows his groan, kings aren’t allowed. Callan’s posted by the doors and Eris looks at him with a subtle nod, signifying that he should send the next one in.

A hush falls over the room as the doors swing open to reveal what may just be the most striking person Eris has ever seen. Familiarity nags at him but he can’t recall why.

“Azriel Blackwell, he is the son of Lord Blackwell,” his mother supplies as she’s done for all the others. 

Azriel.

Azriel.

Somehow he knows that name, but he’s too distracted by the sight of his present to wonder about the past. Sharp hazel eyes watch him from a face that would not have been out of place on one of the statues in the sculpture gallery. This is a man who has been crafted by a mastered and magnanimous hand. His clothes are well-tailored, hinting at the power of lean muscles and showcasing elegantly proportioned limbs. 

The way he moves, grace belying strength, reminds Eris of a mountain lion, and yet those lovely eyes betray him. He’s not as confident as he is pretending to be, but Eris can hardly fault him for that. 

Before the thought is fully formed, Eris stands as Azriel stops before the dais. He’s remained seated for the others but something is urging him to go to him so he does. 

Azriel’s eyes widen before they drop to the floor, and he quickly folds into a bow. 

Eris doesn’t stop until he’s only an arm’s length away. “Rise,” he bids. His voice is softer than intended.

Azriel does, but his eyes remain fixed on Eris’s boots. Eris is only an inch or two taller than him which is a nice change. 

“Have we met before?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Once, when we were children.” Azriel’s voice is rich and smooth, and Eris grins a little because he finds it pleasing. 

“Azriel,” Eris ponders aloud. It’s a beautiful name, unusual too. So why can’t he… “Kittens in the hayloft.”

Finally, Azriel looks up at him and there’s a questioning intensity in his gaze that sends a thrill up Eris’s spine. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Eris’s smile widens, and he dares to hope it’s that expression which causes a soft grin to spread on Azriel’s face. 

“By the stars,” Eris muses, scarcely resisting the urge to trace the curve of Azriel’s lower lip with his thumb, to press and see if that mouth would open to him.

“Is something wrong, Your Majesty?” Azriel inquires carefully.

“Far from it.” It’s just that his memory of a small scrawny boy with dirt on his forehead and a scraped knee poking through a hole in his trousers is difficult to reconcile with the person who stands before him now. “You’re rather exquisite, you know.”

This time, Eris allows himself an indulgence. He brushes a dark curl off Azriel’s forehead where it had fallen out of place with his bow.

Whether Azriel’s beautiful blush is the result of the compliment or Eris’s touch, Eris doesn’t care—either is a delightful prospect. 

“Your Majesty is too kind,” Azriel says, dipping his head as if it will conceal the color on his golden brown cheeks. 

“I assure you I am no such thing,” Eris huffs a laugh. “But if you fear my words are contrived, allow me to press upon you the sincerity of my confession over tea?”

“Tea, Your Majesty?” Azriel looks confused and Eris thinks it’s rather adorable.

“Yes.” Eris glances over his shoulder, giving his mother a pointed look which is met with a pleased grin. “I’m very curious to learn more about you, Azriel. If you’ll do me the honor of joining me?” On impulse, Eris holds out his hand. 

“The honor is mine, Your Majesty. I find myself plagued by a similar curiosity.” There’s a hint of a smirk in Azriel’s polite smile, an edge of something that Eris cannot wait to unearth. 

Azriel takes his hand but, to Eris’s dismay, he’s wearing gloves. That won’t do. Eris needs this man’s skin beneath his fingers. He takes Azriel’s wrist in one hand and tugs off the glove with the other, bowing to press a lingering kiss to his scarred knuckles. 

Eris’s thumb trails over the ridges and divots. When he glances up at Azriel, he’s surprised to see the man’s eyes wide in horror. That won’t do either. 

Of course, Eris had anticipated that he’d worn the gloves for a reason, but he didn’t care about how the scars felt though he was curious to know how they got there and knew he wouldn’t like the eventual answer.

Holding Azriel’s gaze, Eris lifts his hand to his lips this time. “Beautiful,” he says, then kisses the word into the scarred skin. 

Azriel inhales sharply; the sound wavering a little even as the tense set of his shoulders vanishes.

Not yet willing to release this lovely enigma named Azriel, Eris tucks his hand into the crook of his elbow. “Shall we get that tea, then?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Azriel says, fingers flexing on Eris’s arm.

Oh yes, I intend to be.

“The pleasure,” Eris lets some of the hunger stirring in his gut fill his gaze, “is all mine, Azriel.”

✦ ✦ ✦

tagging: @damedechance @ablogofsapphicpanic @iftheshoef1tz @panicatthenightcourt @moonpatroclus @the-lonelybarricade @krem-does-stuff @octobers-veryown @foundress0fnothing @melonsfantasyworld @fieldofdaisiies @lady-riel @queercontrarian @valkyrieassassin @brokeneveningstars @areyoudreaminof @itsthedoodle @xtaketwox @talons-and-teeth @thelovelymadone

[andyourhostkristenwiig]

Raising kids at the North Pole is challenging. That’s probably why Cal is lost in his imaginary virtual world. And how Sandra only likes animals. | The Santa Clauses: The Series

[herbalsingularitea]

Some scattered The Santa Clauses season 2, episode 3 thoughts

First and foremost, the absolute most important thing possibly in the whole season thus far: JUDY. JUDY. JUDY. JUDY. SHES. JUDY. SHE WAS THERE. I LOVE HER. JUDY. Omgomgomg like I know it’s not supposed to be Judy the character but I checked cause like IT LOOKED SO MUCH LIKE HER AND SHE SAID THE THING ABOUT THE COCOA AND AHHH anyways I checked the cast list and she’s on it so I’m :’33333 I’m so happy they got the actress to come back for a little cameo that was so cool

Now. The other thing I have to say is that I like Cal and Sandra 1000% more now. They are finally becoming interesting. Mad Santa was carrying the whole season until now, but I think Cal and Sandra might actually be worth the watch as well.

All adults around the the kids continue to be frustratingly obtuse and refuse to be the actual adult in Cal and Sandra’s lives. Swear, it feels like they have to parent Scott and Carol sometimes. I had high hopes for La Befana but the way she handled Sandra’s magic outburst was so weird and not at all how a mature rational person acts.

Feels like they’re gearing up for the eventual conclusion to be that Cal and Sandra have to both be Santa or something, which I had kinda suspected back in season 1,, dunno tho, kinda hope that’s not the case. Ideally I’d like for someone actually interested in the job to have it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ like Noel! Noel would be an amazing Santa.

Anyways, not much to chew on this episode. It was fine. Okay. Still gonna have to rewatch everything once it’s all out to fit everything together.

Side note: I was hoping for more lore and when special✨ music started playing and Scott was like 😊wanna know how the letters to Santa work? I was right there with cal like yes 🤩 please!! Explain!!

But it’s. It’s just. Magic. It’s just magic. Magic does it. The kids address the letters to Santa and then guess what? Magic brings them there. To this special ancient letter room. That has no real purpose. Cause generic brand magic does it all. No details. It’s just. Yknow. Magic. That does all that. Anyways.

[talkfastromance4]

Decided with Calum and dialogue 40 for day 11! Also, hockey!cal is already back🥰

Calum watched you from his permanent perch on his large couch as you fluttered like a bird around his apartment. It’s his first day with the brace from tearing his MCL in one of his games. You were watching from the sidelines when Cal got shoved by an opposing player and when he didn’t get up after thirty seconds, everyone was on alert.

His teammates circled around him, the ones on the bench stood up, his coach and medic ran straight onto the ice and you were standing in fear with the rest of the audience. A buzzing hum filled the arena, the announcer listing some stats while they wait to hear and see how Hood is doing.

Through the legs of everyone on the ice you could see he had his helmet off, his face contorted in pain as he nodded or shook his head at the medic. The ambulance car appeared on the ice and he was helped in a sitting position. You were out of your seat as he waved to the crowd and they applauded him off.

You weren’t allowed to see him until he was properly diagnosed and then you had to meet him at the hospital. To say you were scared was an understatement. You paced in the waiting area until you were told to see him.

“Hey Princess,” he smiled tiredly and you did a quick scan of his body. No cast on either of his appendages.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” you rushed out standing next to him.

“Tore my MCL,” he sighed taking your hand, “Gonna need a brace and rest up for about 2-4 weeks.”

“Do you need surgery?”

“They don’t think so. Heat, ice, and elevation should fix on its own. Will you be my nurse?” he asked jokingly but you took it to heart.

And now here he sits watching you pull an assortment of food, beverages, blankets, candles, medication and other things he didn’t see because you went into the kitchen.

“Did you buy everything in Walgreens?” he grins.

“Huh?” you ask resting your hands on your hips. “I just bought the essentials. We’re gonna try and get you back on the ice in two weeks, mister. How’re you feeling? Any pain? When did you last ice or heat?”

“A few hours ago–”

“I’ll get the heating pad–”

“y/n–”

“Are you hungry? I picked up some soup from the deli but if you want something more hearty–”

“Princess!” he shouts until you stop talking and stare at him. He motions you over with his fingers. “C’mere.”

You shuffle towards him and he pulls you onto his lap, you freak out not wanting to hurt him but he hushes your qualms.

“Take a breath,” he laughs. “You’ve done enough already. All I want to do right now is cuddle you and watch a movie.”

And you did just that, you watched nearly every holiday movie you could find on any streaming service. Even the corny Hallmark ones that he insisted on watching.

One night when you were over after your own skating practice, you brought over some cookies you made for him to eat. You’d been spending the night (purely accident) pretty frequently because you always fell asleep watching movies with him. This time, you actually brought an overnight bag because you were going to watch all of the Santa Clause movies with Tim Allen.

“Can you make me hot chocolate?” he asks, rubbing at your arm. You were nestled on his chest under a big fluffy blanket.

“Just like how Judy made?” you smile since that’s the part of the movie you’re on.

“No, how you make it. With white chocolate chips and marshmallows.”

“Mm name all the reindeer and I will.”

“Oh shit,” he groans closing his eyes.

“It’s only nine!”

“Nine?! I thought there were eight?”

“Rudolph is the ninth reindeer, babe,” you laugh.

“Well there’s one,” he teases kissing your nose. “Uhh there’s Comet…Blizzard?”

“Blizzard? What kind of name is that?”

“I don’t know!”

“Blitzen, so that’s close. Go on.”

“Cupid?” he asks and you nod ticking off your fingers. “Prancer…”

He ended up singing through the song until he finally got all of the reindeer names correctly.

“Good boy, you get extra marshmallows.”

“How about some extra kisses?” He pulls you in for a kiss, his hand on your lower back securing you against him.

Before you could get too carried away, you pulled away to go make his hot chocolate. Calum had to adjust himself under the blanket, he got a little too excited from that kiss and it’s been killing him that he can’t go further. Not that you don’t want to, but because he isn’t fully healed yet.

When you return with his hot cocoa, you take turns sipping it as you finish the movie.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” he tells you, his fingers are playing with your hair.

“Anytime,” you kiss his cheek.

Taglist: @calumance  @in-superbloom @calpalirwin @karajaynetoday @wiiildflowerrr @sunshineeeluke @littledrummeraussie @suchalonelysunflower @hoodhoran @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @sunshineeashton @ashtonsunflower​ @mymindwide​ @itjustkindahappenedreally @seanna313 @mulletcal @pandaxnienke @celestialams @in-a-world-of-fandoms @blairscott

[neils-weenie-whistle]

Buddy “Cal” Calvin Icons

The Santa Clauses: Episode 1 (2022)

*Feel free to use, no credit is needed

[safyresky]

tscs episode 6

I.....what???

HOW DID THIS GET A SECOND SEASON.

Okay so like. That was the most anti-climactic climax I have ever seen in my life? And for what? Scott getting his character arc? While everyone else resets back to this is fine!!!! Buddy suddenly is GUCCI with being Santa? Carol is GUCCI with being Mrs Claus? Sandra is suddenly GUCCI with talking to animals? When the kids were panicking about it before and Carol was like "press x to doubt!"

It's just so dissatisfying and I've seen folks be like "it doesn't feel like the santa clause ):" and it really doesn't!!!!

Some other gripes I had with this thing:

WHY WOULD YOU KEEP THE TOY SOLDIERS. ASSEMBLED. BEHIND A LOCKED DOOR? DID THEY NOT DESTROY THEM ALL? WHY WOULD YOU KEEP THOSE?!?!?! WHY!

Scott upon meeting befana: who tf are u

Scott seeing her little teleport tornado: oh i know this

HOW. HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS IF YOU NEVER EVEN SAW??? BEFANA?? BEFORE LAST DECEMBER??????????

????????????

Carol/Mrs. Claus's "identity crisis". That was BARELY a crisis. I think I'm most upset about that--her with the Mrs Claus identity, Buddy/Cal with the anxiety over being the next Santa and not WANTING to do it, and Sandra with the witch powers/talking to animals crisis and suddenly being okay with it. I would have LOVED to see that growth! HENCE THE MEME

Scott: the kids don't have magic

Scott 5 episodes later: I KNEW YOU GUYS HAD MAGIC!!

THE FUCK YOU DID????

I can't deal with the inconsistencies I just can't y'all.

AND SIMON???

THE ADVERTISING BAIT WHERE IT'S LIKE "HEY THIS POC DUDE IS THE NEXT SANTA" AND THEN PSYCH, MANS THE VILLAIN/BAD GUY AND HE GETS DUSTED!"

THERE IS SO MUCH WRONG WITH THE WHOLE SIMON PLOT!

THIS WHOLE SERIES FEELS LIKE CHRISTMAS MANIFEST DESTINY OR SOME SHIT! I CAN'T EVEN DEAL!

HOW CAN I WRITE FIX IT FIC IN THESE CONDITIONS WITH A SEASON FUCKING TWO LOOMING ON THE HORIZON

HOW

Overall, the series had great ideas and none of them landed. The jokes are outdated and probably wouldn't even have been funny 30 years ago, and all of the potential this thing has was wasted on Santa once more LEARNING TO BE A GOOD PARENT WHEN IT'S LIKE. BRO. 3 MOVIES??? AND U STILL HAVEN'T LEARNT?????

I can't even write better thoughts rn and I have soo many gripes about this thing. SEASON 2??? LIKE. YOU KNOW SEASON 2 ISN'T GOING TO DO SHIT TO THINGS FROM SEASON 1. I BET SCOTT WILL LOOSE HIS WAY ONCE AGAIN AND BUDDY WILL QUIT IN THE MOST ANTI CLIMACTIC WAY POSSIBLE AND I'M JUST

😤

THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TSC RANT.